Page 20 of The Guardian's Bride
“You are in my custody and I am your guard. Ah! Nearly forgot.” He went to the unconscious guard, fiddled at the man’s belt, and returned with a dagger, which he jammed into the empty sheath. “Come ahead—er,come ahead, you,” he repeated in a graveled voice.
A nervous giggle escaped her. “You look like a festival mummer.”
“Ach, she cuts me to the quick. And me thinking I look a handsome English devil.” He took her upper arm through layers of plaid, cloak, and gown, his grip firm. Opening the door, he peered out, then guided her in front of him. “Act frightened.”
“It is not an act,” she murmured.
But the Highlander was like a wall, a shield, a fortress. She was glad of it, though his name eluded her.
Chapter Seven
In the dimcorridor, Aedan breathed in relief to see the area empty but for a table where an oil lamp burned; someone would return soon enough. Leading the girl around a corner, he held out a warning hand. Ahead, a half-open door showed a leaden gray sky indicating rain and twilight. The day had grown long while he had slept, saved a girl, flattened a sorry guard, and mucked about changing his gear. And the woman complicated things further with beard-trimming and pretty gray eyes to distract him. He had an escape plan but had not been ready to follow it. Well, nothing for it but to try.
“This way. Careful,” he cautioned as they moved to the exit. The underground rooms and passages beneath the old tower, made of rough-hewn stone on an earthen floor, held boxes and sacks rather than prisoners. If he had found other captives, he would have released them for helpful chaos and Scots justice.
With empty rooms, the guards had no good reason to put the girl in his cell. They must have thought he would jump her for his pleasure and their entertainment. But they had the wrong man.
He motioned her ahead, pausing when he heard voices outside.
“What do we do now?” she whispered.
“Walk out boldly, guard and prisoner.” He guided her to the open door. The fresh cool air felt like a luxury; he had hardly been outside for weeks. A breeze mingled the scents of grass, trees, smoke, and something delicious roasting, and he guessedthat guards had gathered near an evening fire where their supper rotated on a spit.
Yester Tower was a small keep with a small number of guards and was easily negotiated, but the tower’s size afforded few places to hide. Aedan knew he was recognizable due to his height and build, though his stolen helmet and surcoat gave him a chance. He knew that soldiers passed through here often, so he must gamble that he would be mistaken for a newly assigned man.
Stepping outside and down stone steps to an earthen spread, he saw smoke rising beyond a hillock and heard voices. The charred smell of roasting meat was so tantalizing that his stomach rumbled.
“What now?” the girl whispered.
“Hold,” he murmured, keeping her behind him, a hand on her arm. She was so finely shaped that his fingers nearly wrapped around her arm; he eased his grip. Where the smoke rose, he glimpsed a cluster of helmets as the men waited for their dinner.
Hoping they were distracted by hunger and cooking chores, he eased forward with the girl, keeping watch as he went. With luck, no one would notice the two slipping away from the tower in the dusky light.
Nearby were a few outbuildings and a stable, but he knew taking a horse to ride away would invite more trouble. Across the meadow was the ruined chapel backed by woodland. He headed there with the girl as rain pattered over his ill-fitting helmet.
A guard was walking from the woodland toward the tower. Noticing Aedan and the girl, he stopped, raised a hand, called out. Aedan paused, standing in front of the girl, instinctively protective.
“Off to Berwick? Or will you two be doing something else?” The man chuckled.
Aedan bristled. “Berwick. Riding through the night. Orders,” he said curtly.
“Where is John Harley? He went to get her.”
“Did ye not see him run out?” Thinking fast, Aedan landed on a tale he had heard about Yester Tower. “Scared, he was.”
“Scared of the big fellow in the cell?”
“Eh, that one would sleep through anything. Nah, it was the shrieks! This place is haunted. The locals talk of it. Have ye not heard the howling at night?”
“Haunted?” The man cast a wary glance at the tower. “The sound could be a fox.”
“Could be. But they say this place was built by a wizard a hundred years ago with help from the de’il and his hobgoblins. They call it Goblin Hall.” He shrugged.
“Goblins? A wizard? God’s foot, I heard naught of that.”
“If we knew, how many would stay here? Goblins built the foundation, they say. The underground chambers are cursed by the de’il, whose hobgoblins play games at night and in storms.” Aedan glanced up. “Might rain hard tonight.”
“Harley ran out, you say?”
