The Locket of Dreams Read Free

joyous cry welling from her throat.
    Charlotte gained on Nell as they raced around the shore of the loch. Nell glanced over her shoulder, cheering Bess on, but Rosie effortlessly caught up. Neck and neck they galloped, sailing over a dry-stone wall, manes and ringlets flying, leaving Flossie to lope behind.
    With an alarmed squawk, a pheasant flitted from its nest right under Bess’s hooves. The chestnut reared and bucked in fright, then bolted, flinging Nell to the ground.
    Charlotte screamed as Bess galloped away, stirrups and reins flapping wildly. She reined in her own horse, nearly flying over Rosie’s head as she slid to a stop.
    ‘Nell, Nell – are you all right?’ Below lay the motionless body of her sister crumpled in the grass. Charlotte sobbed as she slithered off her horse. Flossie whined pitifully, licking Nell on the face and pawing her gently.
    ‘Nell, can you hear me?’ she begged. ‘Nell, please answer me.’
    Charlotte’s voice rose in panic. The smell of crushed grass and wet mud filled her nostrils, making her stomach heave. She knelt and rolled her sister gently over. Crimson blood welled from the side of Nell’s mouth, a stark contrast to the pale white skin. Charlotte stifled a scream.
    Her heart in her mouth, Sophie flew closer. Was Nelldead? She hovered uncertainly, then wondered if she could somehow get help. Perhaps if she followed Bess, the horse would lead her back to the girls’ home and she could alert someone to come back with her.
    Sophie zoomed away, leaving Charlotte bent over the motionless body of her sister.

    Overtaking Bess, Sophie soared through a stone gateway that led to the stable courtyard.
    A young stableboy sat rubbing oil into a saddle girth. He jumped to his feet as the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the cobbled gateway. The chestnut pony skittered and shied, hooves slipping on the muddy cobbles.
    Sophie flew up to the boy.
    ‘There’s been an accident,’ Sophie cried. ‘Nell’s fallen.’
    The boy ignored her completely, as if she hadn’t spoken, interested only in Bess.
    ‘Duncan. Duncan. Coom quickly,’ he yelled. A weather-beaten gillie shuffled from a stall; his plaid and kilt were mud-stained and he had a stiff brush in his hand.
    ‘Och, Bess,’ Duncan scolded. The mare looked sheepishly at him and slithered to a stop, thrusting her snorting muzzle into his gentle, gnarled hands. He stroked her, keeping his voice low and soothing.
    ‘Quick, Angus lad. Luiks like the wee lassie has taken a tumble. Saddle up the grey mare for me and call Hamish in. Tell Hamish to fetch me laird and some o’ the house lads. And best tell Mary to make ready.’
    Young Angus ran to do the old gillie’s bidding. Sophie turned to Duncan, and clutched his arm.
    ‘I know where Nell is,’ she shouted. ‘I can show you.’
    Angus shivered as if her touch was cold, but did not answer, stooping to pick up the saddle Angus had abandoned. It was as though Sophie did not exist.
    The courtyard was quickly filled with the shouts of running men swiftly saddling horses. Alexander Mackenzie, Laird of Dungorm, strode from the house. Tall and imposing in his blue-and-green kilt, he had the assurance of one used to commanding.
    Angus the stable lad stood at the head of a large black gelding as Laird Mackenzie swung his leg into the saddle and signalled his retainers to join him.
    A gaggle of stableboys, gardeners and footmen followed, with four dogs excitedly sniffing at their heels. The old gillie, Duncan, set his grey mare to a trot and they headed out of the courtyard, through the chilly tunnel and out into the open countryside.
    ‘Duncan!’ Laird Mackenzie called. ‘Does anyone know where the lassies were riding today?’
    ‘Well, my laird,’ grunted Duncan, ‘I am no’ exactly sure as the wee lassies saddled the horses wi’out Angus.’
    Laird Mackenzie swore. ‘When I find those lassies they will feel the back of my strap,’ he roared. ‘How many times have I