Highland Escape

by Cathy MacRae

  Kenneth shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Spit it out.”

  Duncan shot his father a defiant glare, his body stiff. “Ye dinnae know what ye ask.”

  “Aye, I have some idea. Say it.”

  Duncan held his father’s gaze as he dropped into the chair across the desk from him, hands gripping the ornately carved arms. “I believe ’tis wrong to imprison the lass. She has earned our trust, not imprisonment.”

  Kenneth rubbed a hand across his mouth and chin before answering. “We do not know why she is alone. A lass, even as able as she, does not travel alone unless in trouble. I dinnae want her problems brought here. She cannae cause harm if she is locked up.”

  Duncan sprang to his feet, pacing the floor, his hands boldly punctuating his words. “Then confine her to one of the smaller chambers. She should at least be allowed the same courtesies we would offer a guest.”

  Kenneth shook his head. “Did ye not see what I saw? She cut through six Highlanders without hesitation. Afterward, she defeated Shamus with very little trouble using two sticks. We could claim the MacNairn are not good fighters, but we both know Shamus is a capable warrior. How do ye keep someone like that confined in a guest room?”

  Duncan stopped his pacing. He attempted to wrest his temper into control by dropping his eyes, lowering his voice. “Post a guard or two, bar the door from the outside.”

  “Nae!” Kenneth bellowed, a hand cutting across his body.

  Duncan grabbed the back of his chair, using the tension in his grip to launch his next volley. “She saved my sister, yer daughter, from rape or murder! ’Tis not right!” Lost to his anger, he rose on his toes, his fingernails biting into the wood of the chair.

  “Enough! As long as I am laird my word is law. This discussion is over.” His father’s voice descended into a growl.

  Duncan gritted his teeth, wheeled about and stormed from the room.

  * * *

  Anna shifted her gaze from the fresh straw and blanket in one corner to the well-worn but clean chamber pot in another. The room measured approximately ten by ten with a stone floor. She placed her cloak and plaide on the floor next to the blanket and removed her armor. She quietly considered her fate, realizing she hadn’t allowed herself to grieve the loss of her village, home and family. Tears spilled as misery rent a hole in her heart.

  I am so sorry, father, Edrick. Misery choked her as surely as a pair of strong hands, leaving her breathless. After some time, her tears ran their course, leaving numbness in their wake.

  Later in the evening, someone brought a bowl of more foul-smelling stew, a small piece of bread and pitcher of water.

  “Blessed Virgin, how do they stand this fetid fodder?” she muttered crossly. Abandoning the stew, she ate the bread and drank some water, saving the rest for later.

  She unwrapped the bandage and checked her wound. It was healing, though the jagged edge interrupted the flowing blue pattern given to her last year by the clan elders. It reflected a symbol of status and coming of age as a warrior, signifying the battles she’d fought. The lines of ink swirled about her shoulders, across her upper back, followed her collarbones and peaked at the back of her neck.

  Legend said the intricate swirls and interlocking patterns were unique to ancient Pictish women warriors. The design had taken several sittings to complete and she was proud to wear the blue woad ink, signifying her place among their warriors. The flowing design would be with her as long as she lived, a reminder of who she was—a visible connection to her clan and the past.

  By nightfall, cold had crept back again. She coiled her braid around her neck and wrapped up in her cloak and plaide. Burrowing as deeply as she could in the straw, she stared at the deep blue-and-wine pattern of the wool. She closed her eyes, remembering the life left behind at the border, reliving the terrible day of death and fire.

  She woke at dawn in a chill. Exercise was the only way to warm herself, and she needed activities to focus on, a schedule to spend her days. She went through conditioning routines to warm her body, then spent a time in meditation. Chilled again, she practiced fighting patterns, routines Master Zhang had drilled into her and Edrick without ceasing. Finally exhausted, she recited Holy Scripture and poetry in English, Gaelic, Latin and French as she drifted off to sleep. She repeated the pattern again that afternoon, ending the day with meditation and reflection.

