Page 24 of The Highlander’s Gypsy Temptation

“We cannae have him alerting the others. I will stay and ambush him upon his return. Perhaps it will buy us the night.”

“Unless he returns with the others.”

Bran nodded at this. “It is possible.”

“Please, Bran. We need to flee, and quickly.”

Bran shook his head. “Nae, I will deal with the men and will join ye after. Go,” he instructed her, motioning his head toward the window. “Ye should nae have returned for me.”

“I could not leave you behind. I saw what they did to you, dragging you along behind their horses.” She moved toward him to look at his wound, but he shook his head. “Go, I will find ye when I am done.”

Frustrated at his stubbornness but knowing that if she stayed she would ruin any chance they had of escape, she turned and climbed back out of the window. Bran closed the shutters behind her. Idalia climbed back down the tree to her waiting horse below. She stood beneath the tree, waiting and listening. A loud thudding sound came from the room above, followed by a muffled shout. Idalia’s heart raced in her chest as she waited to see who emerged the victor. God protect him.

* * *

Bran waited with bated breath behind the door. He had moved the unconscious man onto the bed to take his place. The room was dim enough with the body under the blankets that no one would be able to tell the difference right away. It would give him just enough time to surprise the returning man. When the door swung open, Bran waited until the man entered and closed the door, then he attacked. Thankfully, he had returned alone. The man cried out in surprise, but Bran stifled the cry, choking the air from the man’s lungs.

Placing a piece of furniture in front of the door, Bran moved over to the window and opened the shutters. Peering out into the night below, he could make out the vague shadowy forms of Idalia and her brown mare. “Bran?,” she whispered up to him in question.

“Aye, lass, it is I.”

Idalia gave an audible sigh of relief. “Are you able to climb down with your wounded shoulder?”

“Aye, I will be down in a moment.” Bran turned back to the room and used the ties that had bound him to bind the two men. He gathered their weapons and the weapons they had taken from him. Turning back to the window, he climbed out onto the largest branch, then descended the trunk to Idalia’s waiting form. He leapt the rest of the way to the ground. “Are ye well, lass?”

Idalia nodded. “I am.”

“Ye hit the floor hard.”

“It is naught but a bruise,” she reassured him. “We need to tend to your shoulder.”

He shook his head. “I will heal in time. We need tae leave this place with all haste. I must retrieve my horse, but I dinnae ken if it is under guard or nae.”

“The lad who works in the kitchen said that his brother is in the stables. He will not know anything about August Raymond’s men taking you as their captive unless he was warned by them.”

Bran shook his head. “I did nae hear any such warning, but that does nae mean they did nae return tae the stables after securing me in the room.”

“How did the innkeeper not question them bringing in a bound man?”

“He did question it, but they told him I was wanted by the magistrate for poaching.” The irony of it was not lost on either of them.

“Where are the other men?”“Drinking in the tavern. How did ye ken what room I was in?”

“The kitchen lad told me. I went around to the back door and spoke with him. I told him I was your sister.”

Bran nodded in approval. “Cunning. Perhaps ye could use the same for his brother?”

“I could,” she agreed.

“Gaining information is different from taking a horse,” he warned.

Idalia nodded her head. “But I must try.”

“Proceed with care, lass. The other men could emerge at any moment.”

“I will,” she promised. Taking her horse’s reins, she moved around the side of the inn, with Bran close behind.

He stayed within sight of her until she disappeared into the stables. Bran sneaked around to the back, to the small door there, and pressed his ear to the wood. He could make out the muffled sounds of horses moving about and munching on hay. There was a soft murmur of human voices, but he could not make out the words. The fact there were no sounds of struggle or shouts of protest was only somewhat reassuring.