Highland Lover (5 page)

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.”

Chapter 4

Why had she thought that getting out of the pit the Gowans had tossed her into would mean she

would be warm and dry? Alana asked herself as she fought to keep pace with Gregor. She was wet,

cold, and tired. Very, very tired. Dawn had come and gone hours ago, yet on they ran. Gregor

allowed a few rests and a regular change from a fast pace to a slow one and then fast again. Alana

knew she was an excellent runner, could go fast and endure a hard pace for a long time, but she

feared she had passed her endurance miles ago.

The chill of the rain had begun to sink deep into her bones, joining forces with the well-settled chill of the prison. She ached from the cold, ached from weariness, and ached from pushing herself far

beyond her strength. She wanted to lie down someplace warm and dry and stay there for a day or

two, perhaps even a full sennight.

It occurred to her that she was not even sure where they were running to, but she was too tired to