Highland Escape (7 page)

They sat in silence, considering the situation, considering the options. The truth of her circumstances only proved to intensify Duncan’s feelings for her.

“What will ye do?” He shifted position and rubbed his legs, awaiting an answer.

Kenneth strolled to the window overlooking the village. He stood quietly for a long time, staring into the distance, watching night absorb the remaining daylight. “MacGregors never back down from a fight, and we never forget a debt owed. We will harbor her here, hide her if her enemies come looking. Though I cannot think this Englishman will risk war by invading so far into Scotland over one lass.”

Duncan carefully chewed over his words before asking the next question. “Considering her experience thus far, is there reason to think she would trust us and accept such an offer?”

A genuine smile crossed Kenneth’s face. He seemed amused they were finally able to have a cordial conversation about the matter. His amused expression dissolved into something harder before he answered.

“I had three days to consider life without Nessa. Each day I imagined having to look into yer mother’s eyes if we’d failed to find her, or if she had died during the rescue. Lady Anna Braxton is the reason I willnae daily see the pain of Nessa’s death on yer mother’s face. I will offer her my sincerest apologies and treat her as a daughter if she will allow it. If not, we will provide escort to wherever she wishes to go.”

Duncan leaned forward, hands stroking his chin in a lazy manner, pondering his father’s plan. He readily agreed it was the right thing to do, however, the thought of her leaving was—unsettling.

“I spoke with her guard. She sits in silent concentration for regular intervals. She recites the Bible and poetry in several languages and performs complex fighting drills daily. She has eaten very little since her arrival. She has not touched the stew we have given her here, nor on the three days’ ride here,” Duncan said as if offering a crop reporting.

This last bit of knowledge brought a scowl to the laird’s face. “She starves herself?”

Duncan paused, considering the question. Fear for her well-being bullied its way into his thoughts. He firmly denied it access. “Nae, I dinnae think so. She hunted and killed on the ride back. She added this to some dried meat and fruit in her pack. I dinnae know why she has chosen to eat naught other than porridge and bread in five days. I do know each of her days is exactly the same. Her pattern is predictable, it doesnae vary. And there’s still the wee mystery of how she escaped her cell.” Duncan couldn’t stop the esteem he held for her, or the accompanying grin when he thought again of her escape.

With his scowl still firmly in place Kenneth asked, “She has been trained to be a captive?”

Duncan uttered a humorless laugh, lowering his head in agreement. “Aye. ’Tis a logical explanation.”

“Why the hell would a young woman of noble blood be taught to endure captivity?”

Duncan shared his father’s exasperation, but had no ready answer. ’Twas a good question. Perhaps if she accepted his father’s offer, if their treatment of her hadn’t pushed her too far already, they would find out.

Chapter 5

On the evening of the fifth day of her captivity, the door to Anna’s cell opened. Instead of bringing food, the odious guard glared at her and gestured for her to leave the cell. His clenched fists and constricted face told her his anger toward her hadn’t cooled.

Every fiber of her body tensed. Standing at the doorway, she waited for him to move, refusing to turn her back to him. With a grunt of disgust, he walked past the door of the prison, opening the next door, and continued without waiting to see if she followed. He entered the great hall, leading her toward a door at the other end of the large room.

The enormous chamber bubbled with activity. Everyone, from the men and women eating, to those serving, halted their actions and stared as the guard led her through to the next doorway. The experience rattled her, raising the hair on the back of her neck as though she’d been hurled into a room full of predators—with her the blooded prey.

When the guard opened the next door, she saw a smaller, opulent chamber with a table surrounded by high-back chairs. Thick, colorful tapestries covered the walls. The candle stand on the intricately carved table held dozens of candles, the unmistakably sweet smell of beeswax filling the air. Everything about this room bespoke wealth.

This was obviously a private hall where MacGregor entertained guests. The lavishness of its décor aimed to impress or perhaps intimidate. Her guard jerked his head, motioning her forward. As she entered, both Duncan and his father rose from their seats. Raising his cup, the laird spoke. “Lady Anna, join us for a meal.”

