“Has she been out?”
Finn laughed, crossing both arms across his chest. “Nay, of course not.”
“Has she said aught? Begged ye for release mayhap? Made threats?”
“Nay. As quiet as a mouse.”
Morgann cursed and shoved Finn aside. “That’s what I feared.”
Swiftly pulling back the lock, he thrust open the door and stared around. The bed was empty. The wooden bath in front of the fire sat unused. He spun around, half expecting her to leap out from behind the door and make an escape but no one sprang out of the shadows.
Stepping over to the side table, he snatched the only lit candle in the room and lifted it, peering around. His gaze alighted on the bedding tied around one post of the bed.
“God’s blood, foolish lass,” he murmured to himself.
“She’s gone out the window?” Finn asked from behind him. “Brave lass.”
Morgann scowled at the admiration in Finn’s tone and dropped the candle back on the table. They were four storeys up, almost at the highest point in the keep. Falling would mean certain death.
He stomped over to the window and peered out. He just made out the line of white sheets and what looked like the dark red blankets tied together in a makeshift rope. And then his heart froze.
The faintest feminine voice reached up to him, almost lost in the evening breeze. Morgann listened carefully. Aye, there it was.
Leaning further out, he peered into the gloom and swallowed heavily. “Alana?”
“Morgann? I-I’m stuck.”
Halfway down the wall hung Alana, just visible at the end of the line. He just made out the vague outline of her gown and she was clearly nowhere near enough to the ground.
“I-I can’t hold on much longer.”
The distress in her voice was obvious enough though. It yanked roughly at his chest as urgency rushed through him. He couldn’t lose his Alana.
His Alana?
“Finn,” he barked, “find a ladder. With haste.”
Without waiting for a response, Morgann sprinted down the stairs, almost losing his footing twice, and barged out of the hall doors. A gathering of men stood at the base of the keep, looking up, torches held aloft.
“She’s going to fall,” said one.
“Aye, she’ll no’ survive,” declared another.
Morgann glanced around. Where in the devil was Finn? Alana screamed and with the torchlight he could now see that she was barely gripping the line of bedding. He had no time. Eyeing the castle wall, he stepped forward and curled his hands over the stone.
“Laird, what are ye doing?” someone asked but he ignored them.
Boots pressed against the keep, he began to climb, fingers barely hooking into the indents between each stone.
“Morgann!” Alana cried.
Pulse quickening, he climbed harder, boots slipping against the rough stone. His fingers ached and he scarcely held on but some wild determination drove him forward. The muscles in his arms burned and he didn’t doubt his fingertips would be bleeding by the end.
If he survived the climb that was.
Peering up, he realised he was close. Alana’s bare feet dangled not far from his face, flashes of leg peeking from under her skirts. His heart pounded with exertion and horror as her grip slipped and she cried out.
Now she hung from one arm, Morgann knew he had to get to her fast. Disregarding the cramping pain in his hands, he edged up the wall until he was at her side.
She stared at him, eyes wide with fear. “M-Morgann, I cannae hold on.”
“Just a wee bit longer, m'eudail. I’m here. I’ll no’ let ye fall.”
He reached for the sheets, curled a hand gratefully around them and gave them a tug. Aye, it would hold his weight. He inched upward and swung over, snatching the line in both hands so that he hung from it just above Alana. Her grasp on the rope slipped and Morgann seized her hand, gripping her tight before she fell.
“Hold on, Alana. I’ve got ye.”
Looking down, Morgann realised just how high up they were. God’s blood, his hands hurt. But he kept his hold strong around Alana’s.
“Ye cannae hold on to me forever,” she exclaimed, voice wavering.
“I dinnae need to hold ye forever,” he grunted.
A thud against the wall dragged his attention from her and he blew out a long breath. Finn climbed carefully up the ladder now propped against the castle wall. Morgann’s arm shook as he waited for what felt like an eternity for Finn to reach them. The top of the ladder didn’t quite reach Alana’s feet and Morgann knew he’d have to trust Finn to catch Alana.
Letting go of her was the hardest thing he would ever do.
