Highland Temptations: Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Adams, Aileen

  “You’ll let me go?” It seemed too good to be true, but there he was, opening the door and leaving it that way.

  “Aye. I’ll regret it, I’m certain, but you’ve been through enough. Ye seem like a nice enough sort.” He raised an arm, pointing. “Go straight out and up. The door will still be open, but not for much longer. Most of the men are in the keep, eatin’ their supper. Now is the time.”

  “Thank you, Alec.” She grasped the man’s hand for a moment, squeezing hard, before sheer panic gave her strength she should not have otherwise possessed.

  She darted through the dark dungeon, bare feet making not a sound as she ran up the stairs. It was full dark by then, the night air crisp and chill. She’d always loved this time of year best, even if it meant less time spent moving thanks to the shorter days.

  Now, the long night would—she prayed—be her salvation. Darkness was all she had working in her favor as she took Alec’s advice and ran straight through the quiet courtyard and through the open door leading out to the woods.

  She was already moving among the trees when she heard shouts from the towers. She’d been spotted. Terror ran through her veins like fire, propelling her forward, urging her to move faster, faster, to ignore the pain in her bare feet and simply run.

  Shana stumbled, her skirts catching here and there on low brush and brambles. Like phantom hands clutching at her, pulling her back, slowing her progress. She whimpered and gasped for air, her lungs burning, tears streaming down her cheeks. Panicked tears, frantic, desperate.

  They were coming, oh, she heard them even over the pounding of her heart. Like a rabbit in a snare, she was, knowing every moment might be its last and moving as fast as its legs could carry it.

  She would never hunt again without remembering this. If she lived through this and managed to hunt again.

  A half-buried log tripped her, and only the fear of being heard kept her from crying out in surprise. She sprawled on the ground, catching herself on her palms and cutting them in a dozen places. The shock ran up her arms and through her shoulders, into her back, yet some inner force which drove her—fear, pure fear—pushed her back up onto her feet and kept her moving.

  The clouds parted overhead, and the moon gave her at least a bit of light by which to see. Her head moved back and forth, her eyes searching the woods, her throat and lungs on fire as she fought for every breath. Was that the Stuart men behind her? Beside her?

  She had to keep moving. There would be a road somewhere close enough to be reached on foot. Feet which bled, feet which couldn’t seem to carry her fast enough, no matter how she struggled. Like a nightmare in which the harder she fought, the slower she moved.

  “Ye canna run!” A voice reminded her. A voice far too close to where she was.

  Once again, her eyes darted to and fro as now she searched for a place to hide. They were too close, they would find her, they would catch her and do terrible things before killing her, yes, they would kill her if they found her.

  A horse approached just beyond where she’d stopped.

  A road.

  She had to take a chance. If it carried a Stuart man, she would keep running. Or wrestle his dirk away and kill herself. Anything would be better than allowing them to punish her for escaping.

  She threw herself into the road, in the path of the horse and its rider. He was not of the Stuarts—he did not wear their colors, nor did he look as though he’d expected to come across her.

  “Whoa!” he cried out when his ink-black horse reared.

  She held up her hands, sobbing and breathless. “Help me! Please!”

  5

  William managed to keep control of the horse, and to turn it about that it might not trample the lass who’d just thrown herself into his path.

  The lass begging him for help.

  There was no time to waste or even to ask why she needed him or from whom she ran. He threw a hand down. “Come on!”

  To his surprise, she somehow propelled herself onto the back of the saddle with what seemed like no effort.

  “Go! Go!” she gasped as she linked her arms about his waist.

  He drove his heels into the horse’s sides, and they tore down the road at breakneck speed. This was it. This was her.

  And oh, God in Heaven above, she stank like a cesspool. No wonder she’d needed him.

  The horse galloped through the night, the moon’s light guiding the way down the winding road. It was a narrow road, with trees thick on both sides. That would provide cover, but it would also provide cover to anyone in the woods. Anyone who might be watching.

  “Keep lookout for anyone around us,” he called back to her as he urged the horse to greater speed. The fall of hooves on hard-packed ground drowned out the pounding of his heart, but just barely.

  He’d waited so long to find her, and now he had to make her safe. Everything was happening so fast.

  “Hurry, please! Hurry!” Her words were sobs in his ear, sobs which told him of the horror she had just barely escaped.

  He pushed all thoughts of that aside in favor of guiding the horse down the road, riding hard until they were out of the thickest wood. Now they could be more easily seen if they stayed on the road, out in the open, and so he directed the horse to the left and through the tree line.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving us cover.” It was slower going now, the horse picking its way through brush and over roots, but this was better than being spotted from afar. The sound of running water drew William’s attention, and he let the panting beast find its way to a wide, rushing stream before pulling it to a stop at water’s edge.

  “Why did we stop?” she demanded.

  “The horse canna take much more of this. It needs to breathe and have a drink, as do I.” And a breath of fresh air, since now they’d stopped, and the stench coming from her made his stomach clench.

