Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

F our years earlier, the lands near Castle Mackinnon…

There was a marked chill in the air, with winter not far off as he approached Castle Mackinnon. Tethering his horse nearby, he waited in the woods not far from the castle until night fell and, as he crouched there out of sight, he pulled his woolen cloak tight around him, willing his heart to stop pounding and to return to its normal rhythm. The hoot of a hunting owl and the squeal of its prey made him shiver with apprehension.

Despite his boyhood years spent in Castle Mackinnon, this was not a place he'd ever wished to return to. His memories of the brothers James and Bairre curdled his stomach. Bullies, both of them. It was only when he'd grown to a size where he could best them, that they had ceased their taunts and ridicule and their cruel beatings. But it was their insulting words about his mother that had stung him most.

Yet, although much time had passed, here he was again.

What brought him here was a chance meeting in a nearby tavern with an old friend, Angus Blair, who worked as head groom at the castle.

Angus had told him the brothers were holding a young maid prisoner in the dungeon and, according to gossip, James Mackinnon intended to force her into marriage.

Arran had questioned Angus, demanding he relate everything he knew about the lass. The name of this poor soul was Dahlia MacLeod, and it turned out she was the sister of the Mackinnon's old enemy, Laird Haldor MacLeod of Skye. Haldor was a formidable warrior, Arran had heard, known as the Viking Laird due to his family's descent from the Vikings who had once held the islands.

Appalled at the lass's plight, Arran mused on this. What threat would keep the MacLeod brothers from attempting a rescue of their sister? It could only be fear for the lass's life that would keep them at bay.

Despite his wish never to be involved with the castle again, it was this realization that had caused him to make his own plan to help Dahlia MacLeod get away. While he had no doubt a rescue attempt would be expected from the MacLeods, no one would be expecting Arran Mackinnon to aid the lass.

He knew the castle as well as anyone and could find his way blindfold to the dungeon in the castle keep.

Once darkness fell and the lights in the castle were dimmed, Arran rose from his hiding place. Only too aware that should he be recognized his life was at risk, he took out a black stocking-mask from the leather purse at his belt an pulled it well over his face and hair. No one must know the identity of the intruder, not even the wee lass he was determined to take to safety.

He left his hiding place in the woods and, holding his drawn sword, crept with great stealth toward the castle. He waited briefly outside the lowered portcullis until he was greeted by the hubbub of voices signaling the guards' change of shift. With the guards briefly distracted, he was able to glide through the smaller side-gate without being detected. From there he headed, unnoticed, directly to the keep.

Once inside he'd located the secret passageway that led from the side the entrance to the great hall directly down a set of stone stairs to the dungeon. It was the passageway that was used to drag prisoners from the hall after judgment had been made on them by the laird in his role as magistrate. When the court was not sitting there was no surveillance there. Men who were taken prisoner in battle or captured raiding were taken through the front entrance, direct from the keep. That way was closely guarded.

Arran stepped softly down the stairs, adjusting the mask, ensuring he remained incognito and entered the dungeon without a making a sound. There was only one guard on duty and as the man turned toward him, he swiped the pommel of his sword hard across the man's head. The guard fell like a stone, unconscious.

Arran swiveled, peered through the gloom of the dungeon, its lonely torch scarcely throwing enough light to illuminate the distant corners.

The first two cells were empty. And then he saw her, standing straight and defiant in the third cell. When he reached her, she shrank away from him, her upper lip curling in a sneer.

"Keep yer distance, ye brute."

He raised his index finger to his lips. "Hush lass. Ye need tae be quiet."

She looked at him curiously, still keeping her distance. "And who d'ye think ye are, approaching me and ordering me tae be silent?"

Even in the near darkness he saw the flash of fire in her eyes.

"Never mind who I am. All ye need tae ken is that I'm here tae aid ye. I'm told ye dinnae wish tae remain in these comfortable quarters but would prefer tae return tae the isles."

