RESCUED BY THE HIGHLANDER

by Preston, Rebecca

  Then, walking as quietly as she knew how, she moved to the door like a ghost, and peered through the gap between the door and its frame to look at the guard. Just as she’d expected. He was slouched in his chair, half asleep. There was a reason most organizations worth their salt asked their guards to stand while on duty — sitting was too comfortable. The body felt at rest, so the mind lost alertness. Sitting for hours on end with nothing to focus on? This guy was doing well not to be asleep already. Brendan — or Donal, she supposed, though it made more sense for the Guard Captain to have given these orders — must have wanted to make a boring duty less uncomfortable for his men. But what he’d actually done was given her an opportunity to escape.

  She’d have to hug the wall — from what she could gather, the whole corridor, almost to the staircase at its end, would be more or less invisible to the guard, given the angle of the door. If she was careful, and quiet, and quick, he wouldn’t even notice that she was gone. And if he did notice… what would he do? Kick up a fuss, bring the whole castle down on her head? Or would he be more likely to go looking for her, hoping that he could return her to her room without any fuss, to save his own hide? Either way, she could hardly wind up in a worse position than the one she was in now. So, she stole away down the corridor, grinning in triumph when she reached the spiral staircase. It had worked like a charm.

  Now, the armory. The castle was mostly asleep — it must be close to midnight, she thought to herself. It was always much easier to wait when you had a plan in mind. The last few hours had flown by. Still, she moved with caution. If anyone recognized her as the strange time-travelling woman who the Laird had had confined to her room, there’d be hell to pay. But thankfully, nobody was around. After all the excitement the other night, it seemed the castle was catching up on its sleep. That suited her just fine. A quiet castle meant an even more quiet armory. She’d just slip in, borrow what she needed, and slip back into her room before anyone was any the wiser.

  And the armory was unlocked! Her good luck just kept getting better. She murmured a little prayer of thanks in case it was some Faerie trickster who was helping her — it never hurt to give thanks, after all. Then she padded into the armory in her socked feet (the boots had a tendency to squeak, and she couldn’t afford to give away her presence.

  Broadswords. On the walk down, she’d decided on a broadsword. A dirk was great for size and portability, but you just couldn’t go wrong with a broadsword when you wanted to threaten the hell out of someone. Why, her terrible little altercation with Billy had been good evidence of that, for all that he was a thousand miles and worlds away by now. Still, she spared him a vicious thought as she perused a rack of broadswords. All spotlessly maintained, all gleaming in the low torchlight that was flickering in through the armory door from the passageway outside. It wasn’t easy to make out details, but she didn’t dare bring a torch in with her in case the flickering light attracted attention. After all, she was absolutely not supposed to be in here. She leaned in closer, trying to make out the intricate etchings on the hilt of each sword… the crest of the castle, perhaps?

  She was focusing so hard that she hardly noticed the light flicker as a body moved between the light source and her. But she heard the footsteps, unmistakable on the stone floor, and she stood bolt upright, her whole body going stiff.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Donal’s little captive bird.”

  That voice was familiar. Low, gruff, amused — not Donal, but Brendan. The man who’d almost seemed to commiserate with her the night before, while the body of the great wolf burned in the clearing. Almost. Not entirely. And she certainly didn’t trust him now — not here in this dark room, him fully armed, her in bare feet and servant’s clothing. Should she turn? Argue with him? Plead with him not to tell Donal, to let her enjoy a little freedom? Frustration rose up in her like a wave. No — she’d had more than enough of playing that game. She refused to ask politely for her freedom — when had that ever gotten anyone anywhere? It was time to fight for it.

  “Go to hell, Brendan,” she said coldly, not turning around. She picked a sword at random and lifted it, unable to suppress a smile at the long, lethal weight of it in her hand. She weighed it carefully, only half-listening to the surprised sound Brendan made in his throat — it was a good blade. Well-balanced, well-maintained, clearly sharp. It would do, for now. Now, and only now, she turned to Brendan, ready to meet his gaze.

