by Terry Spear
Perhaps it was simply the novelty of an Englishman who wasn’t a total bastard. He had her alone in this chamber and could have assaulted her how many times? A dozen probably.
And yet, he hadn’t. On top of that, she had her eyes closed. Which meant she must unconsciously trust him.
Did she?
Should she?
Her eyes popped open at the sound of shuffling.
He’d taken off his tunic… It didn’t matter that he’d used it to form a pillow, what did matter was the corded muscles of his back were now facing her and she couldn’t take her eyes off of the sight. Lying on his side, he gave her a good view of his naked back, and his buttocks—in his tight breeches. She pulled her eyes away from his rear toward the line of his spine, studying the roped strength, the breadth of his shoulders. He was beautiful.
Again she was perplexed. His was not the first man’s back she’d ever seen, nor would it be the last. And yet, his was so much more enticing. The curve of his spine and the indent above his buttocks were mesmerizing. She found herself suddenly wide awake, and staring indecently, once more, at the way his breeches hugged the muscles of his fine arse. Quickly, she flicked her gaze away.
Oh, saints, but had she really just stared at his arse? Again?
The image of his perfect form still burned behind her eyes.
And the man was a blasted Sassenach. It could only be the work of the devil to see that a man of English descent was so enticing. In fact, she was certain of it. After all, wasn’t he distracting her?
He was. And at this rate, she’d end up not getting any sleep and she’d be no good on the road. She had to have her wits about her, especially to formulate the right speech in which to entice her distant relatives, let alone the Guardian of Scotland, into helping rid her home of the English and to save her brother.
Catriona was still not entirely set on leaving her brother. If they came across him in the courtyard and no one was about, she would get him out of the stocks herself and toss him over her horse—well, with Samuel’s help. Her brother was a big man—probably Samuel’s size, though a bit stockier.
She hated that she’d have to trust Samuel’s judgment of Sir Geoffrey. The man was the very devil incarnate and she didn’t believe for a second that he wouldn’t find pleasure in tormenting Gregor. God save her, but if Myra’s husband couldn’t help, she didn’t know what she’d do. Catriona couldn’t wage war against the English on her own.
Aye, she’d had to defend the castle once when her brother had gone to meet with several surrounding lairds and they’d been attacked—an attack she still firmly believed was the purpose for the entire meeting in itself, but Gregor had not agreed. He was stubborn as a mule, and had a hard time believing anyone would betray him. Catriona, however, was less inclined to believe it.
She’d been betrayed before.
“Go to sleep, chit.” Samuel’s voice was gruff and startled her from her thoughts.
Her eyes widened, mouth fell open. “How do ye know I’m not?”
A soft chuckle came from where he lay on the floor. “First off, you just replied. Second, ’tis the way you’re breathing.”
“How am I breathing?” She frowned at the ceiling, then quickly slammed her eyelids closed.
“Like you’re ready to take on every enemy in the world.”
How could the man read her so well when he’d only just met her? “Mayhap, I will.”
“And I’ll help you. But first we need to get north. And the only way we’ll be doing that is if we both get some rest.”
Catriona sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming herself. She loosened her muscles, cleared her mind and allowed herself for the first time in hours to relax.
Before she knew it, her toe was nudged and she was sitting straight up on the chaise a scream on her lips and a hand covering her mouth.
“Hush, wench, ’tis time to go.”
All that had happened that day came flooding back to her. She was alone with an English knight in her father’s secret chamber, surrounded by the enemy and her brother’s life at that moment threatened. For the love of all that was holy, she’d nearly given away their hiding spot with a scream.
She nodded, and Samuel removed his hand.
“I apologize for touching you, my lady, but I couldn’t allow you to scream.” He’d dressed once more, weapons glinting, and was scrutinizing her in a way that made her feel… odd.
All around them, the castle made no sounds.
“Come, my lady, we must make our escape while the devil still slumbers.”
“We aren’t going to wait until tomorrow night?”
“Nay. The longer we linger, the more likely we’ll be found. Already they come knocking on stones.”
Catriona shuddered. Sir Geoffrey must have surmised there was a secret chamber. She nodded up at Samuel. He might be her enemy, but at the moment, he was also her protector.
Chapter 5
THE sound of the door latch clicking echoed so loudly in Catriona’s ears that it could have been the entire south tower collapsing. She winced, stilled and waited for the sounds of English knights signaling the alarm.
She gave a sideways glance to Samuel, certain he would be glowering at her for her fault, but instead, he had his head cocked listening, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Then he nodded at her to proceed.
They wouldn’t speak to each other until they were a mile away from the castle, and only then if they had no one following them. At least that was the plan they’d come up with before she’d opened the latch. Each of them had a task to complete if they were to make it out of the castle alive. Catriona wasn’t about to be the one to spoil it, and she highly doubted that Samuel would either. He’d sealed his fate the moment he made a deal with her. Whether he liked it or not, Sir Geoffrey and the rest of the English bastards would see him for the traitor that he was.
