Heather gulped. “How can I not be when there is, potentially, a killer among us?” Slowly, she withdrew her hand, and Owen did not try to stop her. “I fully intend to send you back to your castle intact, Owen.”
“I hope, one day, ye feel inclined to visit,” he replied, for though he was desperate to return to his home, he sensed his evenings would become rather empty without Heather’s presence.
She smiled: her blue eyes shining. “I should like that very much. You have spoken so poetically of the lochs in the wintertime, when there is snow on the ground and the water has turned to ice. I hope you will teach me how to keep my balance, as you have taught me so much of healing.”
“There’s always more ye can learn.” Although, he was not sure how much teaching he had actually done. Instead, he had regaled her with countless stories of his healing endeavors and had watched with pleasure at the joy that spread across her beautiful face. The stories were always more interesting than the actual details of the healing.
Heather shuffled closer to him, until her chin was nearly resting upon one of the horizontal bars that ran from wall to wall. Her hands came up to grip the vertical bars, though he could not read the conflict of emotion upon her face. Sorrow, hope, disappointment, gratitude, and something akin to desire tried to vie for room within her gaze.
“I am not glad about the way you came here, but Iamglad you did,” she murmured. “Not long ago, I would have laughed at anyone who said I would look forward to my evenings, conversing with a Scot. You are right, there is always more you can learn, and I have learned that there are some things that shouldunlearned.”
He rested his head against the bars, resisting the urge to cover her hands with his. “What do ye mean?”
“I was raised to believe that there was no decency to be found north of the border. I was taught that you were all heathens and savages, as wild and unpredictable as beasts.” She shook her head. “It is not true, and I would not have known that if you had not come here.”
He chuckled. “What if I’m unusual?”
“You are not, but youaresuperior,” she insisted shyly. “You keep saying you had no choice when it came to aiding my brother, and while I believe you to an extent, I think there is more to it than that. I think you are a healer, before all else. When you see someone in need of help, it does not matter where they hail from.”
In all his five-and-twenty years, he had never heard it put into words before: the feeling that swelled within his chest whenever he saw someone hurt. Everything else faded into the distance, leaving only his healing instinct and the endurance that came with it. It had happened with her brother, once he had begun his work.
“It started when I was a wee lad,” he explained, feeling awkward. “Me maither would rail at me for bringin’ wounded rabbits, hedgehogs, badgers, weasels, into me chambers. She almost keeled over when I brought a fox cub in, once, but I wouldn’ae let her have the creature cast out. I healed that fox cub and I used to see him in the forest, runnin’ wild with his own wee family. He’d pause and look at me, like he kent who I was, and he’d give me a wee nod, before racin’ off again.”
Heather moved her hand to his forearm, stroking his skin gingerly with her fingertip. “I envy you.” She dipped her head, stealing away the sight of her enchanting eyes. “All the adventures you must have had, while I have been kept within the grounds of this one place. If such rewards did not come at the price of risking your life in war, I would envy you even more.”
“A faither must protect his daughters, aye, but nae at the expense of their liberty.” Owen did not like to see Heather’s fiery spirit dampened and began to wonder if there was any way she might agree to come with him to Dunn Castle.
If I ever return. I daenae want to deny the talent of Brandon’s investigatin’, but if it should fail, three lads cannae fight a castle of soldiers.Still, at least, that way, it would not feel so much like an execution. He would die with a sword in his hand, in an honorable fashion.
Heather lifted her gaze, allowing it to flit between Owen’s eyes and his mouth. “Sometimes, my brother acted more like a father than my actual father. William encouraged my interests and pursuits, while my father sought to quash them at every turn.” Her brow creased and her breath hitched, as tears glistened. “I miss him, Owen. I miss him so very much, and there is no one to comfort me, for he is the one who used to hold me in my sadness and soothe me in my anger.”
“May I?” Owen shifted onto his knees and put his arms through the bars. It was not a gesture of lust or desire, but one forged by that same healing instinct that struck him whenever he encountered someone in pain. Physical or otherwise.
She nodded desperately, slipping her arms through the bars and around his neck, while his arms encircled her waist, pulling her as close as the rods of iron would permit. His hand smoothed up the curve of her spine and found the nape of her neck, which he cradled tenderly. Meanwhile, his other hand merely held hertight, gripping slightly so she knew he was not going to let her go in her moment of anguish.
“Thank you,” she gasped, resting her forehead against his, as tears coursed down her cheeks. “Thank you, Owen.”
Tilting his head up, he placed a tender kiss upon her brow. “I’ll hold ye until it hurts less, Lass. There’s nay need to thank me.”
He could have held her all night if she had asked him to, even with the bars separating them. Still, he was no stranger to discomfort, and if she needed him until dawn, he would stay exactly where he was. At least, he would have done, if the frantic echo of footsteps had not thundered into the stillness of the dungeons.
Heather jolted away from him, her head whipping toward the far end of the passageway. He released her immediately, grabbing her hands so he could help her to her feet, but her shoes got caught in her long skirts, causing her to stumble.
She had only just regained her balance and turned toward the wooden door, where she evidently planned to run to, when a figure barreled into view and skidded to a sharp halt.
“They are coming,” Brandon panted, holding his sides. “The order has just been given. At dawn, they are coming… at dawn, they mean to kill you.”
Elias had made his move, and Owen’s time had well and truly run out.
9
“What do we do?” Heather rasped: her throat tight with the guilt of almost being caught in the arms of the handsome Scot, blended with the terror of what might befall that beautiful man when the sun rose.
Brandon stooped to catch his breath. “There is nothing to be done, Heather. It is much too late. We should have acted sooner. We should have known your father would not delay.”
“Do not say that!” Heather gripped one of the iron bars of Owen’s cell, until her knuckles whitened. She would not give up, nor would she stand by and watch an innocent man be led to the executioner’s block. Her brother would not want that.
Just then, the young man who always pretended to be asleep when she came to visit Owen, leaned into the bars of his prison. “This might sound an outlandish notion to the pair of ye, buthow about ye… oh, I daenae ken… let us out of here so we can escape? Ye must ken where the keys are kept.”