  He was looking at her with a combination of amusement and surprise, and when he saw she had a sword — to her annoyance — his expression didn’t change. He did straighten a little, though, but it was the kind of attitude one took to a child who’d picked up a knife or something dangerous. Not a prisoner who’d just armed herself and was ready to take on the entire castle if she had to. Well, she’d just have to change that.

  “Do you even know how to use that?” Brendan asked in a low voice, sounding like he was about to laugh. But there was something about the tone of his voice — something goading, something like a challenge. She realized with the kind of clarity that only came with threatening a man’s life that he actually hoped she did know how to use the blade. Was he armed? Were they going to have a fight, right here?

  “Care to find out?” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “Or are you afraid to be shown up by a woman in your own armory?”

  “You’re lucky it’s me that found you here and not Donal,” Brendan said, taking a few steps to his right. She followed him with the point of the blade — not raised, not confrontational, it was lowered at her side, but still, she was ready to raise it at a moment’s notice. On her guard. He noticed — she saw his eyes flick down.

  “Is that so? What would he do? Trap me in a room with an armed guard on the door? Oh, wait. Too late.”

  “You certainly have spirit,” Brendan murmured, but the way he said it somehow didn’t irritate her. He meant it, that was the thing. He wasn’t looking at her like a pet that had learned a new trick — he was beginning to realize, from the way she handled the sword, that she knew something of what she was doing. But what was he going to do about it? “But I’ll have to escort you back to your room.”

  “Not happening,” she said levelly. “Thanks, but I’m all good here.”

  “You’ve got a sword drawn on an unarmed man, I’ll have you know,” he pointed out, gesturing to his belt — sure enough, the scabbard that hung there was empty.

  “All the more reason for you to get out of my way.” She tilted her head, struck by an idea. “But at the same time… we’re in an armory, aren’t we? Arm yourself, if you’re so concerned about controlling where I go. Make me listen.”

  Brendan chuckled, but he shook his head. “I’ll not have blood drawn on castle grounds.”

  “Fine.” Anna raised the sword, then put it back on the rack in one smooth gesture. Brendan stared at her. She dropped into a fighting stance, hands raised. Brendan was taller than her — not as tall as Donal, but he still had the advantage on her. Then again — that was what she was used to. “Unarmed it is. Take me back to my room.”

  Brendan laughed aloud, his eyes shining with mirth — then advanced on her, quicker than she’d expected, but not quick enough to get around her guard. It was an easy move to counter, because it was the one everyone went for when they first came up against a woman who was barely five foot tall — and it was the work of a moment to counter, dodge, seize him by the arm, and then manipulate his balance to knock him flat on his ass in the armory.

  There was a long silence. She stood ready — it was fairly common for men to get angry after she’d knocked them down like that, to come at her with all their force, all their fury. But Brendan just laughed. A different kind of laugh, this one, and she realized with dawning amusement that he was laughing at himself.

  “I yield,” he said simply, raising his hands as he got to his feet. “And I owe you an apology, Anna Clarke, for ever doubting you were what you said you were.�
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  “Apology accepted,” was all she’d say — but she felt an embarrassing surge of emotion as he shook her hand. After such a long time of having her skills doubted, ignored, made light of, to hear someone actually accept that she knew how to fight… well, it made her feel a lot better, that was for sure. Brendan tilted his head.

  “Fancy a drink?”

  “A drink sounds amazing. What’ve you got?”

  “Anna, you’re in Scotland. What do you think?”

  “A nice white wine?” she joked, her eyes glinting in the low light of the armory, and he chuckled, then offered her his arm. She took it, feeling oddly formal, and they set off together, moving through the halls of the silent castle.

  Chapter 41

  She assumed he was taking her to his quarters but was surprised to find herself on the second floor of the castle, where all the guards roomed. He caught her look of surprise.