“Alana, ye need to let go of me. Finn will catch ye.”
She glanced down and then back up at him, alarm clear in her gaze. “I’ll fall.”
“I’ll not let that happen. Trust me.”
Alana peered down again and nodded slowly. “A-aye. I trust ye.”
“Finn?” Morgann called to him. “Are ye ready?”
“Aye, my laird. I’m ready.”
Giving Alana a nod, he waited for her grip to loosen. Ensuring she was perfectly lined up with the ladder, he sucked in a breath and let go. Alana screamed as she dropped and Finn hooked an arm around her waist, pinning her to the ladder. They both wavered for a moment but the men at the bottom held the ladder firm.
Morgann almost let go of the sheet as relief made him sag. Jolting, he grabbed the fabric with his other hand and waited until Alana was safely on the ground.
“Laird? What are ye going to do?” Finn shouted.
He glanced up at the window and then at the distance between him and the top of the ladder, he smirked to himself. “Looks like I’m climbing, Finn,” he yelled back.
His shoulders wrenched as he hauled himself up the line of sheets but by some miracle he made it to the top and clambered in through the window. Dropping to the floor, he gathered his breath. Sweat dripped from him.
The door to the chamber swung open with a crash and Alana dashed to his side and wrapped an arm around him. “Morgann, thank the Lord yer alive!”
“Aye, no thanks to ye, ye daft lass,” he grumbled as he came to his knees and she flung her arms around him.
Morgann allowed himself a moment to savour the press of her face against the side of his neck and a slight shudder coursed through her. He caressed her hair roughly, reassuring himself she was all right.
Finally finding the strength to come to his feet, he hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her up with him before setting her away.
She clasped her hands in front of her and offered him an apologetic look. “Forgive me, I never meant to put ye in danger.”
“Nay, ye just intended to escape. Yer plan was a terrible one, Alana. Yer lucky ye didnae end up dead.”
Chin thrusting up, she propped her hands on hips. “‘Twas nae terrible. ‘Twould have worked had ye given me enough bedding.”
“Oh, aye, so ‘twas my fault for not providing ample bedding so ye could make yer escape.” He swiped a hand across his damp brow, fear slowly replaced with disbelief and anger. Did she not realise how terrified he’d been for her?
“Well…nay, but ye cannae say ‘twas a terrible plan. And I wouldnae have had to resort to such things had ye no’ brought me here against my will.”
Morgann shook his head and began drawing in the sheets. “Ye know, Alana Campbell, I’ll be glad when ye are returned to yer father. Yer more hassle than yer worth.”
A hurt expression crossed her face as he closed the shutters and dumped the length of bedding on the floor. It shouldn’t have bothered him that he’d upset her. She was his prisoner after all. But it did.
Forcing his own expression to harden, he stepped sharply toward her. “No more foolish escapades, ye understand?”
“I’ll no’ stop trying to escape.”
“Then I’ll no’ leave ye alone.”
Actually he liked the noti
on. He perked at the thought. No more worrying about what she was up to or fearing Margot would get to her. Aye, while he waited for a response from Dougall, he’d be Alana’s shadow.
***
Tremors still ran through her body as Alana concentrated on drawing in breaths. Sweet Mary, she’d been close, too close, to death. Ach, if only she’d been more careful and checked how long the sheets were. In desperation, she’d started to descend, unable to see the bottom in the dark. And then she’d become stuck. Without enough strength to climb she had just hung there. Then Morgann had scaled the walls.
But he was well. Her desperate attempt at escape had nearly got them both killed but thank the Lord neither of them had fallen. Unfortunately Morgann now looked ready to throw her back out the window. Brow furrowed, muscles flexing, nostrils flaring. Alana suspected she was in grave trouble. Mayhap she should fling herself out the window.
Should she fight him? If he remained by her side during her captivity then she would never find another chance to escape and she had little time. Before long, her father would be at the castle walls, threatening war and calling Morgann out.
