by Mariah Stone
“’Tis impossible to give ye any responsibility,” his father had always said. “Why canna ye be more like Craig and Domhnall?”
Owen gritted his teeth. “I’m certainly accusing ye of getting us captured.”
She threw such a venomous gaze at him, he wondered how he didn’t fall dead on the spot.
“Oh, this is perfect. Another guy blaming me for something I didn’t do.” She shook her head. “What is it about you men? Why do you always feel compelled to find a scapegoat?”
“I’m nae—”
She raised her palm to stop him. “You know what, buddy? If you hadn’t dragged me down that tunnel to ‘save me’”—she bent her index and middle fingers twice in a quick succession. Should he know what that gesture meant?—“we wouldn’t be in this situation. I didn’t need your help.”
A time traveler, a wonderous warrior, an infuriating female… And the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Ah! Distraction.
“What were ye doing in the castle?” he pressed.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
He was getting tired of her eluding his questions. He’d make her tell the truth—about time travel, about why she was here, and about what she wanted.
“Where do ye come from, lass?”
She looked petrified for a moment. “I don’t think you know the place.”
“Mayhap I do. Mayhap ye’ll be surprised.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek as her eyebrows drew closer together.
When she didn’t reply, he pressed. “Tell me. I may be more understanding than ye imagine.”
Amber studied him dubiously. “Well, I’m a bit from everywhere, really. Recently, from the Middle East.”
“Middle East? Is that the caliphate?”
She nodded. “I suppose that’s how you must know it. Yes.”
That must explain her complexion. Aye, good. He’d play along while he kept finding things out for himself. “Why do ye speak Gaelic so well?”
A momentary expression of astonishment crossed her face. She touched her lips. “Gaelic?” she said. “I don’t…”
“Ye dinna what?”
“Uhm. Nothing. It’s an easy tongue to learn, that’s all.”
The cart rattled and shook as the wheel jerked over a rock. Amber jumped up with the cart, lost her balance, and was thrown at Owen from the impact. She landed with her cheek against his stomach, her torso between his legs. Her long, curly hair looked so seductive spread across his stomach and hips. An immediate image of being naked and that hair falling across his bare skin invaded his mind.
And made him hard.
His cock was pressed against her breasts, the leather of her short coat between them. God almighty, he hoped she didn’t feel his reaction. Normally, he’d be already plotting how to get under the lass’s skirt. But this one was so different. In every aspect. For one, she wasn’t wearing a skirt.
Being locked up in a prison cart wasn’t the best time to think about this. They were headed to Stirling, the strongest castle in the whole of Scotland. Owen didn’t know what de Bourgh had in mind, but he didn’t think they’d be welcomed with a feast and entertained as honorable guests. He should be thinking how to escape, not getting hot and bothered about a lass.
She looked up at him, and he could see a blush even through the brown color of her skin. Her eyes were so huge now. She couldn’t look prettier if she tried. She was unique and mysterious, and he craved to know more of her. His hands itched to reach out, pull her higher onto his chest, and kiss her.
“Sorry,” she said, breaking the spell.
She clambered back on her hands and knees and crawled away from him to the opposite corner of the cage. It wasn’t far. If they stretched out their legs, their toes would touch.
“’Tis all right, Amber,” he murmured, feeling empty without her weight on top of him. “I dinna mind ye staying a little longer.”
She blinked and pinched her lips. “Please don’t make comments like that.” She looked pointedly between his legs. “And if you even think of me in that way or make a move, you will be missing the precious part you obviously can’t control. Which doesn’t surprise me, by the way.”
Owen lost the ability to form words.
She folded her arms on her chest. “And stop with your stupid questions. I’m really not in the mood to give any answers.”
That willful tongue of hers. English warriors rode up ahead of the cart and at the back. He doubted they were within earshot, but their presence was as tangible as a smelly goat.
“Be careful, lass,” he said. “I am the only friend ye have here.”
She lifted her chin. “That remains to be seen.”
He grabbed a bar and fingered it. “I saved yer life back there.”
“And landed us right in the midst of an enemy. Your enemy, by the way, not mine.”
“Ye landed us in the midst of the enemy. Nae me. Ye were the one who opened that lid like we were the only two people in Scotland. As though ye wanted them to catch us…”
She rubbed the floor of the cart with her boot and pursed her lips. “I didn’t want them to catch us. Stop blaming me. What do they want with us, anyway?”
Owen glanced back at the riders. One of them returned a look—an attentive, heavy, careful glance. He was far enough away, but just in case he decided to ride closer, Owen moved across the floor to sit next to Amber. She raised her brows.
“They’re taking us to Stirling Castle. ’Tis one of the Sassenach strongholds in the south of Scotland.”
“How far?”
“Two or three days of travel, I think.”
“And what do you think they want from us?”
“Information, most likely. Mayhap, ransom. Probably both.”
She sighed. “I suppose that means prison?”
“Aye.”
He lowered his head to her, and her scent tickled his nostrils—something clean and flowery and foreign.
“’Tis why we must try to escape before we reach Stirling.”
Amber glanced at the guards again. Then at Owen. “I suppose that makes us allies. At least for now.”
