Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  After what seemed an agonizing eternity, Alysander led the riders into the village. An iron cage hung over the side of the castle.

  Morgana sat within, huddled in a ball.

  His body tensed and he clenched his fist around Cadarn’s reins. Heat flushed through him at witnessing her suffer, but it appeared the villagers had all but forgotten her, as if it were commonplace to see a lass imprisoned in a cage. They bustled about the bailey, not even glancing up. That heinous attitude would serve him well this evening. Perhaps not being a Bruce family member would prove advantageous. No one expected an attempt to free her. The fortune of surprise was on his side.

  After midnight, he and several of his men crept into the lower level of the castle off the river. The water splashed against the stone pillars, and a cold wind whipped around them. How could Morgana endure the perilous weather?

  His heart hammered in his ears. He had to reach her straight away, end her torture.

  He stealthily slipped up behind a guard and bashed the back of the soldier’s head with his dirk’s handle. The unconscious man fell into Alysander’s arms, then slid to the ground in a slump. David and Bram quickly subdued two other guards.

  David swiped an arm over his brow. “The oil bags are hung and the archers are in place.”

  “Wait for my signal before the bags are lit.” Alysander looked to Bram. “Come with me.”

  The two quietly climbed the outer stone stairs. Another soldier warmed his hands by an open fire. Bram slinked around the wall behind him, whacked the man over the head, and eased his limp body to the floor.

  Two others stood ahead, looking out over the water. The guards whirled, hand on their blades’ hilts.

  Alysander thrust his dirk into one of the men before the guard had a chance to unsheathe his sword. He dropped beside the guard Bram stabbed.

  Alysander nodded to Bram. They eased to the north side of the castle and peered over the edge. The cage, about ten feet down, dangled over the water. He leaned closer to Bram and spoke low. “We cannae risk the noise of rotating the beam.”

  “How will we get to her?”

  “I’ll climb down and hoist her up to ye.”

  Bram waited while Alysander inched along the wooden beam then down the chain holding the cage. It jostled under his weight, but his feet finally landed on the solid iron lid.

  This must be how they feed her.

  The top wasn’t even locked. He eased the door open and peered down into Morgana’s wide-eyed face.

  “Lass, donnae be afraid. ’Tis me, Alysander.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m getting ye out of here.”

  She crept closer. The cage rocked again, and she grasped the bars. “Alysander?”

  “Aye, take my hand.”

  She reached for him. He grasped her small wrist and tugged her upward into his arms, steadying her on the swinging cage.

  “Oh, my Lord,” she cried against his chest. “I cannae believe ye are here.”

  He wanted to hold her, but now was not the time. “I need ye to climb up my body as high as ye can.”

  “What?” Panic laced her voice.

  Alysander bent his right leg and clutched her elbow. “Step onto my thigh. My man will help ye up from above.”

  She wobbled as he eased her onto his leg.

  “Grab the chain, lass.”

  She grasped it with both hands.

  “Now, pull yerself up as I push ye. Bram will grab ye. He willnae let ye fall.”

  Alysander braced his feet apart then leaned against the iron line supporting the cage. Cupping his hands around her foot, he lifted her. The cage rattled, but she scrambled up the rusty chain.

  “Gimme yer hand, mistress.” Bram drew her up to straddle the wooden beam. “Donnae look down. Keep yer eyes fixed on me.”

  He inched across the beam with her.

  She wobbled and gasped.

  “Easy, jes a wee bit farther.”

  Alysander looked around them. All was quiet. He glanced back up as Bram tugged her onto the castle wall.

  Hand over hand, Alysander clambered up the chain,

  then hoisted himself up and over the side. He drew her to him and rubbed her slender arms. God, she felt good, but she was verra thin. Dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes, and her hollowed cheeks pronounced strong cheekbones.

  “Halt!”

  Chapter 7

  Alysander and Bram whirled, unsheathing their swords to face approaching English soldiers.

  As the men charged, Alysander pushed Morgana to the side.