She skimmed her gaze over the muscles that pulled his linen shirt taut. If her father went up against Morgann death was surely inevitable. And if by some chance of fate her da was victorious, Morgann would be harmed. As much as she didn’t wish to be his prisoner, she certainly did not want him dead.
Settling on a softer approach, Alana inched forward and laid a hand tentatively on his forearm. He flinched, the darkness in his eyes increasing.
“Ye dinnae need to do this, Morgann. Release me and we can forget this ever happened.”
Morgann snorted. “Ye’d forget me so easily?”
“What is yer meaning? I’ve never forgotten ye.”
“Ye forgot me well enough eight summers ago.”
Anger surged up inside her at his petulant tone. Forget him? Never. She’d spent many months worrying for him, wishing things were different. Wishing she had shown some strength and stopped her father.
“I never forgot ye! Never, ye hear me, Morgann MacRae.”
Not even when her da accused him of theft and had him dragged away to be branded as a thief. A shudder ran through her as she recalled watching her clansmen haul him to the blacksmiths.
Morgann stared at her, shoulders dropping and Alana saw the fury slowly leave him.
She chewed on her lip, gaze burning into his as she forced herself to speak softly. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I wish… I wish I could have stopped him. Or come after ye.” To her dismay her lip wobbled as she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I wish I’d had more courage.”
There. She’d said it. For too long, she had longed to see him and apologise. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d begged harder or defended Morgann more vehemently mayhap her father would have let him be.
Morgann stepped forward and tapped a finger to her chin, coaxing her to look at him. “Ye couldnae done a thing, lass. I’d no’ have wanted ye to come to harm and my father would surely have used ye as some form of revenge for me.”
“Like yer using me now then?” Her lips tilted.
“I dinnae use ye for revenge, m'eudail. ‘Tis justice I seek.” Finger still resting under her chin, he stroked it leisurely down the arch of her neck, sweeping briefly over the pulse point there. “I couldnae use ye. Ye have such courage as I have ever seen.”
Her mouth grew dry as his fingertip grazed her skin. The sound of her breaths amplified in her ears as she attempted to keep her voice light. “Ach, ye flatter me, Morgann. But I do regret all that befell ye that day and everything since.”
“Everything?”
“Aye, everything. I cannae be glad I am with ye again under such circumstances. Not when ye invite war with yer actions. I’ve no wish to see ye or my da killed.”
“So ye do care for my welfare?” He moved up to trace the line of her jaw.
“Of course I care for ye. Yer my friend. I always cared for ye. I didnae speak to Da for four sennights after what he did to ye!” She grinned at the memory.
Morgann’s lips turned reluctantly upwards. “See? Ye have great courage, lass. Yer da is a fearsome man.”
Her smile flickered as her heart twinged. “Was. Was a fearsome man,” she corrected. “He is aged. Morgann, if ye go up against him, he will surely die.”
Morgann dropped his hand from her face and she immediately felt the loss. The desire to snatch and bury her cheek against it was almost overwhelming. How was it a man who used to be no more than a close friend and was now her imprisoner had her so captivated?
“I dinnae want to hurt ye,” he told her sincerely. “I feel no affection for yer da but if I can spare ye pain, I will.”
“Ye promise?”
“Aye, I’ll no’ hurt him. But I cannae say the same for the rest of my clan.”
Alana nodded slowly. “Ye have my thanks, Morgann. Though I dinnae see why ye have to go to such measures.”
“‘Tis something I have to do. I cannae explain my motives but ‘tis no’ for something as petty as revenge, I promise ye.”
Shaking her head, she inched closer. “Why cannae ye explain? Ye used to tell me everything, remember?”
“Not everything.”
A hand thrust out, he pressed it to her shoulder in an attempt to hold her back. She could hardly think when she got nearer but the heat of his body seemed to suck her in. They were speaking in riddles. Dancing around one another. Both trying to understand what the other wanted. She’d intended to manipulate him, to bargain her freedom. Yet somewhere along the line the past had caught up with her and the burning desire know what had happened those years ago snared her.
And then another kind of desire swept her up.
