“Do ye want a fire, Miss?” Jamie asked her. For a moment, she thought about what a shame it was going to be to kill him. He was handsome, in a boyish, angelic sort of way. He seemed to be examining her as closely as she examined him.
“Nae, ’tis warm enough,” she replied.
He raised his eyes to hers for the space of five breaths and then, “Did ye know he was watchin’ ye? Was it ye who reported him to yer father?”
“Nae, I didna know.”
“Then—” he looked at his shoes and wrung his hands together in front of him, appearing suddenly uncomfortable. “How do ye know him? ’Tis clear ye have seen or even met him before. He has admitted to how he knew ye when ye rode into the glen with Ewen, but I dinna understand how ye know him.”
Elspeth stared at him and blinked. He looked innocent, but he was clever. She had nothing to hide, save for her shame that she had helped him in her father’s dungeon, only to have his kin kill her family.
Ewen hadn’t told the others that he’d known she was there that fateful night, hiding in the shadows after bandaging their leader up. She decided not to tell them either. “Ewen told me of him while he brought me here. He described him well.”
At this, Jamie smiled, but something about it was the smallest bit askew, as if he saw right through her.
She was tempted to hug herself against the cold.
“Aye, Ewen does enjoy speakin’ of Logan.”
She nodded then turned away. A moment later she heard his footsteps as he left the room.
She closed her eyes against the sun beaming in through the two deep set, narrow windows in the room. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be under such light and warmth. She did. It was the first time in six years that she let herself remember her home, her life before that terrible day.
She had been Miss Woodburn then. Young Miss Woodburn, the baron’s pride and joy despite all the worry she caused him by constantly running off to help someone in the village. It wasn’t her fault that so many suffered this illness or that, a skinned knee, a broken arm, birth. The list went on. Her father had told her that her compassionate heart would get her into trouble.
He was correct. It got him and her family killed. She swiped a tear from her cheek.
Cameron had been beaten almost to death for watching her unseen. Had he had dangerous intentions? It didn’t matter. Her father’s men had caught him.
But now, she was in his hands. Was she safe? Would she be safe tonight?
She reached into the pockets sewn into her skirts. There were four of them, and they each contained a blend of poison herbs and roots. She had to stay here long enough to have them trust her to let her prepare their supper. A little pinch of the blend over a fortnight was all it took to kill them.
She looked up at one of the windows. What was out there? Another view of a possible escape route? She left the bed and dragged a chair beneath the window and climbed upon it.
She squinted out at the sun to the west, just visible beside the much closer, much larger Ben Nevis that, if the house had been built just a few inches to the left, would have blocked the sun.
As it was, the view was glorious, open and free. She almost wished she could live here after they were all dead.
The mountain pierced the clouds as they billowed across the vast, blue skies, like a colossal sword tearing through the fog that moved to engulf it.
Her eyes sparkled at the view, and then her skin prickled as she lowered her gaze to the glens below and saw him.
Logan of Lochaber sped across the glen on a steed as black as her opinion of him. What was he doing out there? She lifted herself a little more so she could see him before he rode out of her view.
She looked directly down. It wasn’t too far. She could climb down or just jump. She’d done it before at home.
But she was much younger then.
Her gaze followed him around the glen; took in the struggle he had to move his left arm.
She was correct then. He’d lost the use of his arm. It was likely due to the wound that had kept his blood flowing out of him—the wound she had dressed.
For an instant, while she remembered him hanging from chains in her father’s dungeon, she felt sad for him.
He rode out of her view again.
One of the windows was wide enough to escape through. She climbed out onto the wide ledge and steadied herself, including her breath, then found her footing on the stone wall and started the slow descent down. She’d done it before, climbed out her bedroom window at Dunley to go help in the village. A longer descent and more harrowing when the sun went down.
