“She’s gone.” Maggie stood in the cottage doorway chewing her lip, empty-handed this time except for the old, scarred shovel handle she used as a walking stick.
Ian frowned. “Who’s gone?”
She stomped her foot. “Och, are ye daft now too, laddie? The lass! The one that writes ye letters.”
A burst of adrenaline shot through Ian’s veins. Emily was gone? “What do you mean, ‘gone’?” His voice thundered louder than he’d intended. “Since when?” He pushed past Maggie and rushed to the drive, trying to ignore the uneasy tingle creeping up his spine.
“Grace woke wanting to see her, but she wasnae there,” Maggie said from behind him. “We looked everywhere. We waited and waited, but she’s still not come round.”
Ian sprinted to the middle of the drive, barely noticing the rain smacking his face.
The old truck was there, next to the house in the spot where Emily had parked it after church.
He spun round to Maggie, who had followed him and stood without flinching at the steady rain matting down her stiff, white hair, her hands clutched together in a knobby clump around the shovel handle. “She hasn’t gone far. The truck is still here.”
“I know the truck is here. I’m no gowk, Ian. I checked that first.”
Ian? Maggie hadn’t called him by name in some time. Something was definitely wrong. “How long has she been gone?” he called over his shoulder as he headed back inside for a raincoat.
Maggie followed. “I dinna know.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Maggie frowned. “Lunch.” She chewed her lip again, a quirk he hadn’t seen since Granddad Liam was alive.
Inside, Ian checked the clock: it was nearly seven. Where would she have gone for so long, and without telling anyone?
“Have you checked the—never mind. I’ll look.” He grabbed a rain slicker and pulled it on as he headed for the door. “Tell Aunt Grace I’ll find her and not to worry.” He turned and stared hard at the old woman. “Can you do that?”
Maggie nodded, face downcast.
“What is it, Maggie? Is there something else?”
“No,” the old woman said through pursed lips. “Just find the lass.”
In a few long, brisk strides, Ian reached the paddock at the back of the house, forcing down the rising quiver of fear. Empty. Where would Emily have gone? And why? She couldn’t have gone too far on foot, and yet she had been gone a very long time. It wasn’t like her to let Aunt Grace worry. Not like her at all.
The rain fell harder.
He checked all the outbuildings, scanned the hillside, then glanced at the house. How thoroughly had the old women searched the house? Maybe Emily had fallen asleep somewhere they didn’t think to look. He let himself in through the back door and checked the lower floor, but there was no sign of her.
What if—could she have left? Gone home?
Heart racing, he took the stairs two at a time. The door to his bedroom was open. He held his breath and went in. He stood in the middle and surveyed the room.
The bed was made. Her jacket hung on the back of the door. Her purse, her passport, and a few of her things were all laid out on top of the chest, along with the truck key, which he snatched up and stuffed in his pocket.
He yanked open the wardrobe. Her clothes hung there, soft and light-colored, resting against some of his. The faint scent of honeysuckle drifted out.
Honeysuckle. She must have gone to the glen.
In seconds, Ian was down the stairs and out the back door. Heavy rain pummeled his head and shoulders as he hiked up the braeside. She must have gone to the glen and got caught in the rain, perhaps decided to wait it out there. He hit the wooded trail at a run, ducking through sagging branches and dripping leaves, and kept on running until he reached the grove. Gasping to catch his breath, he scanned the silent wood. She wasn’t there.
“Emily!” His voice echoed in the thicket, mocking him.
Had she been here?
Still catching his breath, he stood in the center and looked round. Dripping leaves bounced under the heavy spattering of raindrops. The steady roar of rain grew, tightening the fist of panic clutching at his chest.
She had to be on foot. But where?
Drenched and dripping, he pushed his way back through the wet brush to the main trail, turned north, and hiked to the top of the hill. He scanned the meadow but couldn’t see anything in the mist.
He yelled her name, listened, yelled again. His voice fell flat, grounded by the rain.
Heart pounding, he sprinted down the hill and across the meadow. His eyes searched over the valley on both sides of the trail. It took several minutes, even at a full-out run, to reach the church.
