Highland Escape - Cathy MacRae Page 0,10

brief and civil and they soon continued their trek. After another hour of travel, the damp chill of elevation replaced the warmer air of the Lowlands.

A slow, steady rain fell, a bitter wind driving the drops before it. Wrapping her braid around her neck for warmth, Anna tucked her cloak in tight with the waxed cloth on top. Though shivering from the cold and damp, she remained mostly dry. She noticed her traveling companions hardly seemed affected by the change in temperature or wind.

Highland barbarians are in their element.

She turned her thoughts from the cold to something more practical. Men surrounded her on all sides when mounted, keeping her closed in. With her reins tied to Duncan’s horse, she had no opportunity to escape. Without weapons, she would be helpless against an attack even if she somehow managed to elude them. As much as it pained, she’d have to continue to wait for an opportunity to arise before slipping away from her captors.

MacGregor made no more attempts to talk. To her relief, the stares of the men mostly disappeared. They viewed her simply as baggage at this point—noticed but not regarded.

They stopped by another stream an hour before dark. She didn’t see any fish in this one. Unwinding a sling from within her belt, she selected a few smooth stones from the stream, then headed into the woods, Duncan following several paces behind. After stalking the perimeter of their camp, she spotted a hare. She whirled the sling and silently killed the animal, dressing it before returning to her site, ignoring MacGregor.

The chill in the air worsened with nightfall. Anna built the fire a bit closer and larger than the night before to fight off the moist chill threatening to seep into her bones. She was full of rabbit and sitting close to the fire, and the cold remained mostly at bay. She wondered about these men who took her captive, and Duncan in particular. She’d found herself watching him surreptitiously throughout the day. Something about him drew her attention, though it made no sense.

I must be daft! Having any feelings except anger toward this man is folly.

Scraping the rabbit hide after eating gave her something to do other than make and discard plans for escape. If the air grew much colder, she would need to kill several more hares to line her cloak.

Anna remained watchful, sleeping light, waking every two hours or so, though she supposed if someone planned to attack, they would have done so by now. Perhaps Duncan’s words of protection rang true. She wasn’t willing to risk her life by dropping her guard simply because of his promise of safety. Trusting this group of barbarians could prove a deadly mistake.

After three days of being around this woman, this Anna, Duncan found himself at a loss. Not one complaint, not one request. She’d quietly gone about taking care of her own needs, relying on nothing from the others. What lass, English or Scot, behaved such? How was it possible?

Where would a young noblewoman learn these skills she possessed? Skills that should have taken longer than her apparent years to master? She accepts our food, yet does not eat it. Her swift kills of both the fish and hare—startling. She slips through the forest like a wraith—more silent than the most skilled warrior.

He’d come to realize this woman was what she first appeared, an experienced fighter and hunter, though he couldn’t fathom the how or why. The numerous scars visible on her, including a rather long one on her neck, confirmed this. The fact that he’d stood by and watched while she added another to her collection tore at his conscience.

The lass is angry—and rightly so. We will not be lulled into complacency around her. She likely would take her first chance to slit our throats and escape. Bonny lass or not, it will not do to drop our guard around this one.

Because of the potential for trouble, he informed his men not to let their attention waver. She required constant watching. This knowledge didn’t blunt his protective instincts. On the contrary, they grew stronger with every passing hour. Never one to hide from his feelings, he simply didn’t understand them. Nor did he know what to do with his confusion.

The gall of her to compare us to the cursed MacNairns! Upon further reflection, he understood her viewpoint. How indeed were they any different?

For all she knows, she is to be taken to our home and