The Exchanged Heir

Chapter 35: Departure in the Mist

Chapter 35: Departure in the Mist

The next morning, the thick fog had thinned but not fully dissipated, clinging stubbornly to the grey turrets of Aberfeldy House like a lingering gloom. A deliberate normality hung over the mansion: servants went about their duties, breakfast was served as usual, yet a trace of unresolved tension lingered in the air. Isabella and Lucy appeared at the breakfast table, pale but composed. Lucy barely touched her food, sipping tea with downcast eyes, visibly swollen, carefully avoiding anyone's gaze. Isabella played the part of the concerned yet restrained elder sister, exchanging necessary, brief pleasantries with nearby guests.

Prince Edward was also present at breakfast, comporting himself with ease as if yesterday's hearing were but a minor, everyday incident at the estate. He gave a slight nod to Isabella across the long table, his gaze calm and unreadable, the weighty warnings of the previous night seeming never to have occurred.

After breakfast, Isabella sought out the butler and formally announced their departure, citing her sister's need for "a more tranquil place to recover from the shock." The butler, already instructed, showed no surprise, merely expressing polite regret and informing her that His Highness had arranged a carriage.

At ten o'clock, a closed carriage bearing no ostentatious crest drew up before the door. It was not the Prince's grand equipage, but a sturdy, plain coach suited for longer travel, drawn by two dependable horses. The driver was the same taciturn Duncan.

Their luggage was loaded swiftly. Mrs. Cameron accompanied them to the hall. Before parting, the stern widow grasped Isabella's hand and spoke quickly in a low voice: "Dr. Graham has arranged rooms at 'The Three Trout Inn,' east of Perth. Someone will meet you there. On the road… stay vigilant." Her sharp eyes swept over Lucy's still-pale face, giving an almost imperceptible nod before she stepped back, resuming the proper distance of a paid companion.

There was no grand send-off, only a few footmen standing indifferently on the steps. Just as Isabella was helping Lucy onto the carriage step, the Prince's voice came from the shadows of the portico:

"A safe journey, Misses Elliot."

He descended the steps slowly, not coming too close. The thin morning light outlined his sharp profile, his expression inscrutable. "The Scottish weather is changeable; the road ahead may not be smooth. Remember my words from last night." His voice was quiet but carried clearly to them.

"We thank you for your hospitality and… your mediation, Your Highness," Isabella said carefully, curtsying.

The Prince's gaze rested a moment on Lucy's bowed head before turning to Isabella. The corner of his mouth seemed to lift in the faintest of smiles that did not reach his eyes. "Sometimes, fleeing one hunting ground only leads you into another. The difference lies in knowing who the hunter is." He gave a slight nod. "May you find the peace you seek."

The blessing sounded more like an unresolved question. Isabella said no more, helping Lucy into the carriage. The moment the door shut, it sealed out the damp, chill air and the immense, intangible pressure of the great stone house.

The carriage began to move, crunching down the gravel drive toward the open iron gates. Isabella lifted a corner of the curtain and looked back at the shrinking grey estate. It sat on its mist-wreathed hillside like a slumbering beast from whose jaws they were quietly slipping.

Only when the house had completely vanished from view did Lucy seem to collapse, slumping against the seat and closing her eyes. But her body still trembled slightly.

"It's over," Isabella said, taking her cold hand, trying to impart some warmth. "At least for now."

Lucy did not open her eyes, but her grip on Isabella's hand tightened painfully. "No," she said, her voice hoarse. "It's not over. That feeling… it's like being forced face-first into the mud and having to pretend you slipped." She opened her eyes, which held a burning pain and anger not seen the night before. "He was right, Isabella. We were performing. They were watching, judging, bargaining… We were like livestock at a market."

"But we are out," Isabella insisted, more to convince herself. "We left that place. Now we go to where Dr. Graham has arranged. We will be safe."

"Safe?" Lucy gave a short, bitter laugh. "Where is safe? Under another stranger's protection? In another room we cannot afford?"

The carriage hit the main road, the jolting increasing. Outside was classic Highland scenery—vast, bleak, beautiful, covered in tawny heather and patchy moss, distant ridges hard-edged against the sky. The sky was a turbid leaden grey, clouds hanging low, promising more rain and mist. The view was majestic but offered little solace, as if their small carriage was the only moving thing in an endless emptiness.

Isabella could not argue. Their purse was indeed dwindling, their future a fog. The Prince's warning coiled around her heart like a cold serpent. Who was interested in them? Why? Merely because Lucy had caught the Prince's eye? Or had the secret of their birth not been entirely buried?

They traveled in silence for hours, stopping only occasionally to rest the horses. Duncan remained largely silent, speaking only when necessary about their progress. In the afternoon, a cold, fine drizzle began, needling down, further blurring the world outside. The interior of the carriage grew damp and chilly.

