Highland Captive (4 page)

She
ignored the question, feeling certain that he did not really expect an answer. “Thank
ye. How fares Elfking?”

“Weel,
though the white Devil lets few near him. Unfriendly beast,” Malcolm grumbled.

“That
white stallion was yours?” Parlan could not hide his amazement, thinking it far
too much horse for a beardless boy.

“Is
mine, aye. I raised him from a colt.” She could not repress the note of pride
in her voice.

“Weel,
ye didnae do so weel in curbing his bad tempers. I shall have to work upon
that.”

“Ye
willnae have any time. My father will ransom us soon.” Yet again she felt fear,
the fear of losing something very dear to her.

“Aye,
he will but the horse stays here. I have taken a fancy to him.”

“I
doubt he will take a fancy to ye. He is a verra discerning animal. Ye cannae
keep him here,” she said sharply.

Parlan’s
brows quickly rose. “Child, no one tells me what I can or cannae do.”

“I
am telling ye naught, merely stating a fact. He willnae take to a new master.”

“We
shall see. Into the bath.”

“Aye,
when ye leave. I wish some privacy for my ablutions,” she said haughtily, even
though her heart pounded so fiercely that it hurt.

His
thin lips twitching as he repressed a grin, Parlan drawled, “Your wish is my
command.” He started toward the door, the other men moving with him. “Whilst
m’lord bathes, I shall busy myself by putting my new horse through his paces.”

“Going
to ride him, are ye?” She made no effort to hide her slow grin, knowing the
comeuppance he would soon face.

“Aye.”
Parlan’s gaze narrowed as he paused in the doorway. “I will tell ye how weel we
suit.”

“Ye
do that.”

A
frown touched Parlan’s face as he shut and bolted the door, hearing a soft
laugh. “A strange boy.”

Even
stranger than he could ever imagine, thought Aimil, when she overheard the
muttered remark. Once free of prying eyes, she wasted no time in pulling off
her soiled clothes. She ached to rid herself of the dirt and stink of her
imprisonment.

Leith
watched her, amazed at how womanly she had grown since the last time he had
seen her naked which, he realized, would have been when she had been only about
fourteen and they had gone for a swim together. Using the eyes of a man viewing
a woman and not those of a brother seeing his sister, Leith carefully studied
Aimil. She was small and lithe but did not lack for curves. Full, high breasts
offered all a man could want. A tiny waist led to gently-rounded hips and slim
legs that appeared longer than what was accounted for in her height. Her skin
had a light honey tone and was without mar. As if that was not enough to stir
any man, her every movement was graceful, unknowingly sensual. He was surprised
that the MacGuins still thought her a lad.

“Lass,
if your ruse is discovered, dinnae fash yourself over me, just run,” he said
sternly, his order given strength by his fear for her.

Pausing
in drying herself, Aimil looked at her brother in surprise. “All right, Leith,
if ye think it best.”

“Aye.
Trust me. ‘Tis best.” He smiled weakly, knowing she was unaware of her draw for
a man, something he knew would only make her appeal stronger.

“I
wonder if I can see the stable from here,” she mused aloud, and moved toward
the window while donning the shirt that had been set out for her.

“‘Ware
now. Dinnae let them see ye. That hair can be like a beacon at times.”

Aimil
scowled at the calf-length hair she was rubbing dry. “Aye, cursed mane. Never
fear, I can stay to the shadows here.”

“Weel?”
Leith asked when she sat grinning for a moment but did not say a word. “Can ye
see anything?”

Hardly
able to talk because of her laughter, Aimil gasped, “Aye, Elfking performed
verra weel.”

“God’s
tears, the Black Parlan tipped out of the saddle. How I wish I could have seen
that but I am so weak I cannae even scratch my own arse,” he muttered,
disgusted with his weakness.

“Weel,
dinnae expect me to do it for ye.”

