Читать книгу Highland Lover - Hannah Howell - Страница 8

“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.

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 lecturing 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.”