Sad really. She kind of felt bad for him. All the poor sot wanted was to find his sisters who’d been stolen away. The men who’d taken them had to be daft, for who would want an English lass? Catriona had heard plenty about them. Cold, dispassionate, rude, self-centered—
Samuel nudged her shoulder and Catriona jumped at the prompt. Time to go. Time to set aside her musings and find a way out of this hell-hole that had once been her home—and would be again if she had anything to say about it.
She shuffled forward in the dark, feeling her way along the narrow corridor, her fingers catching on spider webs and moss that grew in the cracks of mortar. They made their way forward, but not to the stairwell she’d brought him in from. Nay, there was a better way out, and she was annoyed at herself for not thinking of it before. She found the latch and it clicked, letting the hidden door slide forward barely an inch before she stilled to listen.
A shiver stole over her as she thought about her brother. ’Twould be a month or more before she’d return, for the trip north would take easily a week and a half if they rushed, and two if they were caught in any storms or had to lay low from the English.
Samuel prodded her again and she slid the door open, saying a silent prayer that the room beyond them was black as night. No one used this private chapel that her father had built beside the great hall for two reasons. One, her brother preferred to use the chapel with his people. He never prayed alone, but believed that the prayers of many were heard all the more loudly. And the second reason—her father had died here.
Catriona sucked in a ragged gasp, recalling seeing the blood covering his shirt. His hands were pressed to the wounds and he’d stared at her with vacant eyes as his mouth fell open. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory. Now was not the time to remember such things. Now was the time for moving forward.
She felt around for the small wooden benches, and slid her fingers along the length of one until she found its end. The middle of the small chapel. There were six short benches, three in a row along either side. When she was a child, they’d had family Mass here every morning except
Sunday, when they joined their clan at Kirk Buchanan.
Passing three benches, the small door to the great hall should be… her fingers brushed the wooden slats. This door was covered by a nondescript tall bookshelf, making it heavy. She feared it would creak when she pushed it. Catriona leaned her ear against the door, listening for anything she might hear beyond, but there was nothing. Once they opened the door, all they’d have to do was walk about twenty paces to the left and they’d make it to the storeroom. Once inside they could bar the door and then slip behind the barrels that hid the entrance.
But it didn’t look to be their lucky day. Footsteps sounded in the great hall, and low voices.
Catriona felt for Samuel’s arm and squeezed—the signal that they were not safe to move.
They waited silently, breaths so slow and ragged she was afraid she might pass out from the exertion of it.
But soon the voices faded and so did the footsteps. If they didn’t make a run for it now, they never would.
She turned the handle and thanked God for her brother’s insistence of the chapel’s upkeep. The hinges had been well-oiled despite their lack of use. The hearth held a banked fire, and there was one candelabrum with all sixteen candles lit, but other than that, the room was cast in shadows—their corner being one of those. She slid out against the wall, and nodded for Samuel to do the same. They moved at a slow pace, uncertain of who else lurked in the darkened spots of the room. No one stopped them. No one jumped out at them shouting halt.
Five more feet and they’d be at the storeroom door. But what if someone was inside? Being the dead of night, it wouldn’t make sense, but she couldn’t push it out of the realm of possibilities. Sir Geoffrey could have demanded a platter of cheese and a jug of wine as a midnight snack. Greedy bastard that he was.
Catriona counted her steps… Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Only three more to go. A door opened—perhaps from the front entry of the castle. The creek of the hinges echoed. Funny that her brother hadn’t bothered to oil those hinges. They were about to be caught, she could feel it in her bones.
Before she could protest, Samuel grabbed her hand and yanked her the last few steps and through the storeroom door. He whipped her around and closed the door behind them. His body was pressed hard to hers. They were completely encased in darkness, but she didn’t need light to see, not when she could feel every hard, cold, metal-clad ridge of him pressed intimately to her.
Thick thighs pressed through the layers of her gown against her own. His pelvis dug against hers—and the hardness there sent a chill sweeping over her. She bit down on her lip, her chest heaving, and with every breath, her breasts pushed harder against his chest. Could he feel the beat of her heart? For it thumped so hard against her ribs she was certain it bounced from her bones onto his. Better question—why did she like the way it felt to have him pressed to her? Why did she want to wrap her arms around him and tilt her chin up for the press of his lips?
If they weren’t running for their lives, she might have been bold enough to ask for a kiss. Hell, what was she thinking, might have? She wanted one—she would have asked. She wanted to arch her hips to get a better sense of the tingling that was slowly spreading through her core. She had to dig her fingernails against her palms to keep herself from sliding them up his spine, ripping off his helmet and running them through his golden-colored hair.
Was Samuel having similar thoughts? Through the metal of his helmet, he breathed hard. His chest rose and fell in time with hers. He didn’t move. All indications that maybe he, too… What? To even ponder any of it was ridiculous. They were in grave danger of being found out.
Footsteps fell outside the door and she felt the jiggle of the handle against her back. Samuel slammed his hand against the wood and she bit down hard on her tongue to keep from yelping.
“Busy in here,” he said in a gruff voice, disguising his own. “Don’t worry, I’ll save some for you.”
A short laugh sounded on the other side, but inside the storeroom Catriona heard nothing save the beat of her own wild heart. Samuel held his breath and so did she, both knowing that if the jackanapes on the other side decided to press the issue and raise the alarm, they had little recourse.
