Dying for her cause was not her intent. She landed on a grassy ledge hidden directly beneath the cliff overhang and hastily grabbed a boulder to keep from being blown into the sea below. Above her, the mounted soldiers trampled the plateau a distance away, wary of meeting the same fate — not knowing what she had known: that the jut of the cliff hid a grassy area and a clear path down to the water. Despite the wind, her heart pounded with terror and exhilaration. She could not describe the primitive rush of excitement she felt at outwitting and outriding a troop of trained cavalry. Bruised and filthy, she slid down the muddy path through the rising wind, toward the crashing waves, to duck under an outcropping of rock. The full impact of Ian’s grief abruptly blasted her exhilaration like ignited gunpowder. Panicking, she glanced from beneath the overhang. Where was he? An unusual blast of wind whipped her skirts and toppled her sideways. Alarmed, she pressed back into the lee of the overhang.
