He stopped on the stairs and turned, backing her against the cold stone wall. Her pulse thumping madly at her throat, she held her breath as he caged her in, his arms coming up on either side of her head.
In the dimness of the stairwell, his eyes glowed with a predatory light. “You think I would abandon you here?”
Astrid swallowed down the thickness in her throat. “I’m quite aware that you’re vexed with me—”
“Vexed?” he repeated. “Oh, no, Duchess. I’m not vexed. You gave me the ride of my life. Why would I be vexed with you?”
She flinched, stung.
Feeling little more than a tart—no doubt his intention—her hand rose to strike him.
He caught her hand in his. “Careful,” he warned, fingers squeezing her fist.
“Or what? You’ll leave me here? Perhaps you should.” The words dropped from her lips recklessly, hot and furious. “I’m beginning to wonder if I might not fare better with some Highland brute.”
“Shall we find out?” he drawled.
His gaze dropped, eyeing the rapid rise and fall of her br**sts against her bodice. His voice lowered, as did his head, his lips brushing the side of her neck. “Would you prefer that, Astrid?
Would that help you forget me?”
Unable to stop herself, she angled her head, giving him better access to her throat, her breath escaping in a fast tremble of air. His tongue laved her quickening pulse.
Forget him? Impossible. She brought her hand up, threading her fingers through his hair.
“You think another man can do the things to you I do? Make you feel the way I can?”
Her mouth moved silently. No.
Dropping his arms, he stepped away, simply left her leaning forward like a plant seeking light, her treacherous body aching, her neck tingling from the feel of his mouth, the rasp of his tongue.
Turning, he strode down the stairs, leaving her to follow. Fisting her hands at her sides, she drew a steadying breath and trailed after him.
To her surprise, she found him waiting at the base of the stairs, expression cool, remote. The hard-faced stranger again. She took his arm and accompanied him into the hall. All eyes turned on them.
Gallagher motioned for them to occupy the two seats beside him at the table. As if they were indeed guests of honor. Lachlan sat a few chairs down, his face as battered as Griffin’s—perhaps more. His already mangled nose looked as if it had been broken yet again.
A serving girl set steaming bowls of porridge laced with honey before them. Astrid tucked into her bowl, consuming the tasty fare. Her mouth watered at the platter of buttered bread dropped on the table. She started to reach for one, then stopped, feeling Griffin’s stare. Self-conscious, she dropped her hand back in her lap.
“Regular little martyr, aren’t you?” he leaned close to whisper in her ear.
Fighting down the swarm of heat that licked her cheeks, she set her chin at a firm angle and took a small bite of her porridge.
Swallowing, she turned her attention to the laird sitting on the other side of Griffin.
“My lord,” she began, leaning forward, not certain the appropriate form of address for the laird of a clan, but thinking it wouldn’t hurt to address him with the utmost respect.
He turned light blue eyes on her. “I fear my words yesterday evening have been misconstrued.”
“Misconstrued, eh?” he mumbled, lifting a spoonful of porridge to his mouth and leaving much of it on the beard surrounding his lips.
“Yes.” She nodded, pressing on determinedly. “I had only hoped to convince you to release me.
You see, I have no wealthy friends willing to pay for my release.”
He stared at her with narrowed eyes. “You freely admit you lied then?”
“Yes,” she declared, then frowned at the look Griffin shot her—one of pity and mild disgust. As if she were the village idiot. He shook his head.
The laird wrinkled his nose. “You’re not to be trusted, then. That much is clear to me.”
“No,” she quickly denied.
“Aye,” he nodded, leaning forward and plucking a slice of bread off the platter before them.
Wadding the thick slice into a ball, he took a considerable bite. Giving her a conspiratorial wink, he asked around a mouthful, “Come now. A starchy Sassenach like you doesn’t have a few friends with blunt to spare?”
Her spine stiffened at his description of her, however true…however much she had cultivated that very image of herself. “No. None that can be relied upon for assistance.”
“No relations?”
For a moment she thought of her in-laws. Thinking of them, she replied honestly, “I don’t inspire that sort of devotion, I’m afraid.”
Chewing, he measured her with keen blue eyes before answering, “Nay. I don’t believe it.” With a firm nod, he added, “You will supply me with the names of these friends. And you will remain here until they pay the price of your freedom.”
She drew her shoulders back. “I cannot supply you with names I do not have.”
“Very well.” He shrugged and took another bite of bread. Flakes and crumbs flew into his beard as he spoke, “Then you’ll be with us a long time.”
Frustration burned a bilious trail up her chest. She swung her furious gaze to Griffin.
He gave her a smug, knowing look before turning his attention to Gallagher. In all mildness, he asked, “Since we’ll be here awhile, how might we occupy ourselves? Is there a library perhaps?”
“Of course. We’re not unlettered barbarians here,” the old man replied, wiping a rough wool sleeve against his mouth. “Just know the guards have orders to stop you or your woman from passing the outer gates. Otherwise, make yourselves at home.”
Griffin nodded his assent, his look all innocence.