  One of the soldiers swung his sword at Alysander’s head.

  Alysander darted back.

  The man lunged, his thrusts wild.

  Clashing steel rang loud in the quiet night. A rush of strength born from the abuse meted out to Morgana surged through Alysander. This fiend would pay for what the English had done to her.

  He slammed his blade against the soldier’s chest. Vibrations rippled down his arm but he swung his sword with a vengeance and knocked the cur’s weapon from his hands.

  The soldier’s sword clattered to the ground. He fell backward and landed hard. Hatred filled Alysander as he sank his blade deep into the man’s gut.

  Bram dispatched the other man, but not before he shouted a warning.

  Stomping boots hitting the rough pavers resounded against the castle walls.

  “Now, David,” Alysander yelled. “Now!”

  Blazing arrows flew from the darkness at the advancing soldiers as he grabbed Morgana’s hand. Joined by Bram, the three dashed down the stone steps to the lower level.

  The river rushed before them. Running soldiers’ pounding boots echoed in the corridor to the left. More sounded from the right. The escape route was cut off.

  Shite!

  They’d have to jump. Did Morgana have the strength to make it to shore? Hell! They had no choice.

  “Are ye well enough for a swim, lass? I fear ’tis the only way out.”

  “I would do anything to escape that cage.” Morgana took a deep breath and jumped into the river. Freezing water engulfed her, roared in her ears.

  Dear Lord!

  Arms flailing, she broke the surface and gasped for air.

  Her body trembled uncontrollably.

  A swift current carried her downstream.

  Where’s Alysander?

  She looked right then left, but couldn’t discern shapes in the darkness.

  Flaming arrows flew over her head and rained upon the castle’s soldiers. A loud explosion rent the air behind her.

  She jerked, her heart pounding.

  Fire lit the dark night.

  “Dinnae fash.” Alysander swam up beside her. “’Tis my men providing cover from shore.”

  Bram appeared next to them. “That should keep them busy.”

  “Aye, but not for long. We must hurry,” Alysander urged.

  A wave of dizziness washed over Morgana. She blinked, trying to focus. She attempted to swim across the current toward the riverbank, but her arms and legs moved as if mired in quicksand.

  Water splashed her face.

  Her breathing sped up, teeth chattering.

  “I donnae…I donnae know if I can make it.” She coughed, choking. “I cannae seem to move.”

  “’Tis the cold, lass. I’ll help ye.” Alysander turned her back to his chest, grasped her beneath her arms, and kicked, propelling them toward the shore. “Keep moving yer legs.” He gurgled water. “Kick with me if ye can.”

  Finally, they reached land. Men rushed into the water. One lifted her from Alysander, carried her ashore, and set her feet on the muddy bank.

  “The archers will meet us at the ship,” the man said.

  Alysander emerged from the river, water pouring off his clothes as he marched onto the beach. “Verra guid.” Breathing hard, he clasped her hand. “We must go!”

  They strode toward his horse. Her legs weakened, and she stumbled. Her other hand shot out to break the fall, but Alysander
tugged her up before her knees hit the ground. He lifted her into his arms. She clung to him as he broke into a run.

  The horse tossed his head as Alysander hoisted her up and onto the animal’s back behind the saddle. She grabbed hold of the leather and settled her legs on either side of the rounded back.

  Alysander leapt up in front of her. “Hold on, princess.”

  She hugged his muscular body, molding herself against his wet back. Nothing had ever felt so good.

  The horse galloped away, his men thundering behind. Shouts from the castle rang through the night, and a deafening knell clanged from the bell tower.

  Morgana briefly closed her eyes.

  Please, God, see us safely away.

  Chapter 8

  Shivers from cold and fear coursed through Morgana. Her teeth rattled. The sennights she’d spent crammed in that dreadful cage had sapped the strength from her muscles, but she held onto Alysander with all her might.

  After six long years, he is really here.

