She stood beside him and patted his arm. “It wil al work out, Iain, you’l see.”
He frowned. “Yer no’ plannin’ anythin’, are you, Ali?”
“Of course not.” She lowered her eyes, unable to look at him when she lied, wishing she didn’t have to. “I’l leave that to you and Fergus.” They didn’t have a chance where Rory was concerned, and she wouldn’t al ow herself to be locked away for however long it suited him. The only one she could depend on was herself: a lesson she’d learned re peatedly growing up, and one she should’ve remembered.
“Good. We’l no’ let you down,” he said, leaving with a promise to send Mari to her with the linens. In the early morning hours on the fourth day of her im
prisonment, Ali wiggled the last of the bars free. Her time before the keep came to life was limited, and she had to hurry, no matter how tired she was. She lifted the rope of linens from the chair and knelt on the cold, hard floor, winding the rope through the bedframe. As quietly as she 188
could, she dragged the bed beneath the window, stopping every few minutes to listen to the rhythmic snoring of the guards stationed outside the door. With a silent prayer, she dropped the makeshift rope over the edge of the casement. Standing on the mattress, she lifted first one leg and then the other over the ledge. She closed her eyes. The second rope dug into her stomach as she lay in the window, the wind whipping the gown around her legs. She gritted her teeth and began her careful descent down the sheer face of the gray stone wal . Her foot slipped, and she swal owed a panicked cry. Despite the chil in the air, sweat beaded on her forehead. Tightening her grip, she lowered herself several more feet until she came to the knot that warned the rope was about to end. Careful y, one hand over the other, she twisted until she faced outward. The wind lifted her damp hair, cooling her flushed face. She forced herself not to look down at the yawning, twelve-foot gap, knowing she had to get over it if she was to land on the slanted roof of the empty guards’ room.
She kicked off the wal to swing in midair, slamming back into the unforgiving stone. Ali groaned, but there was no time to waste moaning over the dul throb in her back. She’d spent the last few days watching the guards’ routine and knew there wasn’t a moment to spare before the next one came on shift.
A sense of desperation played havoc with her courage. She pushed it aside and used the last of her strength to give one final push. Legs flailing, she dropped with a dul thud to the roof below. Her knees scraped on the rough tiles, shredding her gown. She tried to grab hold of the peaked roofline, but missed, and slid down the roof. Crying out in frustration, she kicked her feet until the toe of her shoe dug into a crevice between the tiles. Ali sucked in a breath and dove for the chimney, wrapping her arms around it. She
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stifled a startled cry when a large blackbird dive-bombed her and she waved a hand to shoo it away. Ali pul ed herself up until she sat tucked securely be
tween the roof and chimney. Battered fingers trembling, she unraveled the linen rope from her waist. She threw it around one side of the chimney and grabbed it as it came around the other, tying a knot she prayed would hold. Once more she descended. With only a few more feet to freedom, she began to relax. A door slammed and Ali froze, clinging to the rope, her feet dangled high above the ground. She held her breath, slowly releasing it when no one and no other sound fol owed. With the rope wound between her legs, she lowered herself farther. Her head jerked up when she heard a slow tearing sound. Panicked, she looked down at the twelve-foot drop. The rope shredded. She fel to the ground with no hope of breaking her fal .
fled a cry of pain when she put weight on her right foot. She tried to rotate her ankle; it wasn’t broken, but she wouldn’t get far on her own. She wrinkled her nose. Bessie. She scanned the deserted courtyard, then hobbled toward the stables. Mauve and pink streaked the azure sky and Ali quickened her pace, anxious to put some distance between her and Dunvegan before the sun came up.
“How did she come by a dagger?” Rory bel owed, yank
ing on the linen rope that hung outside the window. Cal um shuffled from one foot to the other, his face flushed. “’Twas me, Laird MacLeod. I gave it to her on the day Lady MacLean accused her of bein’ a spy.”
“Bloody hel ,” Rory cursed, tossing the rope to the floor. He ran his hand through his hair. She would be the death of him. But despite his anger, he couldn’t help but 190
admire her bravery, her ingenuity. The woman was amaz
ing. Too bad she was a spy.
He lifted his gaze from the cot and met the look of con
demnation in the eyes of Mrs. Mac, Fergus, and Iain. His temper flared. “Doona’ give me that look. ’Twas no’ be cause of me she did this.”
“Nay? It was no’ her who locked herself in the tower and half starved herself to death.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, brother, the woman’s a spy. And I didna’ starve her. She was just too stubborn to eat.”
Byron and Cedric entered the room, shamefaced.
“There’s no sign of her, my laird, but the lads in the stable say old Bessie is missin’.”
He met his brother’s gaze and they both let out a shout of laughter. Relief surged through Rory. He would get her back, but more importantly, she wasn’t hurt. It had been his worst fear when he’d been cal ed to the tower. The guards had said nothing, simply pointed to the barless window. Rory ful y expected to see her broken body lying on the ground below, and nothing had prepared him for the terror he felt. No matter that she betrayed him; he stil had not managed to purge her from his heart. “’Twil no’ be difficult pickin’ up her trail if she’s even made it off Dunvegan land.”
“I’l bring her home,” Fergus and Iain offered in unison.
“Nay, I’l go.”
