Eyes filled with hate, Eithne looked up and met his gaze. She nodded just once.
He laughed triumphantly. “We wed on the morrow,” he told her, then walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Part of Eithne wanted to sink down into nothing again, but she couldn’t, not now. There was another way out if she could just find the key; the trapdoor that led to the passages through the walls. Each of the Kinnear children had one in their room, and they’d used them to sneak around after dark and play well into the night many times. Since they’d grown, Eithne and Killian had both kept theirs locked.
But the key must be somewhere. It has to be.
Her search lasted hours, and she must have torn apart every drawer, ripped every sheet, searched every nook and cranny, but the slim iron key was nowhere to be found. She uncovered the trapdoor, but it was locked tight. She tried to pick the lock with everything she could reach, but it was no use.
Eventually, exhausted, she collapsed on the floor. The cold stone froze her cheek, and she thought it might be nice just to give up, to let the coldness in. She glanced at the bed one more time, knowing she wouldn’t even have the energy to climb into it now.
That’s when she saw it – the little notch in the foot of the bed frame. She crawled over, pulling at the wood with her fingernails until she found her prize. It was dusty, bloody from her fingers, and ice cold to the touch – but she held the key in her hand and enjoyed the feeling more than the gentlest bath.
In her hand, she held her freedom.
Chapter Three
The Rescue
Ivor had honestly anticipated more of a fight with all of the MacDuff soldiers crawling around the keep. He knew the ideal plan was to get an outfit and blend in, but he was prepared for a huge battle.
It turned out not to be necessary. His stealthy movements were enough to let him sneak in on a likely candidate unseen. The man was as big as Ivor, and his back was to the mercenary. It would be easy as anything to kill him and take his clothes without the guard even noticing.
But I’m a mercenary, nae a monster.
Sighing in frustration, he gave a low, long whistle. The soldier, startled, spun in place, but Ivor had already run off behind a shadowy ballast. He whistled again, and the soldier followed with his sword drawn. They continued like that, a deadly chase through the fallen keep and the outer woods, Ivor always just staying out of sight.
He saw the opportunity the second it hit, and he grabbed a pebble, aiming it directly at the approaching soldier’s forehead. He went down with a heavythud.Ivor hurried out and knelt by the man’s side. He leaned down and checked – he was still breathing. Good.
“Sorry, friend,” he muttered as he started to strip him of his uniform. A few minutes later, the soldier was in his smallclothes, and Ivor stood, indistinguishable from the rest of the guards. He paused, considering, then hastily dressed the man in his own clothes. He wouldn’t want him to perish from the cold.
Once he was ready, Ivor left the unconscious man behind and walked back out into the open, making sure his face was covered. None of the soldiers took a second look at him, and he moved through the grounds toward the front of the castle with ease. He was almost there when suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw a mass of jet-black curls he thought he’d never see again around the side of the castle.
Killian?
He whipped his head in time to see her dart around the corner – her, not him; it was a woman. It must be Eithne. She looked so like Killian she couldn’t be anyone else. Ivor couldn’t fathom how she’d managed to escape, but he knew one thing – he had to catch up to her before someone else did.
Without stopping to think, he broke into a run, heading for the forest through which Eithne Kinnear was in danger of vanishing forever.
* * *
Panting, Eithne stopped for breath, her hands on her knees. She had her brother’s letter-opener and no other weapon, and in her torn, bloodied clothes, she was freezing. She might die of exposure out here, the cold Highland wind threatening to freeze off her extremities with every step, but…
I’d rather die free than be bound to that monster.
She inhaled, ignoring the sharp pain of the stitch in her side, and kept going. She just had to get to the other side of the forest, and then she could plan her next move. Just a little further…
Suddenly, she heard a heavy footfall behind her. They were a man’s footsteps, someone who wasn’t shy to let her know he was coming, and they were moving at high speed. Someone was after her!
She started to run again, desperate now, but she was so tired, so hungry and thirsty, and her head was swimming with anxiety and fear. She prayed to every god she’d ever heard of to help her, but they obviously weren’t listening. Her foot tangled in an errant root, and she went flying, her brother’s cloak billowing behind her as she sprawled on the forest floor.
Her pursuer was suddenly there, pulling her to her feet.
“Nay!” she screamed. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – let him take her back. She’d die first.
“Listen, lass,” the man started roughly.
Eithne was done listening. She reached into the cloak pocket and drew out the letter opener, knowing it would be just as deadly as any sword if she got him in the eye. She brandished it, screaming, knowing that she would kill or be killed – and not knowing which would be worse.
