Merida deftly navigated Angus through the woods, heaving a sigh of relief as she galloped past the grouping of moss-covered boulders near where Elinor had found her. She was on the right track.
She knew she was taking a chance, sneaking out of MacCameron Castle so soon after her previous sojourn to find the witch, but learning of Elinor’s plans meant it was imperative that she put her own into play.
She had to find her father. She needed to get her parents together before Elinor made good on her threat to escape. Locating Fergus was her first order of business. Though the clansmen who had rescued him from the forest floor had been several paces away, Merida had distinctly heard one of them mention a camp. There was no guarantee they were still there, but it was worth the effort to look.
She pulled on Angus’s reins, slowing his pace. This was the area where she had spent the night in the woods.
“Which means…” Merida murmured.
She looked to the left. Her father’s men had discovered him right over there. She brought Angus to a stop and climbed down. She would walk from this point forward.
One thing Merida had learned since the start of this nightmare was to be more cautious as she moved about. Although these were just like the woods she had frolicked around her entire life, they were different in so many ways. There was very little about this new existence she found herself in that was the same.
And if she wanted things to ever go back to the way they had been, she couldn’t make any more mistakes. She did not have time to make mistakes. She must learn all she could about her father and then convince him to woo the princess of Clan MacCameron before the summer solstice.
“That should be easy enough,” Merida groused.
She and Angus walked at least one hundred paces in the direction the men had taken Fergus. Just when she was ready to give up, Merida caught a glimpse of something pale brown peeking between the trees.
Could it be…
The wind blew and the brown thing flapped.
Yes, it was linen. She would have bet her next meal that it was from a tent. She had found the camp. Well, a camp.
As she walked ahead of Angus, she kept her eyes opened for the DunBroch tartan, and her ears opened for the sound of her clan’s distinctive brogue. But as she moved closer, Merida was struck by how quiet things were. Had the camp been abandoned?
She tied Angus’s reins around the slim trunk of a nearby tree so that she could investigate unencumbered. She squeezed through a narrow opening in the thicket of shrubbery surrounding the camp. They had picked a prime location. If not for the wind blowing the tree limbs apart, she would never have spotted that tent.
Using the shrubs as cover, Merida peered around the site. Pots were neatly stacked next to a firepit that still smoldered with embers. A cauldron hung on a rod above it, supported by two poles on either side of the firepit. Pallets covered with straw and bird feathers populated the enclosure, along with thick wool tarps.
This camp was still in use. If it had been abandoned, the men would not have left so many supplies for others to find.
A heavy thump snared Merida’s attention. She looked to her right, and her back went ramrod straight.
There he was. Fergus.
He was more recognizable than her mother had been when Merida had first encountered her in the woods. She was still yards away from him and could only see him in profile, but from what Merida could make out, his beard did not have any gray hairs, and it was fuller. So was the hair on his head. The deep red glinted under the rays of the shining sun. His head was bandaged with a strip of linen.
Merida brought her hand up to the bump on her own head and realized her injury was in the exact spot of her father’s. She had truly taken his place.
He stood before a large tree stump. On one side of him stood a pile of knobby logs. On the other side, a stack of evenly chopped wood. Fergus grabbed a thick log and set it in the center of the tree stump, then lifted one of the biggest axes Merida had ever seen and chopped the log right down the middle.
Her chest blossomed with pride. Her father was the strongest man she knew.
Merida started cautiously toward him, being careful not to make too much noise. He heard her anyway.
Fergus whipped around. “Who goes there?”
“Uh…hello,” Merida called cautiously.
His eyes narrowed and his forehead creased with concern as he held the ax high, ready to attack.
“Who are you?” Fergus asked. “What are you doing here?”
Even his voice sounded the same, despite the sharpness of his tone. Merida was overwhelmed with emotion. She had to remind herself that she could not just blurt out that she was his daughter from decades in the future.
“I…uh…I am Merida,” she said. She moved more quickly. As she drew nearer, Fergus’s brow crinkled even more. He looked beyond her.
“Who is with you?” He tightened his grip on his ax. “A lass as young as you would not be in these woods alone.”
“I am,” she said. She pointed over her shoulder. “It is just me and my horse. He is fastened to a tree.”
More frowning. “Did you lose your people?”
She had found her people. She had found him.
The urge to throw herself into his big, burly arms was almost too strong to fight. But her father had taught her at a very young age to be cautious of all strangers, even those who seemed harmless. He would never have given her advice that he would not also follow.
“I…uh…I did not lose my people in the way you may think,” Merida answered. She stuck her hand out to him. “I am Merida of Dun…Dungaroo.”
She inwardly cringed.
Dungaroo?
Fergus’s brow rose, his skepticism apparent. “I’ll ask you again, lass. What are you doing out in these woods alone?”
Merida paused for a moment. When she’d snuck out of MacCameron Castle that day, her goal had been to find the DunBroch camp. Now that she stood before her father, words escaped her.
Come now, Merida silently chastised herself.
She had a purpose. She could not afford to mess this up. There was too much at stake.
“I mean no harm, of course,” Merida told him. “I was on a ride with my horse. His name is Angus.” She paused, hoping Angus’s name would ring a bell, but then she remembered that Angus was only six years old. He had yet to be born. And, unfortunately, she could not recall the name of the mare or stallion that had produced him.
“Uh, well, anyway,” Merida continued. “I happened upon this camp and, well, decided to explore.” She waved her hands, indicating their surroundings. Merida prayed her father was buying her story. Based on the way his brow furrowed, she was almost certain he was not. “I am still learning my way around these parts and got a bit turned around. That is how I found you.”
The mistrust in Fergus’s eyes deepened. Merida was not surprised by it. Any good warrior would be suspicious of a young lass traveling alone in the woods. It was a known decoy, to use a young lady who appeared lost and in distress to trick an unsuspecting soldier into letting down his guard. The longer she was out here alone, the more suspicious Fergus was likely to become.
She had achieved what she set out to accomplish: finding the camp and her father. But now she needed to find out what his plans were.
“Are you and your clansmen on your way to the Highland Games?” Merida asked. “I hear they are to take place in less than a fortnight. Is that why you are camped here?”
“I have more important things to worry about than tossing a caber, lass.”
“Really?” She perked up. “What sort of things?”
Merida knew by the swift change in his countenance that she had gone too far. He went from mildly suspicious to downright hostile.
“It is of no concern to you,” he said in a low voice. “You need to run along. And do not disclose the location of this camp to anyone. I will know if you do.”
“I will not,” Merida said, backing away. “You have my word.”
Her instincts told her that her father would never hurt her, but this man had not yet become her father. This man was a warrior.
Merida doubled back the way she had come and quickly mounted Angus. As she directed him back toward MacCameron Castle, questions began to bombard her.
What were he and his clansmen doing here? In all the times she had heard the story of how her parents met, Merida realized she had never been told exactly what had brought her father to the woods that fateful day—only that he was on a mission to deliver news from his chieftain to the king.
What news was he due to deliver? And why had he not delivered it yet? If he was well enough to chop firewood, it stood to reason that he was well enough to continue his journey to MacCameron Castle. Had his plans changed? Would he and his clansmen retreat?
They were all questions that only Fergus could answer, but if she had asked any of them just then, his suspicions would have grown even more. She raced toward MacCameron Castle, certain about only one thing: she must get her parents to meet as soon as possible. Because if the men of Clan DunBroch packed up this camp and moved, she would never find them.
And she would never get home.