The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  A sob wracked her. Beth, you’re too stupid to draw breath!

  Her fear that something dreadful—torture or rape—lurked only minutes away gave way to a new, far more compelling terror; that Duncan wouldn’t find her.

  What if Flora told Duncan she’d fallen into the sea? He’d search the coast, not his enemy’s keep. What if she’d told Duncan she’d run away? Would Duncan only search the roads? Her heart stuttered...oh God...what if he thought she’d deliberately slipped away from Flora so she could remove his ring and return to her own time?

  The very thought turned her blood to ice, nearly made her ill.

  Surely not.

  Surely, he knew she loved him and would never leave without a very good reason—and certainly not without saying goodbye. Her fingers found his ring. Out of habit she spun it, seeking comfort. She rubbed a fingertip across the small cabochon rubies, the first she’d ever worn. Her heart thudded when it slipped over the first joint.

  Good Lord! She could remove it if need be. She had a means of escape.

  Her breath hitched as she pressed the ring into place, closer to her heart.

  Did Duncan realize how much she loved him even though she hadn’t said so?

  Fresh tears made mud along her right jaw as it rested on the floor. Why the hell had she waited to say, “I love you,” wanting him to say it first? And why the hell hadn’t he said it?

  As hour after silent hour passed, she decided she would not—short of dying—slip the ring from her finger. She would face the devil if need be, but had to cling to the hope he would eventually find her. She also resolved that if she did survive, she would declare her love the moment she laid eyes on Duncan’s handsome face. Then she’d swat him—-hard—for putting her through this agony.

  She started to cry again. As another muddy puddle formed under her cheek, she wondered how she could still have tears. She’d not had a drop to drink in what felt like forever.

  ~#~

  Angus pointed to the ground. “Three horses, my lord, one carrying a heavier burden than the rest.” He pointed to a flat, muddy print. “One has foundered.”

  They were in Bruce territory. Duncan, sweat running down his back and chest, only nodded and kicked Ransom’s flanks.

  With every step Ransom took, Duncan prayed he’d find Beth safe. He had come to depend on her smile, her gentle hands, even her odd ways. Just knowing she would be at his side, that she’d willingly accept his babe, he’d been able to face all she’d told him of his future. But what if she was truly lost to him? Would he be able to brave his future? He didn’t think so.

  Hell, he wasn’t even sure how much longer he could suck air into his chest if she wasn’t around to breathe the same air.

  Lud, why has this happened? Why hadn’t he seen it coming?

  “My liege, ahead.” Angus pointed above the tree line toward the Bruce’s stronghold.

  “Line up four abreast, shields and swords at the ready. Jacob, do ye have any questions or worries?”

  “Nay, my lord.” The lad straightened in the saddle as he sat behind Sean and thudded his chest.

  “‘Tis a brave lad ye are, son.” Satisfied all was in readiness, Duncan said, “Then sound the trumpets. Let the sneaky bastard know we arrive in force like real men.”

  ~#~

  “How many?” John the Bruce asked.

  “Only twenty, my lord, all mounted.”

  “Order double their number around the bailey. Then drop the bridge and bid the MacDougall enter.”

  “Aye, my Lord.”

  Finally.

  It had taken ten long years to bring Duncan MacDougall to his knees, but he’d done it. By the next full moon his enemy would have naught but the tunic on his back. No wife, no keep, no lands and no clan.

  All would become Bruce holdings, though he had no use for the plain wife. He hoped Lady Beth would die quickly. He might have use for the dungeon if the MacDougall balked.

  The Black, looking furious, strode into the Bruce’s hall with his full contingent.

  “John, I dinna want to hear dissembling. I want my wife.”

  “Your wife?” John smiled and picked up the tankard at his elbow. “Have ye lost yet another one, MacDougall?”

  The Black growled, his hand instinctively moving for his sword. Thirty Bruce men stepped forward drawing their own steel. MacDougall men did the same.

  The Bruce stood and waved his clansmen down. “We’ll have no blood shed over a simple misunderstanding.”