“Emily!” He doubled over to catch his breath, hands on his knees. Then he stood and scanned the building and churchyard, listening. He peered inside the church, then circled the cemetery and the building, calling her name.
No answer.
Standing at the edge of the cemetery where he’d begun, he raked both hands through his dripping hair and took a long, hard look across the meadow. “Emily, where are you?” he whispered.
Silence.
Was she injured? Or had she—
Panic thundered in his chest and sent him running back to the farm as fast as he could.
Her fingers, toes, and lips were numb. So were her thighs.
Emily shivered inside her clothes, which were thoroughly soaked and chafing against her cold skin. She had no idea how far she’d gone upstream. In the hour or more she’d been walking, it felt like miles, but now it was fully dark. The shore was rocky and the going slow. Nothing looked familiar, and nothing had changed.
Stupid idea.
Kicking herself was a waste of energy. She needed to think. She’d thought about turning back a few times. But by then, long after dark, Grace would probably have gotten worried enough to send someone out looking—that someone most likely being Ian—and if he or anyone was looking for her, doubling back would make it harder for anyone to find her. The best thing to do would be to find shelter and wait.
Rain continued to beat down on Emily’s head and shoulders as she stumbled along the wet rocks. It was stupid to take off like that without letting them know. Stupid to let something a poor old, blind woman said get to her.
The sound of thunder grew closer and more frequent. It was too dark to see beyond the banks. She couldn’t tell if woods, hills, or meadows bordered the stream.
A sudden crack of thunder overhead made her jump. Lord, I’m tired and scared. Please help me out of this.
A burst of lightning illuminated a dark mass looming ahead, upstream.
Emily worked her way toward it, stepping into the stream and tripping over slippery rocks when there was no shore.
The mass took shape, arching high over the stream. A bridge.
The rain fell in a sudden, heavy smattering of hard, wet bullets. Emily kept moving until she reached the bridge. Not the little wooden bridge she’d hoped to find, but a massively tall, narrow stone bridge, towering about twenty-five feet above the water. Which meant a road nearby, hopefully. And shelter.
Emily waded through shallow water until she was under the bridge. It was solid stone, but the arch was high, nearly as tall as the bridge. Inside, she found a flat rock that rose above the water. She crouched on it and leaned back against the cold stone.
Thunder rolled and crackled overhead.
Fatigue swept over her like a flash flood. She rested her forehead and arms across her knees. Every part of her body felt numb. Except her mind, which now raced with the thoughts she’d held back in the need to find shelter.
It was bad enough that Aunt Grace could be worried into a state of distress, but the whole household would be in upheaval. They would have to send someone out to look for her. How bad would it be? Would they call authorities, disturb their neighbors?
How could she have been so stupid as to get herself lost? She should have known better. She should have known a lot of things. Like what a mistake it had been to come to Scotland. She should have found someone else to bring Aunt Grace here. She should have done whatever it took to avoid seeing Ian in person. That was her biggest mistake.
Seeing him, talking to him, being near him—all a huge mistake.
And kissing him—colossal mistake. Didn’t she have enough to battle? Longing was a creature awakened that should have been left alone.
“I wish I’d never met him.” Angry tears welled up, but she choked them back. “I don’t know why You’re letting things happen this way, Lord. I don’t get it.” Frustration racked her body and she leaned back against the cold stone.
You’re angry.
“Don’t I have some right to be angry? I’ve lost everyone I care about. My mom, before I had a chance to really know her. My dad, when I needed him the most. I’ll lose the group home kids, and I’m losing Aunt Grace to Maggie.” She broke down sobbing and didn’t care. There was nobody around to hear it. “And don’t forget Ian. Did I ask You to bring him into my life? Did You do that so I could lose him, too?” Shivering, Emily lifted her soaked face. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. And as if that’s not enough, I’m losing my own life too. Why, God?”
Thunder rolled, drowning out her words.
Sprinting back to the farm, his feet kept time with the hammering in his chest. He burst into the house, gasping.
