Fearing she was already dead, Leith leaned his ear to her nose and heard her take shallow breaths. She was alive but barely. A bit comforted that she was alive, Leith secured his footing and lifted her. It was impossible to return the way he came, so he had to get creative.
He spied a way down to the bottom, but the way was merely a foot-and-half wide probably more if he came closer to it. With the woman in his arms or over his shoulder, it was still going to be perilous to do. He held on to the rushes that were growing out of the rocks and angled his body so the majority of the weight was balanced to keep them still on the rock.
Everything was wet and slick, so he had to be very careful. Leith moved as though was walking on eggshells. One unsure placement of his feet or a slip would have the both of them ending up like the horse below—dead.
The lady did not move as he inched his way down to the bottom, and he was grateful for that though he knew she needed help. Step by step, he took them down to the level where the poor horse’s broken body lay. With the majority of harm’s way behind them, he was able to hold the woman better. Now, her head was nestled under his chin and her body close to his chest.
He felt her head shift under his and he glanced down to see the lass’ eyes flutter and get a glimpse of lovely blue eyes. They were gone in moments but he felt entrapped already. God, she, whoever she was, had gorgeous eyes. As he came to a slope that would take him up toward his horse, he prayed that this lovely lass had not lost her memory.
If she knew who she was and where she had come from, he could take her home. But now, she needed rest and care, and he knew he could rely on Laird Robasdan to give her that.
He made it back to his horse and where the sack was dropped; he knelt and picked it up one-handed. He then attached it to his horse, rested her on the saddle before holding her there and swinging up behind her. He settled her on his lap sideways with her head under the right side of his chin and her legs to the left.
Leith looked her over. The lass was beautiful, a comely oval face, dimpled chin with plump lips, the bottom of which was busted and bloodied and lovely arched cheekbones. Her face, though matted with blood to the side, had no other bruises, breakages but a few blisters on her cheeks.
He took hold on one of her hands and felt pure softness, not a callus in sight. This lass had not had a hard life or even a mildly strenuous one for that matter. Her skin was an even rosy color with no blight from the sun and her dress though worn was of the best cotton. He was instantly intrigued.
What’s a privileged lass like her doing all the way in Robasdan territory?
He had the horse quicken its steps as he held onto her. They had just a little more way to go to get to Tarrant’s stronghold. As much as he remembered, the citadel made the defenses of the famed Caerlaverock Castle look tame in comparison.
The Robasdan Castle, built in a circle, rested in the middle of an artificial moat a hundred-feet deep and hundred-feet wide. The dark moat filled in with peat to make it unnavigable to a swimmer, was filled with poisonous snakes, but even before someone would get to the castle, there were guard towers and hidden traps in the forest beyond.
The castle itself had walls of pure rock with steel girders placed vertically on the walls and fitted with iron spikes. A drawbridge was the only way in and to Leith’s knowledge the only way out. However, Leith did not doubt the slyness of Tarrant’s forefathers. There could well be a tunnel under the moat that he did not know about to allow his people to run in the almost-impossible instance of a successful siege.
There were no more signs of consciousness from the lass, but he had faith she would come back to herself soon. A guard tower was in his sight and he had to scan the ground for any sign of hidden traps. Seeing one, he guided his mount toward the tower and stopped just under the stone turret.
“Hear, hear!” he called, “I am Leith Balloch, son of Aaron Balloch, Laird of Lenichton. I request safe passage to see Laird Robasdan and a bed in his infirmary for a wounded lass. Hurry! Her condition is grave!”
Another man, a soldier, clad in the Laird Robasdan’s green and black colors, over leather armor, and a raised sword came to the window. He quickly sheathed it and then called down, “Norton will be with ye, Young Lenichton. He will lead ye to Me Laird’s home.”
Nodding, Leith shifted the lass on his lap but could not stop himself from rubbing his knuckles over her cheek. Her skin was so soft. Again, the question of what would make a gentle-born woman like her be found all the way in the Scottish woods? Was she daughter of a rich man who had been taken captive? Had she escaped from some blackguards? Was that the case?
Before he could look up, a man dressed similarly to the one before was on a horse beside him. “Yer Norton, aye?”
The soldier nodded as his eyes were on the lass, “Aye, Young Lenichton, I can see her condition truly is grave. Please follow me.”
Norton took him through
