My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  Her words echoed down the cavern’s walls. He was stunned by her defense. He had never had anyone defend him in such a manner. It made him wish to do the same for her.

  “We, neither of us, fit the mold set for us by our family,” he said softly, reaching over to hold her hand with both of his.

  “Aye,” she whispered. “We have strengths they canna understand.”

  He gently squeezed her hand, marveling at this new view of himself.

  “Ye’re not as bad as I thought ye were,” she confessed.

  “And ye have a more generous heart than I could possibly deserve. I am so sorry for the trouble I have caused ye. I have earned none o’ the grace ye’ve shown me.”

  “As Brother Luke quoted, ‘’tis not the well who need the doctor but the sick.’”

  “Aye, thank ye. I just never thought it applied to me.”

  “O’ course it does.”

  “There are few as lost as me,” admitted Core. Perhaps he had misjudged Jyne’s ability to forgive. Perhaps he was not such a bad fellow after all. Maybe he could tell her the truth of who he was, and she would understand. He had always lied to protect himself. Telling the truth was strange, but it would also be an amazing relief to reveal himself completely, if only he would not be rejected for it.

  “Jyne, I feel I must…ye have the right to know, though it will make ye hate me.”

  “I dinna hate ye anymore.”

  He sighed. “Ye will.” Though he hoped maybe she would not. Maybe she would understand. He did not want to hurt her with unwanted revelation, but she had the right to know. His heart beat in his throat as he tried to find the right words.

  “I’m no’ sure how to say this.” He released her hand and stood up. If he was going to make such a confession, at least he could do so on his feet. His knees might be a better choice, but she could not see him to appreciate the gesture.

  A scraping sounded beside him, and he guessed Jyne had also regained her feet.

  “The truth of it is—”

  “Wheesht. Stay still,” she suddenly hissed.

  “What? Why?”

  “I think I feel the breeze.”

  “A breeze?” Hope leaped in his heart. He turned around. “Where?”

  “Here!”

  He walked toward her, hands outstretched, and met with something soft.

  “Oh!”

  “Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sorry in the least.

  She grabbed his hand and held it up at a certain angle. “Do ye feel it?”

  He stood still, moving his hand slowly to try to feel what she felt. Was this an actual breeze, or was Jyne so desperate that her mind had started to play tricks on her? Ever so slightly, he felt it. A breath of something cool on his palm.

  “I feel it. I feel it!” Core grabbed Jyne and lifted her off her feet in a great embrace. He pressed her tight to him, needing to feel her warmth, needing to feel that they would escape. He remembered himself and relaxed his grip, holding her in a loose embrace. He expected her to pull away; she did not.

  He stroked a hand down her silky hair. She had lost her veil, so he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger and dropped his other arm around the small of her back, pressing her ever so slightly closer to him. He should let her go, but he couldn’t. He needed her.

  The breeze softly floated across his cheek. “I feel it,” he whispered.

  Thirty-four

  Jyne stood motionless in the arms of her enemy. She should pull away, but she gave in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing close to him and resting her cheek on his chest. He was a tall man, trim and strong. And he smelled nice. Familiar even. Like lavender.

  Like Cormac.

  She pushed herself away. What was she thinking? She must be light-headed due to lack of food. Perhaps she was losing her faculties. She needed to focus. She needed to stay strong if she was to escape this tomb.

  She reached up her hand to feel the gentle wisp of fresh air. “I believe it is this way.”

  They shuffled forward slowly, both feeling for the air current until it grew stronger. Jyne’s hopes soared. Maybe they would not die in this cavern after all.

  They shuffled forward until they came to the area of rocks blocking their path, yet the breeze continued to tease them, floating through cracks in the rocks that they could not pass.

  “Let us follow this faint current,” said Jyne. She let go of his hand and stumbled forward. She got down on hands and knees and climbed slowly, blindly, up the pile of debris. She found a large boulder blocking the path, but the air was coming from the side.

  Following the faint breeze like a lifeline, she climbed higher, until her head bumped against the ceiling. She moved along the edge of the rocks and ceiling, carefully picking herself along. She found a small ledge at the ceiling, from which the air was flowing.

  A scramble of rocks drawing nearer told her that MacLean was following her up the rocky pile. “Did ye find anything?”

  “I found a small ledge. The air is coming from it. I think I might be able to fit into it.” She lay on her stomach on the ledge and inched her way forward. She feared she might be high up and, for the first time, was glad she could not see. She hoped the ledge would hold her.

  “The air is definitely coming from this direction,” said Jyne. “Saints be praised, I feel a hole. If we could make it bigger, we might be able to get through.”

  “Let’s do it!” cried MacLean.

  Lying on her stomach on the ledge, Jyne pulled and scraped at the rocks and debris until her fingers ached and her back screamed in pain. It didn’t matter. Every small rock she pulled was one rock closer to freedom. Nothing could be more motivating.

  She pushed whatever debris she could down the ledge, and MacLean reached up beside her and scooped it away. Since the work was done by feel, there were times his hands brushed against her legs. She assumed it was accidental. There seemed to be a lot of accidents. Sometimes if he “accidentally” rested a hand on her ankle, she would “accidentally” toss a stone in his direction and be rewarded with a thump and an “Ow!”