  I did not know I would use this one day, but I thank you, Master Zhang. I will not fall prey to sickness and madness. Though he’d refused to share the particulars of his four years in captivity, Zhang stated his experience taught him that every warrior must be prepared for such a possibility. For all the games of prisoner Edrick and I played, no matter how uncomfortable, no matter how difficult, I know I will survive, and be strengthened by this.

  The ache in her heart at the loss of her mentor, brother and father would provide the motivation she needed to stay alive, to remain herself. She would not waste her time wondering what plans the barbarians had for her.

  Much to her vexation, her thoughts kept returning to her captor, and Anna cursed her lack of self-discipline. She’d managed to live a score of years without a serious thought for any man—why could she not banish thoughts of the barbarian who held her captive? Zhang once spoke of forging a bond of sorts with one of his captors. Mayhap she experienced something similar.

  I certainly do not fancy him, she protested, shaking her head at the thought. Blessed Mother! That would be the height of madness.

  The next day was the same. The stew was unbearable. She wrinkled her nose. Do they use meat beginning to spoil? She sighed. I will make do with the morning’s oat porridge and the evening bread and water. Eating this offal would only make me sicken.

  She peered through the small barred window in the door as she placed the foul-smelling bowl of stew on the floor. A guard always stood outside, watching the cells. For what purpose, she knew not, as there were no other prisoners.

  What I do know is I have not grown used to this cursed cold, damp air. She rubbed her arms vigorously. I wake cold, go to sleep cold. Resolutely, she turned from the door and began her exercises again.

  At last warmed and tired, she turned her observations to the behavior of the men guarding the cells. None approached, nor attempted to speak to her. At night, a leering beast of a man kept watch. The way he stared at her left an unsettling feeling. He usually fell asleep around matins, his chair propped against the back wall.

  On the second night of her captivity, the guard’s snoring jarred Anna from sleep. She tossed a few small pieces of stone into the hall. He didn’t stir. She tapped lightly on the heavy wooden door, then louder. The snoring continued. She smiled. He was a deep sleeper.

  The midday meal was another bowl of the greasy stew. Anna poked at the chunks of meat floating in the broth, watching the fat congeal on the surface as it cooled. She touched the soft grease thoughtfully. Dipping her fingers in the slippery fat, she slathered it across the hinges of her cell door.

  Night fell on the third day. Waiting until the guard fell asleep, Anna took her blanket and pushed it out the barred window of the door until it hung past the lock. Carefully, she withdrew the two steel throwing darts hidden in her bracers, and inserted them in the lock. She worked quickly, one eye on the guard, the wool of the blanket muffling the sounds.

  Within minutes, she eased the door open. Creeping into the hall, she stared at the enormous guard, each snore a thunderous boom. Cat-like, she padded to the door leading into the next hallway. Not hesitating, she slowly raised the bar and peered down the hall. Meeting no sign of activity, she moved stealthily along the corridor leading to the great hall. Careful inspection of the large room showed no movement and no sound. The great hall, usually the center of activity, lay as quiet as the bottom of a loch.

  At the door to the bailey, she pulled up short, scanning the yard. The gates are secured for the night. I cannot fetch Orion and leave until dawn and the gates are opened. She glanced about for a
place to hide in the lingering darkness.

  The moon loomed overhead, almost full, flooding the vacant bailey with light. Men walked the curtain wall, keeping watch, their attention turned outward rather than into the yard. Sticking to the shadows along the wall, she slipped into the stables without a sound.

  * * *

  Unable to find slumber yet again, Duncan strolled the curtain wall as he had on other sleepless nights. Only a pair of hours till dawn and he’d yet to get the lass out of his mind. ’Twas well beyond frustrating. Never had a woman affected him this swiftly, this absolutely. Each time he thought of her, lust, possessiveness and an overwhelming urge to protect her filled him. She had the body of a leannan sith and the heart of a warrior, a mystery constantly prodding his peace. He traveled the same mental paths over and over again, wondering who she was and replaying the arguments with his father, leaving no room for sleep.

