Highland Lover. Hannah Howell
her from joining her sister at this time. Perhaps Keira needed to pass some test, to learn some great truth about herself, and having her twin at her side could make that difficult. Or, she mused, perhaps she needed to pass a test. Alana did not like that idea at all and hastily asked for Keira’s forgiveness for hoping it was her sister who was being tested. Keira was pretty, kind, and clever, much more able to pass such a test of her spirit and courage.
Although she loved her sister dearly, felt that Keira was truly her best friend and ally, Alana ruefully admitted to herself that she often suffered the pinch of envy concerning Keira. Keira was the one who looked so much like the matriarch of their family, being vividly beautiful with her black hair, fair skin, and green eyes. Alana was little and brown. Keira had the true gift of healing whereas Alana was just a good healer, using knowledge and skill well but lacking the touch and strong instincts Keira had been blessed with. Keira had the sight. Alana only had a bond with her twin that occasionally stirred dreams and strong intuitions. Although neither of them had a bad temper, Keira was the gentler one, the sweeter one. Alana knew her tongue could be as sharp as a knife’s edge. Although she knew it was nonsense, knew she was as beloved by her family as Keira was, Alana occasionally felt that, as the second born, she had entered the world in Keira’s shadow and had never left it. She sighed, dismayed by her own foolishness.
“That was a mournful sound, lass,” Gregor said. “Are ye sure ye arenae troubled?”
“Nay, I am just thinking on how long we must wait until we may try to escape,” she lied, embarrassed by her thoughts.
Gregor did not need to see clearly to know he was being lied to, but he did not press her. “Weel, what say ye to a game of chess to pass the time?” he asked, leaning back against the wall and tugging her along with him.
“Aye, I am prepared to beat ye soundly yet again,” she said. “Ye may make the first move.”
“How gracious ye are,” he drawled, suspecting her confidence was warranted, as he had not won a game yet.
He closed his eyes, pictured his much-prized chess set in his mind, and struggled to decide upon his first move. If he was very lucky, he might take longer to lose this time. His victory could then be found in keeping them both well occupied during the too-long wait ahead of them.
Alana lay sprawled on top of a cursing Gregor and struggled to catch her breath. It was obviously going to take them a while to learn the trick to it all, to gain the strength and balance to act as one while she stood upon Gregor’s shoulders. Her only consolation was that he was not any better at it than she was. He could hold her up well when she stood still, but the moment she attempted to move the heavy iron grate, he lost that control. The first three times she fell he had caught her easily enough. This time, however, even that had gone wrong.
“I think four times is enough for tonight,” Gregor said, trying to will away the pain in his head, which had hit the hard ground with enough force to bring him perilously close to unconsciousness.
“I concur,” Alana replied in a voice still hoarse and unsteady after having all the breath knocked out of her. “Mayhap on the morrow, betwixt meals, we should practice moving about whilst I am on your shoulders.”
“Might be wise.”
Forcing herself to move off him, Alana sprawled at his side. “We need to learn to move as one—one verra tall person.”
Gregor briefly laughed. “Aye. Holding ye up there isnae so hard. Standing as steady as the floor whilst ye struggle to move that cursed grate will require some practice. Do ye think ye can move it aside?”
“Aye. ’Tis heavy, true enough, but I can do it. I must needs figure out how to push it aside without toppling us is all. There is a trick to it, I am certain of it.”
“Fine, then. On the morrow we will practice moving with ye on my shoulders and ye can try to puzzle out what that trick is.”
“And then, after we sup, we try again?”
“Aye. And the next night, and the next, until we get it right.”
“Oh joy.”
Chapter 3
“I can almost hear it laughing at me.”
“’Tis a lump of iron, Alana,” said Gregor. “It cannae laugh.”
“’Tis a lump of iron that has defeated me for three nights. ’Tis laughing.”
Gregor almost laughed and then winced as Alana touched one of the many bruises he had acquired as she got onto his shoulders. He knew she also suffered from their many stumbles in their efforts to escape, but she was stubborn. In truth, Gregor had the distinct feeling that each failure only made her more determined. He was the one who put a stop to their efforts after several tries each night, if only out of fear that one of them could be seriously hurt if they did not take a rest from it. Last night Alana had been knocked unconscious for several tense, frightening minutes when, after he caught her as she had stumbled from her precarious perch upon his shoulders, they had both come up hard against the stone wall of their prison. When she had gone limp in his arms, he had suffered a moment of blind terror he had no wish to taste again.
It had seemed such a simple plan but was proving to have far too many unforeseen complications and dangers. When one was landing upon rock and hard ground, the distance one fell did not matter quite as much as how one landed. As they had struggled again and again to move that lump of iron keeping them from escaping, Gregor had realized Alana was right. The weight of the thing was not as big a problem as the angle they were approaching it from. Alana not only had to find the strength to lift it, but also to then push it aside. That required some stretching and twisting of her small body, and that was where their trouble would begin.
The moment Alana began to straighten up, one small bare foot on each of his shoulders, Gregor grasped her ankles. Thinking it might steady her more as she worked, he slid his hands up the front of her legs. With his arms slightly curved around her legs, he firmly clasped the front of her slim thighs. He felt Alana jerk ever so slightly and the muscles in her slender legs tautened beneath his hands.
“Good lass,” he said. “Keep yourself as taut as a bowstring. ’Twill help lessen our chances of stumbling.”
Stumbling was the very last thing Alana had been thinking about as she had felt those big hands move up her legs. She almost looked down to see if she was on fire, such was the strength of the heat his touch stirred within her. There was nothing seductive about his touch, but that did not stop her pulse from leaping. He is just trying to hold ye steady as ye struggle with this cursed lump of iron, she told herself, but herself did not seem inclined to listen. The heedless part of her that desired the man was not interested in the struggle to escape; it wanted him to stroke her legs again.
Alana forced herself to concentrate on moving aside the contrary iron grate that barred their escape. Her hands were sore, covered with scratches and bruises, but she had done her best to hide those injuries from Gregor. Once she realized she could stand on his shoulders without shaking in fear and that she could reach the hatch, she became determined to succeed. Instinct told her that Gregor would try to halt her attempts if he knew what abuse her hands were suffering. He had almost done so when she had taken that little sleep after slamming into the wall, but she had managed to talk him out of quitting. If he knew about all the other injuries she was aching from, Alana felt absolutely certain he would give up.
Slowly, Alana lifted the grate. Stretching herself up as far as she could, she began to push it aside. Distracting though it was, she had to admit that Gregor’s new hold upon her legs did keep her steadier. She took several slow, deep breaths, willed every ounce of strength she had into her arms, said a little prayer, and shoved the grate. The sound of heavy iron landing on stone rang in her ears, but it took her a moment before she fully realized she had, at long last, succeeded. Disbelief rose up and she used her hands to confirm her success, feeling around the opening—the now completely unobstructed opening.
“I did it,” she whispered.
Just