His tone sounded warm and inviting—in other words, confusing. The guard roughly pulled the chair out at the opposite end of the table, indicating she sit. She did so, then adjusted her chair to keep him in her line of sight.

“Please, help yerself. My son tells me ye have eaten little in five days.”

The gentle scold reminded her of her father. She maintained a calm facade, belying the anxiety coursing through her.

“Thank you, Laird.” Anna placed a small piece of cheese, a slice of bread, and an apple on the plate in front of her.

“Try the wine,” MacGregor urged.

If the lightness of his voice and gesturing were to be believed, he relished the role of host. Gone the harsh warden of the past sennight, and in his place a congenial gentleman.

She ignored his request and reached for a pitcher of water instead. Anna had no intention of fuddling her wits with wine. She’d know if they’d tainted the water. It was easier to drug or poison wine.

After she assembled a small plate of food, the laird encouraged her to eat. Anna took a bite of apple and waited for him to pronounce her sentence. Bringing her into such a room, asking her to join them to sup, went beyond her expectations. As she chewed, she scanned the room for escape, keeping track of the guard. She suspected his movement would forewarn her of any danger.

“Lady Anna, I wish to apologize for taking and holding ye against yer will. Ye must understand I dinnae know who ye were. I did not know what crimes ye might have committed, or what enemies ye might be fleeing.”

Crimes!
The accusation overrode his conciliatory tone. Anger burned through her blood and it took all the control she possessed to stay seated. She stopped chewing, her fingers gripped the wooden armrests of the chair, and her pulled spine arrow-straight.

He continued. “The day ye assisted us, I sent a rider to follow yer trail, seeking to find out about ye. Since ye were unwilling to talk, I had to know what trouble ye ran from, and mayhap led to us.”

“And now you know about me, Laird?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Aye. Ye are Lady Anna Braxton, daughter of Baron Everard Braxton and Lady Rossalyn of the Elliot clan. Ye fled after yer home was attacked by a rival nobleman, yer family killed, yer home burned. For that I am very sorry.”

Having endured eight days of captivity, all for rescuing his daughter, Anna had heard enough. “You are sorry?” she spat as she sprang to her feet. “For what? The death of my family, the loss of my home, or for wrongfully imprisoning an ally for a sennight?”

An unlooked-for blow sent her flying from her chair. The angry scrape of chairs, the furious voices as Duncan and his father shouted at the guard who attacked her, were all a muddle of nonsense as lights danced around her, her head throbbing. She tasted the metallic flavor of blood and felt the warmth of it on her face. A red haze fogged her vision.

Stumbling to her feet, she launched at her attacker. Using every bit of strength she could muster, Anna planted a kick between his legs, gratified to hear his grunt of pain. Grabbing his hair with both hands, she rammed her knee into his face. The satisfying crunch sent a spray of blood across her tunic. She twisted her body and uncoiled, throwing her weight behind an elbow strike, hitting the hinge of his jaw, just below the ear.

As he fell to the floor in a heap, she drew his dagger to finish the job.

“Lady Anna!” Duncan’s voice broke the haze of her fury. “Dinnae kill him. I wouldnae wish to see ye hanged for murder.”

Glaring at Duncan, Anna grabbed her fallen guard by the scalp and carved a four-inch long gash on his cheek as a reminder. The pain seemed to awaken him and he moaned. Dropping him to the floor, she stalked toward the entry.

“Lady Anna, please stay. We will see to yer wounds. Sit with us, finish yer meal. We wish to speak with ye.” The laird gestured toward the table and her empty chair.

Still in a rage, she managed to answer, “Thank you, my laird, but I seem to have lost my appetite. If you will excuse me, I will withdraw to the accommodations you have so graciously provided.” She took two steps toward the door when Duncan spoke again.

“Anna, I am sorry, he shouldnae have struck ye. He will be punished.”