  Standing before an empty hearth, he invited Duncan to sit, motioning toward the high-backed chair next to his own. “I already have a wife, who ye have no doubt heard is doing her verra best to render me wode. Why the hell would I want yer Lady Beth?”

  Duncan, ignoring his invitation to sit, growled, “We tracked the men who took her onto your lands.”

  “Ye may well have, but they dinna stop here.” He came forward. “MacDougall, think on it. If I had yer woman, would I have let the bridge down?”

  The Black stared at him. “Do ye swear on yer eldest bairn’s head that ye don’t have her?”

  The Bruce hesitated for only a heartbeat before saying, “I swear. Now, come and quench ye thirst before ye take leave to search again.”

  Duncan almost smiled. The bastard would rue the day he swore that oath. As planned, Duncan made a show of shedding his brilliant blue doublet and hood so all would remember what he wore. “My men need drink, as do our mounts.”

  “Of course.” As the Bruce ordered the horses tended and the ale served, Duncan’s men—save Jacob, who had positioned himself near a far doorway—-wandered, clanging and banging around the great hall as they found places among their enemies. On Duncan’s silent command Angus rudely bumped chest-first into one of the Bruce men. Growling, both reached for their dirks.

  When Angus swore at the man, Duncan yelled, “Enough Angus! Stand down.” As he’d hoped, all eyes turned toward the men-at- arms in confrontation.

  The Bruce repeated the command to his own man.

  Within minutes all had settled within the hall though it was painfully apparent none were comfortable.

  ~#~

  “Psst!”

  Beth forced opened her swollen eyelids, not sure if she’d heard a real voice or one her imagination had conjured out of desperation.

  “Psst. Up here, my lady.”

  She rolled onto her back and stared up the shaft. “Jacob?” She started to cry. “Oh, thank God!”

  “Sssh!” He looked over his shoulder before addressing her again.

  “Move to the side, my lady, so I might drop a blade. Our liege will never forgive me should I kill ye.”

  “He’s here?”

  “Aye, my lady, but move quickly afore I get caught.”

  Relief and hope jump-started her tears again, but Beth did as she was told. Within a heartbeat she heard the blade’s thump.

  She almost laughed seeing Rachael’s silver sgian dubh lying only inches from her nose. When she looked up to ask when Duncan would come, Jacob had disappeared.

  Deciding it didn’t matter so long as he knew she was alive, she rolled around until she got the blade into her hands.

  Her numb fingers fumbled repeatedly.

  God, please.

  To her relief, she felt the intricate carving of the hilt. She started sawing at the bindings at her back and prayed she wasn’t slitting her own wrists.

  ~#~

  When Duncan spotted Jacob’s worried countenance peeking around the far doorway, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to heaven—the lad had not been caught snooping below—and put down his tankard.

  “Bruce, I thank ye, but we have imposed on yer hospitality long enough. Given the hour ‘tis best we return to MacDougall land. Say a prayer my lady is somewhere safe.” As if it were an afterthought he added, “And say one for the bastards who took her for they willna see another sunrise once I find them.”

  He stood and hit his half-full tankard with the back of his hand
. As metal clanged against the stone hearth all eyes turned toward him, and Jacob slid unnoticed back into the room. When the lad thumped a fist to his chest, Duncan’s heart stuttered. The lad had found Beth. Alive. Had he not, he reassured himself, surely the lad would be greeting.

  It took all his control to calmly lead his men en mass through the torch lit bailey lined with watchful Bruce men-at-arms and into the stables where their horses waited.

  In a dark corner of the stable Duncan yanked off his doublet and hood and threw it at Angus, who just as quickly jerked off the coiled rope he wore beneath his plaid.

  “Our lady?” he hissed.

  Jacob, donning Angus’s cloak, whispered. “The dungeon, m’lord. She’s a woeful sight but alive.”

  “Praise God.” Duncan, breast soaked with sweat, then silently pledged to bring The Bruce to his maker at the first opportunity.

  He cast a glance at Angus now dressing in his doublet and cape. Rope in hand, Duncan whispered, “Thank ye, lad. Now into Angus’s helm and garb with ye.”