Leith’s
chuckle turned into a cough. Aimil dropped the cloth she had been drying her hair
with and fetched him a drink of mead. She was helping him to drink it, easing
the rasp that forced the cough, when a young, brawny man entered with a meal
for the prisoners.

Stunned
into immobility, Aimil gaped at the young man who stared at her. She was
unaware of her allure as she stood with her damp hair tossled from its drying
and her slim shapely figure only barely covered by her shirt.

His
gaze was fixed upon the full curve of breasts barely restrained by the unlaced
shirt and he did the first thing that came to mind. He set down the tray and
lunged.

A
soft expulsion of breath was all the noise Aimil made as she was slammed up
against a broad chest. Leith struggled to rise, but she heard him fall back
onto the bed, too weak to aid her. Aimil struggled in panic for a moment as her
captor ground his mouth onto hers and mauled her body. Then she calmed as she
maneuvered her knee between his legs and raised it with as much force as she
could. The young man yelled a deafening howl, released her, and bent over to
clutch at his abused groin. Aimil made a two-handed fist and brought it down
hard on his head, watching in amazement as he crumpled unconscious at her feet.
It was the first time she had used the trick and had not expected it to work.
She sank down onto the bed to catch her breath.

“I
was wondering when ye would recall what I had taught ye,” Leith said in a voice
that was little more than a hoarse whisper. “Ye must go.”

“How
can I leave ye when ye are so ill?”

“They
willnae harm me. Ye heard how they spoke. They dinnae want a corpse. Try to
flee.”

Hesitant,
Aimil quickly dressed and covered her hair with her bonnet. She crept to the
door and opened it a crack. Not peering out, she heard the sounds of voices and
footsteps and knew there was little chance of escape that way. She was lucky
that the man’s hollering had not been heard. As she closed the door and turned
to tell Leith that no escape seemed possible, her gaze fell upon the extra
linen left to change Leith’s bed. Dashing to the window, she thoughtfully
measured the distance to the ground then made her decision.

“I
will make a linen rope and go out the window.”

“The
men in the bailey,” Leith ventured, fighting to keep his mind clear.

“They
willnae be looking to the walls. Rest, Leith. This short time of sanity and
strength show that ye can beat this illness but only if ye rest.” She sat on
the bed and began to knot her makeshift rope. “We have done such a height
before, and this should be strong enough to hold me.”

“Aye,
ye cannae be above a hundredweight.”

“I
would rather stay here with ye.”

“Ye
cannae. That mon showed ye what can happen.”

“Black
Parlan seemed to want no trouble though.”

“He
thought us both lads. Aye, that man will nay doubt be punished but only because
he tried to take what should be offered to the laird first. Trust me, your only
chance lies in escape.” He closed his eyes against a wave of weakness. “Are ye
nae afraid of rape?”

Aimil
shrugged. “‘Tis hard to say. I am afraid of being hurt. T’was that which made
me panic when this man leapt upon me. I look at rape much as I look at death.
There is little I can do about either. Both are somewhat commonplace. I willnae
go in search of either nor will I go down without a fight,” she said firmly,
knowing that her character would make her fight either fate with any means at
hand.

Leith
grinned weakly as, when the man at her feet began to stir, Aimil calmly knocked
him on the head with a heavy candlestick, set the makeshift weapon back by the
bed, and returned to knotting the linen all without a pause in her speech.

“‘Tis
wretched that men must take their pleasure of unwilling women, but they do.
‘Tis a fact of life. I cannae fash myself to the bone over facts of life.” She
tied her rope to the end of the bed and tested its hold. “That should do. Are
ye sure I willnae be safe here?”

“Aye,
I am sure. The Black Parlan is weel-kenned for his healthy appetite for the
lasses.”

“Oh.
Weel, wish me luck,” she murmured and sighed, reluctant to leave him but
feeling he was wiser in such matters.

“What
will ye do when ye reach the bailey?”

“Whistle
for Elfking.” She grinned. “If I get down this wall unseen and onto Elfking’s
back before the men down there move, I will have a verra good chance.”