She huffed. "These are comfortable quarters fer a rat, and I'm nae rat."

Moving forward a step she looked at him more closely. "And why d'ye wear a hangman's mask?"

He gave a short laugh. "I wear this in order tae avoid the hangman. If I'm discovered naught more certain than I'll meet me end double quick at the end of a rope. And me family will be the worse fer it."

"So, what brings ye tae me aid? Did me braithers send ye?"

"Nae. I came alone. I cannae bear tae think of a lass being forced against her will tae marry James MacKinnon."

She snorted. "I take it ye're nay friend of the Mackinnon?"

"Nae. But there's nae time tae talk of me history. We must leave this place if ye're tae be gone before the guard stirs. I'll be right sorry tae have tae deliver another blow tae his head."

He paced back through the dungeon and removed the brass key holder from a hook near the door, praying silently that he would find the right key and be able to unlock her cell before the guard woke up and gave the alarm.

On the third try he heard a resounding click and the door to Dahlia's cell swung open. He entered, intending to assist her. As he reached for her arm instead of finding the compliant, grateful maid he expected, she curled her small hand into a fist and struck him a blow fair in his middle.

"Oof," the air rushed out of his lungs. Doubling over, he wrapped his arms around his belly, groaning. "What're ye thinking," he gasped once he could speak again.

She offered him a look of disdain. "I dinnae ken who ye are. Fer all I ken ye could be sent by the Mackinnon tae trick me somehow." Straightening her spine, she went on. "Ye come here with an offer of rescue, but ye're masked and give me nay name yet ye expect I should trust ye."

Slowly raising himself, Arran looked hard at her. In the flickering light he glimpsed her features. She was beautiful, there was no doubt of that, but it was her haughty, unbowed expression that captured him. For a moment he felt a hint of admiration for her boldness in facing up to him as she'd done. Her dignity was intact. It was clear to him she was no broken, terrified lass, who would submit readily to whatever fate Mackinnon had in store for her.

All the same, there was annoyance in his voice as he spoke.

"I can only ask ye tae trust me. I've already told ye why I wear this mask. I am offering ye the means of escape but I'm nae the man who will force ye against yer will, like Mackinnon. If ye wish tae take what I offer then we must be gone from here now. Otherwise, ye will stay in this cell and while away yer days."

Dahlia watched him closely as he spoke. Finally, she nodded slowly. "I am inclined tae accept what ye say as truth, Black-Mask. If ye were indeed one of Mackinnon's men ye would have turned yer ire on me and slapped me down fer the blow I laid on ye."

His blood boiled at her words. How many times had Mackinnon or his men beaten the lass for her defiance?

"Come, we must be gone." He reached a hand and this time his gesture was met not with a blow but with her own small hand taking his.

Together they raced out of the dungeon, Arran guiding her along the passageway that led directly out of the keep. He prayed that in the darkness they could avoid the guards he knew would be stationed at the entrance.

His heart sank when they arrived at the end of the passageway. Despite his desperate prayer the entry was well lit by flaming torches in sconces placed on the wall on either side of the arched portal. He raised a hand and they paused

"Why are we waiting here," Dahlia whispered. It was clear that with every passing second, she was becoming more anxious and fearful of discovery.

"I wish tae see the position of the guards. I dinnae think we can make our way across the cobbles without pursuit. Our only way out of here is to stay in the shadows and make our way along the outside of the castle until we reach the wall. We must climb it. There's nay other way out.

She gripped his arm and squeezed it tight. For a moment he placed his hand on hers and returned the gesture of reassurance. In the torchlight he could clearly see the fear in her eyes but she held herself steady and he marveled again at her beauty and her strength.

He tiptoed forward to peek into the courtyard to ascertain the position of the guards. To his dismay he saw two guards standing on either side of the entrance. Passing them without being noticed would be impossible. As he watched, one of the guards turned away and walked in the direction of the kitchen, loosening his britches.

