“What did you say?” His voice was a menacing whisper in her ear.
Not the thing to say, apparently. “Nothing ,” she replied quickly, thinking she might not know what they were about, but she did know that these two were dead serious about their little performance.
Anxiety curdled her stomach as much as her pain did now, wondering where they were taking her, and whether she'd be ready to fight, then flee, when the time was right.
As the hours passed, Haley tried to formulate a plan. She studied every hill and valley as they rode, thinking surely they'd soon approach a town.
She'd at first tried to track their movements, but found it impossible to place where they could be. It was odd she hadn't seen any signs of life. No cars - not even any real roads, for that matter. They must've taken her some ways out of Boston. She knew parts of Massachusetts were quite rural, but she'd never understood just how extensive it was.
The sky grew brighter, and she was able to see the land around her more clearly now. It was strangely barren. The countryside just around Brimfield?
Making as if to stretch, she craned her neck to take in the endless stretch of land behind them.
No. Not even close.
She'd made that drive along the Mass Pike before, cutting through gently rolling hills whose charming farms were nowhere to be seen here.
Shifting made her realize just how stiff she was. Each step of the pony's short gait was agony. Though she refused to admit exhaustion to her captors, Haley was desperate to stop.
“Alasdair?” Though the girl's whisper was meek, it shattered what had been a slow and silent slog through the countryside.
“Jean.” There was a warning in his voice that piqued
Haley's curiosity.
“But I must,” she whispered.
Finally. Haley chuckled low, thinking the girl probably needed to pee as badly as she did.
“Jean, can you not make it a wee spot longer? There will be Campbells surely riding in our wake. I must get you to safety. And then I've a mind to turn about and have a taste of their anger without two lasses to h old me back.”
“But… ”
“Och, fine.” MacColla pulled the pony to an abrupt halt.
“We break, but just for a moment, aye?”
They dismounted, and she watched as the man escorted his companion to a small thicket. Haley sneered. Of course the girl was incapable of walking the thirty yards into the trees to do her business alone.
Haley took care of herself, then sank gratefully to the grass to take inventory of her various aches and pains, noting all those parts growing numb from the damp and cold. She shifted, nudging away from a stone jabbing sharp into her backside.
The hours of endurance had given her much time to contemplate disastrous scenarios - broken ribs, a smashed spleen… Clearing her throat, she spat lightly into her palm and studied it. Clear.
Part of her feared the sun might bring to light the grisly pale pink of mingled blood. But however much her ribs might feel like ragged blades in her chest, she knew there was no way anything was broken.
She wouldn't be able to ride, or even move, if somethin g had been.
She wiped her palm on her dress, her movements slow and deliberate. In that moment, a torn something seemed no less painful to her than a broken something.
The sound of their voices gradually reemerged from the trees, coalescing into coherent snippets of conversation. Though at first their whispers had been a dense and rapidly flowing Gaelic, MacColla and Jean spoke increasingly in English.
She couldn't begin to guess who these people were or what it could mean that they spoke perfect Gaelic. Their English threw her too. It was thick and strangely accented, like no Scottish brogue she'd ever heard. Islanders, perhaps?
Just more confusing items to add to her growing list. She needed to figure out who the hell they were. At the very least, it might help her when she felt fit enough to make her escape.
Haley put her hand to her belly. Willing her diaphragm to rise, she breathed in as deeply as she could, nudging at the edges of her pain. Its acuteness had crested, dulling into something her body could reasonably handle.
“But who is she then?” he asked. “You can't be certain there wasn't another prisoner-”