There appeared to be no imperfections in his face, either. Long, shining black hair framed a face designed to make women foolish. From his broad forehead to his strong jaw, his was a face created with clean, expertly carved lines. His dark brows held the hint of a curve and were neither too thick nor too thin. His lashes were just long and thick enough to soften the stark manliness of his face. His mouth was well shaped, with lips just full enough to aid those lashes in adding a softness to what could have been a cold, harsh face, and to sorely tempt any woman with blood in her veins. As he stepped close enough for her to clearly see the color of his eyes, she had to declare them the crowning jewel in this vast array of dizzying perfection. His eyes were sized just right to be neither too small nor too large, and flanked his long, straight nose in exactly the right place. They were also a beautiful color—a silvery blue that made her want to sigh like some besotted idiot.
And that was the problem, she mused sadly. She was besotted, deeply and probably irrevocably. He was everything she thought perfect in a man. The man she had come to know in the dark was only more impressive in the light. Even as she felt her heart pound with burgeoning emotions, wants, and needs, she felt her stomach clench with grief. He was too perfect for a small, brown woman whose family fondly called her “wren.”
Gregor studied Alana carefully, his opinion that she was no child hardening into near certainty. Hers was not an elegant beauty, but he had already suspected that. Adorable though it was, it was definitely a woman’s face he looked at, one he suspected would hold fast to a youthful look far longer than many another. Her hair was a deep, rich brown, reminding one of fertile fields and elegant wood. Just as he had guessed from occasionally touching it, it was long, hanging past her waist, thick and unruly. It looked too great a weight for her long, slim neck to carry. She looked as small and dainty as she had felt. Gregor suspected there was some binding beneath her gown, having stolen a quick feel of her back one night while she slept and feeling the ridges of something beneath her gown. He was curious as to how fulsome she might be, guessing that she might be as small there as she was elsewhere with her tiny waist and slender hips. Gregor knew his curiosity would not be satisfied, however, until she fully trusted him.
It was her small, oval face that held most of his attention. Big, golden brown eyes were the first thing to catch and hold his interest. Thickly lashed and set beneath daintily arched brows, they were almost too big for her face, which added to that air of sweet innocence she carried. A small, straight nose led to a mouth that put the lie to that look of childlike purity. It was a lush mouth, a hint too wide and with a fullness of lip that begged for kisses. He was just wondering why there was a look of sadness in her pretty eyes when he noticed the binding on her small, long-fingered hands.
“What has happened to your hands, lass?” he asked.
“Ah, I fear I scraped them a wee bit as I crawled about on the floor,” she replied. “They are fine as they are for now. When we stop for a rest later, much later, I will tend to them more precisely. So, what now?”
Deciding not to press her about whatever injury she had suffered, Gregor looked around. “First we should see if there is a bolt-hole. Most of these old tower houses have one. It would speed our way out of this trap. If we cannae find one, we will have to try to creep out of the keep and then out the gates.”
“A verra uncertain journey,” Alana murmured, “but lingering here too long could also be too dangerous, aye?”
“Aye, so we willnae spend too long searching for a secret way out of here.”
Gregor found another torch, lit it, and handed it to Alana. She stood up and immediately began searching. Yet again she proved an excellent ally, he mused as he began to search for some way out aside from the most direct and most dangerous route. They not only needed to escape the Gowans unseen, but to put as much distance as possible between them and the Gowans before their escape was discovered. With no horses, that was not going to be easy. Counting slowly in his head, he hoped to grasp some idea of time passing as he carefully worked his way around the dark bowels of Laird Gowan’s keep. He could hear Alana moving things as she hunted, but she asked for no aid, so he concentrated on his own hunt.
When Gregor decided they had wasted enough of their too-precious time, he turned to look for Alana. It made him uneasy when he could not immediately see her. That unease was beginning to flare into a panic when Alana suddenly appeared from behind a stack of barrels. He started toward her, telling himself that he would take time to examine that moment of fear—later.
“What have ye found?” he asked.
Grabbing Gregor by the arm, Alana tugged him closer so that he could see behind the barrels. “Our bolt-hole.” She sighed. “I fear it is no fine tunnel one can walk through, though. And I couldnae see too far inside of it, but I fear we may be crawling along amongst many vile creatures that take quick advantage of such long-unused spaces. I think whoe’er leads the way could carry this lamp I found, however, and that may help.”
“Aye. Most, er, vile creatures flee before the light.”
Studying the tunnel revealed by the recently moved barrels, Gregor bit back a curse. There was a good chance it could lead them out of the keep unseen, and they had no choice but to take that chance. It would be nothing less than torture, however. Even with the lantern, it would be dark enough to disturb Alana. As for himself, he had always shunned small, enclosed spaces. The idea of crawling along that tunnel, surrounded by rock and dirt, chilled him. He could almost hope a few Gowans caught up with him and Alana for, after going through that tunnel, he would be more than pleased to kill a few of them.
“We should go now,” Alana said.
He could hear the reluctance in her voice and wholeheartedly shared it. “I was hoping for something bigger,” he said as he lit the lantern.
