Highland Lover - Hannah Howell The Murrays

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announce her success, she found herself yanked off Gregor’s broad shoulders. Left a little breathless by that abrupt dismount, she could barely utter a squeak of surprise as he enfolded her in his strong arms for a vigorous hug. She was still reeling from the heady effects of that embrace when he set her on her feet and moved away. A moment later she felt blankets being draped around her shoulders. Alana told herself that the fact that Gregor seemed completely unaffected by that embrace should not feel like such an insult.

      “Now, lass,” said Gregor, “I ken it willnae be easy to do what ye must in the dark. Ye must be verra careful whilst ye move about up there.”

      “I ken it. ’Twould be far too easy to get turned about and fall back down here.”

      “Aye, and since I cannae see, I cannae be sure I could catch ye.”

      “Catch me, is it? Aye, I think that does sound a wee bit better than let ye fall on me.”

      Gregor laughed softly and reached out, groping around a little until he touched her on the arm. “Up ye go, then.”

      As carefully as she could, Alana climbed up him until she stood upon his shoulders again. The faint knot of fear she felt over being in such a high and precarious position was a lot easier to ignore this time. The promise of freedom proved a very good cure for that uneasiness.

      Cautiously raising her arms, she moved them around until she felt the edge of the opening. Alana started to pull herself up. Just as she decided she would need to ask Gregor to lift her up higher, he slowly did so. It took but a moment to pull herself up and out of the pit. She sprawled facedown on the cool stone floor, struggling to calm herself, excitement and jubilation making her almost light-headed. Alana was tempted to do a little dance, but suspected she would probably dance right over the opening to the oubliette and fall down on a waiting Gregor.

      Her delight faded as she became all too aware of the darkness surrounding her. Somehow she was going to have to grope her way around until she found something to tie the blankets to. Then she would have to cautiously find her way back to the hole and lower the rope of blankets down to Gregor without falling in. This was not going to be easy, she thought as she began to slowly inch her way along the floor.

      Gregor paced, stopped and stared up toward the opening of their prison, and then paced some more. He could hear just a few soft sounds indicating Alana’s careful movements. There was no outcry, no hint that some Gowan had stumbled upon her, and that was good. What was not good was the waiting. He was all too aware of how difficult Alana found it to move about in the dark.

      Recalling her ineptitude, he quickly placed himself beneath the opening and forced himself to stay there. It was indeed very possible that Alana could get confused in the dark and end up stumbling back into the hole. There could be a few more bruises to collect before they got free.

      He cursed. Freedom was still a long way away. Once out of their prison, they would have to get out of the keep. Gregor had not been able to study the keep and its grounds as he was brought in, and Alana had seen only a little. That meant they were going to have to depend far too much on luck in getting out. At the moment, standing in an oubliette he had been held captive in for over a week and nearly betrothed to a woman he no longer wished to marry, Gregor was not sure he ought to put much trust in his luck.

      And just why he was suddenly so reluctant to wed Mavis he did not know. He would like to believe his reluctance was due to too much time to think and a bachelor’s natural hesitation to marry, but he knew it was more than that. What he truly wanted was what his brother and cousin had—a true mating of heart, mind, and soul. Gregor had thought he had accepted the fact that he was not destined to find that, but it was clear he had not. Mavis was a good woman who would bring him land and coin, but she was not his true mate.

      Scowling up at the opening to his prison, Gregor had the feeling that his true mate was up there crawling around in the dark and softly cursing. Every instinct he had told him she was not the very young girl she pretended to be. She was too mature in her thoughts and speech. Although careful to shield all clues to exactly who they were, they had exchanged stories about their lives, and hers indicated that she had been around a lot more than twelve or thirteen years. Of course, if he was wrong, that could prove heartily embarrassing. A man did not like to think that his true mate was a child not much older than one of his own. He certainly did not want to discover he had been having some very licentious dreams about a child.

      “Gregor! Best ye stand back a bit.”

      That was not a child’s voice, he decided. “Why? I cannae be hurt by blankets.”

      “’Tisnae blankets I will be lowering down to ye. I found the bucket rope and ’tis a thick one. Oh, and I wasnae able to untie the knot holding the bucket onto the end.”

      Gregor quickly stepped back. A heartbeat later he heard the bucket lowered, swiftly. He put his hands up just in time to stop the swinging bucket from banging into his head. Alana was clever, good company, and had been the source of some very welcome heat in the night, but she was dangerous to a man’s health, he mused as he untied the bucket. She certainly gave him one thing he had never gotten from another woman—a lot of bruises.

      He tied their packs to the end of the rope. “Pull our supplies up, lass. After ye remove them, lower the rope back down and I will climb up it.”

      Wincing at the pain in her hands, Alana pulled up the rope. She struggled to untie the simple knot Gregor had made, her fingers no longer so nimble and a little slick with blood. After tossing the rope back down, Alana dragged their packs away from the hole and then searched for something to wrap her hands in, as well as for her stockings and boots. Properly cleaning and tending to her damaged hands would have to wait. Alana just prayed that they were not as badly tattered as they felt.

      She was just wrapping strips torn from her night-shift around her hands when she heard Gregor pull himself up out of the hole. When she heard him put the grate back over the hole, she almost told him that she doubted even the Gowans would be fooled by that for long, but hastily bit back the words. It was probably wise to cover the hole while they were stumbling around in the dark looking for a way out. It had been a danger that had loomed large in her mind as she had crawled around looking for something to tie the blanket rope to and as she had tried to find the hole again in order to lower down to Gregor the rope she had found.

      When Gregor did not immediately join her, Alana sat still and listened carefully. He was moving away from her and she was just about to speak out to him to let him know where she was when she heard him softly exclaim in delight. A familiar scratching noise echoed in the dark and, a moment later, she winced as a light flared. Blinking slowly as she struggled to adjust to the sudden presence of light, she watched Gregor set the torch in its holder and begin to search the room encircling the opening to the oubliette. Another soft exclamation escaped him as he found what were possibly his own sword and dagger, and then he turned to face her.

      Alana felt her breath catch in her throat. Despite the rough beard growth on his face, Gregor was a very handsome man, too handsome for any woman’s peace of mind. Although she had guessed that he was tall, lean, and strong, she had never imagined such perfection. A broad chest, trim waist, lean hips, and long legs made for the sort of manly figure that caused a lass’s heart to pound. Hers certainly was. As he moved slowly closer, she could see the smooth grace of his movements, the agile strength revealed in every step.

      There appeared to be no imperfections in his face, either. Long, shining black hair framed a face designed to make women foolish. From his broad forehead to his strong jaw, his was a face created with clean, expertly carved lines. His dark brows held the hint of a curve and were neither too thick nor too thin. His lashes were just long and thick enough to soften the stark manliness of his face. His mouth was well shaped, with lips just full enough to aid those lashes in adding a softness to what could have been a cold, harsh face, and to sorely tempt any woman with blood in her veins. As he stepped close enough for her to clearly see the color of his eyes, she had to declare them the crowning jewel in this vast array of dizzying perfection. His eyes were sized just right to be neither too small nor too large, and flanked his long, straight nose in exactly the right place. They were also a beautiful color—a

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