Forget my ankles—I hike up my skirts and race toward him, flinging myself to a stop like a baseball player sliding into home.
But I’m not nearly so athletic, because Callum’s sword catches the ground, tripping me. I crash into the cage, sending it swaying on its chains, before dropping to the dirt on my butt.
I shift to my knees and look up.
Callum’s grin meets me. I can just make out the gleaming line of his teeth, and even in the darkness, I can tell his eyes are smiling. We reach for each other through the bars, his fingers wrapping around mine. There’s laughter in his voice as he says, “Brilliant landing.”
“Are you making fun of me? Because I could leave you here.” I’m giving him my best glare, but I don’t budge my hand from his. It feels too good.Hefeels too good.
“I’d never consider mocking a lass with a blade.” He nods toward his sword at my waist. “’Tis quite a canny scabbard you’ve rigged for yourself.”
I reluctantly slide my hand from under his. “Yeah, well, I should work fast, or I might have to use the thing.”
His smile fades. I watch the moment joy turns to grief.
“Rosie-love,” he breathes. “I can’t—” He swallows hard. “I’m happy to see you. So happy my heart breaks with it. But I cannae allow this.”
I pluck loose the half dozen hairpins I’ve jammed into a hideous bun on top of my head, pinching them between my lips as I go. From the corner of my mouth, I ask, “Allow what?”
“Whatever this is.” His eyes are tracking my every move. “Truly, love. ’Tisn’t safe for you here. I’m not afraid to face my fate, but I couldnae bear watching you suffer.” Lightening his tone, he says, “We Highlanders have a saying: He that’s born to be hanged will never be drowned…or is it the other way round?”
“You’re not going to hangordrown.” I extract the final pins, sending my hair tumbling around my shoulders. Running my fingers over my scalp, I mutter, “So much better.”
I look up to find his eyes devouring me. “My angel in the heather,” he whispers. “I’m not worth this.”
Ignoring his complaints, I pull a hairpin from between my lips. I try to bend the tip, but it just slices into my finger before springing away into the grass. “Dammit. It’s so dark out here.”
He shuffles closer, clenching the bars as he peers down at me. The cage creaks with his movement. “Mo ghràidh. Please. You must go.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“You mustn’t fret over me. I can’t allow you to stay.”
“Yeah? You can’t make me go, either. You’re inside acage, if you haven’t noticed.” I roll my shoulders and adjust my grip, forcing a grin. “So please hold yer wheeesh or whatever it is you people say so I can get on with this.”
Starlight glows through a rift in the clouds, and I scoot sideways to catch it. Holding the end of the next hairpin against the floor of the cage, I try again to bend it.
He eyes me skeptically. “Get on with what?”
It works. I’ve shaped the top of the hairpin into a tiny L-shaped hook. I let out a little squeal. “I knew this girlie stuff must be good for something.” I spit the rest of the pins into my palm, dropping them in my dress pocket with a shudder. “Bleh. What is that metal? It’d be pretty ironic if I traveled back in time only to be killed by lead poisoning.”
“This isnae the time to jest.” Callum looks ready to jump out of his skin. “Nothing will kill you. But you must leave. Please heed me, Rose. Campbell will?—”
“We’re done with Campbells.” I tuck my loose hair behind my ears and stand up to study the padlock. Cupping it in my hand, I stick the hooked end of the hairpin into the tumbler and jiggle. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“With hairpins?” Callum scoots closer, angling his head to better track my progress.
“Yup. Only it looks easier in the movies.” I shake out my hand then adjust my grip on the hairpin. I tune out the soft creaking of the cage to focus on the lock. I probe for the pins inside, feeling for anything that might give. Something shifts, then a faint click. “Ooh! I think…” I take a second hairpin and jiggle it into the keyhole, raking it along the bottom until I feel another tiny click. A rush of triumph shoots through me. “I’ve almost got it.”
“You brilliant wee burglar.” The wonder in his voicemakes me swell with pride. “And I thought you were an innocent.”
I scoff. “Fat lot of good that ever got me.”
“You’re doing a grand job being wicked now,” he says in a low rasp.
“I’m a natural.” My tone is light but my pulse quickens. This conversation is taking on a different meaning.
“What other tricks have you the knack of?”