  She slid from the horse, and he followed. Now he could look upon her. She wore little better than rags, and her hair was a mass of knots and snarls. It was no wonder she smelled as she did. How long had she been locked away?

  “Are you not going to ask why I needed you?” she whispered.

  “That hardly seems to matter at the moment—or would ye rather I stopped to ask ye before carrying ye away?”

  Her head tilted to the side. “I only thought you might wish to know. That it might be a problem for you.”

  He could hardly tell her what put him on that road, at that moment. That he’d been looking for her without knowing it was her he was in search of. “It isn’t. Rather, eh, I’m certain we can speak of it some other time.”

  “Some other time? How long do you intend for us to be together? I thought we were stopping here.”

  “I never said this was where we would part ways. We’re merely stopping to rest. Do ye believe I would leave ye here, in the middle of… I have no idea where we are,” he admitted. “Do ye?”

  “Nay.”

  “I was not paying attention to where we went, only how much of the road we put between ourselves and whoever it was ye were running from.” He hobbled the horse in a thick patch of moonlit grass.

  She looked down at herself. “I need to bathe. Now.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “There are clothes in my pack. Far too large for ye, of course, but clean. If ye would be interested, that is.” What was wrong with him? His tongue was thick, his speech slow. He knew not what to say to her.

  Now that he’d found her, what was next? What should he do?

  “Thank you. I would like nothing more than to burn this.” She did not meet his eyes when he handed her a tunic and trews.

  He looked toward the road again and was glad to find that he couldn’t see it from where they stood. The thick cover of trees provided protection, but they would not cover up the scent of a fire. “I won’t be able to build one,” he decided, “unless we ride a great deal farther. Throughout the night, in fact. I dinna feel safe yet.”

  She chewed
her lip with small, even teeth. Good teeth. This was not a poor, wasted thing. He had so many questions but no time to ask them.

  Yet. His curiosity would not be held off forever.

  “We can keep riding if you wish, after I bathe and rid myself of these rags. It will help us if I don’t look like the person who just escaped, will it not?”

  “Aye, it will that.” And intelligent. “But you’ll catch your death of chill, riding about on a cool night such as this without having properly dried.”

  “I believe I shall take my chances. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She was off without another word, disappearing around a bend and behind a tree which seemed to grow sideways, across the stream. If she was agile enough, and she was, he recalled, seeing as how she’d all but leapt up onto the horse—she might climb across the gnarled trunk to the other side.

  Would she? He had to trust that she wouldn’t do anything so rash. He was her best chance at safety. No way could she get far on foot.

  There was splashing within moments of her having disappeared, telling him she’d shed her clothing without wasting a moment’s time. He waited impatiently, patting the horse’s neck as it grazed. To be of such single purpose. He wished he could adopt the beast’s singular attitude and concentrate on just one thing at a time.

  He might as well wish for the moon which hung above their heads.

  They had to get away. Far away. And quickly. Jacob Stuart would not let her go without a fight, not once he discovered she’d been rescued.

  Even the rescue itself had been completely by accident.

  He asked himself what might have happened if he’d decided to stop and make camp earlier rather than making up his mind to explore the lands around Stuart’s walled keep under the cover of darkness. She would have been lost to him, to be certain, likely caught by zealous guards and dragged back to her captor.

  They’d only ridden for less than an hour, meaning they had quite a lot of riding to do if they were to rest their heads with any amount of ease that night. They’d ridden west, though he did not know how far, and could now turn north. He’d have to wait until they reached a friendly village to know exactly where they were.

  Until then, distance was all that mattered. And speed.

  With this in mind, he cleared his throat. “Are ye well?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Cold.”

  “Ye can wear my cloak,” he offered, at a loss. Now that he had her, what was he to do with her? The seer had not offered advice on this.

  She emerged minutes later, her hair a sodden mess, his garments hanging from her thin body. “My feet,” she murmured. “Do you have anything I can wrap them in? I cut them quite badly back there.”

  She raised one of them, and by the light of the moon, he could see the fresh cuts and scrapes and bruises. How she was walking at all was a mystery to him.

  “This won’t do.” He pulled another precious tunic from his pack, leaving him with only what he had on his back, and tore the sleeves from it. “Back to the stream.”

  “What?”

  He had her in his arms in a flash, before she could so much as let out a shout of surprise, and dipped her kicking feet into the water. “Washing them,” he explained over her grunts as she struggled to free herself. “Would ye stop fighting, please? I wish to make it so ye dinna get infected.”

  This calmed her, and she did not fight when he lifted her atop the horse. “Now, remain still.” He wrapped both feet in the makeshift bandages. “When we reach a village, we shall have to find a healer. Ye shall need something to keep them from festering.”

  “Is it that serious?” she asked, wincing when he tightened the bandage.

  “Aye. Or, it could be. I dinna plan to go to all this trouble in saving ye just to have ye die of infection.”

