She looked out from her high window in Duart Castle and felt as if she stood on the edge her entire world. From her vantage she could see the cliffs that dropped to the Firth of Lorn and little else. A thick mist blotted out the mainland beyond that calm, slate-like water. She wanted to slap herself purple for letting down her guard. It was her fault for being here. She knew Lachlan must have been on a rampage to find her, and had burnt the abbey in his wake. The wee piece of shite, Spittal, must have gotten word to Lachlan that she was alive. Bess wrapped her arms around her body while staring out into the mist. Ian had to know where she was. He had to have awakened to find her gone, and then his next thought could have been Lachlan had taken her. What else was there for him to think? Unless…. “He thinks I forsook him for the good of my clan. He could think that I left him before he left me.” She stared into the mist that thickened with each passing moment. She could no longer see the cliffs.