  A slight movement drew his attention in the yard. No, it cannot be. Could my thoughts have summoned her? He squatted in the shadow of a crenel and watched for the movement again. He closed his eyes and scrubbed his face before looking once more to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

  The shadow moved again. A cloaked figure made its way around the perimeter of the yard toward the stables. Duncan’s lips flexed into a smile as he remained motionless, watching. He wanted to see how much success this hooded padfoot would gain.

  Certain of the identity of the brazen sneak, he couldn’t fathom how she’d broken out of her cell, past Alain, and then out of the hall without attracting attention. Glancing at the men on watch, he noticed they only scanned the grounds outside the keep. This would be an enlightening experience indeed. His smile curved further in anticipation.

  She slipped into the stables as silently as she had out of the keep and around the yard. Duncan abandoned the wall and made his way to the gatehouse to speak with the gate master. Taking up a position atop the barbican, he had full view of the narrow gateway below. He settled in to wait until the portcullis was raised at first light.

  As suspected, at the first grating sounds of the windlass, a hooded form atop a now-familiar charger slowly walked toward the fortified outer gate. He chuckled at the pluck of the resourceful woman and shook his head.

  St. Filan’s teeth! What can she not do?

  He considered for a moment that he should be angry, but truly he owed her thanks instead. Clearly their security measures were lax. Also, he couldn’t recall enjoying a sleepless night more, thoroughly entertained by Anna’s attempt at escape.

  On his command, the gate master dropped the outer portal. Kicking her stallion, Anna raced ahead. Duncan’s heart hurled itself against his ribs and a sick feeling spread through his gut, fearing she’d be crushed under the gate. At the last possible second, Anna jerked her horse to a halt, pulling him back on his haunches as the iron struck the ground before her with a resounding clang like a broken church bell.

  Men stood across the entrance to the bailey, ready to draw swords. Under strict orders not to harm her, they blocked the narrow entryway. Stepping from an inner door of the barbican, Duncan appeared at her side. He grabbed Orion by the bridle and smiled.

  Chapter 4

  “Tis a fine morn. Or ’twill be once the sun is up. Out for a ride, then?” Duncan’s voice lilted with amusement.

  Anna growled in response.

  She gave up her mount more easily than he expected, but brushed aside his offer of assistance. Even this momentary touch sent a spark of awareness up his arm. He caught the flash of anger in her green eyes as she spun on a heel and stalked toward the hall, her rapid pace no doubt designed to avoid further contact with him.

  Entering the great hall, Anna hesitated as the guard, Alain, strode aggressively toward her, cursing the English as he approached. Duncan immediately intercepted him, shoving him backward.

  “Ye willnae talk to the lady thus. Ye owe her an apology.”

  Alain glared at Anna. Duncan closed the gap between them, fists curled, ready to attack.

  “Apologize or I will have ye cleaning privies for a week—after I give ye a lesson on how to speak to a lady.” Anger flared as Alain appeared ready to disobey his order, and every sinew in his body tensed in anticipation of the beating he yearned to deliver.

  “I apologize, milady,” Alain ground out, the muscles on his neck taut from the effort.

  Duncan shot the man a glare, refusing to tolerate one word of abuse hurled her way. Later, he promised with a hard look. He would find Alain and make sure the man understood hostilities toward her would be met with severe consequences.

  Anna nodded once toward Alain, acknowledging his apology. Duncan hesitated, allowing the tension to fade as Alain left the hall.

  Anna fairly quivered with futile anger.

  “Come break yer fast with me, lady,” Duncan said softly, hope saturating his words of invitation.

  Ignoring his request, Anna strode toward her cell. Instead of allowing her into the one she’d previously occupied, Duncan opened the door to the one next to it. He turned to one of the men nearby.

  “Have a servant fetch the lady and me breakfast.” Closing the door to her new cell, he jerked it hard a few times, testing the strength of the lock before reopening it to let her in. He entered the cell she occupied before. She heard him moving around and knew he searched for her means of escape. After a few moments, she heard his laugh.

