Page 33 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

“What for? Why would he make you do that?”

Arran snorted. “Lachlan liked to create interesting punishments. Any teacher could make a misbehaving boy run a few laps or stay up all night to train. Hanging from the tree frightened us all. It was painful and pointless. It hurts so much, you see. Your arms hurt, your shoulders hurt, your elbows feel like they’re about to pop out, and your hands freeze to the tree bark. Yet you don’t dare let go because you’ll fall. It was not too far to fall, maybe the height of two tall men. Still, it’s a terrifying height for two young boys.”

“That sounds like a long way to fall for me,” Pippia commented. “Your teacher sounds like a madman. What happened?”

“Well, we had to stay there until Lachlan told us we could climb down. He herded all the other boys round to watch as a lesson. To teach them what happened if we didn’t keep up, if we stepped out of line. I can still remember it, you know. That icy winter wind, the snow piling up on my bare hands and arms. I couldn’t feel them by the end of it.”

“But you survived.”

“Aye, I did. But Edmund didn’t.”

Pippia sucked in a breath. “Oh no.”

“As I said, he wasn’t strong. He wasn’t tough, not tough enough. He fell after we’d been hanging there for a whole evening. He just couldn’t hold on anymore. Maybe the fall mightn’t have killed a stronger lad, or perhaps if he hadn’t had that beating…I don’t know. He fell wrong, and…” Arran swallowed hard, the sound of that sickening crack echoing through his head, the way it echoed through a silent winter forest once upon a time. “He died when he landed. Broke his neck. I’ll never forget Lachlan’s face.”

“That's cruel. It’s so cruel, I can’t even imagine this picture. What a terrible man Lachlan was.”

Arran shrugged. “He wasn’t there to be kind. He was there to make us warriors. In that, at least, he succeeded.”

Silence fell again, and this time Arran was desperate to break it. He’d said too much.

“Let’s stop for a rest,” he said brightly, abruptly pulling Edward to a stop.

Pippia seemed grateful for the rest, at least. She stretched out her stiff limbs, arching her back and generally moving about too much. Arran focused on attending to Edward and looking for a place to refill his waterskin.

He could hear the rushing of a nearby river. It was a branch of the larger, more powerful river that split Stewart and McTavie lands, and it ran particularly deep and wide here.

“We need water,” Arran said bluntly, and set off toward it. He and Pippia were still tied together—that was going to get awkward sooner rather than later—and she followed obediently.

“I’m sore,” she complained.

“Not much I can do.”

“I suppose not. Could we walk for a bit?”

“Maybe later. The ground’s too wet and boggy here.”

Arran hadn’t realized just how wet until they broke through the trees and found themselves on the riverbank. There’d been heavy rain recently, and the river was swollen and angry, thundering along its bank. Even the shallower areas would effortlessly sweep a person off their feet. They’d drown or be dashed to pieces on the rocky riverbed.

“Careful,” Arran admonished, inching his way down the slick bank to where the water raged. However, he never even had the chance to point out how slippery the mud was (as if Pippia might somehow not have noticed) when her feet shot out from underneath her without warning. She would have tumbled feet first into the river had Arran not grabbed her hand, the one that was tied to his, and hooked his other arm around a nearby tree trunk poking out of the bank.

For a second, they hung there, with Pippia mere inches away from the foaming water, unable to get her feet back under herself, clutching Arran’s hand.

Then he hauled her back to safety. This involved pulling with all his strength, which sent Pippia rushing upward and clutching desperately at his chest.

Arran found himself with his back against the tree trunk, one arm still wrapped around it, and Pippia firmly pressed up against him. Her face was inches from his, spray from the river glistening on her eyelashes. One of her arms had looped around his neck, and they had somehow managed to entwine their fingers.

For a long, breathless instant, they stared at each other. This close, Arran found that he could count the colors in her eyes. There wasn’t just blue in there. There was grey, green, streaks of gold, and a rim of dark blue around the color of her eye.

Almost without thinking, Arran’s gaze slipped down to her lips. Pale pink, perfectly shaped and hanging open, he fancied that he could almost feel her warm breath on his face.

Well, they were so close that he probably could.

For a moment, Arran thought that she was leaning closer…if it were possible that they could get closer.

For a moment, he almost moved to meet her lips with his own.

Only for a moment.

Sure that her feet were firmly on reasonably solid ground again, Arran stepped back. He gently disentangled their hands and averted his gaze from Pippia’s beautiful, hopeful face.

“Are you alright, lass?”

“Yes,” Pippia said. She sounded flustered, with dustings of pink on her cheek. “I’m alright.”

“Good. Let’s find a better place along the bank to get more water. The two of us almost drowned.” Arran smiled tightly and turned to walk away, forcing Pippia to follow along behind him.