  After a while, MacLean took a turn, sliding in on his stomach. The man was leaner than she had thought, and a good thing too, for a hefty man could not have fit.

  MacLean somehow managed to move his stones without hitting her, for which she was appreciative. It was hard to gauge the time without any light, but she knew they had been at it for quite a while. Every time she felt like stopping or possibly collapsing into sleep, she would feel the tantalizing breeze again, and she would redouble her efforts. She kept hoping to see even a pinprick of light, just a speck to let her know their efforts were making progress, but she saw none, and they continued to work in complete darkness.

  After a while, MacLean stopped his work. “There is a large rock here, hard to move. Can ye hand me my sgian dubh? ’Tis in my boot.”

  She felt for the knife and drew it, sliding it up to him. Scuffing and scraping echoed through the cave as MacLean worked on the rock, stirring up the fine dirt. Dust filled her nostrils, and she sneezed.

  “Bless ye,” said MacLean absently.

  Jyne knew at that moment he was not the hardened warrior he pretended to be. She sat back and leaned on the rocks, thinking of how much she had learned about him and how he was not at all what she had expected from a Highland warlord. She was very glad too, for otherwise, it would have been very unpleasant for her.

  MacLean grunted and swore under his breath. With some surprise, she realized it was the first time she had heard him swear. Unlike her brothers, who, as good-natured as they were, could roll off a curse as easily as taking a swig of whiskey.

  “Can ye move it?” she asked, more than a little anxious to know if they could be successful.

  He did not answer. Jyne crawled closer, hearing the sound of her gown tearing, a
gain. Her kirtle must be a complete loss, but it would all be worth it if they could escape…and it would not matter if they did not.

  Another grunt greeted her, and then nothing but the sound of him breathing hard in the darkness. “Nay, I canna move it.”

  Fear gripped her heart and squeezed hard. They were trapped. Trapped forever.

  No, there must be a way out.

  “Mayhap if we try together.” She crawled forward on top of his body into the small tunnel they had dug. This was one time it was beneficial to be slight of frame, for it was a tight squeeze, even for her. They had to find a way out. They just had to.

  Heat flushed through her to be pressing herself forward on top of MacLean’s back. She could feel every breath he took. She was sure he could feel hers. She wriggled forward until her head reached his.

  “Good day to ye,” he said in a cheeky manner that made her smile. “Friendly sort o’ lass ye are.”

  “Let us just move this stone.” She felt forward and found his hands wrapped around the hilt of his knife, the blade of which was jammed beside the rock like a lever to break it free.

  MacLean gave the word, and they both began to pull as hard as they could. MacLean grunted. She wrenched on the handle with all her might.

  Suddenly, the knife in her hands moved slightly. It was working!

  “Harder!” cried MacLean and grunted louder.

  Suddenly, the knife flew back, and the rock fell forward with a rumble of rocks and debris. Jyne tried to scream in fright of being buried alive, but her mouth and nostrils filled with fine dust, and she shut her mouth immediately, breathing into MacLean’s tunic. It was a familiar, comforting smell.

  As suddenly as it started, the rumbling stopped.

  “Are ye hurt?” he asked anxiously.

  “Nay, I thought we were going to be buried, but naught fell on me. Are we free, or buried further?”

  “Let me see,” he said with a cough. Jyne hoped he could see, for even the smallest glimmer of light would give her tremendous hope. “I canna see light, but I can feel the breeze. ’Tis stronger now. I think we have broken a hole through the wall.”

  “Truly?” She scrambled up over him a bit more, impatiently pulling aside her skirts, ignoring another rip. She felt a fresh breeze on her face. She breathed in deeply. The air was still filled with the dust of the cavern, but it was a cool, moving breeze, such a relief from the deathly stillness of the crypt.

  “We must have opened into another tunnel,” said MacLean. “But the moving air means that it opens somewhere to the outside.”

  “Is the opening big enough for us to get out?”

  “If it’s no’ now, we will make it so,” said MacLean with raw determination.

  She quite agreed with him. She flushed warm, which must have been the result of her excitement at finding freedom and had nothing to do with the man on whom she lay. They both pulled themselves forward to dig at the small opening and make it larger, tossing the rocks and debris down into the open hole.

  Despite her desperation to get out, she was constantly conscious of how her body was pressed against his. If she had any shred of dignity left her, she would not continue to lie on him, but she was near frantic to escape. They both clawed and scraped at the rocks until the opening was large enough for a person to shimmy through.

  “I believe we’ve done it. The hole is big enough for us to get through,” he said.

  “Aye,” she said, resting her head on his back.

  It was one thing to want to escape the cavern, another to contemplate lowering oneself through a hole in the wall into the black unknown. They did not know what lay on the other side or even how far down the drop might be.

  As if reading her thoughts, MacLean stilled, and they both listened in silence, trying to hear what might be on the other side. “Let us see what kind o’ fall we might have.” He scraped along the rocks, and Jyne guessed he was choosing one. She remained quiet until she could hear the slight plunk of the rock hitting the ground. Of course, she did not know when he had released the rock, so she had no way to judge whether it was a far or near distance.

