Highland Lover. Hannah Howell

that was the problem, she mused sadly. She was besotted, deeply and probably irrevocably. He was everything she thought perfect in a man. The man she had come to know in the dark was only more impressive in the light. Even as she felt her heart pound with burgeoning emotions, wants, and needs, she felt her stomach clench with grief. He was too perfect for a small, brown woman whose family fondly called her “wren.”

      Gregor studied Alana carefully, his opinion that she was no child hardening into near certainty. Hers was not an elegant beauty, but he had already suspected that. Adorable though it was, it was definitely a woman’s face he looked at, one he suspected would hold fast to a youthful look far longer than many another. Her hair was a deep, rich brown, reminding one of fertile fields and elegant wood. Just as he had guessed from occasionally touching it, it was long, hanging past her waist, thick and unruly. It looked too great a weight for her long, slim neck to carry. She looked as small and dainty as she had felt. Gregor suspected there was some binding beneath her gown, having stolen a quick feel of her back one night while she slept and feeling the ridges of something beneath her gown. He was curious as to how fulsome she might be, guessing that she might be as small there as she was elsewhere with her tiny waist and slender hips. Gregor knew his curiosity would not be satisfied, however, until she fully trusted him.

      It was her small, oval face that held most of his attention. Big, golden brown eyes were the first thing to catch and hold his interest. Thickly lashed and set beneath daintily arched brows, they were almost too big for her face, which added to that air of sweet innocence she carried. A small, straight nose led to a mouth that put the lie to that look of childlike purity. It was a lush mouth, a hint too wide and with a fullness of lip that begged for kisses. He was just wondering why there was a look of sadness in her pretty eyes when he noticed the binding on her small, long-fingered hands.

      “What has happened to your hands, lass?” he asked.

      “Ah, I fear I scraped them a wee bit as I crawled about on the floor,” she replied. “They are fine as they are for now. When we stop for a rest later, much later, I will tend to them more precisely. So, what now?”

      Deciding not to press her about whatever injury she had suffered, Gregor looked around. “First we should see if there is a bolt-hole. Most of these old tower houses have one. It would speed our way out of this trap. If we cannae find one, we will have to try to creep out of the keep and then out the gates.”

      “A verra uncertain journey,” Alana murmured, “but lingering here too long could also be too dangerous, aye?”

      “Aye, so we willnae spend too long searching for a secret way out of here.”

      Gregor found another torch, lit it, and handed it to Alana. She stood up and immediately began searching. Yet again she proved an excellent ally, he mused as he began to search for some way out aside from the most direct and most dangerous route. They not only needed to escape the Gowans unseen, but to put as much distance as possible between them and the Gowans before their escape was discovered. With no horses, that was not going to be easy. Counting slowly in his head, he hoped to grasp some idea of time passing as he carefully worked his way around the dark bowels of Laird Gowan’s keep. He could hear Alana moving things as she hunted, but she asked for no aid, so he concentrated on his own hunt.

      When Gregor decided they had wasted enough of their too-precious time, he turned to look for Alana. It made him uneasy when he could not immediately see her. That unease was beginning to flare into a panic when Alana suddenly appeared from behind a stack of barrels. He started toward her, telling himself that he would take time to examine that moment of fear—later.

      “What have ye found?” he asked.

      Grabbing Gregor by the arm, Alana tugged him closer so that he could see behind the barrels. “Our bolt-hole.” She sighed. “I fear it is no fine tunnel one can walk through, though. And I couldnae see too far inside of it, but I fear we may be crawling along amongst many vile creatures that take quick advantage of such long-unused spaces. I think whoe’er leads the way could carry this lamp I found, however, and that may help.”

      “Aye. Most, er, vile creatures flee before the light.”

      Studying the tunnel revealed by the recently moved barrels, Gregor bit back a curse. There was a good chance it could lead them out of the keep unseen, and they had no choice but to take that chance. It would be nothing less than torture, however. Even with the lantern, it would be dark enough to disturb Alana. As for himself, he had always shunned small, enclosed spaces. The idea of crawling along that tunnel, surrounded by rock and dirt, chilled him. He could almost hope a few Gowans caught up with him and Alana for, after going through that tunnel, he would be more than pleased to kill a few of them.

      “We should go now,” Alana said.

      He could hear the reluctance in her voice and wholeheartedly shared it. “I was hoping for something bigger,” he said as he lit the lantern.

      Something that reminded one a little less of a grave, she mused.

      “We must hope the Gowans have kept it in better repair than the rest of the keep,” he muttered as he handed her the lantern.

      She held the lantern as he doused the torches. Coward that she was, she had taken one look into that tunnel and had hesitated to tell Gregor what she had found. She did not want to go in there. She did not want to stay, either. Alana told herself that all she needed to do was be brave for a little while longer and then she would be free.

      The moment they entered the tunnel, Gregor in the lead, Alana pulled the small wood door shut behind her. For a brief moment she felt choked with panic, with an overwhelming urge to get out of the tunnel as fast as possible, but she fought that fear. This could be their only chance to escape and she could not allow her weakness to steal it away.

      As Gregor started to crawl along, she moved to keep pace with him, if only to stay within the small circle of light. That light and Gregor’s presence were the only things helping her to keep her fears tethered. She fixed her gaze upon Gregor’s backside. Taut, well shaped, and firm with muscles, it was a pleasure to watch it as he moved. Many scorned the wearing of hose and doublet as an English affectation, but at this precise moment, she had to appreciate the fit of his clothes. Embarrassing though it was to discover that she definitely had a wanton streak in her, she could not stop the unmaidenly thoughts that were filling her head. Such thoughts as how she would like to see him naked also kept her cowardice under control. Alana did wonder, however, why he was so finely dressed, for he had mentioned no important meeting or even a visit to the king’s court.

      She shook aside the unease that thought caused, smothering the intuition her kinswomen had always told her to heed closely. There were many good reasons for him to be dressed so fine. Even vanity could explain it. Alana did not know why her mind kept whispering that his finery had something to do with a woman, unless it was simply because such a man undoubtedly had women falling at his feet. If not for the fear that he would simply step over her to reach a prettier, more fulsome woman, she would fall there, too.

      Alana was sternly lecturing herself concerning wanton thoughts and ill-judged infatuations when she realized Gregor had halted and was now kneeling. She sat back on her heels and watched as he struggled to open a thick oak hatch above his head. When it began to open and sprinkled him with dirt, she quickly snatched the lantern out of the way of what she suspected would be an increasing deluge. Gregor hastily moved out of the way as her suspicion proved correct, but Alana was too preoccupied by the lack of any new light that had entered the tunnel along with the debris to enjoy being right. Freedom was apparently going to be as dark as captivity. She had hoped for a glowing full moon at the very least.

      She waited tensely as Gregor took a cautious look, inching his head up into the opening. “Where has it opened to?” she whispered.

      “Outside, but a few feet from the walls,” he replied as he crouched beside her and put out the lantern. “Ten yards away lies the shelter of the wood. We can crawl or run to it. Your choice.”

      “I choose whate’er ye think will be safer.”

      “How about a wee bit of both?”