Betrayed (24 page)

“There’s no telling when Maxwell will return or what he’ll do if Alexander’s right and his brother doesn’t want Krayne.”

Amber was already slipping down the rock when Hob hissed,
“Keech.”

“What now?” Amber muttered, rolling her eyes as she climbed back up. And then she saw them.

Two heavily bearded men, wearing quilted jacks and armed with swords, emerged from the wooden shack by the gates to stroll across the unkempt courtyard. Even as they approached the stone steps leading up to the tower’s main entrance, the massive door swung open to expunge another two, laughing coarsely as they stumbled drunkenly down the steps with their arms linked about the sturdy waist of a rather voluptuous redhead squashed between them. The two groups crossed paths, calling out crass remarks that burned Amber’s ears and left her in no doubt as to what the three who continued on to the shack were about to get up to.

“How many do you suppose there are?” she asked Hob once the courtyard had emptied.

He shrugged. “Maxwell had up o’ twenty men wi’ him.”

Amber considered the odds, then considered their single option for exactly one shaky heartbeat. “Where would the dungeon be in this manner of tower?”

“Level wi’ the ground below the steps.”

“And the hall?”

Hob brought his gaze on her. “Above.”

“On the first floor?”

“Nae usually.” He sounded wary now. “That be the kitchens an’ storage an’ such with the hall above.”

“This could work.” Amber nodded slowly as she refined her plan, then proceeded to share it with Hob, ignoring the blue eyes that drew more squint with each passing word.

“Wheesh, mi’lady. My life will nae be worth the livin’ once Cap’n Wolf be free. If I didna ken better, I’d say the crafty Buachailleen did come ta steal yer mind.”

“But you do know better,” Amber said quietly. “There is no other way and your Captain Wolf will be naught but grateful when he escapes with his head still attached to his body.”

“We wait fer the reinforcements sent from Wamphray.” Lips clamped tight disappeared into his beard.

“What if they come too late? Once Krayne is inside the double perimeter walls of Caerlaverock Castle, we’ll never get him out.”

Hob held firm. “We wait.”

Amber swung one leg over cresting stone. “
You
wait.”

A massive hand grabbed her arm. “Beggin’ yer pardon, me lady, but I canna allow this.”

“You’re hurting me,” Amber squealed, making her eyes large and round. Hob instantly released his grip. She wasted no time in bringing her other leg over and dropping the short distance other side the wall. Safely out of reach, she sent him a cross look. “Either you help me, or I’m going in alone.”

“Yer nae going anywhere.” Hob frog-leaped the pile of stones and came down hard, but Amber was well on her way toward the low-vaulted door below the steps. He caught up to her and matched her stride, frowning at her swinging arm as he determined where best to grip without hurting. “Me lady, I beg o’ ye. Let me go in alone an’ see what can be done.”

“I’m the reason that Alexander was alone and unprotected in Annan. This is all my fault and I won’t cower in the woods while my husband rots in a Maxwell dungeon. You cannot make—Oh!”

Hob grimaced as he lifted her at the waist, not minding the hands that reached behind to swat indiscriminately. “We’ll see aboot that.”

“Hob, I’m warning you. Put me down this instance.”

Extending his arms to hold her wriggling form at a safe distance, he was about to turn and retreat when the main door above the steps flew open.

Amber saw it too.

“Hob, quickly,” she pleaded breathlessly, “take me in your arms.”

“W-what?”

“Now,” she cried. His grip faltered and her feet touched the ground. Amber spun around and leapt at him, flinging her arms about the grizzly neck and clinging. “Walk me under the steps and make as if we’re kissing.”

Not daring to glance up, Hob carried Captain Wolf’s wife to the embrasure beneath the steps, his spine rigid as she bounced softly against him, her fingers wrapped about his neck in a most intimate manner, her cheek pressed to the rough hairs of his beard, and he knew for sure that when—if they ever survived this, he was a dead man.

Krayne had been standing in the same position for hours, his back to the seeping stone wall, his gaze fast and firm on the red-haired oaf standing guard other side the bars. He’d long since sawed through his bonds on a jagged stone, incompetent bastards that this Maxwell band of outlaws were with their ramshackle tower crumbling down about them.