It was shortly after one such brief stop, as they resumed their journey, that Duncan suddenly uttered a sharp "Whoa!" and hauled hard on the reins. The carriage lurched violently and came to a stop.

"What is it?" Isabella asked sharply, pulling aside the small front window flap.

Duncan did not turn, his voice tense. "A tree down across the road ahead, miss. Looks recent."

Isabella's heart plummeted. She leaned forward to look. Indeed, not far ahead on the winding road lay a fallen birch tree, not overly large but sufficient to block their path. The break looked fresh. Dense fir woods and low thickets surrounded them, dark and foreboding in the rain and mist.

"Can we go around?" Lucy asked nervously, leaning over.

Duncan shook his head. "Road's too narrow. Deep ditches and thick woods on either side." He jumped down from the box, walked to the fallen tree to examine it closely, and scanned the quiet, rain-sodden woods. He returned quickly, his expression grim.

"Not natural," he said in a low voice to the window. "Axe marks on the cut. Someone blocked it deliberate-like."

Fear gripped them instantly. Isabella's throat went dry. "B-bandits?" It was not impossible on this remote Highland road.

Duncan narrowed his eyes, scanning again. "Maybe not. This road sees little traffic, but it's not known for brigands. And…" he hesitated, "…the placement is cunning. Right on a blind corner. As if they knew a coach would come."

The chill seeped into their bones. Was it meant for them?

"What do we do?" Lucy's voice trembled.

Duncan thought for a moment, then decisively said, "Can't stay here. Ladies, stay inside, lock the door. I'll try to shift it enough to get us through. If anything seems amiss," he patted a bulge at his waist, implying a weapon, "you get down and stay quiet."

He retrieved a short-handled axe from the coach and approached the tree. Isabella and Lucy clung to each other, hearts hammering, staring through the rain-streaked window at Duncan's back and the shifting shadows among the trees.

The rain grew heavier, mist swirling among the trees, visibility worsening by the minute. Duncan labored, hacking off some branches, trying to shove the trunk toward the roadside. Time dragged, each second an eternity.

Suddenly, the horses whinnied nervously, pawing at the wet ground. Almost simultaneously, Isabella caught a movement in the corner of her eye—a swift shadow different from the swaying trees, deep in the woods to their right.

"Mr. Duncan!" she cried out.

Duncan had clearly sensed it too. He stopped immediately, gripped his axe, and retreated swiftly toward the carriage, putting his back to it, his eyes scanning the rain-blurred woods like a hawk's.

"Who's there?" he shouted. His voice echoed in the empty, rain-filled woods, met only by deeper silence and the steady hiss of rain.

No answer. But the feeling of being watched intensified. Isabella and Lucy held their breath, each hearing the other's drumming heart.

The standoff lasted minutes. Nothing moved but the rain and wind. Yet the horses remained skittish.

Duncan made a decision. Abandoning any attempt to fully move the tree, he swung his axe again, chopping a larger notch near the roadside end of the trunk. "Hold fast, ladies!" he yelled, scrambling back onto the box. He laid the whip hard across the horses' flanks. "We're going through!"

The horses, startled, lunged forward. The carriage bucked and swayed, scraping perilously past the hacked-out gap, the side grating against the trunk with a sickening sound. As they shot past the obstruction, Isabella thought she heard a faint, whistling sound from the woods to the left, but it was instantly swallowed by hoofbeats, wind, and rain.

The carriage careened wildly down the road, Duncan urging the horses to a breakneck pace to put distance between them and that place. Only after several turns, with the dangerous stretch well behind, did he slow slightly, though he remained alert, glancing back frequently.

Inside, Isabella and Lucy clung together, shaken. Lucy's nails dug into Isabella's arm.

"Not bandits…" Isabella panted, her voice shaking. "Bandits would have shown themselves… to rob us… Not just set a trap and watch…"

Lucy lifted her pale face, fear dawning in her eyes. "It was… meant for us? Someone doesn't want us reaching Perth? Or… doesn't want us to have left Aberfeldy?"

Isabella had no answer. The Prince's warning echoed: *The hounds have been slipped.*

The rain eased, but the sky darkened further. Evening approached. They were still some distance from Perth, and the unknown danger now seemed to stalk them.

Duncan's voice came from the driver's seat, tired but firm. "We're clear, ladies. We'll push on. Should reach the next village before full dark. We'll decide our course there."

The carriage pressed on into the gathering dusk and damp, cold mist, like a lone ship on a perilous black sea. Before reaching any temporary haven, they had to traverse this stretch of misty ground now seemingly marked by the hunter. Their clasped hands were their only weapon and their sole source of warmth. The road ahead was uncertain, but there was no turning back.