“Aye. ’Tis best we work together, mysterious Amber from caliphate.”
She measured him with a stare.
“Mind your business, Owen Cambel. And I will mind mine.”
She even pronounced his clan name like Amy did, with that wee pause between the m and the b. He liked that.
How mad was he exactly to be thinking what he was thinking? And how mad was he that he wanted to listen to his name coming from her lips again and again? Especially since the worst thing he could do now was lose his head again over a woman while they were being held prisoner.
Chapter 5
Amber grasped the bars of the cage and looked around at where they were stopping. The terrain was less hilly. They’d probably left the Highlands and were moving closer to the Lowlands now. There were plenty of opportunities to get lost in the relatively thick woods here.
Owen exchanged a look with her. She hated that she needed to rely on a complete stranger to free herself—especially a man. Especially after what had happened to her in Afghanistan.
But at the moment, she had no choice. There must be some sort of way out of the cage and away from here. Wherever “here” was.
Where was she exactly? She still couldn’t fully buy into the idea that she’d traveled through time. Could this be a hallucination or a vivid dream? And where would she go if they managed to escape the English soldiers?
She had no idea. All she knew, she had to escape. She wouldn’t let herself be taken to prison for no reason.
Owen had already checked the giant iron lock on the cage, and so had she. If she’d been from the fifties and wore any hair pins, she could have tried to pick the lock with one. Maybe Owen knew how to do that, but she couldn’t think of anything thin and sturdy enough to do the job.
The soldiers were dismounting and setting up
camp. They started making fires and pitching tents. Amber thought that some things never changed, like the look of defeat and sadness on a soldier’s face after losing a battle, the grief. She’d known that pain, too.
As the English passed by the cage, they threw curious glances at Owen and Amber, most of them halting for just a moment to ogle her. They were no doubt curious about the way she looked. They might not have seen anyone who looked and dressed like her around here, but that was no reason to stare. Her fists itched to punch the bastards. She felt Owen tense every time they stopped, too.
The air was still bright, but shadows grew longer and everything around them got that golden hue of early evening. Amber crawled to sit next to Owen, and he cocked his head to her.
“If we want to escape,” Amber said, “perhaps it’s better to wait until most of them are asleep.”
Owen nodded. “Aye.”
“I’m going to ask to go the toilet now. I won’t try anything, just look around. When it’s dark, then we can try something.”
“Ye want to go where?”
“To the toilet.”
Owen just stared at her, confused.
Amber coughed. “To relieve myself.”
“Ah.” Owen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.
Was he self-conscious? Amber didn’t think he was the type. He seemed to have too much self-confidence, be too self-assured. A man who looked as dreamy as he did was probably used to smooth-talking the ladies.
He looked at her like he knew something about her, something he didn’t want to share. It was a reminder not to trust him.
She asked the guard to let her go relieve herself in the woods and two soldiers escorted her to the edge of some bushes. All around the camp, warriors in iron armor bustled about making fire and setting cauldrons over them. Small tents were erected here and there. Some men tended to the wounded, who let out pained yelps and groans. She couldn’t see any other prisoners. Sentinels were posted here and there, but they wouldn’t see much once it was dark. The woods were thick, and Owen and Amber could disappear quickly if they ran fast enough.
She returned to the cage with a small glimpse of hope. She sat next to Owen, leaning against the bars like he did, and whispered without looking at him. “Our best chance is to overwhelm a guard at night, go into the woods, and run as fast as we can. The army is stretched along the road like a snake, so it will take them a while to gather some guards to hunt us.”
“Aye.”
When darkness fell, and mouthwatering aromas of stew reached Amber, she knew it would be time to flee soon. They waited till men lay down to sleep.
The guard put near their cage soon drifted off against a nearby tree.
“Hey,” Amber called. “Hey!”
He woke and looked up at her.
“What?” he said with a frown.
“I need to relieve myself.”
“Again?” He folded his arms on his chest and huddled. “You just went.”
“That was a while ago, and I need to go again. If you don’t want to smell piss the whole way to Stirling, let me out.”
He grunted, seemingly exasperated, came to the cage, and opened the lock with a big key. As the door opened slightly, Owen grabbed him by the collar and smashed his forehead against the bars. Amber looked around, but no one seemed to have noticed so far. The tents remained silent, and the few sentinels around the campfires didn’t move.
The guard moaned, and Owen banged him against the bars again, and he fell like a heavy sack.
“Come,” Owen said. “Hurry.”
He jumped off the cart and helped Amber off. Her heart drummed in her ears. Half bent and staying low, they hurried away from the camp.
Trees and bushes flashed by in the darkness, and all Amber could hear was her ragged breath loud in her ears.
But then shouts rang from behind them. Their escape had been discovered. No, not again!
Amber glanced back. English warriors. Dozens of them.
“Faster!” she cried.
They sped up. Her lungs burned from the strain, her muscles on fire. Faster. She was a fast runner. If only it weren’t so damn dark. Her leg hooked at a root, and she fell, facedown.
“Amber!” Owen yelled and stopped to help her up.
They ran again, but the English were catching up, and their cries were louder now.