The only light came from a small window high above his head, but it was enough to indicate that night had not yet fallen. How much longer would he have to wait? He was thoroughly bored and impatient to get this farce over with.

The Maxwell bastard had a hole where his brain should be if he thought Jamie Maxwell would break the two-year truce, as tentative as it may be. Maxwell was no fool. With bloodthirsty Armstrongs to the south, land-hungry Elliots to the west, and keeping the king happy while he amassed excessive power for his earldom, Jamie Maxwell had little time to watch his back from the north.

The scrape of wood on stone echoed in the hollow passage that ran the length of the dungeons. Krayne’s expectant gaze moved from the loathsome guard, welcoming any diversion while he waited for Jamie Maxwell to hear what his tiresome brother was up to and order Krayne’s release.

“Och, have a wee bit of patience, will ye,” a feminine voice, vaguely familiar, purred between high-pitched giggles. “A quick tumble doesna has ta be quick, if ye ken my mind.”

The thick brogue, totally at odds with a refined undertone that pushed through the stressed words, jostled Krayne’s wits. He knew that voice, but from where…?

“Out with ye,” snapped his guard, sounding irritable rather than wary as he turned to face the trouble. “Ye’ll have ta find some other place ta
tumble.
”

“Ooh.” A distinctive slap followed. “Ye naughty lad, ye sed we’d be alone.”

“Come then, we’ll try the stable.”

“Nay, that willna do at all.” A cloaked shadow came into Krayne’s view, sliding up to the astounded guard who stood transfixed at the sight he beheld.

Krayne’s eyes narrowed. That waterfall of dark curls looked all too familiar as well, as did the profile of a stubborn chin set high.

What the hell was she doing here?

Why did she never stay put where he left her?

“An’ what name would such a braw mon be havin’?” Slender fingers touched the guard’s forearm, then slowly walked up to his elbow.

A flash of rage left an ache at Krayne’s temples. He rubbed his eyes, praying that he’d open them again to find he’d had a temporary loss of sanity and Amber wasn’t here at all, seducing a half-wit who looked and smelled as if the only bath he’d ever known was a slop bucket.

“I be Davie.” The fleabag stood a little straighter and grinned.

Amber’s butterfly strokes had reached a beefy shoulder. She glanced behind her and giggled. “Och, dinna be sulking now, sweetling. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Her accent was slipping. His hands came to his sides, fisted tight enough to crack his knuckles. He couldn’t say a thing. He dared not expose her now. This band of misfits would not think twice at passing his wife between them for the sheer pleasure of tormenting him. God’s truth, did the wench not have one grain of common sense floating inside that pretty head?

She tugged the guard about, putting his back to her elusive friend, and went on her tiptoes to twine both arms about his neck and—and rubbed herself against the thick-skulled, pig-brained, flea-bitten boar who was so enamoured he didn’t note her occasional slip into soft, pure English. “Och, you’re so verra big,” she simpered.

Krayne hissed before he could stop himself. No one appeared to notice. His muscles flexed with suppressed adrenaline that surged to tear down the prison bars and rip the man’s entrails out with his bare hands. And then he’d start on Amber!

A bulky form came forward with menacing stealth. A shout of warning froze on Krayne’s lips as he cursed his own dull wits. That could only be the man he now recognized as Hob, and he’d almost alerted the guard.

The next moment, the guard’s head snapped back and he crumpled to the floor. Amber went down with him, then came up jangling a bunch of keys. “He isn’t dead, is he?”

“Wheesht, me lady. I bloody hope he is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hob. We didn’t come here to kill anyone.” Amber gave him a stern look before turning toward the cells. She’d allowed herself only the barest glimpse of Krayne as she’d accosted the guard, and now she saw that although he appeared unharmed, his mouth was twisted in white agony.

Shifting through the keys, she selected the largest one and hurried closer. “How badly are you hurt?” She glanced down to slot the key in, but it would not fit. Trembling fingers fumbled for a slightly smaller key as her composure fled. “We came as quick as we could. Are you bleeding? Do you think you’ll be able to ride?”

The nervous questions stumbled forth while she struggled with the lock. At last the key slid in smoothly and turned with a loud click.

Her eyes came up, a mere breath away from glinting silver.

Amber jumped back in fright. Just in time, as Krayne threw open the cell gate. He didn’t spare her a second look as he marched down the narrow tunnel that led outside.

