by Aileen Adams
And them in the shed. He could not leave them there—at least, not Liam. He was far too weak, no matter how strong he pretended to be. The fact that he’d been asleep when Drew visited them with dinner, for one, spoke of his weakness. His need for rest and nourishment.
If only it weren’t so easy to pity him.
Drew had left strict instructions for the bairns to stay with Innis and Davina until he fetched them. He did not wish for Clyde or any of the others to take them from the main house to his own, where they would be too near the shed.
He did not wish for his guests to be heard, of course.
His guests. Strange that he’d come to think of them as such—perhaps a bit mad, at that. He could hardly think a clear thought thanks to them. To her.
She had left the forefront of his mind for more than a moment at a time all day. Her defiance, her insistence that he ought to turn them in rather than him treating them as prisoners, as thieves. As criminals.
And why should he not treat them as such? She, at the very least, was an admitted thief. Why then should he treat her as anything other than who she was?
Nay, she would rather he bend the knee and treat her with deference. Either that, she challenged, or see to it that they were sent to prison. What did she think she could accomplish by behaving in such a foolish manner?
If she believed she would wear him down until he took pity and forgave her crime, she’d be waiting the rest of her life.
Even so…
Even so, he imagined her hungry, cold. The same went double for the lad—Drew could recall, years later, how acutely he felt the cold when he was Liam’s age. A ten-year-old who appeared younger, no meat on his bones. Thin garments, all but worn through at the elbow and knee.
How could he leave them out there through what was sure to be a long night?
“Uncle Drew!” Moira threw himself at him when he entered the main house through the kitchen door, wrapping her arms about his knees and all but knocking him flat.
“Och, lassie!” He swung her up high, the clear tinkling of her gentle laughter like music to his weary soul. What would have come of her had he not been there to take her in? The question refused to cease haunting him.
She might have seen it in his eyes, for her laughter quickly turned to concern. “Are ye tired?”
Neither she nor her brother deserved to see him at anything less than his best. Children ought not to be aware of the toils of adults. He flashed a grin and tossed her again. “Nay, my love. Merely thinking. Where is your brother?”
“With Davina. She is winding a ball of yarn—come see!” Merriment and mischief shone on her face as she took him by the hand and led him to bedchamber.
On the bed knelt Owen, looking very serious and rather bored of his task. He held his hands roughly shoulder-width from each other, and around them was wound a great deal of yarn which Davina rolled into a ball. He could not jump, he could not bounce, he could not run about.
Drew believed the lad’s concentration and willingness to be of help spoke volumes of his affection for Davina.
The lass in question appeared brighter and healthier, Drew was relieved to note. “How are ye this evening?” he asked with a smile.
“Better than I’ve been in some time.” Davina shared a private smile with him. “Thank ye.”
“No ill effects?”
“None. ‘Tis a bit sour, but I’m glad to put up with the taste if it means holding down the contents of my stomach.” Her hands worked all the while, rolling the yarn quickly enough that her hands appeared to blur, until Owen was free, and a great ball of yarn rested at Davina’s side.
She kissed Owen’s cheek, which resulted in him all but glowing with pride. “Ye are a great deal of help to me,” she declared. “Now, I can start on a blanket for the wee bairn.”
“’Twas nothing,” Owen assured her with a rather dashing smile as he slid from the bed.
“All right, then. We ought to be going home and giving Davina a bit of peace.” He managed to keep the smile steady on his face until they left her, all the while asking himself what she would think if she knew what he’d done.
She might have understood his hesitation around sending the lad to prison. She had a good heart, Davina, and a strong sense of justice. It would not be just to destroy the lad’s life when he had done nothing wrong.
But to hold the truth from Rufus was another matter altogether. Drew was not a praying man, but if he were, he would pray this did not come between them.
The children laughed and rejoiced in the way their breath formed a thin cloud about their heads. It seemed the air grew colder by the minute.
They would never make it through the night out there.
What else could he do? Bring the pair of them into the house along with the twins and allow the four to become acquainted?
He could not help but watch the shed as he approached the house, asking himself what the two inside were doing, thinking, feeling. Liam was so slight of build, so thin. The cold would affect him so keenly.
How was a man to live with himself, knowing how a lad of ten years would suffer through the long, cold night?
“What is it, Uncle Drew?” Moira asked as she twirled circles in the center of the room.
He set the pot of stew which Innis had prepared over the fire, clamping the lid tight over the top. “Not a thing, lassie. Wash your hands. Ye, as well, Owen,” he called out to his nephew, who had lingered just outside the door.
“Is there—” Owen stared off in the direction of the shed. “I heard a sound.”
“By all means, remain out of doors in case it is a wild animal,” he called out, even as his palms went slick and his heart began to thud. Damn the lass. He would have wagered the walls around him that it was she who’d made a sound to attract attention.
Owen leaped into the house and slammed the door shut, throwing all of his weight and might behind the act.
He hurried them through their supper, only listening partway as they told him of their day. It would be much the same as the day before, and the day prior to that, so there was no guilt to be had. So long as he nodded at the right times and made noises as if he paid attention, they were none the wiser.