“I’ll give you another quarter of an hour, you bloody bastard, afore I come in to try the piece you’re keeping hidden away.” The man’s voice was slurred, drunken on her family’s wine.
“I’ll be sure to keep her breathing for you,” Samuel said, adding a cruel laugh she’d not heard before and didn’t care to hear ever again.
“I’ll enjoy her whether she breathes or not,” the man said, then walked off.
Samuel’s cold helmet pressed to her forehead as he let out the breath he held, mingling it with her own. A close call. Too close.
Catriona pushed against his shoulders, taking note of the pure strength coiled there, but working hard not to linger.
She rushed to the far side of the storeroom, feeling her way to the barrels at the end. She struggled for half a second trying to lift a barrel before Samuel was there to help her. How he’d found her in the dark was a miracle. Once the barrel was off of the oversized one below it, she pulled off the big one’s lid and bent over it until she felt along the empty bottom. There it was, a little tab. She tugged on it and the false bottom drew upward.
She tapped Samuel and broke their rule of silence, whispering. “Ye have to go first so I can close the lids.”
“Inside?”
“Aye, the barrel has a false bottom. There’s a ladder that leads down to the tunnel.”
“I don’t know if I’ll fit.”
“’Twas made by my grandfather. He was the size of a barrel himself. Trust me, ye’ll fit.”
Samuel climbed inside the barrel. Not a breath later, Catriona climbed inside, too, her foot tapping against his head.
“Sorry,” she whispered, breaking their rule once more.
Samuel chuckled, but continued to descend, and took hold of her bare calf with his firm grip, and placed her foot on the first rung. She felt for it with her other foot, ignoring the heated touch of his palms on her bare skin. Steadied, she replaced first the top lid, and then descended enough to replace the false bottom, making certain to tug the tab so it didn’t stick up and warn anyone of its existence.
Down another half-dozen rungs, she touched the floor of the tunnels and gripped onto Samuel’s hand. “Duck down,” she murmured, and then she ran, tugging him behind her.
Curses sounded from somewhere above as the drunken knight realized he wasn’t going to bed any unwilling wench. No doubt he’d pass out without realizing he’d been duped, probably just thought the knight didn’t want to share and had slipped off somewhere else.
Fifty paces down the tunnel and they came to the end—a metal grate. Moonlight glinted down from the shaft of the well and lighted through the gaps between the bars. Once opened, one wrong step and they’d drown.
Catriona pulled the pin from the grate and slowly let the metal down by her feet so that it didn’t make a clanging sound when it landed.
“A well?” Samuel asked.
“Aye. But dinna worry, no one is likely to be getting water at this time of night.”
Samuel grunted.
“Ye go up first so I can put the pin back in.”
Samuel shook his head, but in the darkness she couldn’t see his expression. “You go first. I’ll put the pin back in.”
They didn’t have time to argue, and given that she knew the lay of the courtyard better than he, she agreed. She handed over the pin and then stuck her head out, staring up into the night sky and the bucket that was tied to a rope at the top. Overhead the moon was full. A bad omen? She refused to think about it that way. Mouthing a prayer, she reached overhead and grabbed onto the first metal rung that had been secured into the stones—and promptly yanked her hand back. The rung was like ice, and oddly felt like it burned her palm. So cold it was hot. She shook her hand and gritted her teeth against
the pain. She started to climb, but when she was just to the top she waited for Samuel. He’d already gotten the pin in and started to climb, too.
Knowing he was on his way up, she cocked an ear and listened. The usual night sounds flitted through the air. No voices. No horses. No footsteps. Holding her breath, she peeked over the side of the well and scanned every inch of the courtyard—every building, every corner, every bush. All appeared calm in the night. On the battlements of the wall and castle were roughly a dozen guards—half on each. They would guard well the castle they’d stolen, but none appeared to be looking down at the courtyard, instead staring off into the distance. She forced herself to glance toward the stocks, but they were empty, just as Samuel had predicted they would be. Dear Lord, but she prayed that meant Gregor was indoors and at least alive. She prayed that he lived long enough to give her the chance to save him.
“Guards,” Catriona whispered.
Samuel didn’t respond, only nodded.
Time for a leap of faith. Bracing herself for the cold, she climbed out of the well and crouched on the ground beside it.
Chapter 6
IF they weren’t in imminent danger, Samuel might have taken a moment to admire the woman who leapt out of the well above him as though it were a feat she took on daily. He’d worked hard not to glance up, else in the moonlight he capture sight of the silky, curve of her legs. He still remembered vividly how her calf had felt beneath his palm when he’d guided her foot to the rung inside the barrel.
But, there was no time for admiration or lusty thoughts for that matter. He peeked over the top of the well and took in the guards upon the walls. None looked their way, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t alert them with their movements.
Catching Catriona’s eye, he handed her his sword, afraid it would clang against the stone when he climbed out and not willing to let that small mistake give away their escape.
He slipped out and over the side to crouch beside her. The well was large, nearly a man’s height in diameter and easily four feet from the ground up. Impressive—and it only made hiding behind it easier.