Alana curled her fingers around his wrist and drew his hand away. She glanced at his arm and paused. Bringing her other hand up, she gently rolled up his sleeve, skimming her fingertips over his skin.
“What did ye not tell me then?”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’d hardly tell ye now.”
“Ye are a stubborn man, Morgann MacRae.” She settled her hand on the scar on his arm, tracing the shape of it—a brand in the shape of a dagger tip. She winced as she considered the pain he must have felt.
Aware her gaze was full of sympathy as she looked back up at him, his flinch didn’t surprise her. His jaw clenched again and she saw the anger consume his once more. Would that she could erase it and bring back her friend.
“I am sorry for what happened. The men told me afterwards what they did to ye. My father had no right to punish ye as he did.”
Before he could protest, she brought her lips to the scar, dancing them over his skin. He coughed uncomfortably and she savoured the feel of the dark hair on his forearm as it tickled her mouth.
“‘Twas no less than a thief and a traitor should expect,” he said gruffly.
“Yer no thief and no traitor. I know ye didnae take that ring.”
Straightening, he stepped sharply back. She wavered and he tugged her hand from around his arm. Her stomach dropped as his reserve slipped back into place. What had she done wrong? Alana shrank toward the bed. Ach, but she could not understand the man. Here she was apologising and defending him and he behaved as if she had offended him.
He glanced out of the window and sighed. “‘Tis late and I am weary after yer escapades. Get into bed. I’ll be sleeping on the floor.”
Alana eyed the pallet intended for a maid, imagining Morgann’s large form sprawled out on it. And then she pictured him elsewhere.
In the bed.
Heat rose in her face. Lord, she couldn’t let him stay here. She wouldn’t get a moment’s rest. For some reason Morgann MacRae made her think all kinds of wanton thoughts. She certainly didn’t recall feeling like this during their years growing up together.
Oh aye, she’d wanted to kiss him. Even imagined marrying him. But an ache never developed between her legs whenever she thought
of him like now.
As if knowing where her thoughts were leading, he watched her carefully, gaze roaming her body as she curled a hand around the bed post for support.
“Well, are ye getting into bed then, lass?” he asked impatiently.
“I cannae. ‘Tis nae proper. I refuse.” She forced strength into her voice, determined to find her courage once more. The soft approach was not going to work so she needed to figure out another escape plan.
“Ye’ll do as I say. Just because we were once friends, Alana, doesnae mean I willnae force ye to do my bidding. I’ve been too soft on ye already and look where that lead me. Climbing up the side of my damned keep!”
She huffed. “Well I must relieve myself first and I’ll not do that in front of ye. At least take me to the garderobes.”
Morgann faltered at this and thrust a hand into his black hair. “Aye, as ye will.” Yanking open the door, he motioned for her to step through.
She glanced along the hallway. Should she try and make a run for it? Strong hands snatched her arms and she struggled against his hold, crying out in frustration as he shoved her back into the room and slammed the door firmly shut behind him.
“What are ye doing?” She rubbed her arms where he had grabbed her and saw the flicker of remorse in his gaze.
"Dinnae even think about it,” he growled.
"I didnae do anything!"
"Aye, but ye were considering it. Ye'll not escape, Alana. Ye'll leave this castle when I say, no sooner, and ye'd be better off getting used to the idea." He bent and reached for the tied sheets, still curled in a bundle on the floor. "Get on the bed," he commanded.
The tenor to his voice sent a shiver through her. A shiver of fear or excitement? She wasn't entirely sure. Her feelings toward Morgann had become so muddled. She did not want to stay his prisoner yet she hungered to be around him. Aye, those hits to the head truly had confused her.
Still she kept her back straight and maintained eye contact, even as he bore down upon her. "Nay," she said hoarsely.
"On. The. Bed."
"Nay."
With a sigh, he latched his hands around her waist and threw her on the bed. She squealed as the bed ropes creaked and she bounced against the mattress. Before she could push herself up, Morgann was upon her once more, clasping both wrists in one hand as he bound them with the sheets, effectively tying her to the bed.
To Steal a Highlander's Heart Page 5
