The Highlander's Sin (21 page)

And he waited.

Heather scooted her chair back in order to reach the knife in her boot. She was prepared to fight. ’Haps the innkeeper’s wife had told the locals there was a whore among them
, and they now clamored at the door for her attention. Were men such wolves? The thought seemed too ludicrous to give it merit.

“Stay behind me,” Duncan demanded.

Heather nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “All right,” she managed, though her voice was hoarse with fear. She gathered her skirts in one hand, prepared to lift the hem and grab the knife if the need arose.

But there was no other sound. Not even a scrape of boots outside the door. Fear built inside her, making the stew curdle in her belly and her lips tingle.

“What is happening?” she whispered.

Duncan did not answer, but he did walk with quiet steps toward the small window with its drawn curtains. Setting the tip of his sword on the ground, he steadied the claymore with one hand and slowly pulled aside the curtain until a tiny shaft of light stabbed across the floor.

The frown on his face deepened, creases burrowing in his brow, and his jaw clenched so tight she could see the ridges of the muscle there.

She feared speaking, feared what he would say waited outside for them.

“I’m afraid we’ll likely not finish our stew, lass. Grab the bread. We’re leaving.”

Heather sucked in a breath. “What did ye see?”

“Trouble.”

Visions of warriors descending upon them, Lady Ross at their head, terrorized her mind.

“How shall we leave?” she asked.

Duncan turned in a circle, then faced the small window. “This is the only way out. I’ll not chance walking through the inn.” He glanced back at her, his eyes hard. “Sometimes coin is more precious than honor.”

Heather was haunted by his words. Who was outside? What was happening? She felt blind in a room filled with fire. Anywhere she turned she might get burned.

“Come here.” His voice was strained, gravelly.

Heather approached on unsteady feet. His nostrils flared as he dragged in a heavy breath. She breathed out, not realizing she’d been holding hers.

“Ye’ll climb through first. Get to the stables and find Blade.”

“What about ye?” Fear made her knees knock.

“I’ll follow.”

She shook her head. “Nay, ye need to come with me.”

Duncan smiled, stroked the back
s of his fingers over her cheek. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “Whatever happens here, know that though my intentions at first were ignoble, they are nothing now but honorable.”

Heather nodded. His talk was ominous and sent fear to shake her where she stood.

“Ye’re talking nonsense.” Fear took control of her teeth, making them clatter.

That noise, that clicking, seemed to bring her full force around. She had more backbone than this. A Sutherland born and raised
, Heather had to cease acting weak and bring out the strength she knew she had.

“I speak the truth.” He pulled her into his arms, pressed his lips to her head and took a deep pull of air. “I’m going to lift ye as soon as the courtyard clears. Run toward the stables. Dinna stop. Find Blade. Mount him.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He pushed her away from him, his eyes stern and locked on hers. “I need to know I can trust ye in this.”

Heather nodded. She wanted to squeeze him close but refrained, afraid if she held onto him, she’d never let go.

Duncan swiped back the curtain and looked outside again. “I dinna know how much time ye have left.” He knelt in front of her. “Put your foot on my knee.”

As he knelt, his robes parted in the middle, falling to the side and between his legs. A sprinkle of hair graced the exposed knee he bent for her. Heather swallowed, remembering she’d promised herself that she’d be brave from now on. Brave for him. For his people. For them.

She lifted a boot and pressed it to his knee, feeling the solidness of him beneath the ball of her foot.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

Heather did as he instructed, curling her fingers into the wool of his robes, the sinew of his shoulder muscles.

“Lift up.”

She hoisted herself up until she stood on
his knee. The window was small but big enough she was certain she could wriggle through it. A cold knot tied around her spine. Duncan would never be able to fit through its center. She pushed the realization aside. He’d go out the front. His robes were a shield. They protected him.

The window sill was jagged with splinters in need of sanding
, and they stung her fingers as shards buried in her flesh. Wincing, she held back her cry of pain, trying as hard as she could to be tough.

Voices and the scuffling of boots sounded outside the door.

“Ye have to go now, lass.” Duncan stood, lifting her halfway through the window. “If I dinna follow within ten minutes, go to Pluscarden. Keep heading north on the path we were taking, and ye’ll find it.”

Heather didn’t say anything, her sole concentration on getting out the window. With Duncan’s help
, she wriggled through, and then fell the four feet to the ground, catching herself on her hands and knees in a pile of muck—obviously they discarded rubbish outside the window.

Sucking in a
breath, she pushed to her feet, wiping her hands on her soiled gown. Only a few children stood in the open courtyard, curious gazes on their ruddy faces. Heather waved and gave them a tentative smile as she ran toward the stables. While she ran, she kept a keen ear for sounds of fighting in the inn behind her. Was that Duncan’s booming voice?

She reached the stables and rushed through the doors, momentarily blind in the dim light, a stark contrast to the sun shining outside.

At first it appeared empty, but from within a stall she spied the eyes of the lad who’d come to greet them earlier, his eyes filled with fear.

“Lad, the horse. I need the priest’s horse.”

He stepped out from the stall. His voice shook. “They’re looking for ye.”

“Me?” She whirled back toward the door. Her brothers. That’s who had come. And Duncan would have her run rather than face them.

Irritation bristled.

“Are ye Lady Heather?” the boy asked.

Relief flooded her. “Aye. My God. They’ve found us.” She needed to get back to the inn, explain to her brothers that Duncan was not the enemy, that he was to be her husband.

“Tsk, tsk. Didna your brothers tell ye not to talk to strangers?”