It seemed a year, at least, until he managed to get them into bed and settled down. “Now, I ask that the pair of ye remain here throughout the evening. That means dinna leave the bed. Do ye ken?”
“Aye.” Owen sighed.
“Dinna sigh, now,” he warned, tapping the lad on the nose with a forefinger. “I mean what I say. I dinna wish to see or hear ye. I have had a very trying day and would like to sleep in quiet.”
“We will behave,” Moira promised, eyeing her brother warily.
Drew knew she would hold him to his word. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then to Owen’s, before leaving them to sleep.
He was quick to go outside soon after, the cold now biting at his bare skin. He imagined them shivering in there, huddled together, cursing him.
Though they had no one but themselves to blame, and he knew it. When had he softened so? He had at one time been the least forgiving man in the Highlands. He’d beaten more men bloody than he could possibly recall and had more than once been pulled from a stunned or unconscious foe before he could kill the man outright.
His temper had been that difficult to control.
Now, there was a pair of children who depended upon him. He supposed that was the difference, the reason why his hands shook as he unlocked the door.
Just as he’d suspected, in the corner were two shivering bodies. Anne’s eyes burned into him, spitting fire and hatred.
“What took ye so long?” she snarled in spite of chattering teeth.
“Come,” he grunted, stepping aside. “Ye shall sleep indoors tonight.”
Liam looked up at her. She’d covered him, or nearly, her cloak draped over the two of them. A silent question voiced itself in his gaze.
She looked down and nodded. “We must, or we sha
ll suffer throughout the night.” She was wise; they would not have frozen, but they would certainly have spent the long, dark hours trembling and clinging to each other.
“Dinna get any ideas about escape,” he muttered near her ear as he led them to the house. “Once ye have eaten, ye will be tied tight.”
“I would expect nothing less.” She jerked her elbow from his hand upon entering the house and went straight to the fire, as her brother had. They held their hands out, near the flames, rubbing them together and breathing deep as warmth seeped into their limbs.
He held a finger to his lips, glancing toward the bedchamber. “Ye must be silent, or as silent as ye can manage.”
Liam frowned. “Wh—”
“I said, silence,” Drew growled. “Nothing less than silence.”
Anne merely nodded to her brother, her brows drawn together.
“Silence,” she mouthed. It was far better than nearly freezing.
He offered them what remained of the stew and bread from supper, and they ate heartily of the rich, meaty broth and vegetables. “Good,” Anne mouthed between bites, quickly taking more.
It was nearly enough to soften him toward the pair. Nearly.
This did not change the fact of him needing to tie them securely before he retired. “I shall leave the fire low for ye,” he offered on binding Liam’s wrists. “And I shall spread furs along the floor to keep ye as warm as can be.”
“Thank ye,” the lad whispered.
“Dinna thank him,” Anne spat, glaring once again. The lass had practiced her glare, or so it seemed. She could cut a man to pieces with nothing but her eyes.
“She is correct,” he admitted. “Ye dinna need to thank me, though things could be far worse for ye. Ye could be in prison.”
“We might as well be,” Anne muttered.
“And we shall see if your feelings are the same after ye find yourself there,” Drew muttered once he turned to the task of binding her. It was an act of will, keeping himself from allowing the rope to cut into her flesh. It would have been so simple to punish her further by bringing her pain.
Men did not behave in such a manner, not toward women. He wished once again that she were a man, that he might deliver the punishment she deserved.
It would have to be enough to cinch her bindings tight and be done with it. She winced when he finished tying the knot, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips.
“Dinna harm my sister,” Liam warned, poised as though he were about to spring on Drew.
“He did not hurt me,” Anne insisted. “Dinna fear.” Liam did not appear convinced, but he held his tongue.
“Silence,” Drew reminded them on standing, watching as they arranged themselves before the hearth. Liam found a way to huddle close to his sister, either out of protection or out of a need for it.
Could he trust them? He supposed there was no choice but to do so. It would either be that, or he would have to leave them in the cold, and there would be no sleeping or living with himself if he did so.
“Goodnight to ye, then,” he bade, turning toward his bedchamber. “I shall fetch ye before dawn and return ye to the shed, so dinna allow this to go to your head.”
“We would not dream of it,” Anne whispered, anger burning in her voice.
He chose to ignore this, or to pretend as though he had. It was safer that way, for both of them.
10
It took hours. Until her arms ached and her shoulders felt as though they’d slid out of their joints. Until tears had run down her cheeks and soaked into her soiled tunic and her wrists had chafed and eventually bled.
She’d felt the blood, the wetness running into her palms, and God help her, she’d used it to make the rope slippery enough to work her wrist free, then her hand. Her own blood. There would be time to contemplate the horror of it later.
Now, she was free.
“What are ye doin’?” Liam hissed, eyes wide, mouth agape in horror. His gaze darted from her to the closed door, behind which slept Drew, and those unseen bairns whose voices she’d heard.