Turning to Dahlia he said in a rushed whisper, "We're in luck. One of the guards is away relieving himself so if we move fast, we have a chance. Once we are out of here, I will tackle the other guard. Ye must run fast tae reach the wall, climb it, and make for the woods. Me horse is tethered there and will take ye tae safety. Dinnae wait fer me if I am nae close behind ye."

"Give me yer dirk. I'll fight with ye."

"But ye're a lass, ye cannae fight."

"I trained in the yard with the men who showed me braithers how tae fight. I can wield a sharp dirk as well as ye can wield yer longsword."

"How dae I ken ye're nae planning tae skewer me with the blade?"

She pshawed softly. "Fool! As if I'd spoil me chances of escape by ending yer life when it's the guards we have tae face."

Reaching for the dirk at his belt he chuckled. "Aye lass, take it." He handed it to her and she flung him the faintest hint of a grin.

He pressed her behind him as they exited from the passageway into the lighted courtyard. "Now run," he hissed and she took off at a run just as the guard swung sharply around, drawing his sword.

Arran had time to land one blow and the man went down, blood spurting from his shoulder and neck. But as he collapsed, he sliced his sword across Arran's chest and the wound went deep, bringing Arran to his knees.

All of a sudden Dahlia was beside him.

He sucked in a sharp breath, fighting the pain. "Ye should have left me here. Ye must get away."

She reached a hand to grip his and assist him to his feet, the blood was flowing freely now from his chest, soaking his shirt and dripping through his hauberk. He gritted his teeth.

"I kent that tae leave ye would mean yer death. I couldnae take me freedom at the price of yer life."

There was a distant shout from the remaining guard.

Together they stumbled toward the wall, the guard's shouts following close behind. The wall was well over the height of a tall man such as Arran. It was built of rough stone and in some places, there were spaces where a foothold could be claimed.

Panting, Dahlia gazed at the wall. The moon was out, lending an eerie light to their flight.

"I cannae reach so high, Black-Mask," she gave a heartfelt moan.

Arran raised an arm. "I can reach. I'll haul mesel' up and put a hand fer ye tae make the climb."

Before she could protest, he'd snatched at the top of the wall and was clawing himself up using all his fading strength, willing himself up, foothold by foothold. Once he at last reached the top he clung to the stones, leaning low with his arm outstretched to help Dahlia.

She grabbed his hand and found her first toehold, scrabbling to pull herself higher without losing her balance. One more step and she'd be high enough to evade the clutches of the guard who was now advancing toward her at full speed.

"Quick, lass," Arran held her hand tight in his, but his strength was failing and he was unable to pull her high enough, while she struggled to find another footing.

In seconds the guard was on her, grabbing her leg, wrenching her backwards out of Arran's grasp. He clutched at her wildly as her fingers slipped away and she fell to the ground with a loud scream, the man on top of her.

Striving to muster every scrap of his rapidly failing strength he prepared to throw himself from the wall to attempt to free her from the guard's clutches.

She looked up beseechingly. "Go, ye'll die here if ye stay."

His last sight of her was struggling with the man, slashing out at him with the dirk. The man's rough cries had brought a dozen other guards and as he watched with horror, they encircled her and pinned her arms to her sides.

He felt himself losing his weak grip on the wall despite scrabbling desperately to right himself. His only thoughts were on how he could overcome the guards surrounding Dahlia's struggling figure. His strength had ebbed as his blood flowed, and now the blackness was closing in, no matter how much he wanted to go and help her. His senses were fading yet, before he slid, helpless, down the wall to the ground, he managed to roll his leg over so that when he fell, he was outside the castle. Dahlia's frantic shrieks echoed in his ears as darkness finally claimed him.

Now his world had turned full circle. It was he who was holding the Lady Dahlia MacLeod captive at the orders of Bairre Mackinnon, the man who was determined to force her to be his bride.

He was the one sentencing her back where she prayed so desperately to escape.