  Stories of his daring adventures at sea, how he commanded his ship and outwitted the enemy while aiding the Bruce, had reached her at Stonecrest. She’d always listened with keen interest to visitors when his name was mentioned.

  As an orphaned lass of three and ten, she’d regarded him as a hero. He’d shown her kindness and comforted her when she relived nightmares about the night of her family’s slaughter. Over the years, she’d begun to think her reverence was no more than adoration for a braw, older lad. She convinced herself he’d not return as he’d promised, for surely his words were simply to mollify a young lass.

  Yet here he is.

  Her heart swelled and she hugged him tighter.

  The horses raced along a worn path bordering the river’s shoreline, their hooves muffled by a thick layer of damp autumn leaves. After some time, Alysander slowed the animal to a trot and entered a clearing beside the water’s edge.

  The sliver of moon highlighted a ship hidden in a cove off the bay.

  Her shoulders eased. What a wondrous sight.

  Men ran across the deck and down the plank toward them. The main sail was hoisted, and wind filled the unfurling canvas. Other crewmen dashed along the railing, pulling ropes and securing lines.

  Alysander reined in the horse.

  An older man raced forward and gripped the reins. “Bryce has the ship readied.”

  Alysander jumped to the ground. “Bring the horses on board and let’s get underway.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Morgana eased into Alysander’s arms, and he lowered her beside him.

  Her legs buckled and she nearly collapsed. “Heavens, I’m so weak.”

  “Given a wee bit of time, ye’ll regain yer strength.” He placed an arm around her back and the other beneath her legs then carried her toward the ship. “Once ye warm, ye’ll feel more like yerself.”

  With her arms around his neck, Morgana rested her head on his chest.

  She was exhausted.

  And cold.

  And hungry.

  But she couldn’t be happier. Her love had rescued her from a horrific fate. She’d die before she’d return to that cage.

  Chapter 9

  Alysander strode across the worn plank and dropped to the deck with Morgana cradled in his arms.

  Bryce stopped beside them and took her hand. “Morgana, ’tis so verra guid to see ye.”

  “And ye, Bryce.” He’d grown into such a tall, strapping man, much like his older brother.

  “I must take her below. Get us out to sea quickly.”

  “Right away.” Bryce hurried off.

  “Ye may put me down. I can manage from here,” Morgana fretted. Alysander needed to be on deck, commanding his men. “I donnae want to be any more of a bother.”

  “Ye’ll never be a bother.”

  He navigated the creaking steps to below deck. Hammocks filling the area swayed in the gentle waves. His damp shoulder-length hair slid over her arm as he weaved between the men’s quarters, through an open door, and into a small cabin. He placed her on a cot, then grasped the mattress when the ship rocked.

  “Guid. We’re underway, headed out to sea.”

  Her heart lightened. She rubbed the chill-bumps on her arms. “Everything happened so fast. I cannae believe I’m really free.”

  “Aye, well, we arenae out of danger yet, but the farther we travel tonight, the better.” He knelt beside a chest at the foot of his cot and rummaged through the contents. “I know ye’re cold in yer wet gown. We donnae have a bathing tub on board, but I do have a bucket of fresh water on the floor to yer right, a bowl and pitcher on the table, and here’s a chunk of wood-ash that might help ye feel better.”

  Her heart melted over his concern for her comfort.

  He set the brownish-colored wedge on the table beside the basin. Even with his head bent, his thick dark hair fell in waves to his broad shoulders.

  “I also have a clean pair of trews and a tunic ye can wear until we find ye more suitable garments.” He straightened and placed the clothing and a drying cloth on the side table. “Rest. I’ll bring ye something to eat as soon as I can.”

  “I cannae thank ye enough.”

  A smile reached his ice-blue eyes, and he bowed slightly. “Ye’re welcome. If ye’ll excuse me, I’m needed on deck.”

  “Certainly. I understand.”

  He tipped his head to her, slipped out of the space, and pulled the door closed.

