To Steal a Highlander's Heart (5 page)

The
callous countenance had slipped back into place, all concern for her gone and
she threw an arm back over her eyes, unable to bear it. The door clunked shut
and she heard a bolt slide across. She truly was a prisoner then.

Her
empty stomach churned. Rest. That’s what she needed. And then she’d work on a
plan to escape. Aye, she’d leave Morgann MacRae to his torment. He clearly
wanted no help or sympathy from her. Ach, to think of the anguish she’d felt
for him all these years after her father’s behaviour. That man hardly seemed
worth such sorrow.

***

Dragging
her hands though her pale green hair, Tèile huffed. Curses, the pair were as
stubborn and as confused as each other. She’d sometimes watched them as young
friends, waiting for the moment that fate would be fulfilled and their debt would
be repaid but as the years had gone by, it became clear interference would be necessary.

Neither
had the courage to admit their feelings. Or mayhap they’d been too young to
understand them. Humans were very confusing beings. How hard could love really
be?

She
cast her gaze over Alana as the woman’s breathing slowed and she fell asleep. Tèile
admired her spirit. The lass was planning some kind of rash escapade but Tèile couldn’t
allow that. It had been hard enough to persuade Alana to leave the keep and
bring Morgann to her. Her interference had to be limited; they had to find
their own way to each other.

But
there were things she could do. Dreams were an excellent tool of the fae. The
sidhe
council would only allow her so much use of magic. Too much and the mortal
world would shift into an imbalance with all the magic in the air. Putting the Campbell
clan to sleep for a while had already cost her dearly.

With
a wave of her fingers, she grinned as Alana exhaled slowly. She would not need
to do much to ensure she dreamt of Morgann. The moment they had shared under
the rock had been entirely their own. Tèile had hoped the kiss might happen
then but Morgann…

Stubborn
human male.

A
kiss. That was all that was needed, she was sure of it. Their connection would
finally be realised and Tèile could get back to enjoying herself as a faery
should. She rubbed her hands together as she thought of the celebrations that would
take place. The burden of the
sidhe’s
promise would be at an end. Too
much faery time had been devoted to the foolish couple. But that was the price
they paid for human aid. Many years ago, Alana’s mother had helped one of the
fae bear a child. Delicate creatures that they were, they occasionally needed a
human’s aid. And in return they promised to look after Alana. Which meant
ensuring she and Morgann married.

Aye,
she looked forward to being rid of her tiresome task and indulging in a little
tipple or two. Tèile sighed. She would deserve it after trying to get these two
to see what was right in front of them.

Silly
fools. Couldn’t they see they were destined for one another?

***

Swiping
a hand over his face, Morgann stormed down the stairs, pushing past a guard at
the bottom. His stepmother turned at the sound of his footsteps and placed her
goblet of wine on the trestle table at the end of the Great Hall. Swathes of
gilded light danced through the rear window, illuminating Margot’s curvaceous
figure.

He
scowled as she slid toward him, a twisted smile upon her lips. A bitter taste
sat in his mouth as she skimmed her gaze over him. Too many men had fallen prey
to her seductions, his father included, and he didn’t doubt she hoped the same
for him. But he’d always seen through her stunning looks to the black,
ambitious heart that lay beneath.

He
would not succumb as easily as his father had.

“Is
our guest settled then, Morgann?” she asked as she sidled up beside him.

“Aye,
well enough.”

“Think
ye ‘tis wise to bring that lass here? Ye must know ye are inviting war by
holding her here.”

He
clenched his fist, pulling on his self-restraint. For too long, the woman had
spread her poison through Glencolum. “I know naught, save that I will do
whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of the clan.”

“Safety?
How shall we be safe under the threat of war?”

“Do
ye question me, Margot?” Morgann took a deliberate step toward her.

Her
eyes widened briefly before she pulled her shoulders straight. “Nay, of course
not. I trust yer judgement.”

Morgann
seized the moment to study her. She’d acquiesced far too quickly but a flicker
of a plot sat behind his stepmother’s grey eyes. Turning before she recognised
he knew as much, he paced over to the table and poured himself some wine.

“Is
my father abed?” he asked without looking at her.

“Aye,
my lord husband is sick as ever. But dinnae fear, I have been by his side,
faithfully tending to him.”

He
didn’t doubt it. “Well, ye need tend no longer. Have a maid see to him. The
keep needs yer attention elsewhere, Mother.”

It
galled him to call her that. She—only five summers his senior—could never take
the place of his mother. But sometimes it worked to put her in her place. While
his father lay sick in his bed, he had taken on all the duties of the laird.
And thus she was under his command.

