by Aileen Adams
Following that event, Heather had avoided engaging in a direct conflict with Patrick, at Sarah's insistence. That didn't stop Heather from attempting other methods of curtailing Patrick's rages. She had even gone so far as to mix a sleeping potion with Sarah’s herbs. She sometimes slipped the potion into his ale or food. Heather was a smart girl. Though her physical stature was not impressive as hers and she might not be any match physically to Patrick's brunt force, but she could use her brains to protect herself.
With a sigh Sarah gingerly laid down on the bed, sinking into its comfort with a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to snuggle between the sheets or beneath the coverlet.
Too tempting.
She had to maintain her determination to get back home. As she lay in the darkness, the dull glow from the fireplace sending flickering shadows dancing along the walls, the occasional pop of sap inducing her to sink into an exhausted slumber, Sarah fought against it.
She had tried once before. Did she dare try again? Agnes was in the room with Jake, watching over his slumber. Phillip had gone to his chambers a few moments before Sarah had. She knew that he was just as exhausted as she. His relief at knowing that his brother would survive would certainly serve to lower his guard.
Should she try again? To escape? This time she would not venture even a peek at Jake. He would be all right, she told herself again and again.
While preparing a poultice for his wound earlier in the evening, Sarah had shown Agnes what she was doing. Identified the herbs used to make the poultice. The older woman had watched carefully, perhaps out of wariness, but also interest. Agnes had also watched as she prepared a broth for Jake with other herbs that would continue to ease his fever, provide him with nourishment, and ease his pain.
As far she was concerned, she felt assured that Agnes would be able to replicate her recipes. There were still plenty of herbs, flowers, and other accouterments of her trade remaining in Jake's room. She should not feel guilty whatsoever by trying to escape again.
However, knowing that Jake would be all right did not ease her trepidation. What if she was caught? What would Phillip do? Had Ceana been telling the truth? That he would likely find her usefulness over and throw her in the dungeon, force her into servitude or even worse, sell her to someone else, someone even further up in the Highlands or perhaps even across the Irish Sea? She had no idea what to expect from Laird Phillip Duncan. No one became a clan laird without displaying a capability of force, of intimidation, or instilling fear in the enemy.
While Phillip seemed to have the respect and loyalty of his household, did that respect and loyalty extend beyond his lands? She doubted it. Despite her questionable and curious attraction to the Highlander, she knew the tonight might be her only remaining chance to escape.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized she had been naïve to believe and trust that Phillip what casually returned her to Kirkcaldy as if nothing had happened. She hadn't even thought of the legalities of his doing so.
In addition to possibly inciting violence with other clans that might hate the Duncans, the punishment for kidnapping could vary, depending on who meted out that sentence. Clans often punished other clans, and blood feuds were common.
Still, some of what Ceana had said rang true. Even down by the coast, Highlanders were considered barbarians. Atrocities committed by Highlanders was nothing short of savage. She had heard that warring clans of Highlanders were often known to cut open women carrying babies, killing those babies, and even beheading priests.
The more she allowed her thoughts to roam the more agitated she became. She couldn't sleep, not with such images flashing in her mind. At that very moment, she decided that she would do it. She would make her second attempt to escape. This time, unlike the last, she would succeed.
Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, to hesitate because of her own fear of being caught, she quickly rose from the bed and stepped to the door.
As before, she placed her ear against it, listening for any sounds from the hallway or the rooms nearby.
Nothing.
She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she carefully opened the door to her room. Peeked her head out and looked up and down the short hallway.
All quiet.
Her slippers made no sound on the wood floor as she stepped past the threshold and then paused, her heart pounding so hard she was sure the sound would wake everyone in the manor. Her mouth was dry, but she couldn't swallow anyway. Her hands trembled as she slowly stepped toward the head of the stairway, placing her feet carefully, closer to the walls than the middle to avoid creaking floorboards.
At the landing, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. No, don't feel guilty for leaving Jake. You have done all you can for him, she told herself. Now it was up to Jake. She leaned very slowly over the railing at the top of the stairs, peeking around the corner to see if anyone was in the great hall. Half shadowed, lit only by the flickers of a dying fire, the hall looked empty.
Everything still and quiet.
She took measured, stealthy paces one at a time, wanting to race, to throw open the large front door and fly away, but made herself move slowly and methodically.
Silently, she took the stairs one at a time, her hand tightly clutching the railing as she went. If anything moved or any sound came from the kitchen area, from the rooms behind her, or the front of the manor, she had no place to go. No place to hide.
Every nerve in her body alert, her senses heightened, her eyes wide, she focused on the front door. She reached it without being discovered. Ever so carefully, she unlatched the door and opened it. Only a little bit at first to see if anyone stood guard outside.
No one.
She wasn't sure what time it was, but it must be well past midnight. Everyone sleeping, though certainly someone, somewhere, on the grounds must be awake.
She opened the door only wide enough to slide her body through and then closed it gently behind her. Her knees felt weak from the tension and anxiety thrumming through her veins.
