Chapter 2
Two
“Are we going to escape this time, Callie?”
Caledonia of the Clan MacNeely pulled her baby brother to a stop in the narrow corridor where they were making their way out of King Henry’s castle.
She knelt beside his little body. “If you’ll be keeping your words to yourself, we just might,” she whispered.
Callie smiled to soften her harsh words, and straightened the brown Phrygian cap on his small head.
His face still held the baby-fat cheeks and bright, trusting blue eyes of the toddler he had been not all that long ago.
“Now remember, we’re English servants which means if you open your mouth, they’ll know we’re Highlanders for sure. ”
He nodded.
Callie tucked Jamie’s orangish-red curls back under his cap. His hair was the same shade as her own. But that was all they shared, for Callie looked like her dearly departed mother and Jamie favored his own mother, Morna.
He looked at her now with his blue eyes steeled by determination, and with a sageness no lad of his tender age should possess. At six years, the young lad had seen more than his fair share of tragedy. God willing, he would see no more of it.
She kissed the lovable, little demon lightly on the brow and rose to her feet. Her stomach knotted with nerves, she led him slowly down the lone corridor toward the spiral stairs that should exit by the rear of the castle.
At least that was what she’d been told by the maid who had been helping them plot their escape. How she prayed the Englishwoman hadn’t lied to her, or betrayed her.
They had to get out of this place. Callie could stand no more. If she had to stomach another Sassenach leer at her or make crude comments about her wild Scottish heritage, she would have his tongue for it.
But it was what they did to Jamie that truly made her blood boil.
The son of a laird, he was sure to one day rule over her people as well.
And those beasts made him serve them like the lowliest of peasants while they mocked and belittled him.
She could stand no more of her brother’s tears.
No more of watching the knights rough handling the young lad and cuffing his ears.
The English were animals!
Ever since King Henry’s men had captured the two of them as they traveled to visit her sickly aunt, Callie had been trying to find a way for them to escape and make their way home.
Yet for all her careful cunning, these wretched English beasts were truly spawns of the devil. No matter what she tried, it seemed one of them always saw through her escape and stopped her.
But this time. This time, she would succeed.
She knew it.
Tightening her grip on Jamie’s hand, she paused at the top of the stairs. She pulled back the corner of her linen veil and cocked her head to listen.
Nothing.
It appeared no one was about to challenge them. They were free!
The maid, Aelfa, had promised her that once they left the stairs, the back door opened just a few feet from the postern gate the servants used during daylight hours to travel from the castle into London. The maid had sworn to her that no one would stop her once she reached it.
Callie’s heart pounded in sweet expectation. She rushed down the dark spiral steps at a breakneck speed with Jamie one step behind.
Freedom!
She could taste it. She could smell it. She could...
Callie’s thoughts scattered as she tripped and fell over something on the stairs.
She felt her body pitch forward and all she could do was extend her arms in hopes of catching herself. But instead of falling, strong arms wrapped about her and pulled her against a chest as hard as the dark stone walls surrounding her.
Faster than she could blink, the man released her to stand on the stair above him.
“God’s blood, woman, watch where you’re going.”
Jamie opened his mouth to speak.
Reacting on instinct, Callie quickly covered his mouth with her hand and did her best English accent. “Forgive me, milord.”
It was only then she dared look at him.
Being on the tall side, she was used to standing eye-level with most men. But where she expected to see his head, she saw only wide, muscular shoulders encased by darkness.
Her heart pounded. For those were very large shoulders, indeed.
Callie frowned at his black clothes. Never before had she seen a man not of the Church dressed all in black. And this man was definitely no priest.
His mail, coif and surcoat that were darker than pitch, bore no markings on them whatsoever.
How very odd.
She tried to take a step back, but Jamie on the stair behind her and her narrow perch on the step prevented it.
Callie felt trapped all of a sudden, trapped by the knight’s powerful presence that seemed to seep into her very bones. This was a dangerous man. A deadly one. She felt it with every instinct she possessed.
She dared to look up his tanned, strong neck that bore a deep scars over his handsome face, to see the eyes of the devil himself. Those midnight black eyes burned with intelligence and fire. They seared her with an eerie light that made her tremble.
Callie swallowed.