  “They offered me a larger room, higher up, when they made me Captain,” he admitted, “but I’ve always been more comfortable down here. I like being able to keep an eye on my men.”

  “Fair enough,” she acknowledged. She could sympathize with that. There was something about rooming close to one another that really helped build camaraderie. She wouldn’t be as close with any of her old Army buddies if she hadn’t have spent so much time stuck rooming with them.

  Brendan’s room was simple — none of the mess or clutter of what she remembered of Donal’s quarters, up higher in the castle. There was a bed (neatly made, she noticed with approval) and a table with a few chairs, and a large chest of drawers. His helmet was resting neatly on the top of it, right in the center. No leftover plates or cups from drinks or meals had in the room… she supposed Brendan did most of his work out on the wall, or in the courtyard where she’d seen him training his men. An easier life, she’d assume, than helping administer the castle… though from what she remembered of their discussions, Brendan still resented not being made second-in-command of the castle. And fair enough, too. He seemed like a disciplined, organized, thoughtful man. If it had been him in charge of the mission the other night, he probably wouldn’t have let his men get so far away from the undefended supply chain.

  She was getting angry again just thinking about it. Brendan seemed to sense it — grinned at her as he crossed the room to the chest of drawers, pulling a bottle out that seemed to be nestled among clothes. Anna couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Is that regulation?” she joked. “Underclothes and whiskey?”

  “You can bend the rules when you’re the captain of the guard,” Brendan joked, moving over to the table. There was a bottle of water and a couple of glasses standing on the table — ignoring the former, he grabbed two glasses, pouring a generous measure into each one. She took a seat on one of the chairs, accepted the glass with gratitude. It felt so good to be out of her room. Even one day of captivity was one day too many, as far as she was concerned.

  “A toast,” Brendan said thoughtfully. “To —”

  “Warriors,” Anna finished, knocking her glass against his then downing it in one shot. It was delicious — smooth, but with a kick that burned all the way down her throat and set up a little fire in her belly. Bourbon was usually more her speed, but this would absolutely do in a pinch. She could already feel the alcohol setting to work, massaging out the stress. It wasn’t her usual go-to for stress relief — that was a bad road to go down too often — but right now, in the company of this (rather handsome) man in the middle of the night after an incredibly stressful day, it was exactly what she needed.

  “This is good,” she remarked, gesturing to the bottle. “Local distillery?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it a distillery, but aye, they make it local,” Brendan said, his eyes twinkling.

  “The Scots still make the best whiskey in the world,” she informed him as he poured her another glass. This one, she decided, she’d sip. No sense getting blackout drunk in a guard captain’s quarters. Whatever would the servants say? “In my time, I mean.”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “You don’t sound surprised.”

  “I’m not,” Brendan said, grinning. “The future may be a strange and frightening place, but I know two things — we make good whiskey, and we make good fighters.”

  “I suppose so,” Anna allowed. “My country makes a lot of bourbon, we do a pretty good job of that.” She blinked. “I suppose it hasn’t been founded yet. America.”

  “Oh, the New World! Fascinating. So, the English colonial mission was a success after all.”

  Anna laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. We went to war with them for independence in… oh, a hundred years from now.”

  “Good. We ought to do the same,” Brendan said. He was leaning forward, clearly interested in her story, and she realized belatedly that it might not be such a good idea to say so much about the future. Wouldn’t it cause a time paradox or something, telling everyone back here what their future held? After all, she knew a fair bit about medieval Europe. But she supposed it was safe enough to talk about post-revolutionary America. After all, none of that would happen in the lifetimes of anyone here.

