Название: Highland Lover
Автор: Hannah Howell
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Историческая литература
Серия: The Murrays
isbn: 9781420129229
isbn:
“Where do I sleep?” she asked, briefly glad of the dark, for it hid her blushes.
“Here with me,” replied Gregor. “I will sleep next to the wall.” He smiled, almost able to feel her tension. “Dinnae fret, lass. I willnae harm ye. I have ne’er harmed a child.”
Of course, Alana thought and relaxed. He thought she was a child. She had briefly forgotten her disguise. The thought of having to keep her binding on for days was not comforting but it was for the best. Thinking her a child, Gregor treated her as he would a sister or his own child. If he knew she was a woman, he might well treat her as a convenient bedmate or try to make her one. She brutally silenced the part of her that whispered its disappointment, reminding it that she had no idea of what this man even looked like.
Once the food was gone, Gregor set the bucket aside. Alana heard him removing some clothing and then felt him crawl beneath the blankets. She quickly moved out of the way when she felt his feet nudge her hip. After a moment’s thought, she loosened the laces on her gown and removed her boots before crawling under the blankets by his side. The chill of the place disappeared again and she swallowed a sigh. Something about Gregor soothed her, made her able to face this imprisonment with some calm and courage, and she was simply too tired to try to figure out what that something was.
“On the morrow we will begin to plan our escape,” Gregor said.
“Ye have thought of a way out of here?”
“Only a small possibility. Sleep. Ye will need it.”
That did not sound promising, Alana mused as she closed her eyes.
Chapter 2
Alana grimaced as she finished washing, patted herself dry with a cloth, and began to don her clean but damp clothing. The Gowans catered to her and Gregor’s need to keep clean, but there was nothing they could do about the all-pervasive damp. Or the chill, she mused, wrapping her damp plaid around her shoulders. After three days in the dark hole the Gowans had tossed her into, Alana felt as if that chill had settled deep into her bones. The only time she felt even partly warm was when she was curled up in Gregor’s arms, pressed close to his warm body.
And that was beginning to be a pure torment, she thought as she brushed and braided her hair. All too often she had to sharply bite back the confession that she was a woman, not a child. Alana did not understand how she could be so hungry for a man she had only known for a few days, one she had never seen and who told her very little about himself. In most ways, he was a complete stranger to her, and yet, she felt as if she had known him for years. Each time she felt that hard length pressed against her backside, she wanted to move against it and ached for it to be born of a desire for her, not for some chimera in his dreams or a need to relieve himself. It was utter madness. Worse, she could think of no way to cure herself of this insanity.
It was past time for the man to devise a plan of escape, she decided, especially since she had not come up with one. Since he had spoken of it the first night she had joined him in the pit, he had never really spoken of it again. The few times she had ventured to mention it, he had said only one thing—patience, lass. Just how patient was she supposed to be? If he had a plan, he could share it with her, and if he did not, why did he not just admit it? She would be disappointed but would not fault him for not being able to find a way out of a very deep hole in the ground.
“Best ye move to the bed, lass,” Gregor said. “Our meal is arriving.”
Alana cautiously groped her way toward their rough bed. She doubted she would ever learn to move about in the dark as easily as Gregor did no matter how long she stayed here. Stumbling into the bedding, she quickly sat down and watched as the faint shaft of light appeared overhead.
“Ready to tell us who ye are?” asked the Gowan man who was lowering down the clean privy bucket.
“Nay,” replied Alana, proud of how she resisted the growing urge to scream out her full name, give precise directions to her people, and demand to be pulled out of the darkness.
She frowned a little when Gregor’s response was little more than a grunt of agreement to her words as he exchanged the clean bucket for the soiled one. He stood as he had for the last three days, staring intensely at the rope as the Gowan man raised the privy bucket and then lowered down their food. And again as he exchanged the dirty water for clean water. It puzzled Alana, for he was far too intense in how he watched the whole tedious process. Although she could not see his face, she almost felt his concentration and could see it in the taut stillness of his lean form.
Their guard left, taking that faint light with him, and Alana shivered with fear as she always did. She fought for calm, but still sighed with relief when Gregor sat down next to her. Each time that light disappeared, her fear of the dark reasserted itself. It embarrassed her that she required Gregor’s presence to harness it again. It seemed so cowardly, yet it was not a fear that could be reasoned with. She could only hope that Gregor was not aware of how deep and strong that fear was, although why that should be important to her Alana did not know.
“I have a plan now, lass,” Gregor said as he divided the food between them, carefully placing her share in her lap.
“And just when did ye devise this plan?” she asked calmly, even though her pulse quickened with hope. “Before or after ye assisted in changing the privy bucket?”
“So sharp for one so wee,” he murmured, grinning. “I was watching the raising and lowering of the buckets.”
“I noticed that. I cannae see much in that wee flicker of light, but it did seem that ye were most interested in that.”
“I was studying it all verra closely. It took me a while to decide on the best way to judge it.”
“Judge what?”
“The distance up to that hole.”
“Too far for either of us to reach it.”
“Aye, but, mayhap, nay too far for the two of us.”
Alana took a moment to think about that as she finished the bread she had just filled her mouth with. “What do ye mean by the two of us?”
“How tall are ye, lass?”
“Five feet.”
“And I am six feet and a few inches.”
“How proud ye must be,” she muttered and then sighed out her irritation, “but how does that matter?”
“Your height added to mine might be enough to get ye up to that opening.”
“To do what? Gnaw through the thick iron bars?”
“The grate isnae locked or barred.” He could feel her grow tense even though she was not sitting up against him.
“Are ye certain of that?”
“Aye. Why should they bother? ’Tis too high to reach, or so they believe. And these walls cannae be climbed. I tried several times СКАЧАТЬ