Keeping to the darker shadows near the stone walls of the manor house, she quickly searched for a route that would take her down the path, around the pond, and into the trees without being exposed to anyone who might happen to glance out a window.
If she could dart down the path quickly enough, she could disguise herself in the deeper shadows of the reeds and cattails lining one side of the pond, the side opposite the path that she, Agnes, and Maccay had taken previously to gather herbs. Then she could disappear easily into the woods beyond.
After that, she didn't know.
She stood at the corner of the manor, deep in shadows, her back pressed against the cold, unforgiving stones of the wall. Moving as little as possible, she gazed around the property, watching for any signs of movement, listening for any noise. All she heard was the sound of frogs and crickets down by the pond.
Now or never.
She lifted the skirt of her kirtle and undergown, tightly clutched in each hand, her legs bare from the knees down. She would have to move as quickly and silently as possible. She could only hope that she wouldn't step on a stone or a pebble that would cause her to stumble and fall, perhaps inadvertently cry out in pain. The slippers were not suited for outdoors, but she had no options.
Think of Heather. Think of Heather!
It was the only thought that overrode her overwhelming fear and anxiety of being caught by the laird or any of his people. She had no doubt that if she was caught, she would be punished. She didn't allow herself to think of the wild animals out there, the possible outlaws, or even the fear of getting lost.
She had to try.
She glanced up into the night sky and noted the placement of the stars. She knew enough to find the North Star. She found the cluster of stars linked to an ancient Norse poem that Heather had told her had something to do with a tree. It formed a canopy of stars overhead. Her sister was fascinat
ed with the stars in the night sky, had told her about the four patterns of the stars that represented four stags; Duneyr, Durathror, Dvalin, and Dain.
She looked for the star Heather had described as the root of the world tree, a crowded path of stars that streaked across the night sky, numerous as the sands piled along the beaches of the coastline.
She didn't know much more and now wished that she had listened more carefully when, occasionally in the evening, she and her sister would sneak out of the house late at night to sit in the grass, looking up at the stars, the moon, imagining where they came from.
Sarah felt that she knew enough about the placement of the stars that she would be able to maintain a southerly path. Once the sun came up, she would know exactly which direction she headed and would focus on keeping the sun on the left side of her face until the noon hour. After that, she would keep the sun on her right side.
How long would it take her to reach Kirkcaldy on foot? She didn't even want to think about it. Nor how she would feed herself, or find shelter from the wild animals. She had to focus only on one thought.
Getting home.
Go! Just go! No more thinking. No more planning, at least not now. Her primary goal was to get away from the manor house and into the depths of shadows of the woods. She would worry about everything else after she had achieved that single goal.
She didn't hesitate another second, but pushed herself away from the wall and, skirts lifted high and holding her breath, she ran toward the side of the pond opposite the path.
The first twenty paces or so were relatively level, but the closer she got to the pond, the more the ground sank beneath her feet. Once she stepped into a slight dip, nearly toppled, and barely managed to maintain her balance. If she twisted her ankle or injured herself, she would be caught. Though it went against every instinct, she slowed her pace slightly and desperately tried to pinpoint where her feet would land before they did so.
In a matter of seconds that passed much slower than those in her mind, she reached the large rushes and cattails that surrounded the far side of the pond. The ground was softer here, mushy almost. Still, this side offered better hiding spots and deeper shadows.
As quickly as she could, hugging the banks of the pond, she rounded it, then looked across the edge of the meadow that lay in front of the tree line.
Nothing moved.
Her passage around the pond had momentarily caused the frogs to stop croaking, but the crickets still sang their constant yearnings for a mate. Hopefully, the silence of the frogs wouldn't alert anyone, but if it did, maybe it would be blamed on an animal emerging from the forest to drink.
Hunching low she stepped away from the pond and headed toward the tree line, trying to stay as far to the right side as she could. The tree line was only steps away now. Perhaps thirty… excitement burgeoned in her chest as she smiled with self-satisfaction.
She knew she would make it.
She knew!
Mere minutes after she had exited the manor, she stepped into the darkness of the woods, her heart still pounding, though now with excitement.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
She had escaped the manor house! Managed to reach the shelter of the woods without being discovered. She would make it; now she was positive! Her chest heaving now with excited breaths, she stood for several moments, seeking to calm her pounding heart.
Which way?
All she knew was that she needed to move away from the manor house. Away from Phillip Duncan. Away from captivity.
She glanced up at the stars, but saw very few of them through the canopy of tree branches. The night sounds returned, and the frogs croaked once again. A gentle breeze rustled through the tips of the pines, and she smelled loam, the brackish water of the pond behind her, and the scent of dew-dampened flowers growing in the meadow.
Still holding up her skirts, watching where she placed her feet, she began to weave her way through the trees, glancing occasionally over her shoulder to make sure that she kept the manor house behind her. She avoided as much underbrush as possible, afraid of tearing her clothes, which might leave evidence of her passing.
