Highland Lover

by Hannah Howell

  Alana said nothing, just subtly pressed a little closer to him. For warmth, she told herself. She was not sure she believed all his kind reassurances, but they were comforting all the same. The urge to have a screaming, hair-pulling fit lurked inside of her, but his presence helped cage it. Alana did not think it would be wise to tell him so, however. If nothing else, it would not be fair or kind to put the weight of such a responsibility upon his broad shoulders. There was a good chance he was using her presence in a similar way, so there was no need to belabor the matter.

  For a fleeting moment, she wished she had never left home, and then she accepted the fact that she simply could not have continued to wait for some word from her sister. Hearing that Keira was a widow, that her home had been taken by a man whose evil reputation was widespread, and then hearing nothing from her for months had been hard to bear. Her fear for her sister had grown stronger with each day that passed without word or sight of Keira, only more rumors and all of them bad. The only thing that had kept Alana from blindly rushing off to find her twin immediately was the feeling that Keira was still alive. That and her dreams.

  She frowned as she realized she had had no dreams of her twin since setting out after her brothers. That should trouble her more than it did, yet she simply could not believe that Keira was dead. Alana still felt drawn toward her sister and suspected she would begin to sense in exactly what direction to go once she was free again. Yet it was odd that, in all other ways, she had lost that bond she and Keira had shared all of their lives. It made her feel intensely alone, and she pressed even closer to Gregor.

  “Troubled, lass?” he asked.

  “Nay, not truly,” she lied, still uncertain if she should tell him exactly why she had been alone and such easy prey for the Gowans. “I think the chance to escape is so tantalizing, I fear to let myself believe in it too much.”

  Gregor idly rubbed his hand up and down her slender arm. “I think I ken what ye mean. Now that we have a plan, we must face the daunting possibility of failure.”

  She nodded, feeling the soft wool of his plaid rub her cheek. Alana knew just how bitter failure tasted. Her arrogant plan to lead her brothers to their sister had been a failure of monumental proportions. It was something that still stung her pride and puzzled her as well. She really should not have failed so badly. All her skills and gifts had deserted her, and that made no sense. It was as if whatever power had granted them had abruptly taken them away, but she did not understand why.

  Alana inwardly shrugged. She could still sense that her twin was alive, could not believe that the other half of her was gone forever. There had to be some purpose to it all, some reason God and fate were conspiring to keep her from joining her sister at this time. Perhaps Keira needed to pass some test, to learn some great truth about herself, and having her twin at her side could make that difficult. Or, she mused, perhaps she needed to pass a test. Alana did not like that idea at all and hastily asked for Keira’s forgiveness for hoping it was her sister who was being tested. Keira was pretty, kind, and clever, much more able to pass such a test of her spirit and courage.

  Although she loved her sister dearly, felt that Keira was truly her best friend and ally, Alana ruefully admitted to herself that she often suffered the pinch of envy concerning Keira. Keira was the one who looked so much like the matriarch of their family, being vividly beautiful with her black hair, fair skin, and green eyes. Alana was little and brown. Keira had the true gift of healing whereas Alana was just a good healer, using knowledge and skill well but lacking the touch and strong instincts Keira had been blessed with. Keira had the sight. Alana only had a bond with her twin that occasionally stirred dreams and strong intuitions. Although neither of them had a bad temper, Keira was the gentler one, the sweeter one. Alana knew her tongue could be as sharp as a knife’s edge. Although she knew it was nonsense, knew she was as beloved by her family as Keira was, Alana occasionally felt that, as the second born, she had entered the world in Keira’s shadow and had never left it. She sighed, dismayed by her own foolishness.

  “That was a mournful sound, lass,” Gregor said. “Are ye sure ye arenae troubled?”

  “Nay, I am just thinking on how long we must wait until we may try to escape,” she lied, embarrassed by her thoughts.

  Gregor did not need to see clearly to know he was being lied to, but he did not press her. “Weel, what say ye to a game of chess to pass the time?” he asked, leaning back against the wall and tugging her along with him.