Maggie and Grace sat at the kitchen table—but no Emily.
“Did she come back?” He dripped puddles all over the kitchen floor.
“No.” Chewing on her lip, Maggie set her teacup down with a rattle and turned away.
Grace looked up. “Ian? Do ye know where Emmy is?”
Ian drew in a shaky breath. “I’m looking for her, Aunt Grace. I’m taking the truck now. Don’t worry, I’ll find her.” God, help me, I have to find her.
He took the large flashlight they kept in the kitchen from the shelf and rushed out the door, pulling the key from his pocket.
As he got the truck running, he phoned the Kirkhaven constable, told him where he’d looked and where he was going. Then he headed out, and once he turned onto the main road, he switched the headlights on high-beam and drove slowly, scanning the fields and hills on both sides of Craig’s Hill Road.
He searched along the old drover road and headed for town. In the village, he asked the few people he saw if they’d seen her, but no one had. He scoured every road surrounding the village, all the while fighting paralyzing alarm and trying not to think the worst. But his panic continued to build. It was the same panic he felt as Katy lay dying, the same feeling of utter helplessness.
Where had Emily gone? Had something happened to her? Had she fallen and injured herself? Or worse? Was she lying in the rain unconscious? The image of her lying at the bottom of a cliff or in the Kirkhaven burn, famous for overflowing with every hard rain, gripped his chest with a surge of fear-laced adrenaline.
His foot slammed the pedal. “God, You have to help her. You have to keep her safe. Help me find her, please.”
Think, MacLean. What would keep her from returning to the farm?
He swallowed hard, willing away the worst-case scenario.
Again, she couldn’t have left for the States—her passport and clothes were still here. Even if she wanted to leave, she would never do anything to upset Aunt Grace. So she had to be out here. If she’d gone walking, she could be anywhere in the surrounding countryside.
He drew a deep breath, exhaled hard, and searched both sides of the old drover road as he followed it northeast, toward the motorway to Stirling. “God, please help me find her. I’ll do whatever You want. I’ll be kinder to Maggie. I’ll spend more time with Davy. I’ll spend more time with You. I’ll go to church every Sunday.”
The Dumhnall Road sign loomed ahead.
Ian turned south and followed the narrow, winding road that led into the hills. He crossed the bridge and drove on, straining to see anything or anyone along the road.
The hills, burns, and meadows were known for attracting hikers, with walking trails stretching out for miles in all directions. She could be anywhere.
He pulled the truck over to the edge of the road and stopped. “Emily ...”
There was too much ground to cover. If she was out here, he wasn’t going to find her, not without help.
“God, if You’re there, I need You.”
Rain dumped more water than the ancient wipers could handle.
With a sinking feeling in his gut, Ian turned the truck around, crossed the bridge again, and headed back toward the village. He needed help.
Use the flashlight.
Ian stopped the truck in the middle of the road, engine rattling at an idle, grabbed the light, and jumped out. He shined the light ahead, then swept the beam slowly over the meadow and across the road to the other side.
Nothing.
Reaching into the cab, he switched off the motor, then stepped away from the truck. Rain pelted his head, spattered against his face. He walked along the road, shining the light back and forth on each side.
Nothing.
“This is nuts.” He returned to the truck, the knot in his gut twisting tighter with every step. As he reached for the door handle, a faint sound broke through the rain. Pulse racing, he held his breath and turned, listening.
The sound again, faint, like a cough. From the burn far below the road.
Heart thudding, he ran back to the bridge and shined the flashlight down onto the gurgling burn.
Nothing but water and rocks.
He crossed to the other side and aimed the light down, rubbed the rain from his eyes, and searched up and down the stream, around every rock and bush.
Nothing.
“Emily!” He held his breath, listened. “Emily!”
A faint voice drifted above the babbling water.
Ian ran along the bridge and shined the light at the edge of the road until he found part of an overgrown trail. He scrambled over rocks, through thorny briars, tangled branches, and tree roots, hugging the bridge’s mossy stone face down to the water’s edge. “Emily?”
