Page 27 of The Scottish Bride
Her cloak blew back and her hair lifted in loose tendrils. The tower was a dizzying height, and she saw that the ground was still coated with a light snowfall from two days earlier. Snow in October was unusual, and the grass would be slippery.
Something tapped at her memory and fled.
“Wait,” Edith said. “We will go to market and you could slip away then.”
“I tell you, I will be married before then if Comyn has his way. Nor would he let me go anywhere without a close escort.” Again, something flitted through her mind, just beyond her racing thoughts and rising panic.
This was lunacy. She gazed out over a canopy of dark treetops. Dawn was just a slight lifting of gray, the crescent moon still high. The castle perched on a slope that descended toward forestland that spread thick, dense, and dark for miles. She could hide there and travel for quite a distance on her way to Selkirk.
She knew of a tavern along the road where she could go directly, perhaps hire a horse, even a cart and driver. But she had to go. The alternative was unthinkable.
With Edith’s help, she hauled the makeshift rope of silken and linen sheets and blankets to the window. “It seems sturdy,” she said, tugging again.
“Madness,” Edith said.
“I cannot carry these down with me.” Tamsin picked up the leather satchel and dropped it out the window, hearing the thud as it hit the ground. Next she sent the heavy woolen bag, praying her books and pages would not be damaged. Taking off her cloak, she sent it spinning downward. “Now I have to go. My things are down there.”
“You will freeze to death. You will break your neck. You are deranged.”
“I am desperate. I love you, Edith,” she said impulsively. “Farewell. I will see you soon, I swear it. Soon we will be safe. All of us.” Somehow, she thought.
Drawing a breath against fear, she sought the boldness she needed for this. Dalrinnie was no longer her home and haven. She would find her siblings and find the Rhymer’s bound book, and keep it safe from Edward.
Setting her hands on the cold stone frame, wind nipping her cheeks, she boosted herself up to the sill, blew out a breath, and slid one leg out the window to find the makeshift rope with her foot. Straddling the sill, feeling the strength of the cold breeze now, she grabbed the linen draped over the stone framing and stretched her other foot downward to find the fat knot. Her gown billowed around her legs, and in an oddly ordinary thought, she was glad to have worn woolen hose.
Hands gripping thick fabric, she slowly, cautiously sought the next knot as her skirts blew in the breeze. Down and downshe went, knot to knot, swinging on the rumpled line like a clapper in a bell.
One of her boots loosened and fell. Cold wrapped her foot, but her step was sure on the rope. Pausing, she glanced down.
Then she remembered the dream. The knight. Herself on the rope. It was true. Some of it, at least. The rest was foolish, she thought. No one was there to catch her.
She went slowly, carefully. The wind batted her about like a willow wand as she inched downward.
Chapter Nine
Something moved highon the castle wall. A bird? A shadow?
Liam peered through the screen of autumn-bare trees and walked toward the edge of the forest. Dawn was coming in gray and dim, promising a cold day with rain, even snow. He had come back to this place in darkness, planning to hail the castle once the portcullis opened. Gilchrist and Finley were to meet him here but had not yet arrived. They would find his horse tied to a tree, nosing about to breakfast on grasses.
His nail-soled boots crunched on the frosted, fallen leaves as he walked. He patted Roc’s head as the dog moved quietly beside him. A scatter of birds left the trees as he made his way toward the steep hill that supported the massive fortress.
Roc gave a low, breathy woof, and froze, watching through the trees. Something had his attention. Liam looked, hardly believing his eyes.
A fat rope had been slung out a high window, and someone clung to it, moving down. With a surprised huff, Liam walked closer, blinking in surprise.
A girl, climbing down a rope of linens. Liam’s heart lurched in fear for her. She was slight, determined, and could fall to her death at any moment. Slowly he began to ascend the slope, not wanting to be seen, not wanting to startle her.
Reaching the ridge, he saw a litter of things on the ground—bags, a cloak, a small boot. Pausing there, he looked up. Thewind pushed the girl’s rope and belled his cloak. She must be desperate to do this.
Well, no lass would break her neck on his watch, he thought. “Roc, stay,” he murmured. Boots crunching over snow, he walked to stand just beneath her, looking up. The rope dangled out a familiar window. The master’s chamber. He narrowed his eyes.
Jesu,he thought. It could not be. Yet, seeing the young woman’s pale braid furl outward, seeing her lithe form, her determination, he knew she was Lady Tamsin.
He had come here to find her, and here she was, swinging not twenty feet above his head. Divine timing for both, should the lass fall. He waited.
She paused to look down. The rope spun a little. Her feet had come to rest on the last knot. There was still a good height between that knot and the ground. Liam sighed and lifted his arms.
“Down to me.” He spoke calmly, wanting to reassure rather than startle.
