Page 82 of Highlander’s Captive

He covered her hand with his and squeezed it. It was warm and dry and so familiar. Even just the simple touch sent a wave of comfort and joy through her.

She was a traitor. Her father had been right—she was a coward. She was able to find and rescue people. She was able to search for others in confined spaces without letting a panic attack get to her.

But this. Telling Craig the truth. Hurting him.

She just couldn’t.

And she could feel the disaster at her fingertips.

When the breakfast was done and the great hall cleaned, she hurried to the eastern tower. Like Craig had said, the guards let her pass.

She would just take a peek. She wouldn’t go yet. She just needed to figure out if the stone worked at all. Maybe it didn’t. Then the problem would be solved. She’d stay with Craig. The idea sent a thrill of relief and joy through her, but she pushed it aside.

On shaky legs, she took a torch, opened the door, and descended the stairs.

From outside, she heard shouts and cries. Feet pounded across the courtyard. Weird. Maybe, Craig was starting a new military training routine. Even better cover for her. She opened the door to the underground storeroom. There was another source of light already there, in the furthest corner of the room. Amy walked in.

“Hamish?”

The tall, broad-shouldered figure in the warrior’s coat and chainmail straightened from a crouched position.

“Lass,” he said, his voice disturbingly quiet. “Ye shouldna be here.”

“What are you doing?”

“Doesna matter. Ye need to leave.”

“Why? Craig told the guards to let me pass.”

“Aye, but it isna safe for ye here.”

“I just came to see how I can activate the—”

It occurred to her that Hamish had his cloak on. And he had a guilty look on his face. No, silly. She was just reading too much into this.

She frowned. It was strange that after all this time, with so many obstacles to get to the stone, now that it was finally free, the last thing Amy wanted to do, was to go.

She approached the stone, propped her torch against the wall and sank to her knees before the portal.

“What are ye doing, lass?” Hamish said, alarm in his voice.

But she ignored him. She carefully traced the cold, wet print with her finger. When she’d done that last time, she’d been thinking of Craig. Of loneliness. Of how she understood what wounds were.

The stone remained immobile and dead.

She put her hand into the handprint, completely.

Nothing.

“Lass?” Hamish said, his tone careful, as if he spoke to a wildcat.

But she couldn’t pay attention to him now. She needed to figure out how to make this work.

What if she needed to think of someone dear to her? What if she thought of Jenny. Of her father. Yes, she hadn’t talked to him for years, but he still was her father. She still loved him.

Jenny. Poor abandoned Jenny. She’d probably called the police over a month ago. Probably given up hope of ever seeing her again by now.

Suddenly the river glowed blue, and the road golden-brown.