Tasara nodded before disappearing into her room.
Dashing to the chair, Isobel wedged its back below the handle. It wasn’t large or sturdy enough to keep anyone out for long, but it might buy her a jot of time. She didn’t dare waste a second. Angus might send for her at any moment.
After untying the dagger from her thigh, she snatched up her blanket. Why hadn’t she thought of cutting it into strips?
Terror, hunger, and a concussion might have a whit to do with the oversight.
Isobel’s heart whooshed in her ears, and her fingers seemed thick as sausages as she worked. Dear God, she must hurry, or else . . .
Once she’d tied the pieces together, she stood on one end and yanked each knot to tighten it. A gnat’s antenna couldn’t pass between them now, and the ties would provide handholds as she descended.
Flying back to the window with the blanket’s remnants, Isobel cast a hurried glance to the sky. Clouds pregnant with moisture drooped low. Her escape would be that much more difficult, trying to hide her trail on the sodden ground.
“Tasara, I’m done.”
Tasara immediately poked her head out her casement.
“I’ve tied mine off to the bed.” She flung her rope over the sill. “See, almost halfway.”
Reeling the material up, she formed the length into a ball.
“Catch.” She lobbed the makeshift rope at Isobel. The wad fell short.
Isobel smothered a groan as she speared an anxious glance to her chamber door.
More time wasted.
Determination carved on her face, Tasara compressed her lips and removed her bracelets. After looping a scarf through the clinking metal, she knotted the ends and heaved the line again.
Bracing her legs against the wall and gripping the casement, Isobel leaned out as far as she dared and snatched the rope with her free hand as it unfurled.
Grinning, Tasara gave a little triumphant clap.
Isobel removed the bracelets then secured the two lines together. Taking a deep breath, she lowered the rope. At least ten feet remained between the end and the ground. However, once she hung directly below Tasara’s window, there would be a few more feet hanging horizontally.
Not too bad. She stood over five feet, making the drop nearly insignificant.
As long as I manage without falling.
She pulled the cord into her window, daring to entertain a glimmer of hope.
“I’m going to change shoes. What should I do with your bracelets?” Isobel held up the trinkets.
“Throw them out the window. They aren’t valuable, and if you leave them in your room, the Blackhalls will know for sure that I helped you.” Tasara inspected the ground and pointed. “Maybe over there, in that tall grass.”
Once she’d kicked off the embroidered silk slippers, Isobel stuffed her feet into her half-boots. Worrying her lower lip, she laced them with trembling fingers.
Heights so frightened her that as a child she hadn’t climbed trees. But she had scaled the rocks and that hadn’t bothered her. Climbing out a window and poking along a narrow ledge wasn’t so very different.
Balderdash.
Pressing her hands to her cavorting middle, Isobel sucked in a bracing breath. She had to do this. Angus would kill her if he discovered she wasn’t Lydia.
After sliding her dagger into her boot, she glanced around the room. A leftover piece of cheese and hunk of bread sat on the plate. She wrapped them in her cloak before hurrying to the window and dropping the bundle to the ground. The lump landed soundlessly.
“Isobel, wrap the rope around your back and underneath your arms and tie it in front.” Tasara demonstrated what she wanted Isobel to do. “You will be more secure, and the line should be long enough.”
Should be?
Isobel swiftly secured the cord as Tasara had suggested. She did feel somewhat safer, though fear of slamming into the stones continued to plague her.
She pressed her lips together. There was nothing for it. Risk her life escaping or risk Angus forcing her to marry him and then discovering her true identity. At least the former offered her a slim chance at life.
The latter, none at all.
She tossed the extra line over her shoulder then clutched the sill with one hand. She shoved her gown above her knees before gingerly climbing onto the opening.
Oh, my God!
Turning sideways, she eased through the crevice. The fit proved snug. The stones snagged her gown and scraped her skin, forcing her to wriggle to free herself.
Damned wide hips.
Terrified, she clutched the casement. One slip, and . . .
Biting her lip, she cautiously wiped her damp palms on the dress, one at a time. A cold sweat dampened her upper lip and forehead.
“You can do it, Isobel,” Tasara assured encouragingly.
Surely Isobel’s thundering heart had alerted all within five miles of her intent. The Blackhalls undoubtedly streaked to the back of the keep at this very moment.
Grasping the knot below her breasts with one hand, she groped the craggy exterior with the other and inched along the strip, determined not to look down.
Step by petrifying step, she crept along, the minutes dragging as if the hands of time had slowed.
“A few more steps and you will be directly in front of my window,” Tasara promised. An eternity later, she touched Isobel’s ankle. “I’ll help you inside. How does that sound?”
Positively horrid.
“Fine.” The strangled croak Isobel forced past her stiff lips clearly indicated otherwise. After this, she wouldn’t set foot anywhere taller than herself again.
Ever.
A minute later, she stood quaking inside Tasara’s chamber.
The gypsy’s gorgeous eyes swam with tears, and she embraced Isobel. “I don’t know another woman as brave-hearted.”
“Bravery had nothing to do with it. Desperation did.” Isobel wiped the sweat from her face. “That is the most God-awful thing I have ever had to do.”