  That was a strange thought. She was set on leaving, that was for sure… but a part of her would miss all these people. In a way, it was like leaving them to their deaths… not quick deaths, of course, but by the time she arrived back home, they’d all have died of old age or other means centuries ago. It made it feel rather strange. She’d had a fair bit of experience with leaving people behind, but with a regular trip, you could at least stay in contact with the people you’d left behind. This wasn’t going to be like that. Well, she supposed she better take advantage of the pleasure of their company while she was here. Maybe she really should take Donal up on his offer of sex, she thought with amusement — then remembered that he was so angry with her that that offer probably didn’t still stand. Hmm. Well — there were probably other options to explore. Like the dark-eyed man sitting across from her, sipping at his whiskey as he watched her closely.

  “So Donal confiscated your blade?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

  She nodded, still keenly feeling the loss. She felt naked without a weapon, especially in these strange times.

  “Hence your late-night burglary of my armory.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said, meaning it. “If there was another option… but I don’t feel right when I don’t have a weapon. I meant no disrespect. If it’s any consolation, I fully intended to return it.”

  “I understand.” Brendan smiled at her — then handed over a familiar piece of iron. She stared down at it. It was a dirk, like the ones the men had taken to fight the wolf, like the one she’d stolen and kept in her servants’ clothes. All that felt like a lifetime ago. Time passed so slowly here, she was realizing — and at the same time, incredibly fast. She frowned, looking more closely at the blade. There were nicks and scrapes on it that she recognized.

  “This is —”

  “The one you nicked, yes,” Brendan said, his eyes glowing affectionately. “I’ve adjusted the inventory list at the armory, no fear — nobody will miss it. Consider it a gift, from a fellow warrior.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. The atmosphere in the room was very close — and that made her feel just a little bit uncomfortable. In her experience, men rarely gave gifts like this without wanting at least something in return… whether that was romantic or something more sinister, she wasn’t sure. But her palm had been itching to hold the dirk ever since she’d laid eyes on it again — and at least if she were armed, if he tried anything physical, she’d be in a much better place to defend herself. It wasn’t that she seriously suspected he was going to advance on her — he seemed like a better man than that, at least. But you never knew. And Anna was always interested in being prepared for the worst-case scenario. She took the dirk, and Brendan smiled at her as she tucked it away in her clothes, finding the niche she’d located that kept it safe and invisible, conceale
d about her person.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked finally, looking at him straight in the eye. Perhaps it was the whiskey lending her boldness, or perhaps she was just tired of having no power, but she wanted to know what was going on. “Why bring me here? Why give me this, when you know Donal would hang you out to dry if he knew? Be honest,” she added sharply, seeing him shift his weight as though trying to avoid the intensity of her gaze. “I’ll know if you’re lying. Old warrior trick.” Not really — just a few simple psychological cues that she’d relied on through her career, basic body language, really — but he seemed to believe her rather readily. After a moment, she realized it was probably because she’d come through the burgh. Well, if he believed that the Seelie Fae had given her special mind-reading or truth-telling powers, she wasn’t going to disabuse him of the notion. That would be a good rumor to spread, honestly.

  “Alright. Well — you’re an attractive woman, and I make it my mission never to miss out on an opportunity to drink good whiskey in good company.” He let that sink in, and she flushed a little, pleased to be flirted with.

  After all, it wasn’t as if she was immune to his charms. It seemed she was rather popular among medieval Scottish men, she reflected with a little smile. Maybe that’s where she’d been going wrong in her love life.

  “But if I’m honest, it’s mostly because I know it’ll drive Donal absolutely mad. He’s got his eye on you, y’know,” he added, raising an eyebrow.

  “Maeve mentioned something,” Anna admitted, grinning a little. “But if it’s true, he has an odd way of showing it.” She tilted her head, her smile fading. “But I’ll not be part of a mutiny, if that’s what you’re proposing.”

  “Of course not,” Brendan said, ruffled. “He’s a good Laird, for all that he made a damn fool decision when he made Malcolm tanist over me. I wouldn’t want to overthrow the man.” His eyes twinkled a little. “But if I can make his job a little harder… perhaps stir a few inklings of regret that it’s Malcolm at his side and not me… well, that would suit me just fine.”