Page 11 of Savage Kilted Highlander

“Feel free. But it’ll be very difficult with yer hands till tied, and ’tis dark and cold out there, nae tae mention the rain or all the hungry beasties lurkin’ in the forest.”

He said the last part with such relish, it infuriated Constance, but it also frightened her. She hated to admit that he was right. It was truly a foul night, and she was afraid of the wild animals out there. To try to escape now would be worse than foolhardy, it would be downright dangerous. Furthermore, irksome though it was, she knew that if she did not want to die of cold during the night, she had to fetch the firewood.

“I shall need my boots,” she declared. “These shoes are hardly suitable for such work.”

“Well, ye ken where they are. Ye can change yer own shoes, eh? Or d’ye expect me tae dae it fer ye, me lady?”

With an exasperated huff, she flounced over to her saddle bags and extracted her riding boots, exchanging them for the wet shoes. It was a relief, but she could still hardly feel her feet at all. Without looking at him, she went back out into the chilly night. For a few moments, she stood in the sheltering lee of the cave, shivering as she looked out into the rainy darkness of the surrounding forest.

It was utterly alien to her and even just imagining what could be out there had her heart racing with fear. However, just then, Lucy whickered softly to her right. The mare’s familiar, gentle greeting and the presence of the horses nearby was suddenly deeply comforting. Constance went over to them and petted them both for a little while, whispering endearments. Their good-natured calmness and quiet strength allowed her to get her fear under control somewhat.

She stroked Lucy’s velvety nose and whispered into the mare’s ear, “Maybe I cannot escape tonight, but that does not mean I am giving up. Sooner or later, my chance will come.” Lucy nodded her head as if in agreement. Constance patted both horses goodnight and sighed as she left them, bitterly regretting having stopped in the forest to change instead of going straight to see her father. She would not have been in that mess if she had… but it was too late. She was stuck with that monstrous villain until her father paid the ransom he kept on about.

Steeling herself for the unaccustomed work ahead, she pulled up the hood of her cloak for protection against the worst of the rain and darted out into bushes. She bent down and groveled beneath them as directed, thankful to discover that the ground them was fairly dry still. She set to gathering small twigs and pieces of wood in her hands.

It was not easy in the semi-darkness, with her wrists bound, especially when her gown kept catching on the twigs and she had to pull it free. But she persevered. For some strange reason she did not understand, she wanted to prove she was not as useless as he made out. But whether it was to herself or to him, she was unsure.

Soon, there was too much wood for her to carry in her hands. Reluctantly, for lack of anything else, she finally gave in and gathered up her skirts to make it easier to carry it. But with only small twigs to be had, the collection grew very slowly. Every few minutes she checked, but it never seemed enough, although she had no clue exactly how much that was.

As she toiled, she could not help thinking that back at Ashbourne Manor, she had taken it for granted that servants rose at dawn to make the fires. If she wanted the room to be warmer, she summoned a servant to put more logs on the fire. She needed only to ring a bell, and such things happened like magic. For the first time in her life, she questioned the arrangement. It was uncomfortable to admit it in the circumstances, but it occurred to her that there was some truth to the accusations he had levelled at her about being spoiled.

She had only ever been told she was spoilt by one other person in her life, Lord Ashbourne in one of his cold rages. She had not liked it then, and she did not like it now. So, taking advantage of a moment when the moon shone clearly through the clouds, she screwed up her courage, crept out from behind the bushes, and made a dash under the trees, hoping to find larger pieces of dry wood. In the washed-out light, she began searching and soon came across parts of fallen branches.

Afraid of spiders and other creepy crawlies, she grimaced as she carefully lifted the pieces and shook them vigorously to dislodge anything that might be lurking within them. “Ew! Disgusting!” she moaned to herself, hating the way the rough bark chafed her hands and soiled them. But she was determined not to return to the cave without proving she was capable of fulfilling the task.

At least I can wash me hands, but my gown is going to be ruined!

She only had two other gowns with her. Nevertheless, it was with a small sense of achievement that she added the fresh wood to the rest of the collection. Satisfied she had gathered enough, she had just turned to go back when suddenly, out of nowhere, a shrill, unearthly scream ripped through the night air close by her head. Constance screamed and ducked in terror, almost jumping out of her skin and nearly dropping the load she had gathered.