Page 3 of Heather and the Highlander
“You’ve never worn such a gown before. The panniers alone will confound you.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Heather said, widening her eyes with false concern. “Would that delay the wedding ceremony? Quelle tragique. Now leave me! I’m not stripping down just to amuse you as you wrap that shroud over me. Get out!”
Lydia at first stiffened listening to Heather’s tirade, but by the end, she just smirked. “Very well. One ought to indulge a bride, I suppose. You have a half hour. I’ll come back then to fix the tangle you’ll be in. Lord, it will be a pleasure to see you married off!”
“It will be a pleasure to never see you again!” Heather shouted to the closing door. The key jabbed into the lock again, and Heather was a prisoner once more.
She’d been a prisoner for three days, once her uncle revealed his diabolical plan to marry her off to his crony Mr. Webb, who would then get control of her meager inheritance. Webb had agreed to split the money with Cyril right down the middle, provided he got Heather all to himself. The very idea of Mr. Webb touching her with his clammy hands made Heather quake with disgust.
And she was going to be married to him in an hour!
“Over my dead body,” she repeated. She walked to the window, looking down at the ground far below.
Her uncle was not a fool, and he’d secured Heather in a room at the very top of the house, a literal tower room with two windows, both frighteningly high. A jump from either one would ensure that Heather would not get married, or take another breath on this earth.
A last resort, to be sure. Heather much preferred to live. But how could she possibly get free of this prison? She’d already tried to knock down the door (impossible, as it was a heavy oak that was probably harvested in Cromwell’s day). She tried to pick the lock (also a failure, as she had no tools and didn’t know the mechanics of locks). She screamed. She cried. She once knocked Lydia over in an attempt to take the key. Her uncle then hit her in the face, sending her to the floor.
There was nothing in the room to help her escape. Only a bed with a heavy brocade coverlet that smelled of mildew, a pitcher and bowl for washing, and a chamber pot that had been emptied only once so far.
And now there was the wedding gown.
Heather stared at it, wondering if somehow this abomination could be used to escape in some way. Dress as a ghost? No, her uncle wasn’t superstitious. Break the framing of the panniers to use as a weapon? Her uncle owned a gun, so that wouldn’t be a fair fight.
What was left? The layers and layers of puce-colored silk.
Heather suddenly smiled.
Previously, she’d tried to tear the brocade of her bedding, but it was far too thick, and anyway it would never have reached the ground. But the silk was thin and light.
Heather grabbed the hem of the dress and brought it to her mouth, biting down to snare the silk on her teeth. After the first puncture, the fabric ripped easily. Heather tore the skirts into strips, and then tied them together to make a long rope, which she secured to the bedpost. Praying that the length of fabric would reach low enough to allow her to drop to the ground safely, Heather allowed it to tumble over the windowsill. She peered over, seeing the breeze play with the puce rope. Fifteen feet of space, perhaps, between the end of the rope and the hard earth. It would have to do. Heather ran to the bed and gathered up the heavy coverlet, throwing it to the ground below. She hoped it would soften her final fall.
With a deep breath and a prayer, Heather climbed onto the sill and took hold of the rope, intending to climb down hand over hand.
Instead, she could barely hold on. She slid down the silken rope, pausing only when her hands hit one of the big knots every few feet.
“Ow,” Heather grunted each time.
She’d reached the midway point when she heard a ripping sound from above.
“Oh, no, please.” Scared, she gripped tighter for a second, then quickly slid down the rest of the way.
Dangling from the bottom of the makeshift rope, Heather closed her eyes. Could she really just let go? The ground seemed much more than fifteen feet down. Before she could jump, another ripping sound came from above, and Heather fell in a heap.
She groaned in pain, having missed the dubious comfort of the mildewed blanket, which lay beside her. She rose to her feet. At least nothing was broken. And she could walk.
Heather hobbled away from the bulk of the house, knowing that she had only minutes, at best, to get some distance between her and her jailers. As soon as Lydia opened the door to the tower room, she’d know what happened. And then they’d pursue Heather, like hunting dogs running down a fox.
Just then, Heather heard an enraged cry from above. Lydia.
Heather inhaled to fill her lungs with precious air, and ran.
Chapter 2
Mr. MacNair,
We regret that the bank cannot advance any more funds against the collateral offered. If you would consider the value of your family properties, then perhaps something may be done…
Niall re-read the beginning of the letter for the hundredth time, and then crumpled it up in disgust, hurling it out the open window of the coach.
