Page 112 of Desire's Ransom
“That’s mine!” the lass sneered.
“Not anymore.” With rage born of despair for all she’d lost, Temair used one hand to wrench her sister’sbratoff of the lass’s shoulders.
The lass gasped, clutching herléine, which had slipped low over her bosom. “Unhand me!”
One more tug freed thebrat.
The lass drew in a shocked breath, holding herléinetightly for fear Temair would rip that from her as well. “Cormac! Cormac! Help!”
The mention of her father’s name stirred Ryland’s knights, who, Temair saw, had been watching the exchange with great amusement. Now they sobered and stood with their swords at the ready.
“Where is he?” Temair asked the lass, brandishing herbata.
“Cormac!” she screamed.
When Temair let her go, the lass ran back up the stairs. Temair followed her. The lass would lead her to Cormac.
Cormac cursed under his breath as the arrow missed its mark. The devil child was completely unharmed. He shook with rage.
Then her rescuing knight glared up at him with vengeance burning in his eyes, and Cormac knew he was doomed.
They were coming for him. He could hear the knights bashing in his door. Turning swiftly away, he threw the useless bow at Goffraid and hurtled down the stairs.
It was too late to save his keep. He knew that now. That cursed Sir Ryland de Ware had seen him with the bow. Cormac would never be able to explain that away.
But he could still save himself. There was another way out of the tower house. He could escape while his guards were battling the knights in the great hall.
First, however, he had to collect his treasure. He couldn’t leave it behind. He might have to abandon his jeweled sword, his platters of gold, and his embroidered finery. But he could save his coffer of gems and coins. He’d worked for years to amass it, planning to one day purchase an honor price that would make him equal to an overlord in the English king’s eyes.
He scrabbled beneath his bed, digging out the wooden chest concealed there. As big as his belly and filled to the brim with precious metal, it was heavier than he remembered and hard to carry. But desperation gave him strength.
Sweat beaded his brow as he struggled with the coffer. As he emerged in the passageway, he could hear a skirmish downstairs. He quickly shuffled to the far side of the tower to descend there.
The secondary escape was just two floors down from his chamber, one floor above the great hall. He stole down the steps, huffing and straining with the extra weight of the chest.
Just before he pushed open the door, he heard the voice of the lass—the one he’d hired to be his daughter—screaming his name.
Cursing her and all her sex, Cormac shoved his way outside. Momentarily blinded by the brightness and the sweat dripping into his eyes, he closed the door behind him and started down the rickety wooden stairs.
The way was clear when he reached the ground. All he had to do was disappear. He could follow the river to the sea. He had enough wealth on him to pay for food, lodging, whatever he needed to make his way to Cork or Waterford, somewhere he could gather his thoughts and come up with a new plan.
Staying in the shadow of the tower, he scuttled through the coarse grass, wheezing from the effort, heading for the river.
It was then he heard the dog.
As she’d guessed, when Temair burst into her father’s chamber on the fourth floor, dogged by Ryland and two of his knights, the imposter was there. Her father, however, was not.
“Where is he?” Temair demanded. “Where is Cormac?”
Shrinking away from the knights, the lass retreated into a frightened huddle in the corner and mewled, “I don’t know.”
Where could he have gone? Was he still at the top of the tower?
“I’ll check the chambers on this floor,” Ryland said, nodding to his knights. “You two check the floors below.”
“I’m goin’ up,” Temair said, swallowing back dread. There were too many bad memories at the top of the tower.
She closed her eyes, willing away the image of her sister falling. Over and over.