Something that reminded one a little less of a grave, she mused.
“We must hope the Gowans have kept it in better repair than the rest of the keep,” he muttered as he handed her the lantern.
She held the lantern as he doused the torches. Coward that she was, she had taken one look into that tunnel and had hesitated to tell Gregor what she had found. She did not want to go in there. She did not want to stay, either. Alana told herself that all she needed to do was be brave for a little while longer and then she would be free.
The moment they entered the tunnel, Gregor in the lead, Alana pulled the small wood door shut behind her. For a brief moment she felt choked with panic, with an overwhelming urge to get out of the tunnel as fast as possible, but she fought that fear. This could be their only chance to escape and she could not allow her weakness to steal it away.
As Gregor started to crawl along, she moved to keep pace with him, if only to stay within the small circle of light. That light and Gregor’s presence were the only things helping her to keep her fears tethered. She fixed her gaze upon Gregor’s backside. Taut, well shaped, and firm with muscles, it was a pleasure to watch it as he moved. Many scorned the wearing of hose and doublet as an English affectation, but at this precise moment, she had to appreciate the fit of his clothes. Embarrassing though it was to discover that she definitely had a wanton streak in her, she could not stop the unmaidenly thoughts that were filling her head. Such thoughts as how she would like to see him naked also kept her cowardice under control. Alana did wonder, however, why he was so finely dressed, for he had mentioned no important meeting or even a visit to the king’s court.
She shook aside the unease that thought caused, smothering the intuition her kinswomen had always told her to heed closely. There were many good reasons for him to be dressed so fine. Even vanity could explain it. Alana did not know why her mind kept whispering that his finery had something to do with a woman, unless it was simply because such a man undoubtedly had women falling at his feet. If not for the fear that he would simply step over her to reach a prettier, more fulsome woman, she would fall there, too.
Alana was sternly lectur
ing herself concerning wanton thoughts and ill-judged infatuations when she realized Gregor had halted and was now kneeling. She sat back on her heels and watched as he struggled to open a thick oak hatch above his head. When it began to open and sprinkled him with dirt, she quickly snatched the lantern out of the way of what she suspected would be an increasing deluge. Gregor hastily moved out of the way as her suspicion proved correct, but Alana was too preoccupied by the lack of any new light that had entered the tunnel along with the debris to enjoy being right. Freedom was apparently going to be as dark as captivity. She had hoped for a glowing full moon at the very least.
She waited tensely as Gregor took a cautious look, inching his head up into the opening. “Where has it opened to?” she whispered.
“Outside, but a few feet from the walls,” he replied as he crouched beside her and put out the lantern. “Ten yards away lies the shelter of the wood. We can crawl or run to it. Your choice.”
“I choose whate’er ye think will be safer.”
“How about a wee bit of both?”
“Lead on.”
By the time they reached the shelter of the wood, Alana felt battered and bruised. She did not think covering such a short distance had ever taken her so long or hurt so badly. When she felt the first drop of rain upon her face, she nearly cursed aloud.
“Now what?” she asked, glaring up at the sky.
“We run,” Gregor replied.
“For how long?”
“Until we cannae run another step. Then we have a wee rest and begin to run some more.”
“Oh joy.”
Chapter 4
Why had she thought that getting out of the pit the Gowans had tossed her into would mean she would be warm and dry? Alana asked herself as she fought to keep pace with Gregor. She was wet, cold, and tired. Very, very tired. Dawn had come and gone hours ago, yet on they ran. Gregor allowed a few rests and a regular change from a fast pace to a slow one and then fast again. Alana knew she was an excellent runner, could go fast and endure a hard pace for a long time, but she feared she had passed her endurance miles ago.
The chill of the rain had begun to sink deep into her bones, joining forces with the well-settled chill of the prison. She ached from the cold, ached from weariness, and ached from pushing herself far beyond her strength. She wanted to lie down someplace warm and dry and stay there for a day or two, perhaps even a full sennight.
It occurred to her that she was not even sure where they were running to, but she was too tired to ask Gregor. Alana decided that as long as it was away from the Gowans, it would be good enough for now. Later she would take up the hunt for her sister again. Exhaustion had so dulled her wits and senses, she doubted she could find her sister even if she stood only feet away.
When Gregor paused to take a drink of water from his wineskin, Alana stumbled to a halt. A moment later, she felt her unsteady legs collapse beneath her. She was too exhausted to even curse as she sat down on the cold, muddy ground. Although she knew it was unwise to sit, she could not find the strength to get back up. Then she began to shiver and a soft roaring filled her ears. She looked up to see Gregor staring at her while holding out the wineskin and felt herself slowly topple onto her back.
Gregor cursed and knelt by Alana’s side. He slid his hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her partly up out of the mud. The way her head lolled against his arm, the complete limpness of her body, told him she was unconscious. When he started to brush the mud from her face, he cursed again. The skin beneath his hand was hot despite the cool rain falling on them.
“Och, poor wee lass,” he murmured. “I pushed ye too hard, didnae I.”