“What does it look like to ye?” She touched a finger to her lips. They had already spoken enough—too much, perhaps. Yet there was not so much as a creak from anywhere else in the place.
She chafed her wrists in turn, one and then the other, her nose wrinkling at the sight and smell of blood which had already begun to dry. Her wounds would heal in time. What mattered was shaking life into her hands and arms prior to her escape. It would take no more than a minute, she hoped.
“Now, myself,” Liam whispered, turning his body that she might more easily unbind him. She reached out purely as a matter of instinct—then stopped, fingertips touching the rope.
“Well?” he prompted, shaking himself a bit as if to urge her on. “Hurry!”
Should she? It would be cold outside. Even sitting by the fire, she could sense the cold air creeping in beneath the door leading outside. There was frost on the single, cloudy pane of glass mounted in the window. It would take time for them to make it home and she had nothing but her cloak to keep him warm.
She knew not where Maebe was, or if Drew had even brought the mare in to shelter her. She’d never asked. They would have to make the journey on foot, which would take hours. Perhaps she might make it and take a horse—or, better yet, a handful of Malcolm’s men. They could return to fetch Liam.
Perhaps she was merely lying to herself.
“Anne!” Liam breathed. “What are ye waiting for?”
She leaned down, covering his body with her own to prevent him from thrashing about and alerting Drew. “I will go alone.” When his mouth opened, and his chest hitched as though he prepared to shout, she clamped a hand over his lips. “Do. Not. Scream. Do not destroy my chances.”
When he ceased wriggling and grunting, she lowered her hand. “I’m sorry, dear, but this is the best way. I will go back for help. I will come back for ye.”
“Why?” He was no longer shocked. No longer angry. Tears coursed down his cheeks. “Why would ye leave me?”
“There is a fire here,” she explained. “Warmth. Ye might sleep while I go out to find help for us. I would not wish for ye to be out in the cold and dark, not on a night such as this.”
“Ye believe me weak.”
“I believe ye mine to protect,” she whispered, pressing a fervent kiss to his forehead. “My dearest, I beg ye. Ye must see the truth of this. It will be far too dangerous. And what of himself?” She jerked her head toward the door behind which Drew had disappeared. “What if he awakens and finds us both gone? Do ye believe he would not give chase? I would rather know ye are here, safe for now. He cannot blame ye for this, and he cannot punish ye.”
“I will not allow ye to leave without me!” Liam’s voice grew louder with each word, and shriller. It would not be long before it was raised in a scream.
She covered his mouth again, holding her breath. Waiting. What would Drew do if he entered the room to find she’d freed herself?
“Dinna make me strike ye,” she whispered in her brother’s ear. The fine, dark hair around it was becoming slick with sweat as he fussed, determined to free himself. “Liam, I swear I will if it means leaving ye behind without being discovered. Now, silence yourself, lad.”
It was too late.
A door creaked.
Her heart sank.
What would it be, then? Would he strike her? Beat her, even, both from rage and wounded pride? Would he leave her out in the cold, in that shed, allowing her to suffer in punishment?
Or would he leave Liam out there instead, knowing that it would break her heart so many times over? The notion of his suffering far outweighed anything she might suffer on her own. Their captor understood this. How, Anne could not say, but she knew it.
She’d rather he end her life if it came to that.
She looked about, wild and desperate now, searching for a weapon. Anything she might use against him, anything to at least make the job of beating her more
difficult at first. She might at least know she’d landed a few solid blows.
A small consolation was better than none at all.
She landed on a small woodpile beside the hearth and took hold of a length of stripped limb before scrambling to her feet, the wood poised and ready to use as she turned to face her attacker.
How could she have forgotten the wee bairns?
Two curly-headed children stood before her, their hands linked. Dark hair and eyes, dimples in their cheeks when they smiled.
And for some reason, even though she brandished what amounted to a club which might easily cleave their small heads in two, they shone their sunny smiles up at her.
Guilt washed her from head to toe, and she was quick to lower the wood and half-hide it behind her back.
The wee lassie rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Hello,” she mumbled, still smiling.
“H—hello,” Anne stammered. Her cheeks flamed hot, and her palms went slick. Damn it all, why did they have to awaken? She was suddenly possessed of half a mind to use the limb on her brother, who refused to listen to reason. Why could he have not simply remained quiet?
“What is your name?” the lad asked with a gleam in his eye. Och, but he was a lovely little thing, and he had a touch of mischief to him. Anyone could see. This was something new, something of interest.
“What is yours?” she countered as she took a slow step to one side, hoping she might hide Liam from view. They were far too young to understand.
The fact that she’d suddenly decided to protect them from life’s unpleasant truths without so much as knowing their names was not lost on her.
The lass whispered, “My name is Moira. This is my brother, Owen.”
“We’re twins,” he added, a note of pride in his voice.
How could she help but be charmed? Even now, even while her heart still beat a frantic rhythm and blood sang in her ears, she crouched before them. “Ye know, I had wondered if ye might be. Ye look so much alike, after all.”
