Page 35 of Highlander’s Captive

Craig sat down and looked at her. “Do ye love the Earl of Ross?” he asked.

She coughed into her cup. “What?”

“I dinna ken. Mayhap ye love him already.”

“Excuse me, but how is it any of your business? How would you like it if I asked you the same question—do you love a woman who isn’t me?”

Craig leaned back and watched her carefully. She was all thorns, but judging by the vulnerability he’d seen in her eyes, it was only on the outside.

“I have nae problem answering that question for ye, Amy,” he said. “I never loved a woman. Nae yet.”

She softened. “Why not? No one good enough for the honorable Craig Cambel? Everyone may betray and backstab?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Aye. They may. I didna meet one I can trust my life and soul with.”

She nodded, thoughtful, as though remembering something. “And you may never meet one. Yes, if you don’t open up more and trust people, that may never happen for you.”

He chuckled. “This sounds like a prophecy. Are ye a seeress?”

“No. But I know things.”

“How mysterious. Tell me, what are ye good at? What do ye enjoy doing? Cooking? Embroidery? Sewing?”

She burst out laughing, the sound sweet and beautiful. “Me? Embroidery? No, my friend. I don’t care about that at all. I’m good at searching for and finding people. I can apply first aid, help with choking, stitch wounds, bandage and fix broken arms and legs—that sort of thing. You didn’t marry a wallflower, I’m afraid. You should have asked before—now it’s too late.”

His jaw hung open, and he closed it. She took a sip, smiling into the cup. He had never even heard of a woman being able to find lost people. But besides that, she sounded like she was a healer. Which was good news, given that he didn’t have one in the castle.

But searching and rescuing?

“So ye are a witch? How do ye find lost people?”

“No, nothing like that. Just tracking. Logic. Common sense. Then I know rock climbing and swimming and such. But I also need equipment…”

His eyes widened as she said the last word.

“I mean, certain tools. Rare tools. I don’t think you have them here.”

“Equipment?” The word was strange, like something from a foreign language.

He respected her for her skills more and more. She certainly wasn’t just a chief’s daughter. She was more. So much more.

“How did ye learn all that?” he asked.

She had just opened her mouth when a young man ran into the hall with something in his hand and strode directly to Craig. It was Killian, one of the younger boys from the army, who had stayed behind. He was good with his bow, Craig remembered. Tonight was the boy’s watch.

He had a bird in his hand, a pigeon, with an arrow sticking from its chest.

“Lord,” Killian said. “Forgive me, but I need a word.”

Craig stood up and followed the boy to a corner where no one could hear them.

“’Tis nae pigeon from our birdhouse,” Killian said. “I ken because we only have a dozen, and I ken every one of them. I feed them every day. This one is new. It has these white flecks on the breast, see? None of ours has them. It was brought here recently. Someone sent it from the southern tower. Since ’tis nae our pigeon, ’tis someone else’s, trained to fly to another house. And ye dinna receive pigeons from the Cambel house or I’d have kent. Aye?”

“Aye.” Craig removed the leather pouch wrapped around the bird’s leg. Inside there was a paper, and he unfolded it. A message was written in uneven letters, as though a child had scrawled them, or someone who didn’t have much practice in writing.

“Secret passage nae found,” the message said. “The lord, therefore, alive. He marrit Amy. Send more pigeons. More time needed.”

A chill ran through Craig.