He picked her up and set her down beneath a tree where the ground was not quite so muddy. Using his plaid, he formed a blanket sling so that he could carry her and yet keep his hands free. It took several tries, but he finally got her settled against his chest so that her legs dangled off to his sides and would not impede his stride. Picking up their belongings, he set out to find them someplace where they could hide from the Gowans until she recovered.
Fate smiled upon him and, within an hour, he found a small stone cottage. When no one responded to his pounding upon the door, he opened it and cautiously looked around, but saw no sign of life. Although the cottage was small, it looked sturdy and its thatched roof was still intact. Gregor quickly laid claim to the abandoned shelter. He set Alana down on the floor and, pulling out the few blocks of peat he always carried with him, he started a fire. Wood or more peat would be required soon, but first he had to get Alana dry and settled near the meager fire.
Thanking God that he had had the foresight to secure two blankets in the oiled sacks he and Alana carried, Gregor turned his attention to getting Alana out of her wet clothes. He prayed she remained unconscious until he was done, for he felt certain she would object most strenuously to being undressed by a man.
He tugged off her boots and stockings and then rubbed the damp from her legs just vigorously enough to restore some warmth to her limbs. Although she was slender and her legs appeared rather long despite her lack of height, Gregor felt his conviction that she was not what she appeared to be grow a lot stronger. The legs he now rubbed dry were far too shapely to be a child’s.
When he removed her cloak and gown, he softly cursed. Her shift was as wet as her outer clothing. Gregor tugged it off her and then sat back on his heels and stared at her. She wore a delicate, more feminine style of a man’s braies, but that oddity was not what really grasped and held his attention. There were several layers of linen bandages wrapped around her chest. He had little doubt that it would not be some wound he found when he unwrapped her.
Forcibly recalling himself to the need to finish getting her warm and dry, he drew his knife and cut away the sodden bindings. Plump little breasts were revealed to his appreciative gaze, the dark rose tips hard from the chill air. His mouth actually watered with a hunger to taste those long, tempting nipples. The marks the binding had caused were an ugly scar upon her soft skin.
Gregor forced down the lust heating his blood as he prepared to remove the last of her clothing. Knowing he was about to uncover a woman’s secrets and not just infringe upon a young girl’s modesty, he was still surprised at how fiercely the sight of a fully naked Alana affected him. Her thighs were firm and slender. Her hips were gently curved and her stomach was flat and smooth. Between those beautiful thighs was a tidy little vee of brown curls that held a strong hint of red. She was perfection, he decided.
He then realized he was panting. Disgusted at how he was acting no better than a stag in rut that had just scented a doe, he quickly finished drying Alana off. Setting her down on a blanket, he dug through her belongings until he found a clean, dry shift and hastily put it on her. He then covered her from her chin to her tiny feet in the second dry blanket.
To further tamp down his lust, he looked at her hands, carefully unwinding the dirty bindings. A soft curse escaped him as he saw how badly scraped they were. Using some of the water from his wineskin, he gently bathed the scratches, careful to remove all grit and dirt. Deciding it might be best to leave her hands free of bandages, he patted them dry. He just wished her fever were as easy to tend to. There was a lot more he would need to do to keep the fever from settling in too deeply, but his knowledge of such things was scarce.
Standing up, Gregor began to more closely inspect the cottage. It took him only a few moments to decide that it had only recently been deserted. There was still some peat and wood in a box near the fireplace. The fact that the little cottage even had a fireplace was surprising, and he had to wonder what it had been used for. After building up the fire, he pulled a rough bench closer to it and draped her wet clothes over it so that they would dry. He then returned to his explorations.
The fact that the cottage had a sturdy wooden door should have alerted him to the possibility that this was no mere cottar’s hut, he realized. Opening one of the thick shutters on one of the three windows, he found glas
s panes, a true luxury. Although the mattress upon the bed was stuffed with straw, it was thick and clean. A poor man would have taken such a fine mattress with him. Gregor then recalled how the cottage was tucked deep within the woods with no area cleared for farming or the raising of animals. He began to think he had stumbled upon some laird’s retreat, perhaps even a place where he housed his lemans out of sight and reach of his wife. It was pure luck that the man was between lovers at the moment, Gregor mused.
He shook his head as he removed his wet clothes, rubbed himself dry, and donned some fresh dry clothes. After arranging the second bench in front of the fire, he laid his own clothes over it to dry. When he had wished for shelter for himself and Alana, he had never expected to find something this fine. The Fates were definitely smiling on them.
Stepping into the room at the back of the cottage, Gregor found himself in a small kitchen. Whoever had lived here last had left only a few things behind, but they could prove useful. He was impressed by the fact that the fireplace was actually two sided, the kitchen side being constructed more for use in cooking. Here, too, was a supply of peat and wood. As long as the Gowans did not find them, he and Alana could stay here in comfort until she regained her health and strength.
Opening the door at the back of the room, Gregor saw what had obviously been a kitchen garden, and there was a well. Not wanting to get wet again, he set a bucket just outside the door to catch the rain. What collected in it would serve well enough until the rain eased and he could go to the well without getting soaked to the skin.
Highland Lover Page 4