Page 44 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

Edward’s Grand Moment

Pippia stood up shakily. She was no fool; sitting and crying would do nothing but while away the time until her fate was revealed.

It wouldn’t be good, she was sure of that. Pippia had seen the malicious glee on Laird Stewart’s face when he laid eyes on her. What clever clan leader would pass up the chance to end his rival’s line? Not Stewart, that was for sure.

So Pippia wiped her eyes and started looking around for a way of escape. The window was out of the question, of course. The best she could hope for was to wave to a rescuing army and hope they worked out which cell was hers.

Not that it would be much of a rescue, Pippia reminded herself bitterly. I’d just be married off to Alasdair before I could blink.

The sun was beginning to set outside, and soon her little cell would be pitch black, and escape would be virtually impossible. Where would she go, however, if she did manage to escape? She would never find her way home, and nothing good was waiting for her there.

She pushed those thoughts aside and turned her attention to the door. It was solid and unyielding, and she’d heard the locks click on the other side. This room wasn’t disguised as anything except a cell, and it did not allow anyone to escape. There was nothing in the room except the straw mattress and the dirty, ragged blanket, nothing that could be used as a weapon.

Pippia was inspecting the hinges of the door when the lock clicked on the other side. She sprang back, heart thudding, listening to the bolts scrape back, one by one. The door opened slowly and tortuously.

For want of any other weapon, Pippia curled her hands into fists and held them up in what she hoped was a threatening position.

The door didn’t open all the way. A head poked through the crack, and Pippia sucked in a breath.

“Arran!”

“Hush!” He held a finger to his lips and dived inside the cell, pulling the door closed. “Someone’s coming. I was nearly spotted.”

Pippia felt rage boiling up inside her. “How dare you! How dare you leave me here with those men and just skip back in here like my savior! You—”

“Hush, for pity’s sake!” Arran whispered, lunging at her. He clamped a hand over her mouth, pushing her back against the wall.

Pippia stopped struggling when she heard the ring of boots on stone. Two pairs of footsteps passed by, right outside the door, and she heard murmuring conversation. Pippia glanced up at Arran and saw that his face was taut and grim. Pippia could only pray that the men—guards, she presumed—wouldn’t notice that the door to her cell was unlocked and only slightly open.

The footsteps passed by and gradually disappeared, and Arran let out a sigh of relief. Pippia suddenly realized how close he was, close enough that she could touch his jaw with her nose if she only tilted her head forward a little. She pushed him away, hard, and Arran stepped back.

“You haven’t explained yourself!” Pippia hissed. “You brought me here and left me to die, and now what are you doing? Come to gloat, have ye?”

“No, no! Of course not!”

“Then why are you here?” Pippia ground her teeth, seeing that purse of coins in her mind’s eye, arcing through the air and landing solidly in Arran’s hands as she was passed over to Stewart.

Payment for services rendered.

Arran was staring at her, raking his hand through his cropped hair in frustration.

“I didn’t leave you. I’m not leaving you.” Arran drew in a breath. “I’m going to help you escape.”

Pippia stared up at him. “What?”

“Did you not hear, lass? I’m not leaving you here. I’m going to get you out. Now hurry, we don't have much time. We’re lucky that the guards didn’t notice that your cell was unlocked. Let’s go.”

Arran cracked open the door, peeping out to make sure the coast was clear. He held out his hand behind him.

“Let’s go. Hurry.”

It seemed rather natural for Pippia to take his hand. They stepped out into the cavernous hall together, and Pippia automatically went toward the doors, but Arran stopped her, tugging her in the opposite direction.

“Not that way. Too many guards. Here, take this.” Arran pressed a small dirk into her hand. “It’s not quite as fancy as those knives you had back at home, but it’ll do. It’s sharp, and it’s served me well in the past. I’ll just use my broadsword.”

Pippia swallowed hard, squeezing the hilt of the dagger in her hand. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t stab me by accident…again,” Arran said over his shoulder, with a wry smile.