  “Aye, I am prepared to beat ye soundly yet again,” she said. “Ye may make the first move.”

  “How gracious ye are,” he drawled, suspecting her confidence was warranted, as he had not won a game yet.

  He closed his eyes, pictured his much-prized chess set in his mind, and struggled to decide upon his first move. If he was very lucky, he might take longer to lose this time. His victory could then be found in keeping them both well occupied during the too-long wait ahead of them.

  Alana lay sprawled on top of a cursing Gregor and struggled to catch her breath. It was obviously going to take them a while to learn the trick to it all, to gain the strength and balance to act as one while she stood upon Gregor’s shoulders. Her only consolation was that he was not any better at it than she was. He could hold her up well when she stood still, but the moment she attempted to move the heavy iron grate, he lost that control. The first three times she fell he had caught her easily enough. This time, however, even that had gone wrong.

  “I think four times is enough for tonight,” Gregor said, trying to will away the pain in his head, which had hit the hard ground with enough force to bring him perilously close to unconsciousness.

  “I concur,” Alana replied in a voice still hoarse and unsteady after having all the breath knocked out of her. “Mayhap on the morrow, betwixt meals, we should practice moving about whilst I am on your shoulders.”

  “Might be wise.”

  Forcing herself to move off him, Alana sprawled at his side. “We need to learn to move as one—one verra tall person.”

  Gregor briefly laughed. “Aye. Holding ye up there isnae so hard. Standing as steady as the floor whilst ye struggle to move that cursed grate will require some practice. Do ye think ye can move it aside?”

  “Aye. ’Tis heavy, true enough, but I can do it. I must needs figure out how to push it aside without toppling us is all. There is a trick to it, I am certain of it.”

  “Fine, then. On the morrow we will practice moving with ye on my shoulders and ye can try to puzzle out what that trick is.”

  “And then, after we sup, we try again?”

  “Aye. And the next night, and the next, until we get it right.”

  “Oh joy.”

  Chapter 3

  “I can almost hear it laughing at me.”

  “’Tis a lump of iron, Alana,” said Gregor. “It cannae laugh.”

  “’Tis a lump of iron that has defeated me for three nights. ’Tis laughing.”

  Gregor almost laughed and then winced as Alana touched one of the many bruises he had acquired as she got onto his shoulders. He knew she also suffered from their many stumbles in their efforts to escape, but she was stubborn. In truth, Gregor had the distinct feeling that each failure only made her more determined. He was the one who put a stop to their efforts after several tries each night, if only out of fear that one of them could be seriously hurt if they did not take a rest from it. Last night Alana had been knocked unconscious for several tense, frightening minutes when, after he caught her as she had stumbled from her precarious perch upon his shoulders, they had both come up hard against the stone wall of their prison. When she had gone limp in his arms, he had suffered a moment of blind terror he had no wish to taste again.

  It had seemed such a simple plan but was proving to have far too many unforeseen complications and dangers. When one was landing upon rock and hard ground, the distance one fell did not matter quite as much as how one landed. As they had struggled again and
again to move that lump of iron keeping them from escaping, Gregor had realized Alana was right. The weight of the thing was not as big a problem as the angle they were approaching it from. Alana not only had to find the strength to lift it, but also to then push it aside. That required some stretching and twisting of her small body, and that was where their trouble would begin.

  The moment Alana began to straighten up, one small bare foot on each of his shoulders, Gregor grasped her ankles. Thinking it might steady her more as she worked, he slid his hands up the front of her legs. With his arms slightly curved around her legs, he firmly clasped the front of her slim thighs. He felt Alana jerk ever so slightly and the muscles in her slender legs tautened beneath his hands.

  “Good lass,” he said. “Keep yourself as taut as a bowstring. ’Twill help lessen our chances of stumbling.”

