Page 44 of The Highlander’s Unexpected Wife

Chapter Twelve

Alison stumbled as the brothel’s madame propelled her down the hall.

“Herold is one of my best customers,” Sarah said. “So ye will be nice to him.”

“There has been a terrible mistake,” Alison insisted.

Sarah pushed her up the stairs. Alison stumbled and caught herself.

They reached the second floor, and Alison spun to face her. “You must see that I am not like—”

Sarah’s expression darkened. “Not like me?” She raked her eyes down Alison’s dress.

Alison’s heart pounded. “I did not mean—”

Sarah seized her arm and yanked her close to her face. “You will do as I say.”

Alison tried to twist free, but the larger woman dragged her, stumbling, two doors down the hallway. Sarah shoved her inside a small room, scowled, and advanced two steps toward her. Alison fell back a pace, but the woman grabbed her arm and yanked the cloak from her shoulders.

Alison cried out and lunged for her, but she darted from the room, slamming the door behind her. Alison grabbed the knob and twisted as the lock clicked into place. Alison yanked at the door, but to no avail.

She pounded with her palms. “Release me!”

“Quiet,” Sarah hissed. “Or I will tell Herald he can take your maidenhead, my business deal be damned."

Alison backed up several paces, chest heaving. She whirled and scanned the room. A table with a wash basin sat alongside— Her stomach turned at sight of the sagging bed against the left wall, then she nearly cried at sight of the window located on the opposite wall.

She rushed to the window and yanked back the dingy lace curtains. The second-floor room overlooked a walled garden ten feet below. Alison flipped the latch and shoved open the window. Cool air washed over her burning face as she leaned over the sill. A ledge barely wide enough for a pigeon led to a small balcony to the right of the window.

A key turned in the lock. Alison jerked back inside the room and whirled. A short, thick, bearded man entered and closed the door. He started forward as he shrugged from his coat. He tossed the coat across the footboard.

Alison scooted away from him and flattened her back against the wall. “I do not belong here. I was kidnapped.”

He gave a nasty laugh and unbuckled his belt as he neared her.

“I will scream.”

“Scream all ye like.”

He was close enough now that she could smell the whisky on his breath. Her stomach churned. Herold gripped her wrist. Alison opened her mouth to scream. He swung the back of his free hand against her cheek. Pain ricocheted through her head as her teeth cut her lip. She cried out and twisted in an effort to break free.

He tossed her onto the bed. Alison bounced twice, then rolled onto her knees and scrambled to the far side of the mattress. One foot hit the floor before he seized her from behind and shoved her against the headboard.

He mashed his mouth against her neck. She struggled against his weight, trying to lift her knee into his groin, but her dress tangled in her legs. Alison wildly scanned the room for a weapon and spotted the water basin on the table beside the bed. She grabbed the basin and crashed it against the side of his head. Herold crumpled onto the mattress.

Blood oozed from a deep gash just above his temple. A deep scratch along his jaw trickled blood into his beard. She edged along the headboard to the end of the mattress and scrambled onto the floor. She backed up. Herold remained motionless. God help her, had she killed him?

She whirled, rushed to the window, and leaned out. Could she balance on the ledge leading to the balcony? Footsteps sounded outside the door. Alison faced the room and stared at the door until the footsteps passed. Her heart thundered. She had to get out. But how? She could tie the bedsheets to—to what? The only furniture were the table and bed. She spotted Herold’s coat on the footboard and lunged for it.

She shoved hear arms into the sleeves, then crept to the door. Heart thundering, Alison eased the door open. Sarah stood three feet away talking with a very large man. Two other women wearing corsets and stockings leaned against the banister near the stairs. Alison closed the door. Tears pressed the backs of her eyes. If only Lord Weston would find her.

Alison hurried to the window and studied the ground below. She glanced back at the bed. Herold lay unmoving. Her stomach turned, but she yanked her skirt thigh high, swung one leg over the sill, then the other until she sat on the sill. The wood bit into her bottom, but she inched her legs farther out the window, then twisted and grasped the window sill. Slowly, she turned until her stomach pressed the sill and her legs dangled over the edge.

With care, she lowered herself over the side. By the time her whole body dangled from the window, her arms ached with the strain. Alison craned her neck to see how far the ground lay beneath her feet. The distance couldn’t be more than five feet. Her arms shook, but she hung there, knowing she had to let go.

A thump sounded above her. She began to tremble. Had Herold woken? Her fingers burned. Alison let go. She was weightless for an instant, then she hit the ground—hard. Her knees buckled, she tumbled onto her backside, and rolled onto her back. She stared at the open window for the length of a single breath before she scrambled to her feet and stumbled away.

The halfmoon cast enough light that she could see no rear or side gate in the stone wall that surrounded the yard, then she realized there were houses on each side of the brothel. Of course, there would be no gate leading into a neighbor’s gardens. But there had to be a servants’ or delivery entrance. She spotted the top of a curved gate on the rear wall.

Alison dodged a dilapidated flower bed and raced to the gate, but her heart fell when she grasped the latch and found it padlocked. She wanted to scream. This couldn’t be. Panic weakened her knees. How would she escape? She turned and looked up at the window from which she’d escaped, then back at the yard—and caught sight of a bench to the far right of a rear door.

She hurried to the bench and dragged it to the rear wall. Alison climbed onto the seat, then stepped onto the bench back as she grabbed the top of the wall. With a leap, she managed to pull her stomach over the top of the wall. She held on for dear life as she scanned the deserted lane. She prayed no one would look out a window or pass by as she struggled to swing her right foot to the top of the wall while pivoting on her belly. She succeeded—then began to fall. The stone cut into her fingers as she lost her grip.

Her feet hit the ground first and she fell against the wall then crashed to the ground on her side. Her arm ached, but she was free! Alison yanked up her skirts and began to rise. A large hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her hard against a muscled body.