Highland Lover (4 page)

Or, she mused, perhaps she needed to pass a test. Alana did not like that idea at all and hastily asked for Keira’s forgiveness for hoping it was her sister who was being tested. Keira was pretty, kind,

and clever, much more able to pass such a test of her spirit and courage.

Although she loved her sister dearly, felt that Keira was truly her best friend and ally, Alana

ruefully admitted to herself that she often suffered the pinch of envy concerning Keira. Keira was

the one who looked so much like the matriarch of their family, being vividly beautiful with her

black hair, fair skin, and green eyes. Alana was little and brown. Keira had the true gift of healing whereas Alana was just a good healer, using knowledge and skill well but lacking the touch and

strong instincts Keira had been blessed with. Keira had the sight. Alana only had a bond with her

twin that occasionally stirred dreams and strong intuitions. Although neither of them had a bad

temper, Keira was the gentler one, the sweeter one. Alana knew her tongue could be as sharp as a

knife’s edge. Although she knew it was nonsense, knew she was as beloved by her family as Keira

was, Alana occasionally felt that, as the second born, she had entered the world in Keira’s shadow

and had never left it. She sighed, dismayed by her own foolishness.

“That was a mournful sound, lass,” Gregor said. “Are ye sure ye arenae troubled?”

“Nay, I am just thinking on how long we must wait until we may try to escape,” she lied,

embarrassed by her thoughts.

Gregor did not need to see clearly to know he was being lied to, but he did not press her. “Weel,

what say ye to a game of chess to pass the time?” he asked, leaning back against the wall and

tugging her along with him.

“Aye, I am prepared to beat ye soundly yet again,” she said. “Ye may make the first move.”

“How gracious ye are,” he drawled, suspecting her confidence was warranted, as he had not won a

game yet.

He closed his eyes, pictured his much-prized chess set in his mind, and struggled to decide upon his

first move. If he was very lucky, he might take longer to lose this time. His victory could then be

found in keeping them both well occupied during the too-long wait ahead of them.

Alana lay sprawled on top of a cursing Gregor and struggled to catch her breath. It was obviously

going to take them a while to learn the trick to it all, to gain the strength and balance to act as one while she stood upon Gregor’s shoulders. Her only consolation was that he was not any better at it

than she was. He could hold her up well when she stood still, but the moment she attempted to

move the heavy iron grate, he lost that control. The first three times she fell he had caught her easily enough. This time, however, even that had gone wrong.

“I think four times is enough for tonight,” Gregor said, trying to will away the pain in his head,

which had hit the hard ground with enough force to bring him perilously close to unconsciousness.

“I concur,” Alana replied in a voice still hoarse and unsteady after having all the breath knocked out of her. “Mayhap on the morrow, betwixt meals, we should practice moving about whilst I am on

your shoulders.”

“Might be wise.”

Forcing herself to move off him, Alana sprawled at his side. “We need to learn to move as one—

one verra tall person.”

Gregor briefly laughed. “Aye. Holding ye up there isnae so hard. Standing as steady as the floor

whilst ye struggle to move that cursed grate will require some practice. Do ye think ye can move it

aside?”

“Aye. ’Tis heavy, true enough, but I can do it. I must needs figure out how to push it aside without

toppling us is all. There is a trick to it, I am certain of it.”

“Fine, then. On the morrow we will practice moving with ye on my shoulders and ye can try to

puzzle out what that trick is.”

“And then, after we sup, we try again?”

“Aye. And the next night, and the next, until we get it right.”

“Oh joy.”

Chapter 3

“I can almost hear it laughing at me.”

“’Tis a lump of iron, Alana,” said Gregor. “It cannae laugh.”

“’Tis a lump of iron that has defeated me for three nights. ’Tis laughing.”

Gregor almost laughed and then winced as Alana touched one of the many bruises he had acquired

as she got onto his shoulders. He knew she also suffered from their many stumbles in their efforts to escape, but she was stubborn. In truth, Gregor had the distinct feeling that each failure only made

her more determined. He was the one who put a stop to their efforts after several tries each night, if only out of fear that one of them could be seriously hurt if they did not take a rest from it. Last night Alana had been knocked unconscious for several tense, frightening minutes when, after he caught

her as she had stumbled from her precarious perch upon his shoulders, they had both come up hard

against the stone wall of their prison. When she had gone limp in his arms, he had suffered a

moment of blind terror he had no wish to taste again.

It had seemed such a simple plan but was proving to have far too many unforeseen complications

and dangers. When one was landing upon rock and hard ground, the distance one fell did not matter

quite as much as how one landed. As they had struggled again and again to move that lump of iron

keeping them from escaping, Gregor had realized Alana was right. The weight of the thing was not

as big a problem as the angle they were approaching it from. Alana not only had to find the strength

to lift it, but also to then push it aside. That required some stretching and twisting of her small body, and that was where their trouble would begin.

The moment Alana began to straighten up, one small bare foot on each of his shoulders, Gregor

grasped her ankles. Thinking it might steady her more as she worked, he slid his hands up the front

of her legs. With his arms slightly curved around her legs, he firmly clasped the front of her slim

thighs. He felt Alana jerk ever so slightly and the muscles in her slender legs tautened beneath his

hands.

“Good lass,” he said. “Keep yourself as taut as a bowstring. ’Twill help lessen our chances of

stumbling.”

Stumbling was the very last thing Alana had been thinking about as she had felt those big hands

move up her legs. She almost looked down to see if she was on fire, such was the strength of the

heat his touch stirred within her. There was nothing seductive about his touch, but that did not stop her pulse from leaping. He is just trying to hold ye steady as ye struggle with this cursed lump of

iron, she told herself, but herself did not seem inclined to listen. The heedless part of her that

desired the man was not interested in the struggle to escape; it wanted him to stroke her legs again.