  While Jacob was hoisted onto Angus’s mount, Duncan slipped deeper into the barn’s shadows. He took a deep breath and prayed his men safe as Angus, now hooded and riding Ransom, led his men out into the bailey proper.

  Without a backward glance Angus and the clansmen formed up into a column of three abreast and road out under the raised portcullis.

  Chapter 28

  The minutes felt like hours and the hours like days for Beth as she tried to rub the circulation back into her hands and feet. She started hearing heavy footsteps above her. Praying it was Duncan but not knowing that it was, she hurriedly assumed her trussed position just in case.

  When she thought the guard might be peering into her cell, feeling parched and nearly frozen, she pleaded for water and a blanket.

  The man chuckled, “Ah, so ye wake.”

  A moment later a bucket of cold, rancid water splashed on her head. As she gasped and fought to keep her freed hands locked behind her and away from the suffocating mask, she was assaulted with a long string of expletives that called hers and Duncan’s paternity into question.

  When the guard left, she ripped the mask from her face, sucked in some much needed air and mumbled a few rich curses of her own. She then realized she didn’t feel the need to cry anymore. She certainly couldn’t credit her lack of tears to courage. No. The peace she now felt came from simply knowing Duncan was close and he’d come as soon as he could.

  She scooted away from the muddy spot she’d been lying in. To pass the time she pictured a calendar in her mind. She counted the days she been Mrs. MacDougall and counted the days since her last menstrual period, something she’d been avoiding since seeing Wee Mary give birth. Thirty-seven. No, that couldn’t be right. Regular as a Swiss timepiece, her cycle ran twenty-eight days. Chewing her bottom lip, she started counting again.

  ~#~

  The time passed with interminable slowness while Duncan waited impatiently for the Bruce stronghold to settle for the night. Like Blackstone and the Campbell’s Dunstaffnage keep, this keep’s only obvious entrance was from the bailey. Had he someone to watch his back he might have tried to find the secret entrance, but he hadn’t the luxury and time was fleeing.

  All finally appeared quiet by the time the moon passed the mid-point on its journey across the sky—its cool light cast only on the west and north faces of the battlements. He took a deep breath and slipped from the stable. Keeping to the shadows, he ran for the keep’s covered doorway.

  He pressed the latch. As he’d hoped, the door had been left unlocked for the night guards who’d been coming and going at well-spaced intervals. He pulled it open a few inches and blessed the man who kept the hinges oiled. Hearing no movement in the great hall above and none below where the dungeon lay, he slipped into the keep.

  He crept to the lowest level. Assuming the Bruce had captured Beth for ransom, he’d not expected Jacob to find her below. He’d told the lad to look in the dungeon simply to eliminate it. Duncan had fully expected to spend the night searching tower rooms. That he didn’t have to hunt above spoke volumes about the Bruce’s intent—for which he’d pay dearly.

  Spying a guard dozing on the bottom step, just feet from the dungeon’s grate, Duncan slowed. Taking one cautious step at a time he stole closer. He then placed his dirk on the man’s throat and pressed. As he’d hoped, the man jerked awake. ‘Twas verra important to him that the cretin know who would take his life.

  Grabbing a fist full of hair, he wrenched the man’s head back, glared into his surprised eyes, and sliced. The man gurgled as his life’s blood spewed across the stairwell coating the walls crimson. Spying the keys hanging from a hook above the man, Duncan kicked him forward and off the steps.

  The way clear and the keys in hand, Duncan peeked into the dark hole.

  “Psst.” He worked the key into the lock and lifted the well-oiled cover of his wife’s prison. “Beth.” He heard no movement below and the blood drained from his head.

  Please, God, dinna let her be dead.

  In a voice just above a whisper he called, “For God’s sake, woman, if ye be alive, wake ye.”

  She rolled over, opened her eyes and smiled. “It’s about time.”

  He grinned for the first time in hours. Lord, she was a wonder. “I need drop a rope to ye. Can ye climb it?”

  Crouching, she shook her head. “I don’t know—-ken. I can try.”