  “Is it far?” she asked.

  “Nay, I think it will be fine. As much as I appreciate yer company, I may need ye to back up so I can turn around. Close quarters in here wi’ ye.”

  Her cheeks burned at the mention of her lying on top of him, though it was all done in the effort to escape. She scooched her way back down his body, growing ever conscious of his form. His plaid had rucked up in the progress of their escape, and she was very aware of sliding down over his naked thighs.

  When at last she was free of him, she could hear the scrapes and shuffles of him turning around in the narrow space.

  “Be careful,” she called out as she heard him knocking loose stones about, and she knew he was positioning himself to drop into the unknown.

  “Better to break my neck trying to escape than slowly starve to death,” said MacLean reasonably. He was clearly a pragmatic man.

  “Still better to proceed carefully and not break your neck at all,” she countered even more reasonably.

  “Aye, I like yer plan. Let’s do it yer way.”

  Jyne crawled forward once more until she reached his arms. She recognized that he had put his legs through the hole and was now holding on to the edge of the hole, about to let himself drop. “Can ye feel the ground?”

  “Nay. Shall we see what happens?”

  She leaned forward and, using her hands to guide her, planted a kiss on his cheek. It was a sudden impulse, and she was not entirely sure why she had done it. “For luck.” She hoped she had some luck to bestow to him.

  “Wi’ ye, I do feel lucky.” He let go.

  Jyne heard him land down below, but she could not tell how far he had fallen. “Are ye well?”

  “I’m all right. ’Twas no’ far.”

  Jyne released the breath she had been holding. They were at least escaping one of the tunnels, and she entertained hopes that they could find a way out entirely. She sent a prayer of thanks to her Maker, with an additional plea for help.

  “’Tis yer turn,” he called up to her.

  She felt for the opening of the hole and then moved around so that her legs were exiting first. She was glad it was pitch-black in the cavern, for her gown got stuck on rocks and hitched up in a most unladylike position. She squirmed her way out through the hole and felt a cool breeze across her bare backside. She wriggled some more to try to arrange her skirts to cover what they ought.

  “Are ye all right?” MacLean’s hands clasped her ankles.

  “Aye, I am fine,” she exclaimed, trying once more to rearrange her skirts so they hung appropriately. She no longer felt the incriminating breeze, but she was certain had anyone been able to see her, she would be decidedly less than decent.

  She lowered herself down, and his hands ran up her naked legs.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed.

  “My apologies. I canna see what I’m doing.”

  “But ye can certainly feel!” she chastised, hanging on to the rock, her legs dangling in midair.

  “Aye. Ye’re right as always. I am a bad man.” But he said it with relish.

  “Ye quite enjoyed that!”

  “Aye. I did.” There was a smile in his voice.

  “Ye’re a horrid man, and I will tell ye more o’ what I think o’ ye after ye help me to the ground.”

  “As ye wish.” His hands ran up her legs once more, this time on the outside of her skirts. “Let go.”

  She clung to the rock. Did she trust this man to catch her?

  “Let go o’ the rock. I winna let ye fall.”

  “Are ye sure?”

  “I swear to ye, I would ne’er hurt ye.”

  “Just take my home, steal the verra bread off my table…”

  “A
ye, all that and more. But I winna hurt ye. Let go, Lady Jyne. Ye shall no’ fall.”

  She let go and landed softly in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck instinctively. And they stayed there. He cradled her in his arms and held her close. All the stress and strain of the day overcame her, and she laid her head on his shoulder. They remained there much longer than they ought. She could not get herself to move or to demand to be put down. She felt good in his arms, like she fit.

  “Are no’ yer arms tired?” she finally asked.

  “Ye’re no’ heavy. Such a light little thing.” He did put her down, but his arm remained around her shoulders.

  Once again, she relaxed into him. He smelled good, with that familiar scent of lavender. With a snap of her head, she jerked back and out of his arms. What was she thinking? This was her enemy! Even if she had determined that he was not too horrible, still he was not deserving of her affection. Besides, she was in love with Cormac. Perhaps he had heard the sound of the blast and returned to Kinoch Abbey. Maybe even now, he was trying to rescue her. And how did she repay him? By embracing their enemy!

  “Ye did no’ fall,” he said softly.

  “Nay, but…but we ought not…”

  “We have escaped a chamber o’ certain death. I think we can share some gratitude.”

  Jyne relaxed her shoulders. MacLean was right. Their embrace was simply the natural reaction to their harrowing escape. It meant nothing, other than neither of them wished to slowly starve to death.

  “Where are we now?” she asked. It was time to get back to the business of escaping the cave.

  “I dinna ken, but I do feel the breeze. Shall we follow it?”

  “Indeed!” Fresh air meant freedom. Nothing else mattered right now.

  “Take my hand.” Somewhere in the darkness, he was extending his hand to her. She reached out toward his voice and found his hand. His fingers wrapped around hers, and she could not squelch the sense of safety that accompanied them. She wished she did not trust him so implicitly, but she did. Despite everything, she knew he would protect her. He might be a thief and a scoundrel, but he seemed to be an honest one.