Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

“And me.”

  “Why should we take ye as weel? Ye are no threat to Harold’s place as laird of this keep.” Sigimor had fully expected her to insist upon coming with them, but he wanted to hear her reasons for doing so.

  “Oh, but I am a threat to Harold,” she said in a soft, cold voice, “and he knows it well. If not for Reynard, I would stay here and make him pay most dearly for Peter’s death. Howbeit, I swore to Peter that I would guard Reynard with my very life. Since I have had the raising of the boy since his mother’s death upon childbed, there was no need to ask such an oath, but I swore it anyway.”

  And there was the reason to take her with them, Sigimor mused. She may not have birthed the child, but she was Reynard’s mother in her heart and mind, and, most probably, in the child’s as well. It also told him the best way in which he could control her, although all his instincts whispered that that would not be easy to do. None of that mattered, however. He had been unable to save Peter, but he was now offered the chance to save Peter’s sister and his son. Even better, in doing so, he could save the men he had dragged into this deadly mire.

  “Then set us free, lass,” Sigimor said, “and we will share in the burden of that oath.”

  Her hands trembling faintly from the strength of the relief which swept through her, Jolene began to try to find which of the many keys she held would fit the lock to the door of the cell. Hope was a heady thing, she mused. For a brief moment she had actually felt very close to swooning and she silently thanked God she had not shamed herself by doing such a weak thing before these men.

  “Ye dinnae ken which key to use?” Sigimor felt an even mixture of annoyance and amusement as he watched her struggle with the keys.

  “Why should I?” she muttered. “I have ne’er locked anyone in these cells.”

  “Didnae ye ask the one ye got them from which key ye ought to use?”

  “Nay. He was asleep.”

  “I see. Weel, best pray some other guard doesnae decide to wander down here whilst ye fumble about.”

  “There will be no guards wandering down here. They are asleep.”

  “All of them.”

  “I do hope so.”

  “The men at arms, too?” She nodded. “Is everyone at Drumwich asleep?”

  “Near to. I did leave a few awake, ones who might be eager to flee Drumwich once the chance to do so was given to them.” She cried out in triumph as she unlocked the door, opened it, then grinned at Sigimor.

  Sigimor simply cocked one brow and softly rattled the chains still binding him to the wall. The cross look she gave him as she hurried over to his side, the large ring of keys she held clinking loudly, almost made him smile. He sighed long and loudly when she started to test each key all over again on the lock of his chains and he heard her mutter something he strongly suspected was a curse.

  His amusement faded quickly when she stood very close to him. Despite her delicate build, his body was stirred by the soft, clean scent of her. He fixed his gaze upon her small hands, her slim wrists, and her long, slender fingers, trying to impress upon his mind that she was frail. His body continued to ignore that truth. It also ignored the fact that her hair, hanging down her slim back in a thick braid reaching past her slender hips, was black or nearly so, a color he had never favored. Just as blithely it ignored the fact that the top of her head barely reached his breastbone. Everything about her was wrong for a man of his size and inclinations, but his body heartily disagreed with his mind. It was a riddle he was not sure he could ever solve.

  “Are ye verra certain Harold’s men are asleep?” he asked in an attempt to fix his mind upon the problems at hand and ignore the soft curve of her long, elegantly slender neck.

  “Aye. I kicked a few just to be sure.” She found it more difficult than it ought to be to concentrate upon finding the right key and ignore the big man she stood so close to.

  “Just how did ye do it?”

  “I put a potion into the ale and wine set out to drink with the evening meal. I also had two of the maids carry a physicked water to the other men the moment the ones who sat down in the great hall to dine began to drink. Near all of them began to fall asleep at the same time.”

  “Near all? What happened to the ones who didnae begin to fall asleep?”

  “A sound knock upon the head was swiftly delivered. There!” She smiled at him as she released him from his chains, only to scowl when he snatched the key from her hand. “I am capable of using a key.”

  “When ye can find it,” he drawled as he quickly freed the the others. “How long do ye think your potion will hold Harold and his men?”

  “Til dawn or a little later,” she replied, thinking that six big men chained were a lot less intimidating than six big men unchained, standing and staring at her.

  “How long do we have until dawn?”

  “Two hours at the most.”

  Sigimor put his hands on his hips and frowned at her. “Why did ye wait so long to come and free us?”

  “I had to lock a few doors, tend to a few wounds inflicted by Harold, and help those who had kindly helped me to escape from Drumwich. Then I had to collect some supplies to take with us and gather up the things Harold’s men took away from you. And, considering that I, a small woman, put every fighting man at Drumwich to sleep with the aid of but two maids, I believe your implied criticism is uncalled for.”

  “It wasnae implied.”

  “Sigimor,” snapped Liam, before smiling at Jolene. “Ye did weel, lass.”

  “Thank you, kind sir,” Jolene responded, returning his smile.

  Subtly, but firmly, Sigimor nudged Liam away from Jolene. He might not understand what drew him to this tiny, thin Englishwoman, but, until he cured himself of the affliction, he did not want any other fool trading smiles with her. Especially not Liam who already had half the women in Scotland swooning at his feet.

  “How do ye plan to get us all out of here?” he asked her.

  “We could march right out the front gates, if you wish,” Jolene replied. “I had thought we would leave as quietly and secretly as possible. If there are no obvious signs of our leavetaking, it may be a while ere your escape is discovered.”

  “Somehow I think Harold will find a castle full of men still asleep or just rousing immediately suspicious.”

  “Ah, of course. You are right. And, I suppose the missing horses and what I have done in the stables will also alert them.”

  It sounded as if she was gagging on those words, Sigimor thought with an inner grin. “Lead on then. I want to put as much distance as possible between us and Harold ere he awakens.”

  As she started out of the cell, the men falling into step behind her, Jolene said, “Aye. The sooner we reach Scotland, the sooner we will rid ourselves of Harold.”

  Sigimor doubted it would be that easy, but did not say so as he followed her along a dark, narrow passage heading away from the cells. Harold had already committed murder to steal Drumwich. Lady Jolene clearly feared for her life and her nephew’s. If the screams in the night were anything to judge by, Harold was using brutal methods to try and find her and the boy. A man like that would not stop chasing her down simply because she had crossed the border into a country that was not particularly fond of Englishmen. Sigimor felt sure of that. Harold would mean trouble for them for quite a while yet. As he watched the gentle sway of her slim hips, Sigimor inwardly cursed. Harold would not be the only trouble he found in the days ahead.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Hannah Howell is an award-winning author who lives with her family in Massachusetts. She is the author of nineteen Zebra historical romances and is currently working on a new Highland historical romance, Highland Lover, which will be published in June 2006. Hannah loves hearing from readers, and you may visit her website: www.hannahhowell.com. Or write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope if you wish a response.

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