Chapter Four #2
The mountain pierced the clouds as they billowed across the vast, blue skies, like a colossal sword tearing through the fog that moved to engulf it.
Her eyes sparkled at the view, and then her skin prickled as she lowered her gaze to the glens below and saw him.
Logan of Lochaber sped across the glen on a steed as black as her opinion of him. What was he doing out there? She lifted herself a little more so she could see him before he rode out of her view.
She looked directly down. It wasn’t too far. She could climb down or just jump. She’d done it before at home.
But she was much younger then.
Her gaze followed him around the glen; took in the struggle he had to move his left arm.
She was correct then. He’d lost the use of his arm. It was likely due to the wound that had kept his blood flowing out of him—the wound she had dressed.
For an instant, while she remembered him hanging from chains in her father’s dungeon, she felt sad for him.
He rode out of her view again.
One of the windows was wide enough to escape through.
She climbed out onto the wide ledge and steadied herself, including her breath, then found her footing on the stone wall and started the slow descent down.
She’d done it before, climbed out her bedroom window at Dunley to go help in the village.
A longer descent and more harrowing when the sun went down.
She squeezed her eyes shut at the sharp pains in her fingers as the stone tore her skin. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another step down, she found an ivy-covered trestle leading to the ground.
She hurried down it.
When her tattered slippers hit the ground, she took off running.
She wasn’t running away. She wasn’t fool enough to think she could make it out of the great glen on her two feet.
She was simply going where the greatest view awaited her.
Reaching the ridge of a small hill about a mile from him, she sat, watching him try to raise his left arm and hold his weapon. He didn’t give up despite the pain on his face.
He fought his own body and won.
What did she think of such a man? She scoffed. What should she think? Was she supposed to hail him as heroic? She scoffed again, this time louder. Never!
Three hours later, after she woke from a nap atop the hill, she pried herself off a hard boulder and waited for her body to crack into place before she groaned and sat up.
He was still there, his mount barreling over the terrain. Now, his right arm swung a Claymore and fought a battle from where he sat bareback on his horse.
She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t look away from him. When he came around close, she watched his facial expressions. The way he lifted one eyebrow in doubt, the handsome grin he tossed around freely to his kin, but not her.
So, he was strikingly handsome. She’d seen such men before—
That wasn’t true. She hadn’t seen many young, handsome men in her lifetime.
Logan Cameron was one of them. She felt her forehead to see how feverish she was. “Stop this, Elspeth!” she admonished herself. “What has come upon ye? So what if he worked all day to use his arm again? He shouldna have been watching me that terrible day without my father’s consent.”
She wanted to curse him for causing so much trouble just to steal a look at her, but he had turned his horse and was galloping toward her.
Did she have time to make a run for it? Where would she go? How in blazes would she get out of here?
“Miss,” he said, catching up to where she stood still as death.
Miss. He proved he’d always remembered who she was.
“What are ye doin’ oot of the house?”
She blinked out of some cursed reverie she’d fallen into and tightened her lips. What was she to tell him? That she climbed out of her window to see him better? She almost laughed out loud.
When he dismounted and held the giant steed by its mane and started toward her, she spun on her heel. “How did ye escape?” he demanded with a bit more authority.
“Escape? Ah, then I am yer prisoner,” she said, turning to glare at him.
He came closer, unfazed by her ire. When he reached her, he bent to look her straight in the eye. “As long as ye wish to see me dead, aye, I will have ye kept under lock and key.”
“Well, as ye can see,” she countered, doing her best not to clench her jaw. “I willna be kept.”
His taunting smirk provoked her to react.
“I assure ye, Mr. Cameron, I can find my way out of any cage I’m forced to endure.”
His expression eased into something more compassionate, even more deadly. “I didna mean fer ye to feel caged. But ’tis safer this way.”
“Safer fer who? Ye or me?”
“Me,” he replied honestly. “And ye as well, in truth. If ye were to succeed in harmin’ me, my kin would never let ye live.”
“Aye,” she drawled, trying to sound unaffected by his concern for her if she managed to kill him. “Ewen mentioned it.”
“Pay him heed,” he warned, then stepped around her. She had to leap out of the way to avoid being bumped by his horse.
A moment later, she caught up to him, picking up her pace by his side. “What did ye mean fer me to feel then?”
“What?” He barely looked at her.
“Ye said ye didna mean fer me to feel caged.”
“Aye,” he agreed, apparently remembering what he’d said. “I meant to make ye feel comfortable, with a full belly.”
It did. But he and his kin were her enemies. She didn’t want his food and she especially would not accept any sort of comfort from the Camerons. But, och, she wanted to sleep in that bed just once.
“Are ye comin’ with me then, lass?” he asked, finally turning to glance her way, much to the detriment of her good sense.
“Fer now, Mr. Cameron,” she replied, fighting to breathe naturally.
She would go with him because he and his kin had to pay for what they had done. It was why she was here, wasn’t it? To avenge her family. Her prayers had been answered. She wouldn’t let the opportunity pass.
“Is yer arm in its condition from a stab wound?” she asked, curious, but more so to change the topic.
His steps paused for an instant before he continued on. “Aye, given to me by yer father because I was a fool.”
“A fool fer watching me from—what? The trees?”
He turned to have a look at her and made her forget to breathe. “Aye, from the trees.”
“Why did ye not simply show yerself and greet me? Did ye have dangerous intentions?”
He shook his head then scoffed, pretending to do what she’d suggested. “Pardon, lass, I am yer father’s enemy but I couldna help but—” He stopped, sealing shut his lips, then turned away and set his gaze on the grassless path ahead.
Should she tell him she had helped him? That she lived with the shame of it for six years?
She didn’t ask him what he was going to say. There was no reason to know. It would change nothing. What had happened, happened. Now was the time for revenge.
She said nothing else as she followed him back to the house.