Highland Escape - Cathy MacRae Page 0,15
had out of the keep and around the yard. Duncan abandoned the wall and made his way to the gatehouse to speak with the gate master. Taking up a position atop the barbican, he had full view of the narrow gateway below. He settled in to wait until the portcullis was raised at first light.
As suspected, at the first grating sounds of the windlass, a hooded form atop a now-familiar charger slowly walked toward the fortified outer gate. He chuckled at the pluck of the resourceful woman and shook his head.
St. Filan’s teeth! What can she not do?
He considered for a moment that he should be angry, but truly he owed her thanks instead. Clearly their security measures were lax. Also, he couldn’t recall enjoying a sleepless night more, thoroughly entertained by Anna’s attempt at escape.
On his command, the gate master dropped the outer portal. Kicking her stallion, Anna raced ahead. Duncan’s heart hurled itself against his ribs and a sick feeling spread through his gut, fearing she’d be crushed under the gate. At the last possible second, Anna jerked her horse to a halt, pulling him back on his haunches as the iron struck the ground before her with a resounding clang like a broken church bell.
Men stood across the entrance to the bailey, ready to draw swords. Under strict orders not to harm her, they blocked the narrow entryway. Stepping from an inner door of the barbican, Duncan appeared at her side. He grabbed Orion by the bridle and smiled.
Chapter 4
“Tis a fine morn. Or ’twill be once the sun is up. Out for a ride, then?” Duncan’s voice lilted with amusement.
Anna growled in response.
She gave up her mount more easily than he expected, but brushed aside his offer of assistance. Even this momentary touch sent a spark of awareness up his arm. He caught the flash of anger in her green eyes as she spun on a heel and stalked toward the hall, her rapid pace no doubt designed to avoid further contact with him.
Entering the great hall, Anna hesitated as the guard, Alain, strode aggressively toward her, cursing the English as he approached. Duncan immediately intercepted him, shoving him backward.
“Ye willnae talk to the lady thus. Ye owe her an apology.”
Alain glared at Anna. Duncan closed the gap between them, fists curled, ready to attack.
“Apologize or I will have ye cleaning privies for a week—after I give ye a lesson on how to speak to a lady.” Anger flared as Alain appeared ready to disobey his order, and every sinew in his body tensed in anticipation of the beating he yearned to deliver.
“I apologize, milady,” Alain ground out, the muscles on his neck taut from the effort.
Duncan shot the man a glare, refusing to tolerate one word of abuse hurled her way. Later, he promised with a hard look. He would find Alain and make sure the man understood hostilities toward her would be met with severe consequences.
Anna nodded once toward Alain, acknowledging his apology. Duncan hesitated, allowing the tension to fade as Alain left the hall.
Anna fairly quivered with futile anger.
“Come break yer fast with me, lady,” Duncan said softly, hope saturating his words of invitation.
Ignoring his request, Anna strode toward her cell. Instead of allowing her into the one she’d previously occupied, Duncan opened the door to the one next to it. He turned to one of the men nearby.
“Have a servant fetch the lady and me breakfast.” Closing the door to her new cell, he jerked it hard a few times, testing the strength of the lock before reopening it to let her in. He entered the cell she occupied before. She heard him moving around and knew he searched for her means of escape. After a few moments, she heard his laugh.
The guard returned with a woman bearing a tray with two bowls, a pitcher and two cups. Another brought a pair of stools. Stepping into her new cell, Duncan handed Anna a stool and a bowl. Sitting in the open doorway, he glanced at her, a knowing smirk on his face. At a flick of his fingers, the two guards moved down the hall a few steps out of sight, giving them the appearance of privacy.
“I must say, using fat from the meat to grease the hinges was verra clever.”
She heard pride in his voice, but why would he be proud she’d escaped his prison? Anna ignored him, tucking into the bowl of porridge he gave her instead.
“What I cannae work