The children slept on, their cherub mouths partly open, oblivious to the drama playing out beside them.
At least descending the rope, she would face the stones and couldn’t see how blasted far the drop was. “Let’s be about it. I want to be well and gone before my disappearance is discovered. What about you? They will know you helped me when they see the rope.”
Tasara sent an anxious glance to her brother and sister. “I can untie the rope and then drop it outside. If you hide the line, they will have no proof.”
Isobel had no idea where she would stuff the crude rope, but Tasara had risked much to help her. “Yes, that will do. I shall hide it in the woods somewhere.”
Tasara’s hand on her arm stayed Isobel.
“I know my father or others of my clan are near. Find them in the forest, and they will help you to your people.” A tear crept from the edge of her eye.
She brushed the droplet away. “Our troop is not large enough, nor do we have the weapons to fight these . . . these vafedi mush, evil men. Perhaps you know someone who can help us?”
Isobel nodded. “My brother is Ewan McTavish, laird of—”
“Craiglocky.” Hope glimmered in Tasara’s eyes. “All the brethren know of Laird McTavish.”
The children started to stir from their naps, and Isobel hugged Tasara again. “Ewan will help, and one of his greatest friends is England’s War Secretary. Lord Ramsbury won’t hesitate to assist my brother in any manner he is able.”
If Yancy is alive.
Now wasn’t the time to think of that. More than her life hung in the balance. She must make good her escape for the Faas’s sake too.
Once more, she clambered onto a window ledge. “Are you sure you are strong enough to lower me? I could
try to slide down the rope.”
Tasara already busied herself wrapping the crude rope around a bedpost. “I’ll use the post for leverage.”
Isobel gave one sharp nod, not trusting herself to speak.
God, if you let me survive this, I shall never seek an adventure again.
Chapter 20
God’s bones!
Yancy gaped, unable to believe Isobel dangled outside the castle from a . . . He squinted. He had no idea what the mismatched glomeration she hung from consisted of.
Isobel would get herself killed.
Silly, brave fool.
His heart kicked viciously behind his ribs, threatening to crack them, one by one, as every ounce of blood he possessed pooled in his boots. Did all the Ferguson sisters wish to send the men who loved them to an early grave?
Leaning from her window, the gypsy helped Isobel. She slowly eased the pathetic excuse for a rope encircling Isobel along the keep’s side.
Yancy spun to the traveller. “Balcomb, do you have a horse? Do you know where the village is?”
Eyes wide and worried, his gaze fixed on Isobel, the gypsy swallowed and jerked his head up and down.
“Look for Viscount Sethwick. Tell him what’s happened. He’s a friend.” He yanked his signet ring from his finger. “Give him this.”
Yancy sprinted to Skye.
And please, God, let Sethwick be there.
Yancy leapt into the saddle, his focus trained on the blue form inching down the castle on the improvised rope. “So help me God, Isobel, I shall spank that luscious bum of yours myself.”
Yancy kicked Skye’s sides, and they burst, ventre a terre, belly to ground, from the woods. His pulse beating every bit as loudly as the horse’s hooves pounding beneath him, he mouthed a silent prayer. With every heartbeat, he expected Isobel to plummet to the ground. And he wouldn’t be there to catch her.
Anyone could see him tearing like a man possessed across the moor. It mattered not. Isobel’s life literally hung in balance. Jaw clenched so tight his back teeth ached, he thundered toward her.
He must reach her in time.
She used her feet to keep from knocking into the rugged exterior while holding on to the rope. Every now and again, she would look upward as if speaking to the gypsy. As she neared the first floor level, the cloth under her arms gave way.
Her terrified shriek raked across his heart.
I’m not going to make it.
Yancy gnashed the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood to check the cry that surged to his lips. If he startled Isobel, she might let go.
Kicking her legs, she clutched the swinging rope with one hand. She swung precariously and slammed into the keep’s stones. Somehow, she managed to grasp the cord with her other hand.
The air surged from Yancy’s lungs. By God, if she survived this, he would shake her until her perfect teeth rattled. And afterward, he would hug her until she squealed, and then kiss her breathless.
She wouldn’t leave his sight again, and once they had married, he vowed she would curtail this rebellious bent. She would be too exhausted from his constant bedding to entertain risky ideas of any sort.
Practically lying in the saddle, Yancy urged the gelding, “Come on, Skye. Faster.”
As if sensing his master’s alarm, the horse lengthened his strides, flying across the heath.
Almost there.
All at once, dread frozen on her face, Isobel peered over her shoulder. Her eyes grew round as twin moons. A large purplish-blue bruise covered most of one cheek and dried blood congealed on her split and swollen lower lip.
So great was Yancy’s urge to kill, his gut knotted tighter than a hangman’s noose, and a red haze blinded him.
“Yancy.” Isobel smiled, that dazzling, mind-numbing curving of bow-shaped lips that rendered a man incapable of coherent thought.
Arms outstretched, he rode underneath her. “Let go. I’ll catch you.”
“No, I am too heavy.” She shook her head, eyes now squeezed tight as a pickpocket’s fist. “I’m not a small woman, and I’ll hurt you.”