  She gazed around the cozy cabin. More chill-bumps dotted her skin, and she shivered. The pitcher and bowl sat beside a flask and cups on the table, along with maps and strange-looking instruments. A fair-sized chair was positioned to the side.

  She rubbed the pounding in her head and inhaled deeply. Her body shook from the cold. She needed to get out of these wet clothes before she froze to death. It would be heavenly to scrub off the dirt and grime she’d suffered then don the clean, dry garments.

  She eased off the cot and grasped the edge as she stood, her legs trembling as if she were a newborn bairn. Gracious. The time spent confined left her body spent. She spied the wooden bucket then shuffled over to it, placed it beside the table, and dipped the pitcher into the cold water.

  The ship listed to one side then the other, but she was determined to rid herself of the filth caked on her skin—filth from that horrible prison.

  She stripped out of her nasty clothes, poured water in the basin, and scrubbed her pinking skin. Her ribs and hip bones protruded. With little to eat, she’d lost weight. She ran a hand over a hollowed cheek and down her neck.

  She must look a fright. When she’d dreamed of Alysander’s return, she envisioned greeting him dressed in her favorite gown, her hair styled.

  He has certainly seen me at my worst.

  After drying off, she slipped into the trews and shirt he left on the table. His woodsy scent filled her nose. She wrapped her arms around herself and thanked God for sending him to her. She prayed they would make it out of here safely.

  King Edward’s men were no doubt on their trail.

  Chapter 10

  A cold wind blew across the Irish Sea, greeting the Dhìoghaltas as she glided through choppy waves. Muscles tight, Alysander stepped from the helm and stretched his neck to the right, then left. It had been a long two days, but he and his men had successfully plucked Morgana from King Edward’s stronghold, and the ship was well into her voyage to Loch Linnhe.

  He didn’t fool himself into thinking her rescue was so simple, that it was over. The English monarch would be furious someone extracted his prisoner from beneath his soldiers’ noses and would be relentless in pursuit of her.

  Alysander couldn’t run the risk of returning her to Stonecrest. Not that he was unhappy about that conclusion. It provided another reason to escort her to his island, show her his home, and help her realize the merits of staying with him and building a life together.

  Carlton strode across the deck and stepped before him. “I’ll take her for ye, Chief.
’Tis time for my watch.”

  “Hold her steady to the west of Man.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Bryce will relieve ye before long.” Alysander tugged his cloak tighter about his neck and made his way down the stairs. He weaved between swinging cots filled with snoring men and strode into his cabin, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Curled on her side, Morgana was fast asleep on his cot. He shrugged off his wet cloak and hung it on a nail in the post beside the door. A chill swept around him as he shuffled through his trunk, pulling out a shirt and a pair of trews.

  Stripping down nude, he watched the lass. She slept soundly. He shoved his legs into the trews and tossed the shirt over his head. The dry clothing felt good against his cold skin. The unexpected swim in the freezing river had chilled him to the bone.

  He grabbed the wineskin as he sat in the chair, then gulped a mouthful. Blissful heat spread through his chest to his stomach. Another swig and he stuffed the wax stopper back into the spout.

  Dark hair framed Morgana’s soft face, marred with shadows and thinned from her prolonged hunger and insufferable imprisonment. His garments swallowed her small frame. Her delicate hand rested on the mattress, and her long tresses fanned out behind her.

  How he’d missed her.

  He’d thought of her so often, but never envisioned their reunion to take place while rescuing her from an abominable prison.

  Morgana had suffered terribly recovering from the murder of her family, much like what happened to his own clan. Now she faced getting past her imprisonment in that cage. He vowed to lavish her with love, help her heal, and move past the horrific time spent at Conwy Castle, alone and frightened, cold and hungry. He would protect her. Never let her suffer such brutality again.

  She whimpered and her brow furrowed.

  He set his wineskin on the table, laid down behind her, and tugged her to him. “Shh…mo chroí. Ye are safe. I willnae let anyone harm ye.”