  “We dinna have time for tryin’.” He tied a loop on one end of the rope before dropping it over the edge. “Stick yer foot in the loop and hold tight.”

  Pulling seven stones dead weight straight up from a depth of twenty feet without jerking or grunting became no easy matter. By the time she was in his arms, he was drenched in sweat.

  She threw her arms around his neck the moment she cleared the opening. “Oh, Duncan! I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again and I wanted you to—”

  He kissed her soundly, in relief that she was alive and to hush her up. “Lass, we have much to say to each other, but now isna the time.” He took a tight hold on her hand and started toward the stairs. She gasped and then faltered seeing the guard and pool of blood on the lower steps. He put an arm about her and forced her forward. He then led her on silent feet up the stairs.

  He peeked out the bailey door. “When I tug yer hand, we run.” He felt rather than saw Beth nod.

  The three-quarter moon lit the north side of the stronghold. Beyond the steep south wall with its boulder footing lay the orchard and within it Angus and their mounts. But first he had to get her up onto the curtain wall where he could throw the rope over one of the crenels and lower her to the ground.

  He waited until the guards settled into conversation then jerked her hand. Crouching, they ran to the right and quickly mounted the steps.

  Gaining the top unnoticed, he pulled her close and pointed to the farthest point on the south wall. She nodded. Scurrying past an archer’s quiver, he picked it up.

  Looping one end of the hemp line around the quiver and bracing it against the battlement aperture, he threw the rope over the wall only to see it fall a good four yards short of the ground. He cursed staring at the boulders below. Even grasping the very end of the rope, he’d have to fall a yard.

  He grunted. There wasn’t a thing he could do about lengthening the rope now. His decision made, he glanced at the occupied guards before saying, “On my back, lady, ‘tis time.”

  Gaping at him, Beth hissed, “You aren’t serious?” She peeked over the edge. “Ohmygod.”

  “Make haste, woman, or all is lost.”

  Realizing he was right, Beth threw her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.

  When she opened them seconds later, she wished she hadn’t. Only his hands, wrapped in tartan as they clung to the rope, held them suspended four stories in the air. Then without warning he loosened his hold and the ground came rushing toward her.

  Duncan’s feet hit the boulders. He rolled to protect her but
she still cracked her head and left shoulder on granite.

  Dazed, she struggled to sit. “Are you okay?”

  “Aye, but we best—-”

  “HALT! Who goes there?”

  A torch suddenly flared above them, then another. Like gargoyles, the silhouetted guards leaned over the battlements as they strained to see into the darkness.

  Before she could gasp in horror, Duncan yanked her to her feet. Holding her to his side, he hauled her at pell-mell speed over the rocks. She bit into her lip to keep from crying out as she twisted an ankle.

  “Halt ye!” The blast of a trumpet and pounding feet echoed off the granite walls at their backs.

  Clutching her by the waist, he started running across the clearing. “Hie, now!”

  She thought, “How?” He’d lifted her off her feet as dozens of arrows began raining around their heads.

  With him holding her as he did, she could do little more than breathe and keep her gown out from under his feet as he carried her at a breakneck pace toward the tree line.

  Though clouds now masked the moon, he didn’t slow down once they reached the grove, but continued at a dead run down a well-worn path.

  She soon understood why. The roar of the drawbridge crashing into place was quickly followed by the sounds of braying hounds and yelling men. Fearing they had only moments left before the howling lymers would run them down, she clung tight to Duncan and prayed.

  The air was then infused with the sent of ripe pears. An owl screeched and Duncan immediately swung to the right. “This way.”

  Was he kidding? Her feet hadn’t hit the ground once in the last three minutes.

  “Here!” someone called.

  Duncan immediately dodged around a heavily laden tree. She spotted Angus, mounted, holding Ransom’s reins.

  “Hie now,” Angus whispered.

  Ransom, agitated by the closing lymers and sounds of impending battle, terrified her as he pranced and snorted in place. Apparently realizing she wasn’t about to get any closer to the beast, Duncan let go of her hand, grabbed Ransom’s reins, and leaped. To her relief, the moment he swung into the saddle, the horse stilled.