Highland Conqueror (2 page)

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.

The sudden flood of light caused Sigimor to blink rapidly as he struggled to accustom his eyes to its sting and see where the little Englishwoman had led them. Until they were outside the walls of Drumwich and riding hard toward Scotland, he would be wise to remain cautious around her. He was not sure what could prove worse than being chained in a dark cell awaiting death, but he would take no chances. If nothing else, he owed the five men who had ridden with him all his strength, wit, and cunning to get them away from Drumwich free and safe.

A soft noise drew his gaze to a bed of blankets and furs upon the floor of the small chamber. He moved closer to stare down at the small boy lying there and staring back at him. Thick raven curls marked him as kin to Jolene, but those big eyes were a clear, bright blue. When the little boy smiled at him, Sigimor smiled back.

“How wondrous,” said Jolene as she picked up her nephew. “He is not frightened of you at all.”

“Why should he be frightened of me?” demanded Sigimor, scowling at her.

“Oh, indeed, why? Mayhap because you are a stranger built like a mountain and smelling like a privy.”

“I do
not
smell like a privy.” He accepted his weapons from a grinning Liam. “Where are the supplies?”

Jolene pointed to the seven sacks she had carefully packed. “There. One each. Before he fled, Old Thomas readied the horses and the saddle packs are also packed with all you brought with you and whatever else we could fit into them. Wineskins, waterskins, and bedding are already secured to the saddles.” She gave Liam a brief smile of gratitude when he moved to help her secure Reynard in a blanket sling which settled the small boy close against her chest.

The moment they all had their cloaks on, Sigimor gave her a little nudge. “Lead on, lass.”

She nodded, and, as Sigimor picked up the sack she had intended to carry along with his own, she grabbed a torch and started to lead them away from her small haven. One of the men behind her had obviously picked up a torch as well and she was glad of the added light. Despite the safety she had found in the passages beneath the keep, she hated them, hated the suffocating dark of them. Only in the little chamber had she dared light enough torches and candles to push back the dark. The only thing that had kept her lurking about in the chill bowels of the keep was her fear of Harold. Having six large men marching behind her did a lot to quell her fears of Harold and of the dark places she had sought refuge in.

When she reached a thick oak door set deep into the stone wall, she glanced back at Sigimor. “This door leads to a tunnel which will take us to the stables.” She frowned slightly. “Twill be a tight fit for men of your stature.”

“Nay as tight as a noose,” Sigimor drawled and moved to open the door.

Jolene grimaced at the rush of stale air which escaped the passage as Sigimor pulled the heavy door open. Only once, shortly after Harold came to Drumwich, had she checked the passage to be certain it could be used if necessary. It was dark, damp, narrow, and quite low in places. It had also left her shaking and so terrified, she had not returned through it, but risked returning to the keep through the stables. She was not sure
the presence of six big men would make the journey any easier. Straightening herself, she stiffened her spine and began to lead the men into the passageway. She shivered, however, when she heard the door shut behind the last man to enter.

The uneven ground made it impossible to hurry, and Jolene constantly fought the urge to run, to escape this place that chilled her to the bone. By the time she reached the door which led into the stables, she was trembling. She felt Sigimor move to open the door, but could not wait for his courteous aid. She shoved the door open and staggered into the rear of the stables, nearly falling into the bales of hay and collection of farm implements that hid the door from view. It took a moment to calm herself enough to realize she was not the only one standing there taking slow, deep breaths. When she saw that Sigimor was already striding toward the horses showing no sign that he had just emerged from a place that felt all too much like a tomb, she had the strong urge to kick him.

“Curse it, Sigimor,” grumbled Nanty as he also moved toward the horses, “does naught e’er trouble ye?”

“Aye, the thought of hanging,” Sigimor replied.

Sigimor glanced at the two men collapsed on a pile of hay, snoring loudly. Although he had to admire what Jolene had done to help them escape, he found it a little unsettling that one small, dainty woman had been able to render all the fighting men of the keep helpless. He also suspected it would be more than Harold’s command which would send these men chasing them down. A lot of the men would want revenge for this humiliation.