But
Margot was not easy to command. Slippery and cunning. Rather like Alana, though
she certainly held no wicked thoughts like Margot did.

“Shall
I see to our guest? No doubt she is in need of a woman’s touch.”

He
gave her a cold stare over his shoulder. Morgann wouldn’t allow his stepmother
anywhere near Alana. Surely she knew what he intended to do with Alana and it
did not bode well for his stepmother.

“Nay.
Ye’ll no’ step foot in my chambers.”

Behind
him, Margot huffed and he heard her skirts swish as she stormed away. Ach, now
he had two difficult women to deal with. Though he had to confess that he
preferred dealing with Alana. A surge of desire burst through him as he
recalled the sensation of soft skin and delicate curves pressed into him.

It
wouldn’t do. Lusting after her would only serve to distract him. Never mind
that the warrior in him longed to keep her in his chamber and take full advantage
of having her as his prisoner. Not that she seemed to remember the moment she’d
thrust that sweet figure up against him.

Lucky
lass. That moment would likely torture him for an eternity.

And
now she lay in his bed, invading his sheets with her addictive scent.

Morgann
squeezed at the stem of his goblet and drew in a breath through his nostrils,
hoping to calm the heat spearing through him. The image of the disappointment
in her eyes dampened it, a heaviness growing in his chest. He knew he’d
changed, that he was no longer the carefree lad she’d known and mayhap cared for.
And he understood her need for reasons. But for the moment he had to keep his
plans quiet and Alana would find no benefit in learning the truth.

If
he could, he would protect her from it to the best of his ability. He wasn’t
sure how. But he would do that for her at least. Morgann heeded her feelings
more than he cared to think about.

With
a sigh, he walked over to the writing desk in the corner of the hall and
reached for a quill while motioning to one of his clansmen, Kieran. “I need a
missive delivering to Laird Dougall Campbell with haste. Stop for naught, ye understand?”

Kieran
nodded. “Aye, laird. What shall I say of his daughter?”

“Say
naught save what ye must to ensure yer safety. This missive will tell him all
he needs to know.” Morgann sat and dipped the quill in the ink. “He willnae
wish to see his daughter harmed.”

Night
air whispered through the hall, seeping through the closed shutters and Morgann
shuddered. He glanced at Margot who sat near the fire pit, carefully
embroidering a tapestry. Though she looked engrossed in the task, he knew well
enough her mind worked to figure out how to get rid of Alana.

He
groaned inwardly. What a mess. By bringing Alana here, he not only risked
further fighting but placed her in very real peril. He’d already seen the
effects of Margot’s plots—his father’s health was evidence of that. How she continued
her witchcraft on him baffled Morgann. He ensured all food and drink was
checked, yet his father still ailed. And he could not accuse her outright of
witchery or plotting until he had proof.

Which
was where Alana came in.

Margot
cared little about war or his clan. She’d been an outsider to begin with until
she’d ingratiated herself to his father and climbed into his bed following the
death of Morgann’s mother. But she did care about power. And Alana had the power
to prove without doubt that Margot was a traitor.

She
flicked her gaze up to him and offered a seductive smile. Morgann saw the
sinister undertone to it and snapped his gaze away. Aye, if Alana was the key
to Margot’s undoing then he’d placed her in grave danger.

He
sagged into his chair. He’d spent too long watching Margot’s every move. It
made him edgy. A man was posted on Alana’s door and Margot had not been near
the kitchens or her room to meddle with Alana’s food or bath.

A
sharp twist in his stomach stiffened his muscles. So why did he feel as if
Alana was in danger this very moment? It was the same sensation that had struck
him in the mountains. He jumped to his feet.

“Morgann?
Is all well?” Margot asked as several members of the household stared at him.

Ignoring
her, he pushed past the men around the fire and took the spiral steps two at a
time. Sweat tinged his brow as he reached the top, breaths coming heavily as
the sickening sensation grew stronger.

Help
her
, a voice
whispered and he shivered.

Finn,
his cousin, and one of his strongest warriors, guarded the door to his chambers
and he trailed his gaze over Morgann, brow furrowing. “Laird?”

“Has
she been out?”

Finn
laughed, crossing both arms across his chest. “Nay, of course not.”

“Has
she said aught? Begged ye for release mayhap? Made threats?”

“Nay.
As quiet as a mouse.”

Morgann
cursed and shoved Finn aside. “That’s what I feared.”

