Highland Escape (6 page)

“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.

Kenneth stopped all pretense of eating. “She got away?”

Duncan shook his head, trying not to laugh at the expression on his father’s face. “Nae. I alerted the gate master to drop the outer gate. I placed a dozen men at the other end with orders not to harm her. When she entered the gateway, I had the gate lowered. She made a run for it but dinnae make it. Howbeit, ’twas close.”

Kenneth stared at him, apparently finding it hard to grasp the tale. “Where is she now?”

“I put her in another cell. I checked to make sure this one locked properly, though I could find no fault with the one holding her before.”

“She was not injured?” Kenneth rubbed his brow, his bewilderment plain.

“Nae. Though she did ask if her attempt will earn her a beating.”

The laird grimaced. “What did ye tell her?”

“I told her, not this time.” Duncan’s lips quirked upward.

Kenneth sat quietly, staring at the contents swirling in his mug. “I told ye she needed to be secured.” His tone sounded smug with a hint of bluster, as if trying to hide guilt over imprisoning a noblewoman.

“Aye, and I said she wouldnae feel the need to escape if she were treated like a guest—which she has earned.” After a few tense moments, Duncan rose to leave before his anger grew worse. He knew there would be no winning this dispute.

* * *

Five days. Five days his father forced Anna to sit in that curst cell. For what purpose? He would find out tonight, as a rider had arrived this afternoon bearing news regarding her. Duncan sat by the hearth and waited for his father to broach the subject. After arguing with him several times already, Duncan thought he would try a more passive approach.

“I know my handling of the English lass has been difficult for ye.” Kenneth filled his cup and Duncan’s with wine.

“’Tis not my place to challenge yer orders, Father.” Duncan replied, avoiding eye contact.

Frowning, Kenneth continued, “I could ask for no better son, but ye have done more than challenge my orders on this matter.” His voice carried the frustration of their ongoing argument.

Duncan let the well-earned rebuke slip past unchallenged.

“Ye know my priority must be to protect our people. A woman who appears out of nowhere, who has skills equal to our best warriors, who is both Scots and English, ’tis a dangerous problem.”

Duncan gave a curt nod in agreement.

“Why is she running?” Kenneth mused. “From whom does she run? And most importantly, could these enemies be brought to our doorstep? I took a risk by bringing her here, but feel a tremendous debt to her for what she did for Nessa.”

“Aye, I know, ’tis a difficult situation.”

Putting down his cup, Kenneth faced Duncan fully. “Do ye? I see the way ye look at her. I hear the emotion in yer words. I see how ye wish to protect her.” He paused between each sentence for effect. “I fear by bringing her here we risk the whole clan. Perhaps even our allies.”

“Then why treat her like a prisoner? Do ye know she asked me what makes us different from the men she killed defending Nessa?”

Kenneth closed his eyes, a frown on his face as he leaned back in his chair, fingers rubbing an old battle wound on his shoulder, a familiar gesture when vexed.

“When I told her we would protect her, she thanked me for the protection we had provided thus far, reminding me of the wound Shamus gave her, which she stitched herself.” Duncan’s aggravation rose, crested, finally softening into surrender. “I trust yer judgment, Father. I just dinnae understand it.” Duncan’s resolve to remain cordial began to slip.

Kenneth grunted. “I dispatched a rider before ye brought her back to camp that day. I needed to know as much as I could about her. I have found out she is Lady Anna Braxton, daughter of Baron Everard Braxton, a border lord. Her mother was Lady Rossalyn, daughter of the Elliot Laird. Her mother has been dead for several years.”

His father shifted his weight in the chair and ran a hand through his graying hair.

“Her father and brother were killed in an attack by a neighboring noble who has been trying to gain Anna in marriage. He wanted to acquire her lands upon Lord Braxton’s and his son’s death. Apparently, Anna had rebuffed him repeatedly. Lord Braxton would not force her, and it seems the man grew weary of waiting. None within the keep survived the attack.” Kenneth’s somber voice reflected the harsh reality of her story.

Duncan stood, anger pounding in his skull, demanding he protect her from the schemes of this unknown
Sassenach
.

“From what I have learned, she and her brother were out hunting and came across the attack upon their return. Her brother must have forced her to run, because he met his death in defense of their home.”

Duncan settled into the chair, his mind awhirl, absorbing the facts. This explained so many things. The English and Scots blood, the training and regal bearing—though it didn’t explain why she was a fighter instead of the wife of a nobleman.

“She sought refuge with her grandda’s clan, then?” Duncan still wondered about the circumstances of discovering her alone so far from the border.

As he leaned forward in his chair, Kenneth’s face grew harsh. “Nae. She never went near Elliot, never sought aid, nor made contact. They likely fear she is dead or worse. She apparently does not know who attacked her family. She dinnae flee to another barony, but rather deep into Scotland, into the unknown. The heart of a lion, this one.”

Duncan finally heard the same admiration he felt mirrored in his father’s voice.

“To answer yer question, I have held her prisoner because ’twas possible she committed some sort of crime. I wanted to make sure she had no opportunity to flee. As ye know, there are those who would brutalize her then slit her throat simply because she is English. I captured her as much for her own safety as anything.”

This last statement reverberated through the room. Duncan couldn’t tell which of them he tried to convince. Duncan laced his fingers together across his chest, pushing deeper into the plush cushions of the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Yes, he’d seen her bravery played out several times. This story fit with what he knew of her character.