He’s only eager to get us all out safely,
Amber consoled herself as she pinched Hob from his stupor by the wall and beckoned him to follow. At least his injuries didn’t appear as bad as she’d first thought. She took up the rear, peering around Hob to see Krayne crack the door open to put his head out.

He came back in, softly closing the door, and spun about to face Hob. “Give me yer sword.”

“A-aye,” stuttered Hob, fumbling at his side.

“Amber,” hissed Krayne.

She almost stuttered
a-aye
as well, then grit her teeth and slipped past Hob to confront her ungrateful husband. Before she could mutter that she was holding up fine after that near encounter with a foul-smelling demon, thank you for asking, Krayne swooped her up and pressed her into Hob’s arms.

“When I give the word,” he told Hob, “run fer the wall and dinna look back. I’ll cover ye from behind.”

Krayne peered outside again, relieved to find the courtyard still deserted, then flung the door open wide and stepped aside. “Now.”

He stood just inside the doorway, watching while Hob streaked across the derelict bailey. His heart refused to beat until Hob had heaved Amber over a crumbled section of wall and her head slid out of sight. No alarm was raised and he wasn’t wholly surprised. From what he’d seen so far, this band of misfits was more interested in drinking and whoring than standing guard.

He waited until Hob went over, then he sprinted through the long grass and took a running leap at the wall, using his arms to flip himself over. He scrambled down the other side on his backside, watching Amber and Hob race across the moor and disappear into a thick line of trees. By the time he joined them, his temper was firmly under control. Until he took one look at Hob, the man who was second in charge to Captain Jack and who should know better.

His fist swung out, caught Hob on the jaw and knocked him off his feet. “That’s fer bringing my wife ta this place.” As Hob struggled to his feet, Krayne’s fist connected again. “And that’s fer just in case ye put one grubby paw on her.”

“Krayne, have you lost your mind?” Amber screeched, pounding on his back. “Leave him be.”

Krayne spun about and jerked her high by the arms.

The pounding continued at his chest. “Don’t blame Hob. This entire scheme is mine and I coerced him into it.”

Her eyes were huge emeralds burning into him. A hundred accusations stopped short on his tongue. A hundred acts of violence froze at the tips of his fingers.

He dropped Amber on her feet and turned to see five men he recognised from the
Joanna’s
crew eyeing him warily from atop their mounts and another two horses tethered to a tree. With long strides across the clearing, he reached the stallion and mounted, leaving the mare for Hob. He turned the horse about into a trot, collecting Amber with a low scoop that had her on his lap before she realised what was happening. Her cloak fell open to reveal the shapely form of one thigh. “What the hell are ye wearing?”

She gave him a terse smile. “Your britches.”

Krayne flipped one half of the plaid from her shoulder, and his mouth went dry at the long, slender legs individually wrapped in soft fawn leather. The front of her shirt drooped low between her breasts, veiled with naught but a sheer cotton shift. To his utter disgust, his shaft began to fill.

“Have ye no modesty?” he growled, quickly bringing the plaid back to cover her.

“I have no clothes! Mayhap you would have preferred me to dress in that sodden gown and catch my death with chill.”

Krayne grit his teeth before he could agree and turned the stallion about, calling to his men in a low voice, “Ta Annan.”

She bounced rigidly on his thighs as Krayne rode between the treacherous muddy pools, cursing his wretched concentration when they almost foundered in a sinking bed of shallow water. Once they’d cleared the woods and found firm ground, he drew to a halt to await the rest of the men.

“Well,” Amber said tartly after a long silence, shooting a hard gaze up at him, “aren’t you going to say something?”

Krayne felt a sudden weariness overcome him as he looked into his wife’s blazing green eyes. Humiliation at being saved by a woman, by the wife he was supposed to protect, came in a poor third place to the fear of what might have happened and the white-hot rage of seeing her in yet another man’s arms. “What do ye expect me ta say?”

“
Thank you,
for a start.”

“I’d sooner take a switch ta yer backside than thank ye,” he grunted.

“You ungrateful sod.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Remember that the next time ye think ta play the hero.”

“Don’t worry.” She tossed her hair back and looked away. “I certainly won’t bother next time.”