Page 12 of Highlander’s Captive

Amy walked to the window, and her jaw dropped to the ground. The castle was surrounded by water—a moat—something that hadn’t even existed when she was there with Jenny and the class. On the other side of the moat was a small village with thatched-roof houses…

And an army—an actual medieval army—with a catapult, archers, tents, horses, carts, and campfires around the village.

This could not be happening. When they had driven here in the bus, there had been a few scattered houses here and there, and instead of the moat, meadows, hills, trees, and boulders.

In her jeans, hiking shoes, and puffer jacket, she felt strangely out of place. It was like she was in another time… But that wasn’t possible, she reminded herself stubbornly.

Quick footsteps hurried upstairs, and Amy froze momentarily. Then she rushed to the nearest bed to hide, but she had no time. The door opened, and she whirled around, holding her flashlight like a weapon. A tall warrior—sword, ax, and all—stepped inside.

Astonishment flashed through his handsome features.

And then it turned to threat.

Chapter 3

Craig stared at the woman.

He had opened the door because someone was coming from downstairs, and he needed to hide.

When he’d come through the tunnel that morning, he’d carefully checked the tower and the courtyard. Then he’d gone back to Bruce, and together they’d made a plan.

A plan that would open Inverlochy Castle to Bruce and bring the Comyns to their knees.

A plan that did not involve an enemy lass seeing him and alerting the whole castle to his presence.

She held a small rounded object in her hands, something like a bottle, in a protective manner. She was a pretty one, with her hair like copper in the sun, her eyes as blue as the sea. She was dressed like a man, in dark breeches that shamelessly hugged her long, sculpted legs, and some sort of a padded, short coat.

Very strange—but who knew how the Comyns allowed their women to dress?

One thing was clear.

He needed to silence her before she screamed—which, based on her eyes as round as moons and her open mouth, she was about to do.

Craig raced to her. She backed away, but he caught her, clasping her mouth with one hand and holding her wrists behind her back with the other. The strange object fell and rolled across the floor. Her scent reached him—flowers and fresh wind, the lushness of a summer forest. Her skin and lips were soft under his fingers, and surprisingly, a wave of tingles rushed through him.

She struggled, trying to break away, and he whispered into her ear: “Dinna make a sound, lass. I wilna hurt ye. But I must keep ye from screaming yer throat out and alarming the whole castle. Aye?”

In response, she lifted one foot and stomped on his boot with a strength he wouldn’t have imagined she had.

He didn’t make a sound, although pain burst through his leg and almost made him release her.

“Ye bloody minx,” he whispered. “I said I wilna hurt ye.”

He needed to tie her up so that she wouldn’t run out and alert the Comyns. He quickly released her mouth and she screamed. With his free hand, he reached down with one hand to someone’s storage chest and found a clean cloth, then gagged her with it. He grabbed a belt, tied her hands behind her back, then used another to tie her to the bed. He also bound her legs—not an easy task because she kicked and wriggled. He felt sorry to do this to her—the thought of doing anything against a woman’s will sent a wave of repulsion through him, reminding him of Marjorie.

But it needed to be done, and he did it as gently as he could.

When he was finished, she sat on the floor, her hands tied to the leg of the bed. Her face was red—no doubt she was feeling angry, helpless. She panted and moaned through the gag.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “But if I’m successful, it’ll all be over soon, and ye can leave the castle with yer family. King Robert the Bruce wilna let women be harmed—and nor will I.”

She frowned, blinking at him, looking confused. Throwing one last glance at her to make sure she wouldn’t suffocate or escape, he left the room. The man downstairs must be gone by now. Craig needed to hurry.

He stopped at the staircase to make sure no one was coming from the upper floor or the lower. Everything was quiet, so he hurried down the stairs.

Earlier, in the village, he’d made sure to remove any signs he might be the enemy. He’d left the shield with the Cambel heraldic sigil, his helmet, and had even exchanged his sword for a simple one.

He carefully stepped into the courtyard. The northeastern tower he’d just left was used for food storage and sleeping chambers for the warriors. The two small southern towers were probably for the same purposes. The Comyn Tower, the biggest one on the northwest, was the donjon, or the keep of the castle. In addition to more weapon and food storage, it housed the lord’s chambers: his bedchamber and his private reception room where the family would gather. It was smart to put the secret tunnel under a tower that attracted less attention.