Swiftly
pulling back the lock, he thrust open the door and stared around. The bed was
empty. The wooden bath in front of the fire sat unused. He spun around, half
expecting her to leap out from behind the door and make an escape but no one
sprang out of the shadows.

Stepping
over to the side table, he snatched the only lit candle in the room and lifted
it, peering around. His gaze alighted on the bedding tied around one post of
the bed.

“God’s
blood, foolish lass,” he murmured to himself.

“She’s
gone out the window?” Finn asked from behind him. “Brave lass.”

Morgann
scowled at the admiration in Finn’s tone and dropped the candle back on the
table. They were four storeys up, almost at the highest point in the keep. Falling
would mean certain death.

He
stomped over to the window and peered out. He just made out the line of white
sheets and what looked like the dark red blankets tied together in a makeshift
rope. And then his heart froze.

The
faintest feminine voice reached up to him, almost lost in the evening breeze.
Morgann listened carefully. Aye, there it was.

Leaning
further out, he peered into the gloom and swallowed heavily. “Alana?”

“Morgann?
I-I’m stuck.”

Halfway
down the wall hung Alana, just visible at the end of the line. He just made out
the vague outline of her gown and she was clearly nowhere near enough to the
ground.

“I-I
can’t hold on much longer.”

The
distress in her voice was obvious enough though. It yanked roughly at his chest
as urgency rushed through him. He couldn’t lose his Alana.

His
Alana?

“Finn,”
he barked, “find a ladder. With haste.”

Without
waiting for a response, Morgann sprinted down the stairs, almost losing his
footing twice, and barged out of the hall doors. A gathering of men stood at
the base of the keep, looking up, torches held aloft.

“She’s
going to fall,” said one.

“Aye,
she’ll no’ survive,” declared another.

Morgann
glanced around. Where in the devil was Finn? Alana screamed and with the torchlight
he could now see that she was barely gripping the line of bedding. He had no
time. Eyeing the castle wall, he stepped forward and curled his hands over the stone.

“Laird,
what are ye doing?” someone asked but he ignored them.

Boots
pressed against the keep, he began to climb, fingers barely hooking into the
indents between each stone.

“Morgann!”
Alana cried.

Pulse
quickening, he climbed harder, boots slipping against the rough stone. His
fingers ached and he scarcely held on but some wild determination drove him
forward. The muscles in his arms burned and he didn’t doubt his fingertips would
be bleeding by the end.

If
he survived the climb that was.

Peering
up, he realised he was close. Alana’s bare feet dangled not far from his face,
flashes of leg peeking from under her skirts. His heart pounded with exertion
and horror as her grip slipped and she cried out.

Now
she hung from one arm, Morgann knew he had to get to her fast. Disregarding the
cramping pain in his hands, he edged up the wall until he was at her side.

She
stared at him, eyes wide with fear. “M-Morgann, I cannae hold on.”

“Just
a wee bit longer,
m'eudail
. I’m here. I’ll no’ let ye fall.”

He
reached for the sheets, curled a hand gratefully around them and gave them a tug.
Aye, it would hold his weight. He inched upward and swung over, snatching the
line in both hands so that he hung from it just above Alana. Her grasp on the
rope slipped and Morgann seized her hand, gripping her tight before she fell.

“Hold
on, Alana. I’ve got ye.”

Looking
down, Morgann realised just how high up they were. God’s blood, his hands hurt.
But he kept his hold strong around Alana’s.

“Ye
cannae hold on to me forever,” she exclaimed, voice wavering.

“I
dinnae need to hold ye forever,” he grunted.

A
thud against the wall dragged his attention from her and he blew out a long
breath. Finn climbed carefully up the ladder now propped against the castle
wall. Morgann’s arm shook as he waited for what felt like an eternity for Finn
to reach them. The top of the ladder didn’t quite reach Alana’s feet and
Morgann knew he’d have to trust Finn to catch Alana.

Letting
go of her was the hardest thing he would ever do.

“Alana,
ye need to let go of me. Finn will catch ye.”

She
glanced down and then back up at him, alarm clear in her gaze. “I’ll fall.”

“I’ll
not let that happen. Trust me.”

Alana
peered down again and nodded slowly. “A-aye. I trust ye.”

“Finn?”
Morgann called to him. “Are ye ready?”

“Aye,
my laird. I’m ready.”

Giving
Alana a nod, he waited for her grip to loosen. Ensuring she was perfectly lined
up with the ladder, he sucked in a breath and let go. Alana screamed as she
dropped and Finn hooked an arm around her waist, pinning her to the ladder.
They both wavered for a moment but the men at the bottom held the ladder firm.

