by Aileen Adams
“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 shall 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 m
any 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.”
“I was born two minutes before him,” Moira explained with pride of her own. “I am the older sister.”
“Are ye a good older sister?” Anne asked, while in the back of her mind she despaired. What to do now? She could not very well turn her back on them and flee. They would surely alert Drew.
“Davina says so.” Moira beamed, swinging from side to side as if both bashful and proud.
“I’d wager ye are.” Though she knew not who Davina was. Her gaze traveled to the door. She need only bolt through it and over the wall…
“Where are ye going?” Owen asked, and what a sly devil he was. He had observed her shift in attention and saw it for what it was.
“I have something to attend to.” Might as well get it over with. “Ye ought to get back into bed before ye catch cold. And with bare feet, at that. Go on, now.” She labored to produce a smile and hoped it looked sincere.
They did not move in the slightest. “Can we come with ye?” Owen whispered, eyes now gleaming with the thrill of adventure.
“Nay!” she hissed, tossing the wood into the fire before moving them toward their chambers. They had not yet noticed Liam, and thank the heavens for it, but they would—while they alerted their uncle, as well—unless she put them to bed and made haste.
The lad was not to be put off. “Why can we not?”
“Because I said ye cannot, and I told ye already that ye shall catch cold. Do ye believe your uncle would be pleased if ye were to fall ill because ye would not listen to a grown person when they tell ye what is best?” She moved them along, leaning down to whisper in their ears, always listening for him.
It would be a miracle if he did not hear this and come to see what the noise was about. The only hope was that he’d be too tired after a hard day’s work to awaken.
“Do ye know Uncle Drew?” Moira asked as she slid into the bed she and her brother shared. It was simple, but clean and warm. There was no shortage of furs to be spread over the wee ones. Anne busied herself with this while they settled in.
“Aye, I do,” she muttered, her attention only somewhat on them while the rest was on the other side of the wall separating their chambers from Drew’s. She might still have a chance. “Now, go to sleep. ‘Tis very late, far too late for bairns to be up and about.”
“I’m no bairn,” Owen grumbled, though a yawn cut its way into his protest, and sleep had already begun to weigh on his eyelids.
“Aye, I’m certain of it,” she murmured with a smile she could not contain. They were wee, winning little things, both of them. Well cared for. If only she could believe a man such as their uncle had it in him to care for such small children.
The Drew with whom she had become acquainted was hardly the sort to do so.
She stroked both their wee, curly heads and straightened up, now prepared to run as far and as fast as she could.
Unfortunately, a solid body blocked the doorway.
One belonging to Drew.
11
Drew had not the first idea of how she’d managed it, or how she had come to tuck the bairns into bed, but there they.
There were many things he wished to say. Questions he wished to ask. Vile, hate-filled threats he wished to growl in her face until she broke down in beneath the weight of his disgust.
And disappointment. Had he made it that easy for her to escape? Damn him for a fool.
No matter how he longed to shout, he did not dare. Not unless he wished to frighten the bairns and embarrass himself terribly in front of her.
Why did it matter so? He had not the time, nor the desire, to understand it. Not just then. Not when he’d woken to find her caring for the twins.
He raised a hand and crooked his finger, beckoning her. A simple gesture, to be sure, yet she understood and followed. What was she thinking? If only he knew. Ever since finding her in the barn, he’d felt as though he’d been playing a game. Trying to outsmart her.
He had never been good at such pursuits.
She followed him into the main room, where Liam sat up with his hands still bound tight, as Drew had left him. Another mystery. Why free herself, yet leave him as he was?
Drew kept his questions to himself for the time, choosing instead to lift Liam from the floor. The lad weighed next to nothing, yet this did mean he was easy to carry. It came as no surprise when he kicked and writhed and struggled.
“What are ye on about?” he demanded through clenched teeth.
“I’m puttin’ ye to bed—my bed,” Drew muttered, marching past a slack-jawed Anne and into his bedchamber. “I have to speak with your sister.”
“Ye canna be alone with her!” Liam shot his sister a look of pure panic, his struggles doubling.
This was all terribly tiresome, especially in the middle of the night. What did he have to do to get a solid night of sleep? He would’ve given his last shilling, and gladly, if it meant sleeping restfully.
“I have no desire to do anything but speak to her,” he grumbled with a fatigued sigh, dropping the lad rather carelessly onto the bed after the delivery of a foot to Drew’s ribs. After a kick such as that, he deserved much worse and was fortunate not to get it.
“I will not let ye!” Liam insisted as he tried to work his way off the bed.
“Enough of this.” Drew leaned over him and reminded himself that it was love for Anne that made him behave so. While Drew could not bring himself to understand where that love came from, he respected it. “I will leave the door open that ye shall see nothing untoward is going on, if ye choose to remain awake. But I must ask ye keep your mouth shut, unless ye wish to look after the bairns.”
Liam’s mouth snapped shut. Drew merely snickered before leaving the lad on his own and returning to where Anne waited—to her credit, for she might have used Liam’s display as a distraction and run.
The first thing he took note of was the condition of her wrists. “What have ye done, lass?” he asked, wincing at the sight of them. The rope had chafed them terribly, rubbing skin clean off in some places, and blood had dried on them. How the bairns had not recoiled at the sight was beyond him.
“I had to free myself,” she said, shrugging as if it meant nothing though he was certain she must feel pain. Perhaps she was still too worked up to feel it.
He’d certainly experienced that during his fights, the rush of excitement which seemed to drown out pain.
Until the excitement ran its course and left nothing but agony in its wake.
He fetched the bucket from beside the fire, in which water still sloshed about in the bottom, and soaked a rag inside. “Come,” he grunted, waving her over where the firelight would allow a better look at her injuries.
She moved slowly, and he sensed her mistrust.
“I dinna wish to hurt ye,” he muttered, halfway between feeling insulted and understanding once he imagined himself in her place. “I only wished to wash the blood from your wrists, ye daft fool.”
Her derisive snort met his ears an instant before she tore the rag from his hand. “I can do this on my own, thank ye.”
He snickered, shaking his head in amazement as she took gentle swipes at her wrists. “You strike me as the type to set herself afire just to prove another wrong.”
“When I am right, I know I am.” She glanced his way as she worked, shrugging as she had before. “I trust in myself and my judgment.”
“Such as the judgment which brought ye here.” It was not a question—more a challenge.
One which she accepted without hesitation. “Did ye ever, in all your cleverness, stop to ask yourself if it was my desire to be here? My choice? Do ye believe anyone would go to the trouble simply because they enjoyed themselves?”