Heather turned back around slowly, the raspy female voice familiar. She dreaded who it belonged to—and wasn’t surprised to see Ina Ross standing there before her. She had dark hair pulled severely back at her nape, sharp-edged cheekbones and brown almond-shaped eyes. If not for the bitterness etched on to her face, she might have been beautiful.

Ina walked out of the stable the boy had been hiding in—or, rather, had been held hostage in. Her gown was made of the softest wool, a dark blue with silver embroider
y trimmed at its hem and collar.

“Never leave a man to do a woman’s job,” she sneered. “Leave us.” Her hardened, malevolent gaze fell on the stable hand, who took off running outside.

Behind her, Blade lifted his head over the gate of his stable, his black eyes glowing like coals. If Heather could just get past Ina, she could mount the warhorse and ride out of here. Duncan had told her where the abbey was. He’d told her to meet him there, and, by God, she would. If she was followed by Ross warriors, the Sutherlands would hopefully be there in time to save them all.

Oh, Duncan
!

How would he make it pas
t the Ross guards? Her own safety was not a question in her mind. They wanted something from her and would at least keep her alive for as long as it took for her to figure out a plan of escape. That was, if they even caught her. But Duncan… How many warriors had he seen crowding the courtyard? Enough for him to make the decision she was to flee. He’d put himself in the line of danger.

The knife in her boot seared her skin, begging to be let out.

Ina licked her lips, ending with a tight suck to her teeth. “I had a feeling things would go badly with the priest.” She shook her head as if really disappointed. “I know how ye Sutherland harlots behave.” The bitch had the nerve to wink.

“Ye know nothing of my family.”

Ina waved the words away with her hand. “I knew enough to guide that hulking waste of breath into your castle, enough to have him steal ye and bring ye here to me.”

Heather’s ears buzzed. Here? He was supposed to bring her
here
?

“Och, honey, did ye think he was going to set ye free? He was meant to meet with me here, at noon.”

Heather refused to answer, though her mind reeled, and the already curdled stew made a slow rise up her throat.

“Never trust a man when coin is involved. They turn faster than a rat toward a hunk of cheese.”

The blood drained from Heather’s face. Ina Ross had just uttered nearly the same words Duncan had before he’d sent her through the window.

His proposal of marriage…
Their lovemaking. Oh, she felt sick to her stomach. It had all been a ruse to get her here. To bring her to those who wanted her, those who’d paid him. He’d manipulated her. Tricked her. Stolen her innocence as a ploy to gain her trust. Magnus—Blane—they’d been
right
there. Close enough she could have called out their names, and they would have turned, cut Duncan down and taken her home to safety.

A painful fist squeezed her heart tight enough she thought it would burst. Her throat swelled painfully as she tried to hold back tears.

It mattered not. Not now, anyway. Duncan’s betrayal could be dwelled upon later. The evil witch in front of her was another story. Heather had to get away from her.

“Now, where were we… ’Twas before your soul was crushed by the broken promises of one sinful Highlander.” Ina tapped her chin as if deep in thought.

Heather hated her then, more than anyone else. The woman had caused her brother Magnus mountains of misery when she’d refused to let him break their betrothal contract and now she was here to heap on another load. This time, she wouldn’t get away with it.

“Take me to your lair then, witch,” Heather said with mock meekness. “Oh,” she pressed a hand to her heart, “I am ever so fearful of ye, and my heart has turned to dust at the mention of love’s broken promises.”

Heather was proud of how strong her voice sounded. She was certain it would crack at any moment, as her heart truly was shattered behind her ribs. Little fortification those bones provided. Duncan had buried himself deep inside her, and for her to learn he’d led her here only to give her up to her enemies was the worst of fates.

Holding out her hands, she wiggled them toward Ina. “I’m unarmed. Easy for ye to subdue. Shall we go?”

Ina eyed her with speculation. “Ye can try for bravado if it makes ye feel better, but I know ye for what ye are.”

Heather cocked her head to the side. “And what is that?”

“A spoiled brat.”

Heather smiled. “’Haps I am. But what does that matter to ye? Will ye not take me based on my attitude? I should think as an evildoer
, ye’d have more practicality than that.”

Ina gnashed her teeth and took a threatening step forward. “Shut up.”

With much exaggeration, Heather closed her lips. Keeping them pressed tightly together, her arms still outstretched in front of her, she glanced around the stables.

“We’re all alone,” she mused. “Did ye hide in the stables in hopes I would come? Was it all a show? Or did ye hope to garner all the credit for my capture?”

Ina swallowed, showing a moment of vulnerability.

“I guess it does
not matter. Can we get this over with?” Heather tinged her words with boredom.

Ina took large strides toward her, baring her teeth, her cheeks reddened with anger. “I told ye to shut your mouth.”

When Ina reached for her, nails long as daggers scraped painfully over Heather’s forearms, but she didn’t let Ina get hold of her. Instead, she twisted her arms and stepped sideways.

“Going to have to try harder than that,” Heather taunted. Why not have a bit of fun with Ina before she used a defensive maneuver
Arbella had taught her one winter evening when they’d been snowed in for days and both had been tired of sewing and playing the lute.

“Ye’ll pay for this,” Ina said, rushing toward her again. This time she’d tugged a sgian dubh from within her sleeve, the thin blade aimed straight for Heather’s heart.

Patience was apparently not a virtue Ina Ross possessed. Heather let her think she’d gained the upper hand but leapt out of the way at the last minute, raising her arm and slamming the side of her hand down as hard as she could onto the spot where Ina’s neck met her shoulder.

Ina gave a squeak of a shout, and then collapsed in a heap of woolen skirts.
Unconscious.