Seeing Liam moving to help Jolene mount her horse, Sigimor intercepted him. He grasped her by her slim waist and set her on her horse. After admiring her slender, stockinged legs, he helped her tug down her skirts to cover them. For reasons he could not begin to comprehend, he did not want five other men seeing her legs. Her puzzled glance and Liam’s grin irritated him. He did not see that he had just done anything that should puzzle her, and Liam, he decided, saw too much too clearly. Grumbling that they were wasting time, he mounted and led them out of the great stable only to reach for his sword at the sight of two men standing near the open gates.

“Nay!” Jolene cried, riding up beside him. “Tis only Old Thomas and his son.” She rode a little ahead of Sigimor and shook her head at the burly, graying Thomas. “You were told to flee this place.”

“We will be leaving as soon as ye do, m’lady,” said the man. “Just had me the thought that these gates ought to be closed firm behind you and you do not want to be wasting time doing that. Not sure twill gain ye much if all looks as it should, but, at least, with these gates shut tight, them fools will be needing to look about some to be sure ye have all escaped, eh?”

“You are a good man, Thomas. My thanks. Just be sure to get as far away from here as you can and as soon as you can.”

“Will do, m’lady, soon as I make sure all was done just as ye ordered in the stables. You take care and, worry not, that bastard will pay for this.”

“From your lips to God’s ear. Be well, both of you.”

As they rode out of the gates, Sigimore asked her, “Just what
did
ye do in the stables?”

“Cut all the saddle cinches and smeared some foul muck o’er the bits,” replied
Nanty and he grinned at Jolene.

“Clever lass,” murmured Sigimor. “That could buy as much as a day, mayhap e’en more.”

Jolene nodded. “So we hoped, but an enraged Harold can be very resourceful.” She kissed the top of Reynard’s head. “And, as long as this boy lives, Drumwich will ne’er be Harold’s to claim.”

Sigimor slowly nodded as he considered that. “Rage and greed. Both can stir a villain to o’ercome great odds. Best we put as much distance between us and Drumwich as quickly as possible.”

He had barely finished speaking when he nudged his mount into a slightly faster pace, the others quickly following his lead. Sigimor cursed the dark for it hindered their flight, forcing them to keep their mounts at a much slower pace than he wanted. A full gallop toward the border was what he craved, but it would be several hours before he could indulge in that urge. Glancing at Jolene and the boy, he knew there would be other times when they would have to stop or go more slowly than he wished. Even if those delays were few and far between, they could quickly devour the lead they had been blessed with. It could well be a hard-won race to the safety of Dubheidland.

With the handsome Nanty’s help, Jolene quickly secured a restive Reynard in his sling and remounted her horse. It was only noon, but she already felt the pain of long, unaccustomed hours in the saddle. None of the men complained, but she knew they did not like these stops necessitated by her nephew. This was only the second one and she had worked as swiftly as possible, but the men’s need to keep moving was so strong she could almost feel it. She suspected that, if she and Reynard were not there, these men would pause in their race for the border only for the sake of the horses. It was hard to hide her wince when Sigimor immediately led them off at a gallop, obviously deciding that the horses had rested long enough to endure another few hours of hard travel.

She prayed Harold would not follow, but had the sinking feeling her entreaties would be unanswered. Harold could not trust her to leave him alone, to not try to oust him from Drumwich once she found safety and allies. He could not allow Peter’s son to live to be used against him, to grow into manhood and come to reclaim his heritage. Jolene doubted he would think twice about slipping into Scotland to hunt them down. The only things in her favor were that he would have to be somewhat cautious once he entered Scotland and he would not enlist any allies for fear of his own crimes being uncovered.

But, she had enlisted allies, she thought, glancing at the six grim-faced men riding with her. Even though Sir Sigimor Cameron owed Peter his life, and now owed her the same debt, Jolene began to feel guilty about dragging these men into her troubles. Harold was vicious, sly, and deadly. She was putting these men at risk for their very lives and she began to wonder if that was fair or right. English lands and English titles meant nothing to them and never would. In fact, she suspected these Scots would be just as happy to see the entire English aristocracy washed out to sea.