Never had she seen such a man. Without a doubt, he was the fairest of face and form she’d ever beheld. His features were well defined and sculpted, his jaw strong and perfect, and dusted by just a hint of manly stubble.
Hair as black as his clothes fell past his shoulders in the style of her Highland brethren. And as she stared at him, she saw the tiniest of flaws on his face. An almost invisible scar above his left eyebrow.
But it was those black eyes that held her captive. Those deadly eyes, so dark that she couldn’t even see the pupil in them, that terrified her. For they were cold and empty. And worse, they narrowed on her with way too much interest.
Remembering that she was garbed as a servant and that the man before her was obviously a lord of some standing, Callie decided she had best make a hasty retreat.
She bobbed a quick curtsy to him, grabbed Jamie’s hand and ran down the last few steps and out the door.
Sin frowned at the door as it slammed shut. There had been something very odd about what had just happened. And it wasn’t the powerful, unexpected lust he had felt the moment those green eyes had met his gaze.
Nay, his instincts had been honed from years of training. They were trying to tell him something.
But all he could focus on was the image of the woman’s cupid’s-bow mouth, and the strange disappointment he felt over not knowing the color of her hair.
Indeed, her light blue veil was an abomination that did nothing for the green of her eyes or the fresh sun-kissed skin of her face.
She had been beguiling.
Captivating.
And refreshingly tall.
Standing well over six feet, he had seldom met a woman so close to his own height. Though she had been a bit too slender for his tastes, her breasts had appeared ample enough to satisfy even his lustful brother Braden.
And her eyes...
Vibrant and warm, they had sparkled with vitality and intelligence. They had...
They had been too bold, he realized with a start. No servant met a lord’s gaze, and most especially not his with such pride and unyielding directness. She hadn’t cringed from him, which meant she obviously didn’t know who he was.
There could only be one person at King Henry’s court who wouldn’t recognize him.
The Scotswoman.
And she was headed for the back gate.
Cursing, Sin bolted after her.
Callie stopped abruptly as a group of knights came between her and the gate. There were six of the demons to be sure. Six of them armed from training and on their way into the castle.
Of all her unfortunate luck!
Jamie’s hand trembled in her own. She gave a gentle squeeze to comfort him.
They would simply have to try and brazen it out. Aye, with any good fortune at all, the knights would pay her no heed and would let her pass without thought.
Lowering her gaze, she skirted the men and made for the gate.
“Well, well,” one of the men said as she drew near. “What have we here?”
“A fine serving wench,” another responded. “One to serve our needs finely.”
The others laughed. “Ah, Roger, you truly have a way with words and with the peasants.”
Callie quickened her steps.
One of the men cut her off.
She stopped dead in her tracks and dared a quick look to see the hunger burning in the man’s brown eyes.
“Forgive me, milord,” she said, the title sticking in her throat. It was not in her nature to grovel or cower, and if not for her brother, she wouldn’t deign to do so now.
But she had to get them out of here.
“I’ve work to be aboot.” Callie cringed as she heard her brogue slip.
“Aye, that you do,” he said, his voice low and husky. “And I definitely have a need for you to tend.” He reached down with one hand to adjust the sudden bump in his chausses.
Callie clenched her teeth in frustration. She was caught now.
Still, she wouldn’t give up without a fight.
The knight grabbed her and pulled her close for a kiss.
Before his lips could make contact with her own, she kicked him hard in the little bulge he seemed so very proud of.
He let go of her with a curse.
Her only thought survival, Callie seized the hilt of his sword and pulled it free of the scabbard.
The men laughed at her. “You’d best be putting that down before you hurt yourself, little girl.”
Callie rotated her wrist and spun the sword expertly around her body. “They only thing I’ll be hurting is one of you.” This time, she didn’t bother disguising her accent. “Now I suggest you remove yourselves from me path.”
The humor left their faces.
One of the braver men unsheathed his sword. They stared at one another for several seconds and she knew the thought in his mind.
He assumed her weak. Ineffectual.
Well, she was all woman to be sure, but her father had seen her well-schooled in the art of swordplay. There wasn’t a knight born who would touch a Scot when it came to war. Not even when the Scot was a woman.
“Get her, Roger,” the knight she’d kicked said as he limped his way toward the others.