  Stumbling was the very last thing Alana had been thinking about as she had felt those big hands move up her legs. She almost looked down to see if she was on fire, such was the strength of the heat his touch stirred within her. There was nothing seductive about his touch, but that did not stop her pulse from leaping. He is just trying to hold ye steady as ye struggle with this cursed lump of iron, she told herself, but herself did not seem inclined to listen. The heedless part of her that desired the man was not interested in the struggle to escape; it wanted him to stroke her legs again.

  Alana forced herself to concentrate on moving aside the contrary iron grate that barred their escape. Her hands were sore, covered with scratches and bruises, but she had done her best to hide those injuries from Gregor. Once she realized she could stand on his shoulders without shaking in fear and that she could reach the hatch, she became determined to succeed. Instinct told her that Gregor would try to halt her attempts if he knew what abuse her hands were suffering. He had almost done so when she had taken that little sleep after slamming into the wall, but she had managed to talk him out of quitting. If he knew about all the other injuries she was aching from, Alana felt absolutely certain he would give up.

  Slowly, Alana lifted the grate. Stretching herself up as far as she could, she began to push it aside. Distracting though it was, she had to admit that Gregor’s new hold upon her legs did keep her steadier. She took several slow, deep breaths, willed every ounce of strength she had into her arms, said a little prayer, and shoved the grate. The sound of heavy iron landing on stone rang in her ears, but it took her a moment before she fully realized she had, at long last, succeeded. Disbelief rose up and she used her hands to confirm her success, feeling around the opening—the now completely unobstructed opening.

  “I did it,” she whispered.

  Just as Alana opened her mouth to more loudly announce her success, she found herself yanked off Gregor’s broad shoulders. Left a little breathless by that abrupt dismount, she could barely utter a squeak of surprise as he enfolded her in his strong arms for a vigorous hug. She was still reeling from the heady effects of that embrace when he set her on her feet and moved away. A moment later she felt blankets being draped around her shoulders. Alana told herself that the fact that Gregor seemed completely unaffected by that embrace should not feel like such an insult.

  “Now, lass,” said Gregor, “I ken it willnae be easy to do what ye must in the dark. Ye must be verra careful whilst ye move about up there.”

  “I ken it. ’Twould be far too easy to get turned about and fall back down here.”

  “Aye, and since I cannae see, I cannae be sure I could catch ye.”

  “Catch me, is it? Aye, I think that does sound a wee bit better than let ye fall on me.”

  Gregor laughed softly and reached out, groping around a little until he touched her on the arm. “Up ye go, then.”

  As carefully as she could, Alana climbed up him until she stood upon his shoulders again. The faint knot of fear she felt over being in such a high and precarious position was a lot easier to ignore this time. The promise of freedom proved a very good cure for that uneasiness.

  Cautiously raising her arms, she moved them around until she felt the edge of the opening. Alana started to pull herself up. Just as she decided she would need to ask Gregor to lift her up higher, he slowly did so. It took but a moment to pull herself up and out of the pit. She sprawled facedown on the cool stone floor, struggling to calm herself, excitement and jubilation making her almost light-headed. Alana was tempted to do a little dance, but suspected she would probably dance right over the opening to the oubliette and fall down on a waiting Gregor.

  Her delight faded as she became all too aware of the darkness surrounding her. Somehow she was going to have to grope her way around until she found something to tie the blankets to. Then she would have to cautiously find her way back to the hole and lower the rope of blankets down to Gregor without falling in. This was not going to be easy, she thought as she began to slowly inch her way along the floor.

  Gregor paced, stopped and stared up toward the opening of their prison, and then paced some more. He could hear just a few soft sounds indicating Alana’s careful movements. There was no outcry, no hint that some Gowan had stumbled upon her, and that was good. What was not good was the waiting. He was all too aware of how difficult Alana found it to move about in the dark.

  Recalling her ineptitude, he quickly placed himself beneath the opening and forced himself to stay there. It was indeed very possible that Alana could get confused in the dark and end up stumbling back into the hole. There could be a few more bruises to collect before they got free.

