Chapter 3
"Good. Hold tight. There's a rope hangin' outside ye window. We'll be goin' down with it."
The warning was the only one Maia got before the man shifted his grip on her and stepped up onto the window ledge.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks on the leather of his jerkin, and a small, undignified sound escaped her throat as he swung them both out into the open air.
The world tilted violently.
Highland gods. Daenae let me die.
Maia's stomach dropped as they left the safety of solid stone behind. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face against the man's neck.
His pulse beat strong and steady beneath her cheek, impossibly calm, as if rappelling down a castle wall with a captive in his arms was something he did every day.
Perhaps it was.
The rope whispered against stone as they descended, and Maia could feel the flex and release of the man's muscles as he controlled their fall with practiced ease.
A shout rang out from above.
"The Miss! Someone's been in the miss's chambers."
Maia's head snapped up toward her window above. A guard stood silhouetted in the opening, torch held high, staring down at the rope still dangling from the twisted metal stumps of her former prison bars.
"Alarm! Raise the alarm! Miss Maia's been taken!"
The words seemed to hang in the air for a suspended moment. Then chaos erupted.
Bells began to clang from the watchtowers, their harsh brass voices shattering the night's peace.
More shouts rose from different parts of the castle—guards calling to each other, feet pounding on stone, the clatter of weapons being hastily grabbed.
Torches blazed to life along the battlements like angry stars, casting writhing shadows across the courtyard.
Please. I daenae want to go back.
Wind caught in her loose hair, whipping it around her face and shoulders. The thin fabric of her shift billowed out, and she was suddenly, mortifyingly aware that she was barely dressed and clinging to a stranger in the middle of the night.
But that mortification was nothing compared to the dizzying rush of movement, the sensation of empty air all around them. Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst from her chest.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
They hit the ground with a solid thud that jarred through Maia's bones. The man's arms tightened around her, absorbing most of the impact, and for a moment they stood frozen—him steadying them both, her still clinging to him like a limpet to a rock.
"There now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in her ear. "That wasnae so bad, was it?"
Maia couldn't answer. Couldn't speak at all, because the moment her feet touched the ground—the moment she felt cool grass beneath her bare soles instead of cold stone—everything else ceased to matter.
Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her face from the man's shoulder and looked around. She was outside.
The realization hit her like a sudden jolt from a long, horrific dream. The night was alive in ways she'd forgotten existed. Above her, stars scattered across the sky like diamonds spilled on black velvet, more than she'd ever been able to see through her barred window.
The moon hung full and silver, painting everything in shades of pewter and shadow.
Trees rustled in the distance, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind.
The air tasted of heather and pine and earth, rich, complex flavors that made the stale air of her chambers seem like a pale imitation of life itself.
And the space. God, the space. No walls pressing close, no ceiling hanging low overhead. Just endless sky and open ground and freedom stretching out in every direction.
Maia's eyes burned with tears she fought hard to push back.
"Easy," the man said, and she realized she was trembling in his arms. His grip on her loosened slightly, as if preparing to set her on her feet, but he didn't release her entirely. "Daenae go faintin' on me now. We're nae out of danger yet. Time to go."
The man's voice was still calm, but Maia now heard the edge of urgency beneath it. He shifted her in his arms, adjusting his grip, and started moving—not running yet, but walking with long, purposeful strides that ate up the ground quickly.
Maia's hands tightened on his shoulders again as she was jostled against his chest.
I should be terrified right now. Should be screamin' for help, fightin' to get free, doing anythin' to alert the guards to our exact position.
But I am nae.
God help me, I am nae afraid at all.
Oh, there was fear, certainly—a bright thread of it winding through her chest, making her breath come quick and shallow. But it wasn't fear of this man who'd stolen her away. It wasn't fear of what he might do to her, or where he might take her.
It was fear that the guards would catch them. Fear that she'd be dragged back to that tower room, locked away even more securely than before. Fear that this taste of freedom—this brief, glorious taste—would be snatched away before she could truly savor it.
This might be me only chance, me only chance to escape.
The man had taken her to use as leverage against her uncle, true. But Callen Ferguson didn't care about her; he'd made that abundantly clear over six long years.
When this stranger realized his captive was worthless as a bargaining chip, when he understood that taking her had accomplished nothing...
Maybe, just maybe, he'd let her go.
And when he did, she'd run to one of the neighboring clans, throw herself on their mercy, beg for sanctuary.
Or perhaps flee to a convent and become a nun.
Or she'd disappear into a village somewhere, find work as a seamstress or a scullery maid, live a simple life far from nobility and politics and uncles who saw her as nothing more than an obstacle to power.
It was a mad plan. A desperate plan, probably doomed to fail.
But it was more hope than she'd had in years.
"There! By the east wall!"
The shout came from somewhere to their left. Maia twisted in the man's arms to see a cluster of guards pouring out of a side door, torches held high, swords drawn. They spotted her and her captor almost immediately.
"Stop! Stop in the name of Laird MacMahon!"
The man carrying her didn't even slow down.
If anything, his stride lengthened, his arms tightening around her as he broke into a run.
Maia bounced against his chest, her shift riding up dangerously on her thighs, but she barely noticed.
She was too focused on the guards behind them, on the sound of pursuing footsteps growing louder.
"Release the Miss!" Another voice, this one she recognized, Hamish, one of the guards who'd escorted her to her chambers just hours ago. "Release her and ye might live through this night!"
A dark chuckle rumbled through the man's chest, vibrating against Maia's side. "They always say that too," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
He vaulted over a low stone wall without breaking stride, landing on the other side with a grace that shouldn't have been possible while carrying her weight. Maia gasped, clinging tighter, her heart in her throat as the ground blurred beneath them.
They were crossing the outer courtyard now, heading toward the stables. Maia could smell hay and horse and leather, could hear animals stirring restlessly as the alarm bells continued their frantic song.
Somewhere behind them, more guards joined the chase. She could hear them calling to each other, coordinating, trying to cut off escape routes.
But her captor seemed to know exactly where he was going.
"Hold tight," he muttered. He dodged around the corner of the smithy, cut through the kitchen gardens where he trampled some unfortunate cook's carefully tended herbs, and emerged near the north postern gate.
And there, waiting in the shadows like a piece of living midnight, stood the largest horse Maia had ever seen.
The destrier was pure black, its coat gleaming like polished obsidian in the moonlight.
It stood at least seventeen hands high, with a broad chest and powerful legs that spoke of speed and endurance.
As they approached, the beast tossed its massive head and stamped one dinner-plate-sized hoof, clearly eager to run.
"Good lad," the man murmured, and Maia heard genuine affection in his voice for the first time. "Just a moment more."
He didn't slow as they reached the horse.
The guards were closer now, close enough that she could see their faces in the torchlight, could recognize men who'd served her father once upon a time. Fergus was among them, his weathered face tight with concern as he ran toward them.
"Miss Maia!" he called out. "Hold on! We're comin'!"
But they were too late.
"Close the gate!" someone was screaming. "Close the bloody gate!"
But the night watch had been caught off guard by the sudden alarm. The postern gate stood open, abandoned by guards who'd run to join the search inside the castle walls.
They're too late, Maia thought, her heart pounding with something that felt dangerously like hope. We're goin' to make it.