Alana forced herself to concentrate on moving aside the contrary iron grate that barred their escape.

Her hands were sore, covered with scratches and bruises, but she had done her best to hide those

injuries from Gregor. Once she realized she could stand on his shoulders without shaking in fear

and that she could reach the hatch, she became determined to succeed. Instinct told her that Gregor

would try to halt her attempts if he knew what abuse her hands were suffering. He had almost done

so when she had taken that little sleep after slamming into the wall, but she had managed to talk him out of quitting. If he knew about all the other injuries she was aching from, Alana felt absolutely

certain he would give up.

Slowly, Alana lifted the grate. Stretching herself up as far as she could, she began to push it aside.

Distracting though it was, she had to admit that Gregor’s new hold upon her legs did keep her

steadier. She took several slow, deep breaths, willed every ounce of strength she had into her arms,

said a little prayer, and shoved the grate. The sound of heavy iron landing on stone rang in her ears, but it took her a moment before she fully realized she had, at long last, succeeded. Disbelief rose up and she used her hands to confirm her success, feeling around the opening—the now completely

unobstructed opening.

“I did it,” she whispered.

Just as Alana opened her mouth to more loudly announce her success, she found herself yanked off

Gregor’s broad shoulders. Left a little breathless by that abrupt dismount, she could barely utter a

squeak of surprise as he enfolded her in his strong arms for a vigorous hug. She was still reeling

from the heady effects of that embrace when he set her on her feet and moved away. A moment

later she felt blankets being draped around her shoulders. Alana told herself that the fact that Gregor seemed completely unaffected by that embrace should not feel like such an insult.

“Now, lass,” said Gregor, “I ken it willnae be easy to do what ye must in the dark. Ye must be verra

careful whilst ye move about up there.”

“I ken it. ’Twould be far too easy to get turned about and fall back down here.”

“Aye, and since I cannae see, I cannae be sure I could catch ye.”

“Catch me, is it? Aye, I think that does sound a wee bit better than let ye fall on me.”

Gregor laughed softly and reached out, groping around a little until he touched her on the arm. “Up

ye go, then.”

As carefully as she could, Alana climbed up him until she stood upon his shoulders again. The faint

knot of fear she felt over being in such a high and precarious position was a lot easier to ignore this time. The promise of freedom proved a very good cure for that uneasiness.

Cautiously raising her arms, she moved them around until she felt the edge of the opening. Alana

started to pull herself up. Just as she decided she would need to ask Gregor to lift her up higher, he slowly did so. It took but a moment to pull herself up and out of the pit. She sprawled facedown on

the cool stone floor, struggling to calm herself, excitement and jubilation making her almost light-

headed. Alana was tempted to do a little dance, but suspected she would probably dance right over

the opening to the oubliette and fall down on a waiting Gregor.

Her delight faded as she became all too aware of the darkness surrounding her. Somehow she was

going to have to grope her way around until she found something to tie the blankets to. Then she

would have to cautiously find her way back to the hole and lower the rope of blankets down to

Gregor without falling in. This was not going to be easy, she thought as she began to slowly inch

her way along the floor.

Gregor paced, stopped and stared up toward the opening of their prison, and then paced some more.

He could hear just a few soft sounds indicating Alana’s careful movements. There was no outcry,

no hint that some Gowan had stumbled upon her, and that was good. What was not good was the

waiting. He was all too aware of how difficult Alana found it to move about in the dark.

Recalling her ineptitude, he quickly placed himself beneath the opening and forced himself to stay

there. It was indeed very possible that Alana could get confused in the dark and end up stumbling

back into the hole. There could be a few more bruises to collect before they got free.

He cursed. Freedom was still a long way away. Once out of their prison, they would have to get out

of the keep. Gregor had not been able to study the keep and its grounds as he was brought in, and

Alana had seen only a little. That meant they were going to have to depend far too much on luck in

getting out. At the moment, standing in an oubliette he had been held captive in for over a week and

nearly betrothed to a woman he no longer wished to marry, Gregor was not sure he ought to put

much trust in his luck.

And just why he was suddenly so reluctant to wed Mavis he did not know. He would like to believe

his reluctance was due to too much time to think and a bachelor’s natural hesitation to marry, but he knew it was more than that. What he truly wanted was what his brother and cousin had—a true

mating of heart, mind, and soul. Gregor had thought he had accepted the fact that he was not

destined to find that, but it was clear he had not. Mavis was a good woman who would bring him

land and coin, but she was not his true mate.

Scowling up at the opening to his prison, Gregor had the feeling that his true mate was up there

crawling around in the dark and softly cursing. Every instinct he had told him she was not the very

young girl she pretended to be. She was too mature in her thoughts and speech. Although careful to

shield all clues to exactly who they were, they had exchanged stories about their lives, and hers

indicated that she had been around a lot more than twelve or thirteen years. Of course, if he was

wrong, that could prove heartily embarrassing. A man did not like to think that his true mate was a

child not much older than one of his own. He certainly did not want to discover he had been having

some very licentious dreams about a child.

“Gregor! Best ye stand back a bit.”

That was not a child’s voice, he decided. “Why? I cannae be hurt by blankets.”

“’Tisnae blankets I will be lowering down to ye. I found the bucket rope and ’tis a thick one. Oh,

and I wasnae able to untie the knot holding the bucket onto the end.”

Gregor quickly stepped back. A heartbeat later he heard the bucket lowered, swiftly. He put his

hands up just in time to stop the swinging bucket from banging into his head. Alana was clever,

good company, and had been the source of some very welcome heat in the night, but she was

dangerous to a man’s health, he mused as he untied the bucket. She certainly gave him one thing he