  He cursed. Freedom was still a long way away. Once out of their prison, they would have to get out of the keep. Gregor had not been able to study the keep and its grounds as he was brought in, and Alana had seen only a little. That meant they were going to have to depend far too much on luck in getting out. At the moment, standing in an oubliette he had been held captive in for over a week and nearly betrothed to a woman he no longer wished to marry, Gregor was not sure he ought to put much trust in his luck.

  And just why he was suddenly so reluctant to wed Mavis he did not know. He would like to believe his reluctance was due to too much time to think and a bachelor’s natural hesitation to marry, but he knew it was more than that. What he truly wanted was what his brother and cousin had—a true mating of heart, mind, and soul. Gregor had thought he had accepted the fact that he was not destined to find that, but it was clear he had not. Mavis was a good woman who would bring him land and coin, but she was not his true mate.

  Scowling up at the opening to his prison, Gregor had the feeling that his true mate was up there crawling around in the dark and softly cursing. Every instinct he had told him she was not the very young girl she pretended to be. She was too mature in her thoughts and speech. Although careful to shield all clues to exactly who they were, they had exchanged stories about their lives, and hers indicated that she had been around a lot more than twelve or thirteen years. Of course, if he was wrong, that could prove heartily embarrassing. A man did not like to think that his true mate was a child not much older than one of his own. He certainly did not want to discover he had been having some very licentious dreams about a child.

  “Gregor! Best ye stand back a bit.”

  That was not a child’s voice, he decided. “Why? I cannae be hurt by blankets.”

  “’Tisnae blankets I will be lowering down to ye. I found the bucket rope and ’tis a thick one. Oh, and I wasnae able to untie the knot holding the bucket onto the end.”

  Gregor quickly stepped back. A heartbeat later he heard the bucket lowered, swiftly. He put his hands up just in time to stop the swinging bucket from banging into his head. Alana was clever, good company, and had been the source of some very welcome heat in the night, but she was dangerous to a man’s health, he mused as he untied the bucket. She certainly gave him one thing he had never gotten from another woman—a lot of bruises.

  He tied their packs to the end of the rope. “Pull our supplies up, lass. After ye remove them, lower the rope back down and I
will climb up it.”

  Wincing at the pain in her hands, Alana pulled up the rope. She struggled to untie the simple knot Gregor had made, her fingers no longer so nimble and a little slick with blood. After tossing the rope back down, Alana dragged their packs away from the hole and then searched for something to wrap her hands in, as well as for her stockings and boots. Properly cleaning and tending to her damaged hands would have to wait. Alana just prayed that they were not as badly tattered as they felt.

  She was just wrapping strips torn from her night-shift around her hands when she heard Gregor pull himself up out of the hole. When she heard him put the grate back over the hole, she almost told him that she doubted even the Gowans would be fooled by that for long, but hastily bit back the words. It was probably wise to cover the hole while they were stumbling around in the dark looking for a way out. It had been a danger that had loomed large in her mind as she had crawled around looking for something to tie the blanket rope to and as she had tried to find the hole again in order to lower down to Gregor the rope she had found.

  When Gregor did not immediately join her, Alana sat still and listened carefully. He was moving away from her and she was just about to speak out to him to let him know where she was when she heard him softly exclaim in delight. A familiar scratching noise echoed in the dark and, a moment later, she winced as a light flared. Blinking slowly as she struggled to adjust to the sudden presence of light, she watched Gregor set the torch in its holder and begin to search the room encircling the opening to the oubliette. Another soft exclamation escaped him as he found what were possibly his own sword and dagger, and then he turned to face her.

  Alana felt her breath catch in her throat. Despite the rough beard growth on his face, Gregor was a very handsome man, too handsome for any woman’s peace of mind. Although she had guessed that he was tall, lean, and strong, she had never imagined such perfection. A broad chest, trim waist, lean hips, and long legs made for the sort of manly figure that caused a lass’s heart to pound. Hers certainly was. As he moved slowly closer, she could see the smooth grace of his movements, the agile strength revealed in every step.