“Stop!” someone called from behind.
Arrows flew past them, hitting the ground and trees. Someone grabbed her, and she fell, crumbling under the weight of a grown man. Pine needles and twigs stabbed her hands and legs.
“Got her!” the man announced. He reeked of old sweat and alcohol.
Amber wriggled, trying to free herself, but she was already surrounded.
“Got him,” another voice came. “Not going anywhere today, you bloody Scot.”
Tears of helplessness burned Amber’s eyes.
“Let me go!” she yelled. “I’m not even a freaking Highlander!”
“Shut up.” The man above her slapped her hard.
Her head burst with pain. He hauled her up and dragged her after him back to the camp. To her right, two men led Owen. Amber and Owen exchanged an angry, disappointed look. Their guard sat by the cage with a cloth pressed to his forehead.
“Wanted to piss, eh?” he spat as Amber passed by. “Go to hell, you evil bitch. Let the cart stink, you won’t leave it again till we reach Stirling.”
“Go to hell,” Amber said.
Amber and Owen were shoved back into the cage, and the guard locked them.
“Damn it!” Amber hit the bars. “So close.”
“Aye, well, lass. We’ll try again.”
But his tone wasn’t as optimistic as before, and he wore a deep frown.
“No, you won’t,” said a voice, and Amber turned around.
Sir de Bourgh stood by the cage. Not in armor anymore, he wore a red coat, a tunic that reached his knees. He had a large sword at his waist. The pommel was decorated with beautiful coiled patterns that gleamed and reflected the light of fire.
“You won’t escape again,” he said, eying Amber with curiosity.
He approached the cage and gripped two bars in his hands. Amber felt like an animal at the zoo from the way he stared at her.
“Pray tell, where are you from, dear? I’ve never seen anyone like you.”
A white-hot wave of anger and anxiety hit her. Those eyes again, the lazy authority of a powerful, military man.
Owen moved a step closer to him. “Doesna matter, ye pig. She’s my wife.” Amber looked at him with astonishment. Was he really going to lie to try and protect her? A sweet lightness filled her. “Stop asking yer unnecessary questions, and let us go.”
De Bourgh chuckled without taking his eyes off Amber.
“Your wife? And where did ye get such a beauty?”
“Dinna look at her like that. Allow yerself one dirty thought, and ye’ll be missing yer cock.”
De Bourgh looked at Owen, amused. “And how do you plan to do that from inside a cage, without your sword or your dagger?”
“A Highlander always finds a way.”
“Right. Well. I’ll keep a watch over my cock. Thanks for the warning. What is your name, brave Highlander?”
“Owen Cambel.”
De Bourgh’s eyebrows rose. “Cambel? Wonderful. The longest and closest allies of the Bruce. Look at me, lost a castle, but perhaps won the whole war. Owen Cambel and his wife… What’s your name, dear?”
“Amber,” she said begrudgingly.
“What an exotic name. Owen and his wife, Amber, you are in my hands. Once I get started with you, you’ll tell me everything. I might win the whole war for King Edward II.”
He walked away, whistling a merry tune that sent a chill snaking down her spine.
“I’ll be talking to you both soon,” he threw across his shoulder.
Owen hit the bars, his face distorted in helpless rage.
“Why do I have a feeling that
being your wife might not be a great thing?” Amber said.
Owen glared at her from under furrowed eyebrows. “Because ’tisnt. Now he thinks he has power over me, can blackmail me with ye.”
Amber curled her hands into fists. “Then why the hell did you lie?”
“To protect ye, why else?”
“Once again, I do not need your protection! All you’ve done is put me in more danger.”
The look Owen gave her was anguished. Strangely, warmth crept through her stomach in response to that look. Silly her. He shouldn’t mean anything to her. She shouldn’t trust him, and shouldn’t rely on him.
But with no one else around on her side, what choice did she have?
Chapter 6
Three days later…
* * *
Dark, cold horror crept into Owen’s muscles as he saw Stirling Castle’s walls. They’d been steadily climbing the hill, and finally, Owen could see the cliffs where the castle stood.
He’d never seen a fortress like this one. He’d heard it was impossible to take by siege, and now he knew why. Inverlochy was a child’s toy of daub and sticks compared to this castle. The gatehouse consisted of two thick towers. Walls with wooden galleries for archers and defenders loomed taller and thicker than any he’d ever seen. Square towers at the edges of the front wall provided a strategic defense for the castle’s most vulnerable spots.
Stirling connected the Highlands and Lowlands. Whoever controlled the castle, controlled Scotland. And so far, the English did.
“Not for long,” Owen muttered to himself through his teeth.
The Bruce was winning. Even the Lowlanders who had previously sworn to Edward were rumored to be taking the Bruce’s side. Owen believed that Scotland would be free again, and he was ready to contribute everything he could to make it happen.
The army was slowly passing through the gates. Amber looked up at the sharp spikes along the portcullis.
“Owen,” Amber said, her voice small. “Seriously. How do we get out of here?”
Owen’s gut twisted. After three days of travel, he was out of ideas.
“I dinna ken yet, lass.” He scratched his bristle somberly. “But we will get out. I promise ye.”