  To her credit, she kept her thoughts to herself. He swung up behind her this time—better to keep her in front of him, he decided. Just one of many things to now keep in mind as he now had more than just himself to consider.

  “Here.” He held out the ends of the cloak which he still wore, allowing her to wrap them around herself before her body snuggled into his. He told himself she was merely searching for warmth and likely had no idea of her actions.

  The fact that they were so close was not lost on him, but this wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

  He turned the horse back toward the road, intending to cut across it and ride through the woods on the other side. “We can travel north now, unless your people are near. I can take ye to them instead, if you’d rather.”

  She shook her head, wet hair trailing along the front of his tunic. “We cannot go to them.”

  “Why not?”

  “We simply cannot. Do not ask me again, please.”

  “What position are ye in to give orders? I only wish to see ye delivered to safety.”

  She snorted. “Where would that be? I believed myself safe before, and then—” She said no more, and he needed to hear no more. She’d said enough.

  Even so, this left him in a difficult position. While he felt for her much more than she knew, he hadn’t intended on riding all about Scotland with the lass. Not when the Stuarts would be searching for her.

  In his mind, the journey ended upon rescuing her and delivering her to safety. Now, she would not tell him where safety was.

  They were nearing the road, which looked and sounded empty. No one had caught up to them—yet. “I believe there are a few things we ought to get straight now.”

  “Now?”

  “Aye, now. I’ve done this thing, taking ye away from whoever was looking for ye. I believe ye owe me a few bits of truth. It’s the least ye can do.”

  “Hmph.”

  “I can let ye off here if ye wish,” he suggested, pointing to the road. “There’s a cluster of trees yonder, and ye can hide behind them. Perhaps some kind soul will ride past an offer ye a ride.”

  “I see. You’ll force me to tell ye what ye wish to know. Ye believe I’m that easily frightened.”

  “I believe you’re wise enough to do as you’re asked when ye know the penalty. I dinna think asking who I took ye from and who will be comin’ after me because of it is a crime. On the other hand, what I did might be considered a crime. Very much so. That’s why I wish to know who ye were running from and why they had ye.”

  She was silent.

  He pulled up on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. “I mean it. Tell me, or we dinna move another inch.”

  6

  He meant it, too, the stranger who’d saved her. He meant it. Shana could tell this.

  “Well?” he prompted. “Either ye start talking, or this is where we part ways. I did all I could for ye.”

  Was she safe here? No, more than likely. She’d have no way to travel other than on foot—without shoes, with feet wrapped in bandages. No cloak. No food and no tools with which to hunt. No shelter.

  In other words, he had her trapped.

  Would he deliver on his promise to abandon her if she didn’t give him what he wished? Was she willing to take such a chance, especially after what she had already seen and suffered?

  No. She could not. The image of her suffering with festering feet, starving and shivering and most likely discovered by those hunting her loosened her tongue. “Do you vow you will not leave me when I tell you what you wish to know?”

  “Aye. I vow.”

  What choice did she have? This was her only chance at truly escaping. And he might protect her if they later came up against the men who might still be searching. She was nothing alone.

  “The man who kept the cell and brought me food used the name Jacob Stuart.”

  “I see.” The stranger sounded grim.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Nay, but there was no coincidence to my being on his land when ye happened to cross my path. I’d heard there was trouble with a group of raiders, that one of their women had been taken prisoner.”

  “And… you came looking fo
r me?” She stiffened, tensed, prepared to run. “For the reward offered by the law?”

  “What? Nay. I care nothing for rewards—I didna know there was one until ye just made mention of it, in fact.”

  She eyed him warily. “Truly, now? You truly were unaware of the price on our heads?”

  “There’s a price on your head?”

  “You only just spoke of the raiders who were captured. I was one of them, I admit, so why would the price not be on my head as well as on theirs?”

  “Well…” He cleared his throat. “To begin with, you’re a lass. A female.”

  “And?”

  “And… I dinna believe the lawmen would consider ye such a threat that they’d put a price on your head.”

  She felt her features shift as her outrage grew. Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, jaw setting. “I see. I’m only a woman and therefore not even worthy of a bounty?”

  “Do ye have to twist my words so? I would think ye would be glad I had no plans to turn ye in and collect a reward. Instead, ye twist things around and argue with me. We have not the time for this.”

  “You are the one who brought the horse to a halt when we might have easily continued onward. Do not now speak to me of there not being much time.”

  He growled, muttering foul words under his breath. “I was not aware of there being a price on your head. I heard nothing of it—do ye not believe if there were gold involved, the men I overheard would have spoken of it? Naturally, they would have. They did speak of the gold offered for the capture of your kinsmen, though.”

  “I’m sure they did.”

  “That was why Stuart held ye, is it not? To lure them?”

  “You are smarter than you appear, at least.”

  He snickered. “You’re a fine one to speak of appearances. Is it any wonder the horse reared as he did, the way ye looked back there?”

  “That was no fault of my own.”

  “Even so. Ye might want to keep that in mind when ye speak of how another person looks.”