Morgann
almost let go of the sheet as relief made him sag. Jolting, he grabbed the
fabric with his other hand and waited until Alana was safely on the ground.

“Laird?
What are ye going to do?” Finn shouted.

He
glanced up at the window and then at the distance between him and the top of
the ladder, he smirked to himself. “Looks like I’m climbing, Finn,” he yelled
back.

His
shoulders wrenched as he hauled himself up the line of sheets but by some
miracle he made it to the top and clambered in through the window. Dropping to
the floor, he gathered his breath. Sweat dripped from him.

The
door to the chamber swung open with a crash and Alana dashed to his side and wrapped
an arm around him. “Morgann, thank the Lord yer alive!”

“Aye,
no thanks to ye, ye daft lass,” he grumbled as he came to his knees and she
flung her arms around him.

Morgann
allowed himself a moment to savour the press of her face against the side of his
neck and a slight shudder coursed through her. He caressed her hair roughly,
reassuring himself she was all right.

Finally
finding the strength to come to his feet, he hooked his hands under her arms
and hauled her up with him before setting her away.

She
clasped her hands in front of her and offered him an apologetic look. “Forgive
me, I never meant to put ye in danger.”

“Nay,
ye just intended to escape. Yer plan was a terrible one, Alana. Yer lucky ye
didnae end up dead.”

Chin
thrusting up, she propped her hands on hips. “‘Twas nae terrible. ‘Twould have
worked had ye given me enough bedding.”

“Oh,
aye, so ‘twas my fault for not providing ample bedding so ye could make yer
escape.” He swiped a hand across his damp brow, fear slowly replaced with
disbelief and anger. Did she not realise how terrified he’d been for her?

“Well…nay,
but ye cannae say ‘twas a terrible plan. And I wouldnae have had to resort to
such things had ye no’ brought me here against my will.”

Morgann
shook his head and began drawing in the sheets. “Ye know, Alana Campbell, I’ll
be glad when ye are returned to yer father. Yer more hassle than yer worth.”

A
hurt expression crossed her face as he closed the shutters and dumped the
length of bedding on the floor. It shouldn’t have bothered him that he’d upset her.
She was his prisoner after all. But it did.

Forcing
his own expression to harden, he stepped sharply toward her. “No more foolish
escapades, ye understand?”

“I’ll
no’ stop trying to escape.”

“Then
I’ll no’ leave ye alone.”

Actually
he liked the notion. He perked at the thought. No more worrying about what she
was up to or fearing Margot would get to her. Aye, while he waited for a
response from Dougall, he’d be Alana’s shadow.

***

Tremors
still ran through her body as Alana concentrated on drawing in breaths. Sweet
Mary, she’d been close, too close, to death. Ach, if only she’d been more
careful and checked how long the sheets were. In desperation, she’d started to
descend, unable to see the bottom in the dark. And then she’d become stuck.
Without enough strength to climb she had just hung there.
Then
Morgann
had scaled the walls.

But
he was well. Her desperate attempt at escape had nearly got them both killed
but thank the Lord neither of them had fallen. Unfortunately Morgann now looked
ready to throw her back out the window. Brow furrowed, muscles flexing,
nostrils flaring. Alana suspected she was in grave trouble. Mayhap
she
should fling herself out the window.

Should
she fight him? If he remained by her side during her captivity then she would
never find another chance to escape and she had little time. Before long, her
father would be at the castle walls, threatening war and calling Morgann out.

She
skimmed her gaze over the muscles that pulled his linen shirt taut. If her
father went up against Morgann death was surely inevitable. And if by some
chance of fate her da was victorious, Morgann would be harmed. As much as she
didn’t wish to be his prisoner, she certainly did not want him dead.

Settling
on a softer approach, Alana inched forward and laid a hand tentatively on his
forearm. He flinched, the darkness in his eyes increasing.

“Ye
dinnae need to do this, Morgann. Release me and we can forget this ever happened.”

Morgann
snorted. “Ye’d forget me so easily?”

“What
is yer meaning? I’ve never forgotten ye.”

“Ye
forgot me well enough eight summers ago.”

Anger
surged up inside her at his petulant tone. Forget him? Never. She’d spent many
months worrying for him, wishing things were different. Wishing she had shown some
strength and stopped her father.

“I
never forgot ye! Never, ye hear me, Morgann MacRae.”

Not
even when her da accused him of theft and had him dragged away to be branded as
a thief. A shudder ran through her as she recalled watching her clansmen haul
him to the blacksmiths.

Morgann
stared at her, shoulders dropping and Alana saw the fury slowly leave him.