Until he glanced back at Astrid. And she knew there was nothing innocent in his request, saw it in the glint of his pale blue eyes. He meant to investigate the castle and plan a method of escape.
Suddenly such a measure did not seem extreme in the least. It seemed utterly sensible. Their only choice.
Chapter 16
A hard hand on her shoulder shook Astrid awake.
“Make haste. Dress yourself and gather your things.”
Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, her eyes adjusting to the dim chamber. Embers from the fireplace provided minimal light. Griffin moved about the room quickly, a dark shadow collecting his saddlebag and swinging it over his shoulder.
Astrid dressed herself in her striped poplin gown. Out of necessity, she had learned to dress herself without the assistance of a maid several years ago, but even long practice did not stop her fingers from stumbling over the buttons.
Looking up, she stated rather obviously, her voice still scratchy with sleep, “We’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. Laird Gallagher ran a lively household. That much she had observed in their brief stay. Even at this late hour, someone would be found lingering in the hall. They could not simply stroll unnoticed into the bailey.
“How can we?”
He stopped before her, his stare cool, unmoved. “I’m aware that you don’t trust me.” His lips twisted wryly at this. “But if you wish to leave here, you will follow my instructions without question. Do you understand?”
The _without question _ part rankled. She was not the sort to follow blindly. She had been forced to look to herself for too many years to blindly follow anyone.
He must have read her hesitation. He stepped so close their noses almost touched. “If not, then we might as well remain here.” He gestured toward the door. “If you badger me with questions out there, if you so much as hesitate, we _will _ be caught.” His eyes glinted darkly. “With you, it’s a certainty. And I assure you that once we’re caught, an opportunity to escape shall not come again.”
Astrid gave a tight nod, disregarding her stinging pride. “Fine. I’ll do as you say.”
“Good.”
Griffin moved to the chamber’s lone window and pried the stained mullioned glass open, its ancient hinges creaking in protest. Sticking his head out into the cold night, he looked below.
Taking his bag, he dropped it.
Looking back at her, he motioned her near. “Is your valise ready?”
Despite her curiosity and the questions that burned on her tongue, she handed over her valise, wincing as he dropped it out the window, grateful for the well-worn leather that likely would not crack.
Griffin moved toward the bed then, and she took advantage of the moment, peeking her head out into the frigid night air.
A pale smudge of face looked up at her from below, their bags waiting at his feet.
Turning, she watched Griffin secure a rope around one of the thick bedposts. Positioning his foot against the bed, he yanked hard to make certain it held fast.
Dread sinking into her belly, she shook her head. “You cannot mean—” She stopped cold when he tossed her a dark look, his warning clear. Recalling her promise of moments ago, she bit the inside of her cheek.
Striding past her, he flung the rest of the rope out the window. Presenting her with his back, he squatted. “Hop on.”
Astrid blinked. Tucking a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear, she hesitated for so long that he looked over his shoulder. One look into his steady blue gaze and she knew he was deadly serious. He meant for them to climb out that window.
Trust him, a voice whispered across her mind.
Drawing air thinly through her nose, she moved behind him, looping her arms around his neck.
He rose with her in one smooth motion, the burden of her weight seemingly insignificant.
Grasping the rope in both hands, he swung a leg over the window and lowered them out. Astrid squeezed her eyes shut, her arms tightening about his neck as the night’s cold air washed over her.
“You might not want to choke me,” Griffin wheezed.
Her eyes flung wide open and she looked down. And quickly realized she should have kept her eyes closed.
With his feet braced upon the wall, they hung above the earth. The ramparts loomed tall beside them, emphasizing how high they dangled from the ground. Her chest squeezed, lungs constricting until she could not draw breath.
“Astrid!”
The sharp sound of her name penetrated her panicked thoughts. She loosened her arms around his neck—even if it terrified her to relax her hold—both relieved and alarmed when he began to move, as deft and limber as any jungle creature. Hands moving one after the other, he lowered them down the wall.
She permitted herself to breathe once they touched down. Sliding off his back, she shook her skirts and plucked her valise from beside the waiting man, eyeing him inquiringly. Failing to recognize him from their exploration of the castle today, she wondered when and where Griffin had made his acquaintance.
The man’s hand shot out, his palm a pale flash in the dark. He snapped his fingers impatiently.
Griffin reached in his jacket, pulled something out from inside and handed it over.
She leaned forward, trying to see what passed between the two men.
The other man glanced at whatever it was and shoved it into his pocket with a satisfied grunt.
“Come,” he rasped from beneath his hood, the thread of anxiety in his voice unmistakable, heightening Astrid’s own tension. “Your mounts wait beyond the trees.”
Burrowing deeper in her cloak, she glanced around them at the encroaching shadows.
The Scotsman led them quickly through the bailey. “Last I checked, the guard on duty was tupping Hilda. But he’s well in his cups, so I don’t count on that lasting long.”
The yard was silent this late hour, the few torches flickering in sconces along the far stone walls lending eerie shadows to the night.
Tension knotted her shoulders as she followed Griffin, fixing her gaze on the broad expanse of his back. They slowed at the gatehouse. Their guide motioned for them to wait as he went ahead.