A voice echoed. “In here.”
He aimed his flashlight under the bridge.
She crouched under the arch, hugging her knees, shivering.
Ian hit the stream with a splash and ran, slipping on the rocks. When he reached her, he grabbed her arms, pulled her to her feet, and held her close. Relief came in tidal waves, sending a violent shudder through him.
“Thank You, God,” he whispered.
She trembled against him.
He held her tighter. “Are you hurt, love? Are you all right? What happened?” He pulled back to see her face. Even in the dark, she looked pale, hollows circling her eyes. “Are you ill? I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“I’m okay. Just cold.”
“I can’t believe I found you.” She tried to pull away, but he kept her in a firm grip. “How did you get here?”
“I went for a walk, but I got lost.” Her voice was hoarse. “Is Aunt Grace upset?”
“She’s just worried, naturally. Maggie too.”
“Maggie’s worried?”
“Aye. They didn’t know where you’d gone.”
She groaned. “I’m so sorry.”
He heaved a deep sigh and tipped her chin up. “Emily, if you want to go exploring, take someone with you next time. I’d be happy to show you round.”
Emily broke free of his hold. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble. Thank you for coming out in all this to find me.” She turned and made her way toward shore. Her foot slipped.
Ian instinctively offered a hand, but she caught herself and kept going until she reached the slope and Ian’s makeshift trail. He walked on, shining the light ahead of her.
Illuminated raindrops fell hard and steady in its beam.
“Emily.”
She stopped and looked back. The flashlight cast an upward glow, deepening the shadows beneath her eyes.
“I can’t stand round and watch you go on alone like this.”
She studied his face, but her weary expression didn’t change.
“Will you let me help you?”
Emily shook her head.
If she were a MacLean by blood, she couldn’t be any more stubborn. “Why not?”
“You’re not talking about hiking, are you?”
He stepped closer. “I’m talking about you leaning on me, Emily. For everything.”
The sound of rain swelled to a steady roar and reverberated round them in the narrow ravine.
Emily shivered. “You can’t help me, Ian. You can’t fix this.”
“I know that, but I love you, Emily. I’ll be your strength.”
The shivering increased, shaking her whole body. She hugged her arms. “Ian, I appreciate that you want to, but you can’t.” She shook her head slowly. “Not for me, not even for yourself. I’m sorry, but no one’s that strong. There’s nothing you can do, Ian. Just let it go. Please.” She turned and climbed the trail.
Her words sliced through him, their aim razor-sharp. She was right. He was helpless, just as he had been with Katy.
And the sooner you accept it, the better.
Angry tears stung his eyes. He swallowed hard, fighting the ache in his throat.
They hiked up the trail to the road and walked to the old truck. The weight of defeat threatened to crush him, but he concentrated on getting Emily home as quickly as possible. They rode back to the farm in silence.
When they arrived at the house, Maggie leaped from her chair and forced Emily to sit. “Grace!” Maggie’s voice sounded unusually tremulous. “Put the kettle on.” Then she scurried out of the kitchen.
Grace took Emily’s hands and rubbed them. “What kept ye away so long, child?”
Emily darted a glance at Ian. “I got a little turned around and lost my way.” She squeezed Grace’s hands. “I’m sorry for causing you worry.”
Maggie returned with a towel and wrapped it round Emily. As she rubbed Emily’s shoulders, she glanced up at Ian. Her expression was odd, like a clashing mixture of guilt and relief.
“We must give the child something to eat, Maggie.” Grace peered at Emily, worry etched in her wrinkly brow. “The poor lass needs food.”
Jaw clenching tighter with every passing minute, Ian watched the old women tend to Emily.
Emily caught his eye. “Thanks,” she whispered.
He nodded.
She was safe.
He slipped out of the house without a word. As he reached the cottage, his foot caught a rock. He bent, snatched it up, and hurled it as far as he could. The growing heartache finally sank in, settling down so deep that no amount of fury could drive it out. All he could do was lift his face to the sky and let the frustration come, cascading down his face with the rain.