Realizing she still had his dagger in her hand, she spotted a target board for darts on the wall. She hurled the dagger, hitting near the center.

“Tell your men not to touch me again. The next barbarian who does will die, consequences be damned!”

Slamming the door behind her, she staggered into the main hall. She ignored the stares and the thrum of voices, only making it a few feet before her faltering steps forced her to stop. She leaned against the wall, struggling to clear her head and right her balance. The laird’s words about her family, about her home, echoed in her mind. Angry tears burned their way down her cheeks. She wanted to lash out at someone, to scream.

A wave of dizziness swamped her. She gripped the wall. The buzz of conversation filled the hall, though she could not make out the words. As the dizziness eased, she assessed her injuries. A tender knot on the back of her head throbbed, but she detected no broken bones. She wiped the blood from her nose and mouth on her sleeve.

Her left eye began to swell, likely to be closed before morning. Her skin remained hot where his hand had landed, the sting still pulsing. The hammering in the back of her head felt as though a smith had set up shop. Controlling her breathing, Anna focused on letting the dizziness pass. Instead, it folded back, doubling in intensity. She took a ragged breath and slipped to the floor.

* * *

Duncan exploded with rage. The urge to protect Anna roared to the fore, stronger than ever. Only his father’s intervention kept him from killing Alain with his bare hands. Deaf to reason and dimly aware of Kenneth’s shouts, he fought his father’s grip as Alain stumbled through the door. The guard gone, Kenneth bade Duncan follow Anna to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured, ordering her moved upstairs for Nessa and Isla to tend.

Duncan charged into the main hall to find her and spotted a crowd surrounding something on the floor. Panic bolted through him, and he strode quickly to the crowd, pushing aside those in his way. His gaze fell on the woman kneeling at Anna’s side.

“She has fainted, sir.”

Duncan nodded his thanks and reached to smooth Anna’s hair from her face. He scooped her into his arms, drawing her to his chest, and carried her toward the stairs to Nessa’s room. Murmurs of speculation followed, fading as he ascended the stairs.

He took in the blood on her face and clothing and fought back the fury eating away at his control. His murderous rage gave way to an all-consuming need to comfort and safeguard her. Though he knew most of the blood on her clothes belonged to Alain, the knowledge did little to allay his concern.

He shook from the raw emotion of having her in his arms. He had no idea what was happening to him, but knew she belonged there. He hefted her to one side as he opened the door. She weighed more than he thought, her arms and legs surprisingly thick with muscle. This was no delicate lass, but a sturdy woman with a warrior’s body.

He laid her gently upon the extra bed in Nessa’s room. Feeling helpless, Duncan struggled between his need to seek revenge and his need to hold her again. At his mother’s light touch, he pulled out of his conflicting thoughts.

“Da wishes ye to care for her.” The gruffness of his voice surprised him. He’d never used such a tone with his mother. He detected the puzzled expression on his mother’s face, knowing she caught the swirl of emotion in his eyes.

After a long silence she finally spoke, though barely above a whisper. “Leave her with us. We will see to her.”

Inclining his head respectfully, Duncan left Anna in the care of his mother and sister. Skirting the main hall, he tossed a bridle on his stallion and rode to the loch. Stripping, he plunged into the icy depths, teeth gritted against the cold. Lungs near bursting, he surfaced and released a howl, venting the frustration of unfulfilled battle lust. The frigid water washed away the immediate rage coursing through him. The cold anger remaining would not be slaked until he killed the bastard for hurting her.

The powerful memory of Anna in his arms did not diminish. He thought of the softness of her skin, of the flood of rightness of having her in his arms. Closing his eyes, Duncan vowed to do everything in his power to have her there again.

His instincts to protect her continued to dredge up memories and guilt about his brother, Callum, tormenting him further. Though never far from his thoughts, for some reason Anna’s presence brought Callum to the fore of his mind. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would help him gain a better view on things in the light of a new day. The knowledge that Anna lay in a proper bed and received care, allowed him some measure of peace.