Wings of Morning by Kathleen Morgan Read Free Book Online

if she were even on the path anymore, or headed in the correct direction. Her teeth chattered, her fingers and toes grew numb, and she alternately cursed Walter for his foolish plan and herself for thinking she’d had a chance of catching up with him, much less stopping him.
    For a time, the wind lessened. Moonlight managed to thrust past the clouds, and she thought she might yet find her way up the northwestern side of Loch Tay along the route Walter had told her he and his men would take. And then thunder rumbled, the wind quickened once more, and the rain came again. This time, though, lightning accompanied it.
    At first, the bolts of light danced several miles south of her. But not for long. As she entered yet another stretch of forest, the thunder lumbered ever closer, until the air fairly sizzled with repeated, jagged flashes. Her horse alternated rearing in terror and threatening to race off with her. It was time to take shelter, but where?
    The trees offered no haven, yet she was just as vulnerable out in the open. What she needed was to find a cave or rocky overhang under which to hide. As the trees once more thinned, Regan searched the surrounding hills now looming before her. Then, blessedly, a burst of lightning illuminated the terrain, and there, up a gently sloping hillside, was a dark opening in a large jumble of boulders. An opening at least large enough for her, if not also for her horse.
    She reined her mount to the left and urged it up the hill. Around her, as if the storm had decided to unleash at last the full force of its fury, lightning struck. The air crackled. An ear-splitting explosion engulfed her.
    Her horse squealed in terror, reared, and, in the slippery grass, lost its footing. Regan scrambled up on the animal’s neck, throwing her weight forward in a futile attempt to add counterbalance and keep the horse from toppling over. Almost overhead now, lightning exploded again. The animal shrieked, lurched to one side, and fell.
    The last thing Regan remembered was trying to leap free, but her foot caught in the stirrup. Then her head struck hard, and everything went black.

    Iain closed the ledger, set down his quill pen, and, with a sigh, leaned back in his chair. The rain that had begun yesterday had continued off and on through most of the night, culminating in a horrific storm before finally ceasing. In its wake, however, the moisture-saturated air had given rise at dawn to heavy fog. Even now, nearly midday, though the sun and bits of blue sky were at last peeking through the dense vapors, mist still lay heavy in the low spots, swirling and churning like steam rising off some witch’s brew.
    It was past time, Iain supposed, that he ride out and meet with his farmers about the status of the grain fields. Then he needed to check on the progress of those drainage ditches, not to mention he had yet to get in much sword practice this week.
    Balloch Castle’s laird shoved from his chair. There were always responsibilities to keep a man occupied. Responsibilities he had assumed at an early age, thanks to his father’s decided lack of interest in Balloch and its lands. But then, Duncan Campbell had always had bigger fish to fry and no time for the simple cares of a country laird, much less those of a husband and father.
    Iain, on the other hand, was quite content living at Balloch and working hard to improve its lands and the lot of his people. Life was difficult enough in the Highlands, a vast amount of the ground either rocky and ill-suited for farming or consumed by inland sea lochs, marshes, and peat bogs. Still, there was much that could be done if one but took the time, studied the land, and patiently coaxed out its fullest potential. Much like the care required to please a wife and raise a son.
    His mouth twisted in grim irony. His father had been blessed early in life with a wonderful, loving wife and excellent mother for his son, and he had all but tossed her aside after a few short years.