There
was no disputing that. Leith knew that few horses existed which could match
Elfking for speed. He felt a slight hope rise. She might have a chance of
succeeding if all went as she so blithely planned. If Aimil dropped onto
Elfking’s back and cleared the gates, she had a very good chance indeed.
Another advantage would be that Elfking would be carrying a far lighter burden
than any steed pursuing him.

Taking
a deep breath to steady her sudden flurry of nerves, Aimil lowered herself out
of the window. She was not afraid of the descent for she and Leith had come
down as great if not greater heights. They had, however, used a proper rope.
They had also not been trying to escape an enemy. She saw now that it had
proven good practice.

Steadily
and slowly, she went down the wall, using her feet against the stone. There was
a strong wind, and she grit her teeth as she fought its jostling. Although the
wind failed to dislodge her as she neared the end of her descent, it did
succeed in stealing the bonnet, which she had forgotten to secure as strongly
as she had her first one. To further aggravate her, she discovered she was
short of rope. A measuring glance told her she could easily fall onto Elfking’s
back, however, and, readying herself, she whistled for her mount.

Parlan
glared at the horse that had unseated him again. He tried to ignore the badly
stifled laughter of the men as he watched the horse rise gracefully and shake
the dust from his fine coat. Slowly getting to his feet, Parlan brushed himself
off and finally gave a reluctant grin.

“Now
I ken what the laddie found so funny.” He walked around the animal and studied
him as the adversary he was. “The question is how to break him of the trick or,
at least, of playing it on me.”

“Aye,
‘tis a useful trick. Ye would never have to worry about the beast being stolen,”
jested Lagan.

A
soft laugh escaped Parlan as he took Elfking’s reins. “Mayhaps if I tempt him
with a good run. It has been a long time since he has had one.”

Lagan
followed Parlan and the horse as did Malcolm and several other curious men.
Elfking went along calmly until Parlan tried to lead him through the gates. The
horse then stood firmly, refusing to leave the keep, no matter how much he was
pulled, pushed, or cursed.

“Curse
this stubborn beast to Hades! What ails the fool animal?”

“Mayhaps
a touch of the whip will move the beast,” suggested one man.

“Nay,
I willnae take a whip to the beast and chance marring this fine coat.”

Malcolm
moved closer to his exasperated laird’s side. “I ken the beast be following the
laddie’s orders.”

“How
so? The lad isnae here to give any.”

“Nay,
but, when we brought the lads in, the horse tried to follow me and the wee
laddie into the keep. The wee laddie told him to stay.”

Shaking
his head, Parlan laughed. “And staying is just what he is doing, curse his fine
hide.”

“Mayhaps
ye ought to give up on trying to keep the horse.”

“Nay,
Lagan. I must think of a way to win the beast to my hand. I may have to get the
lad to help,” Parlan mused aloud.

“He
willnae. T’was plain to see the lad’s fond of his horse,” protested Malcolm.

“Ye
ask the right way and the lad will do it,” Parlan said grimly. “He is fond of
his brother too.”

“Aye,
but ye willnae do aught to the lad.”

“We
ken that, Lagan, but I suspicion the wee laddie willnae be too sure of it. ‘Tis
no secret that many a dark tale is told about me. Dinnae ye ken that I roast
and eat bairns and pick my teeth with their wee bones?” He grinned fleetingly
over such nonsense, long since inured to any sting it might have inflicted. “Aye,
I willnae do aught to the lad, but that wee laddie can be made to believe I
will.”

“Seems
cruel to deprive a wee lad of his horse,” muttered Malcolm.

“In
this instance I will gladly live up to my sordid reputation. Malcolm, how can
ye ask me to release such a prize? I can sense that the beast has speed and
strength. Aye, he has wit as weel. If naught else, think of the stock he will
breed. I have several mares already in mind for him to jump.”

“Aye.”
Malcolm moved to take the saddle off the horse’s back. “I cannae help but feel
for the laddie’s loss, though.”