Reynard babbled something about seeing a deer, and Jolene sighed even as she replied. It was impossible to give the child much attention when she was caught fast in her own troubled thoughts and riding hard for the border. His brief intrusion into her thoughts reminded her of what this was all about, however. She might ache with a need to
make Harold pay for Peter’s death, but keeping Reynard safe had to take precedence over that. Reynard was a part of Peter, a living memory of her brother, and the vessel of all of Peter’s hopes and plans for the future of Drumwich. Until Harold was defeated, her every step, her every action, and her every thought had to concern keeping Reynard alive and safe.

That knowledge did not completely soothe her conscience concerning the Camerons, however. She sternly told herself that Peter had felt it acceptable to ask their aid in fighting his enemy, therefore she should as well. Then again, she mused, men seemed to have no trouble asking other men to fight with them, to risk their lives. Honor and the glory of a battle for a righteous cause were like food and drink to a man. She suspected they did not long consider the possibility of defeat or death. Unfortunately, she did. The moment she had asked these men to help her, she had taken on the responsibility for their lives, and she was not sure she could bear such a burden. Yet, what choice did she have?

She was still fretting over that question by the time the sun had almost finished setting and they stopped to camp for the night. The painful weariness of her body quickly pushed it aside. Jolene had to cling to her saddle for several minutes after dismounting before she could be sure her legs would hold her up. Since Reynard had fallen asleep right after their brief midafternoon pause, they had not stopped again until now. They had barely slowed the horses when the boy had awakened and needed to relieve himself. Jolene was still a little shocked at how Sigimor had held the boy so that the child could do what he needed to do without dismounting, although Reynard had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He had then kept the little boy with him, however, and Jolene reluctantly admitted that she had been glad for that kindness.

Eyeing the fire Liam had already built, Jolene wondered how good her chances were of getting over there with any semblance of grace. Not good, she decided after she tried to step away from her horse and felt her legs tremble. Slumping against her mount, she wondered when, or if, the men would finally notice that she had not yet joined them, had not yet even tended to her poor, exhausted horse.

“I think the lass may be having a wee bit of trouble, Sigimor,” Nanty said as he sat down next to him before the fire.

Sigimor looked at Lady Jolene who had not taken one small step away from her horse since she had dismounted. “Nay used to long rides. I suspicion she has ne’er done more than trot about her brother’s lands.”

“Wheesht, e’en I am feeling sore. Ne’er have liked spending a whole day in the saddle.” When Nanty began to stand up, obviously intending to assist Jolene, his eyes widened slightly when Sigimor clapped a hand on his shoulder and held him down. “Her mount needs tending, if naught else.”

“I will see to her. Watch the wee lad.”

Sigimor studied Lady Jolene carefully as he walked up to her. She looked exhausted, pale and untidy. Unfortunately, she still looked far too attractive to him. Wan though it was, her face was still lovely. Beautiful, thickly lashed, silver gray eyes, a small straight nose, and a mouth that could tempt a saint with its full, beautifully shaped lips. He wanted to be irritated by her weakness, by her obvious inability to keep pace with them. Instead, he felt an urge to cosset her and a sincere respect for how she had done her best without complaint. Not good, he thought, and frowned at her.

“Ye best walk about some or ye will get too stiff to move,” he said and almost grinned when she glared at him.

“Thank you for your kind advice,” Jolene replied, unable to keep all of the sarcasm out of her voice. “As soon as my legs feel inclined to do as they should, I shall be sure to follow it.” She thought the heavy sigh he gave earned him a good kick in the shin, but she was unable to grant herself that pleasure. “What are you doing?” she demanded when he wrapped one strong arm around her shoulders and tugged her away from her horse.

“Walking ye about.” He pretended not to notice when she stumbled and wrapped an arm around his waist to steady herself, although his body quickly tautened with awareness. “Liam, see to her horse,” he ordered his cousin as he started to walk Jolene around the clearing they had chosen to camp in.

“I thought I was well accustomed to riding,” she muttered once her embarrassment had eased.