was in her house. Carrying her down the tower stairs. Had he been nearby all along? What did he want? She recalled the MacPhersons had laid a trap for him. Was he taking her to use against her brothers?
She didn’t know. All she knew was that she must free herself.
Another jostling step sent pain stabbing behind her eyes.
Quickly, she took stock. Hands tied. Legs dangling. Skene gripped them around her knees, but he seemed distracted and off-balance, so his grip was loose.
No time. She had to get free now. Had to find John. Had to run.
At the final turn, just as she felt him start down a new flight, she reared up and slammed her bound fists into his ear. He howled and staggered. Fingers clawed painfully at her thigh, but she worked her body like a fish’s, forcing their combined weight into a wide teeter.
The wood landing rushed toward her, slamming into her upper body. Her vision went black. Sound went muffled. Breathing came hard. Everything bloody hurt, especially her head. But she had to run.
No time, no time, no time.
Frantically, she rolled away from Skene’s bruising grip, kicking blindly and striking flesh. She used the wall to brace her shoulder. Used her fear to drive her to her feet.
No time. She had to run.
She ran. Used her bound, numb hands to claw her way up the stairs. Screamed for her husband. “English!” Over and over, she screamed, though something told her she wasn’t loud enough. Her lungs were flat and useless. And he was a hard sleeper. But, God, she needed him. Now. Bloody now.
If she could just make it back to the first floor, she’d sprint for the master bedchamber.
Skene wheezed behind her. She chanced a glimpse over her shoulder. Beady, malevolent rat eyes roiled with mad rage. Blood trickled from a rat nose. He wiped it away with his sleeve. He was right behind her.
She scrambled higher, kicking backward. He grasped her ankle, pulling her toward him. But she swung her hands into his damaged nose and broke free. Then scrambled away. Higher and higher. Toes slipping. Fabric tripping. Up and up.
Glancing back, she saw him close.
And in his hand was a blade, gleaming in the faint moonlight.
Only then did she realize, in her panic, she’d passed the doorway to the first floor.
A wave of sickening terror gripped her hard. There was no way past him. She could only go up. The tower was nothing but winding stairs and a series of empty bedchambers. The stairs led nowhere, but she hadn’t any choice.
Up she went. Each step was too slow, almost dreamlike. Her shift tangled around her legs, her toes digging into stone. In her ears, blood and breath pounded.
“English!” she screamed again, hearing the echo spiral. Her voice was thin. Too thin. He’d never hear her from the other end of the house in the middle of the night.
Up and up. She took the steps at a frantic pace that still felt slow and clumsy, rounding each landing with a desperate glance behind her. Skene was there, following with the slow prowl of a predator that knew its prey was cornered.
His smile relished the chase.
Sweet Christ. He had her trapped. And he knew it.
Even if she reached the top of the stairs, there was nowhere to go. A window and an empty bedchamber. No weapons. No passage to another part of the house.
No way out.
“English!” she screamed again, hoping someone might hear her. If not John, then one of the MacDonnells. But they, too, slept in a different part of the castle. They, too, were unlikely to hear her.
Her feet slipped, and her shoulder slammed into the wall. She shoved with all her might and forced herself up onto the landing. More stairs. The last of them.
She reached the third story and searched for something—anything—she might use as a weapon. But there was only a long, low window, and a cracked one, at that.
Moonlight poured through the glass, making a prism of the webbed pattern. She gasped for more air—enough to scream louder and summon help. “English!”
The rat’s head appeared on the landing below. He still wore his smile. “Ye’re wastin’ yer breath,” he sneered. “They’re all sleepin’ sound. Wee bit of encouragement added to the cider casks took care of that.”
He’d drugged them. That