  The guard returned with a woman bearing a tray with two bowls, a pitcher and two cups. Another brought a pair of stools. Stepping into her new cell, Duncan handed Anna a stool and a bowl. Sitting in the open doorway, he glanced at her, a knowing smirk on his face. At a flick of his fingers, the two guards moved down the hall a few steps out of sight, giving them the appearance of privacy.

  “I must say, using fat from the meat to grease the hinges was verra clever.”

  She heard pride in his voice, but why would he be proud she’d escaped his prison? Anna ignored him, tucking into the bowl of porridge he gave her instead.

  “What I cannae work out is how ye unlocked the door, and how ye did so without waking yer guard.” His voice stretched out, inviting an answer.

  If he waited for her to give him one, he would soon be shaking hands with disappointment. Shuttering her expression before looking up, Anna asked with indifference, “Will I be beaten for my attempted escape?”

  His smirk softened to a smile before answering. “Nae. Not this time. Indeed, I should thank ye. We are not in the habit of keeping prisoners. It seems yer adventure this morn pointed out certain gaps in our ability to hold captives.”

  Anna realized she’d never seen him truly smile before. That he was such a handsome man further irritated her. He poured himself a draught from the pitcher and took a drink before pouring hers, demonstrating it hadn’t been tampered with. It tempted her to lower her guard, but she must not.

  They ate in silence, then he put the items back on the tray and set it in the hallway.

  “Ye have been isolated for three days. Would ye like to talk? I would know better the noblewoman my father keeps.”

  His seductive burr willed her to see him as something other than her gaoler, willed her to see him as a friend—or a protector? No. Until the locks and barred doors were replaced with freedom, she would only see him as a warden.

  Handing him back the cup, she responded woodenly, “No, thank you, sir. I am enjoying the solitude you offer and have been using my time productively.”

  Duncan’s eyes danced. “I trust ye willnae attempt escape again?”

  Anna nudged the stool over to him with a toe and scrunched her brow. “Why would you think thus? Would you cease if our places were reversed?”

  He held her gaze before answering, his smile still roguish. “Nae, I suppose not. ’Tis the duty of every prisoner to escape.”

  She dipped her head in agreement.

  “Should ye change your mind about wishing to speak, inform yer guard. I will come when I can.”

 
The lock on the door snicked closed behind him, and a shudder snaked through her at the sound. The weight of her failed attempt bore down on her, the crush of helplessness replacing the frustration of failure. At least she’d receive no immediate consequence for her actions.

  * * *

  Duncan walked away, shaken by the encounter. Something inexplicable drew him to her. He fought the urge to kiss her, drinking from her full lips until they were both intoxicated. His bright mood dimmed as he recalled the need to tell his father of the morn’s adventure. He didn’t want to hear the auld man say he was right.

  He found both his parents in the great hall, breaking their fast at the high table. When they saw him approach, his mother motioned for an additional bowl to be brought.

  “What has ye so ill-tempered this morn, my son?” she asked, curiosity in her voice.

  “Good morrow, Mother. I need to speak with Da when he has finished,” Duncan replied, staring at his second bowl of porridge of the morning. With appetite already sated, he merely stirred his food, needing something to do with his hands.

  “The English lass?” she prodded.

  Duncan sighed deeply and nodded with some reluctance. “How did ye know?”

  She offered a vivacious smile and placed a hand on his arm. “Ye have been vexed ever since she arrived.”

  They finished the meal in silence. Mairi rose and kissed them both on the cheek. “Please be civil, gentlemen.” With a meaningful glance, she exited the hall, leaving them alone as the servants retreated to the kitchen.

  “Very well, what is it this time?” Kenneth leaned back in his chair, his tone exasperated.

  On the defensive, Duncan shot his father a flinty look. “Yer prisoner escaped last night.”

  The news stunned his father into silence, his eyes widening, mouth agape.

  With a measure of satisfaction at seeing him so, Duncan continued. “I dinnae know how she opened the lock. She used fat from the stew to grease the hinges and somehow snuck past Alain whilst he slept. I happened to be walking the wall and spotted her creeping about. She made it to the stables undetected. She had her horse saddled and rode amongst a group headed for the fields.” Duncan did not bother to hide his admiration.