He held them out to her. “Here, keep yer feet warm,” he said.
She looked up at him, surprised. After a moment she set the tea down and took them. Unravelling them, she quirked a smile and said, “Thank ye,” again. She was polite when she wasn’t trying to kill him or beat him up, he reflected.
He pointed to her bag in the corner. “Your things are there. I’m going to have breakfast.” He mimed eating and pointed to the bowl on the tray. “If ye want?”
She nodded her comprehension. He grabbed the chamber pot and left her, locking the door again behind him.
Chapter Seven
Left alone in the room, Aihan listened to his receding footsteps and then sprang up from the chair, setting the tea aside, and opened the cupboard against the wall. She had been about to search it when he came back.
Her throat was raw, and her chest ached, but she felt a great deal better than she had last night, and she had hours at the most to escape and make her way back to theShaolinbefore it sailed—if it hadn’t already. But she wouldn’t think of that.
Her boots were in the cupboard; she pounced on them and, discarding the socks he’d given her, put them on. Finding her cloak also hanging in the cupboard, she seized that too and turned her attention back to the window, grabbing the poker from the fireplace. She had already ascertained that he had nailed the window shut with a board. Her plan was to use the poker to prize the board up and escape—again—through the window. With any luck, she would get far enough away that he wouldn’t catch her. And her body wouldn’t betray her this time, she hoped.
With a fervent prayer to the ancestors and the Great Spirit for good measure, she applied the poker to the board and worked on levering it off. It took longer than she had hoped, but she finallygot it free with one last heave and screech of the nails pulling free of the wood.
Discarding it and wheezing a bit with the effort, she gathered up her satchel, flung her cloak round her shoulders, and approached the window with the sheet. Mac wasn’t back yet, so she still had time. Pushing the window on the right-hand side wide, she tied the sheet to the central bar of the window, got a leg over the ledge, slid through the narrow opening and, twisting so that she could lower herself down on her arms, she clung to the sill a moment, legs dangling, then transferred her weight to the sheet, lowering herself hand over hand, until she got to the end, and then dropped. She rolled easily with the landing and rose to her feet in one movement, then took off across the grass, heading for the trees. She needed cover as soon as possible. She restrained herself from running flat out—her lungs weren’t up to that, and she didn’t want to pass out like before.
The morning was fine enough, if a bit misty and cool, but the clouds were high and scattered, with patches of blue between, and the sun shone, dispersing the mist and warming the air. It was not likely to rain imminently.
She made it to the trees and paused, grasping the rough-barked trunk of one to hold herself upright while she fought for breath. She coughed a bit, but it wasn’t as bad as before. When she had recovered sufficiently, she struck out through the trees in the direction—she hoped—of the water. She was fairly certain this bit of forest skirted the edge of the village, and from there, she could easily find the beach and one of the rowboats she had spotted on her first foray.
Col joined his sons, Fergus, and Willy for breakfast in the dining room, trailed by the dogs who had come in from their morning frolic.
Rory threw him a look of contempt as he pulled out his chair and sat down, but the lad didn’t say anything, and he chose to ignore the look and its silent message. He’d deal with Rory later. He helped himself to the parritch, adding cream, sugar and a sprinkle of salt to the bowl as well as a handful of dried blaeberries and dug in.
But Rory, it seemed, couldn’t keep it in. “Left yer whore alone, have ye?”
Col stopped with the spoon halfway to his mouth. He put it back down carefully and stood up. Leaning on his fists, he said, “Ye think I’d dishonour yer mother so?”
Rory scrambled to his feet and, red as a firestorm, pushed his face into Col’s. “She’s in yer bed! What else d’ye call it!”
“The lass is ill, Rory. If ye think I’d take advantage of that, ye do not know me. And ye’ve nae sense of honour yerself to even consider it! Yer precious reivers might behave that way, but nae decent man would! If that’s what ye grandfather’s taught ye, I’m heartsick!”
With that, he sat down and resumed his breakfast, although Rory’s accusation had destroyed his appetite.
Rory huffed a bit and then sat down, red now from embarrassment rather than anger by the shamefaced expression he wore.Good!The notion that his father had filled the lads’ heads with such foul stuff made him truly sick to his stomach. He pushed the parritch away and rose, leaving the room without a word. He was conscious, though, of the boys’ eyes on him. Callum had sat dumbstruck through his exchange with Rory, his mouth agape.
The dogs followed him out to the hall. He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs; he should go and check on the lass. Keeping her under lock and key didn’t sit well with him. He climbed the stairs, the dogs’ nails clacking on the wood behind him. He unlocked his bedroom door and pushed it open, andwas confronted by the sight of the open window, the curtains blowing in the breeze, and the plank of wood he’d used to nail it shut discarded on the bed with the poker. And of course, no sign of Aihan.
With a curse, he ran to the window, but there was no sign of her this time. She had managed to flee without passing out, at least in seeing distance from the window. He slammed his fist on the window ledge in frustration.Does the lass truly have a death wish?
He clattered downstairs and out to the stable, leaving the dogs in the house. They would be less help than might be thought in running the lass to earth. Gussie was a sighthound, trained to course deer by sight, bring them down and kill them. He didn’t want her spotting the lass and giving chase.
Saddling his horse, he headed out of the stable into the park and did a quick reconnoitre, looking for a fallen body. He was by no means sure she would make it very far without collapsing. Failing to find her, which was a mixed blessing, he set off to the village, for where else would she go? He headed for the Speckled Hen; if the lass had been seen in the village, Angus would know. And she was sufficiently unique in appearance to stick out like a sore thumb.
Giving his horse to a loitering lad to mind, he entered the pub and found Angus behind the bar.
“Yo Angus, any sighting of the Chinese lassie this morning?”
“Aye, she was headed towards the beach by all accounts.”
“Thank ye.” Col flipped him a coin, which the man caught deftly, went back to his horse, where he rewarded the lad with a coin likewise, and made for the beach.
The tide was halfway out, exposing a fair bit of wet, hard-packed sand, seaweed and pebbles, and the waves dumped themselves on the beach with hypnotic regularity, white-flecked, grey-green depths in the intermittent sunlight that emerged andhid behind the clouds overhead. The breeze had the sharpening edge of autumn; summer’s heat was but a memory now. A couple of gulls screeched overhead.
He looked up and down the beach, not seeing anyone immediately. Then he spotted a figure in a wind-rippled cloak, sitting on the sand. The bowed head and shoulders spoke of defeat, and his heart quickened.Has she collapsed again?