“Damn it, Isobel. Let go! We’ve got mere minutes to flee.” He softened his voice. “I promise, darling, you’re not large at all, and I’ll not let you fall.”
Her pink mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise. She released the rope and plopped in an ungraceful tangle of skirts into his lap.
Yancy seized her in his arms and planted a fierce, possessive kiss on her unbruised cheek. Cupping her face, he rested his forehead against hers.
“So help me God, Isobel, I lost twenty years from my life in the past few days, and ten of those in the last couple of minutes alone.”
“You are alive.” Bursting into tears, she twined her arms around his neck and buried her face in his throat. “You are really alive.”
He folded her into his embrace, breathing her in.
Violent sobs wracked her as her tears soaked his neckcloth. “I thought you had been killed.”
He kissed her hair, savoring the gift of holding her in his arms. Wonder rendered him mute. Had she grieved for him? The rope thumped Yancy atop the head, and he craned his neck upward.
“As joyous as your reunion is, you must go.” Balcomb’s daughter peered over the ledge. “Someone could come at any moment. Please hide the rope.”
She pointed behind Skye. “Isobel’s cloak is just there.”
With a quick kiss to her nose, Yancy shifted Isobel off his lap. He turned her face to his and stared into her glistening eyes. “Stay on the horse, but scoot back and sit astride.”
She gave a tiny nod and managed a wan smile.
He dismounted and after gathering the rope, ran to Isobel’s wrap. In less than a minute, he returned and shoved everything into her arms. He vaulted into the saddle then peered upward once more.
“Miss Faas, your father has gone for help. Isobel’s brother is coming.” Yancy swung Skye away from the castle. “We cannot wait for him. It’s too dangerous.”
A child’s cry echoed within the chamber.
“God go with you.” With a wave, she disappeared inside.
“Isobel, hold on tight. We ride hard. We’ll rid ourselves of the rope, and you can put your cloak on once we’ve put some distance behind us.”
She obediently clasped her arms around his waist. Her breasts, pressing into his back, created a lovely, but unwanted, distraction.
With a click of his tongue and a kick of his heels to Skye’s sides, they plunged toward the forest. Any second, he expected to hear a cry of alarm or feel a lead ball pierce his flesh. Fear of discovery looming mile after frantic mile, Yancy pushed Skye to the end of the faithful horse’s endurance.
The heavens opened up. Though the shower was short-lived, the torrential rains soaked them through. As if contrite for their poor behavior earlier, the clouds then drifted apart and allowed the moon and stars to emerge.
The meager light they provided permitted him to travel far into the night. Hours later, utterly exhausted, Yancy searched for a place to stop to rest.
No warning had sounded as they raced from Blackhall lands, and as near as he could tell, no one trailed them. Hopefully, that meant Sethwick had stormed the stronghold and killed the bastards who’d abducted Isobel.
Still, wisdom decreed caution. Sethwick mightn’t have arrived, in which case, until Yancy had Isobel nestled safely at Craiglocky again, he feared for their lives. The greater distance he put between Dounnich House and them, the better.
Snuggled against his back, Isobel shivered.
They had discarded the rope over a cliff and eaten the bread and cheese while moving. Hunger gnawed, but he refrained from breaking into the last of his stores.
“They thought I was Lydia.” Isobel shifted and pre
ssed closer. “Somebody at Craiglocky helped them.”
She had to be freezing. He certainly was. Then her words registered. “At Craiglocky? Do you have any idea who?”
“No, but there were two travellers with the men who captured me. Somehow, all this ties in with Tasara, the gypsy girl.” She sneezed then sneezed again. “Excuse me.”
“Bless you.” Had Isobel caught a chill?
“MacHardy’s behind my abduction.” Shaking, she snuggled closer. “He intended to force Lydia into marrying him for Tornbury’s lands.”
Yancy stiffened, ire heating his blood, but he forced a calm response. “I deduced as much.”
“But Angus—I don’t know his surname—he betrayed MacHardy and decided to marry me—that is—Lydia himself. He’d arranged for the ceremony to take place tonight.”
Yancy choked back a foul oath. “God’s blood, if I had been any later.”
“But you weren’t. You saved me.” She tightened her embrace. “I wouldn’t have gotten far on foot and when Angus learned who I was—”
An incoherent sound, part oath, part snarl escaped Yancy.
Isobel burrowed tighter to his back, trembling harder. “He’s evil, Yancy. He would have killed me and not blinked twice.”
Such dread choked her voice, he almost missed her calling him by his given name. Aching to hold her in his arms and erase her fear, he brought Skye to a halt. Had they traveled far enough? Did they dare stop for a few hours’ rest?
Skye groaned.
They must. The horse could carry them no farther. Yancy loved the beast too much to risk killing him in their flight. “I had hoped to find some sort of shelter, but my horse is done in. We’ll have to make do under the trees. I have blankets and the rain has ceased.”
For now. One could acquire a fortune wagering on rainfall in Scotland as autumn approached. “I should warn you. The squirrels in these parts are crotchety little buggers.”
Virtue and Valor: Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series Page 15