She knew that her footsteps around the pond would be visible as the ground had been soft, so now she deliberately looked for larger stones and rocks that she could use to hide the direction of her travel if anyone cared to follow her deeper into the woods.
It probably wasn't necessary. The moment she was discovered missing, Phillip would have no doubt which direction she traveled. South. Toward the coast and Kirkcaldy.
She paused in indecision. Try and cover her tracks or pick up her speed and flee, get as far away as possible before dawn? She was on foot. Phillip and his men had horses. No, speed was not necessarily of an advantage to her. Hiding her trail as best she could might give her an edge.
She took another breath and turned away from a large cluster of rocks, intending to head into a thicket of trees just ahead. Gathering her kirtle close about her, she entered the thicket, felt the sharp sting of a thorn against the skin of her arm and bit back a startled cry of pain.
She glanced down to see if she’d torn anything from her dress, but it was difficult to see in the near blackness.
What if—
She slammed into something hard and unyielding. She stifled a gasp, thought for a moment that she had run into a tree trunk, but it wasn't a tree trunk.
It gave a little.
What could possibly—
She heard the deep rumble of laughter.
A moment later, a voice that made her blood run cold.
Something struck the back of her head.
Hard.
Pain exploded in her head, and white flashes danced in front of her eyes. She felt herself falling.
No! No, this couldn't be happening!
Then, nothing.
* * *
The terrible pounding in her head nearly took her breath away. She tried to move, to reach up and touch the throbbing spot but couldn't.
The last thing she remembered was sneaking away from the Duncan Manor. She had just stepped into the darkness of the woods and remembered running into a tree. No, not a tree. A man. That man had laughed just before she felt the pain bursting inside her skull.
Someone had knocked her unconscious!
Her heart dropped to her stomach. She wanted to scream, but something had been shoved in her mouth. As she slowly regained consciousness, she realized that her hands were tied behind her. She lay on her side on the ground. The smell of dirt and leaves pervaded her nostrils.
Had Phillip discovered her? Had he managed to get ahead of her? A cruel ploy to frighten her, to make sure that she remained a captive?
A cold sensation swept through her, followed by trembling. She didn't want to open her eyes and see the truth but knew that she would have to, eventually.
“Looks like she's waking up.”
That wasn't Phillip's voice.
It was a female voice.
It didn't belong to Agnes.
Reluctantly, she forced her eyelids open. Her vision blurred, but after blinking several times, it began to clear.
When they focused on the person staring down at her, her eyes widened.
A surprised sound erupted from her chest, muffled by the gag tied around her mouth.
Ceana!
Ceana stood next to a large man wearing dark trousers tucked into scuffed and well-worn black boots, his tunic held in place by a wide leather belt. A woolen cloak was draped over his shoulders. His hair was cropped close, so close she could see his scalp.
She could see… and then she realized that dawn had arrived. She'd lain on the forest floor unconscious throughout the night?
She struggled to sit up, the pulse pounding through her veins. She glanced frantically around, didn't recognize anything. Where was she? She wasn't anywhere near the manor. No, she was in a cave at the moment, a shallow cave.
Beyond rose a slope littered with stones and small boulder
s. In the distance, the hills wreathed in fingers of fog. Rising above the fog was the mountain, Ben Nevis, only from a different angle than that she had seen from Jake’s window at the manor.
Any hope she had of returning to Kirkcaldy suddenly evaporated. They were nowhere near the manor. She had been carried from the trees surrounding Duncan Manor and transported far away, no one the wiser.
She felt sick to her stomach. A wave of dizziness assailed her, but she couldn't even lift her hand to cradle her aching head.
She never thought she would have even considered it, but at this very moment, she wished she was still back at the Duncan Manor, sleeping in the soft, warm, comfortable bed that had been provided for her.
Phillip had been right. The dangers of the forest around Duncan Manor were certainly teaming with bad things.
She tried to speak.
What was Ceana about? She didn't doubt for a minute that Ceana had not tried to help her escape. There would have been no need to knock her unconscious if that was the case.
Her muffled attempts to talk caused the man standing next to Ceana to frown.
“Shut her up,” he muttered.
Ceana glanced up at him, and then turned to look at Sarah.
“You might want to stop that noise,” she suggested. “Fergus has a bit of a short temper.”
Sarah stared Ceana, frowning as she waited for some sort of explanation.
“You're wondering why you're here? What I'm doing here? Am I here to help you escape the Duncans? Maybe even more importantly, are wondering who he is?” She gestured with her thumb toward Fergus.
Sarah slowly nodded, even the slightest movement causing shivers of pain to course down the back of her neck and into her shoulders.
“His name is Fergus Orkney of the Orkney clan. You're not from around here, so you don't know that the Orkney clan and the Duncan clan are sworn enemies.” She waved a hand. “No one seems to remember how the blood feud started but it's lasted longer than I, my parents, or my grandparents remember.”
