“Aye,” Callum said. “I ken.”
“Lena would kill us if anything happened to ye, MacLean. Ye kinnae take the most dangerous task. Ye will be a father soon, and ye need to be there for the birth of yer son.”
Alex grinned, but the grin quickly faded. “Lachlan is a father, and Cameron will be a father soon, as well.”
“Brother!” Lachlan exclaimed. “Why did ye nae tell me?”
Cameron scowled. “There’s nae been time. I did nae tell Alex, either.”
“Yer wife told my wife. Ye ken the lasses kinnae keep a secret.” Alex shrugged. “We will draw a stick. The man with the shortest stick will distract the guards.”
All four men grunted their agreement.
“How will the one distracting the guards get away?” Cameron asked.
“Whoever has that task need only distract them long enough for us to gain the bridge. Once that is done, we can signal, and the man can run. He needs to be fast. Are any of ye faster than the other two?” Callum asked.
“I’m the fastest,” Lachlan said without any smugness.
“And I’ve the best bird call,” Cameron said, showing them by example.
“I believe it’s decided, then,” Alex said, “without the need to pick sticks. Lachlan will distract the guards, Cameron will signal when we have gained the bridge, and it will be up to the three of us to find Marsaili once we are in the castle and then escape, likely by swimming the moat once again.”
“Now we wait,” Callum said grimly, rocking back on his heels and glancing to the sky, which was not yet completely dark.
“The hardest part,” Lachlan said.
“Aye,” Cameron and Alex agreed.
Callum fixed his gaze on the spot he’d last seen Marsaili and wondered what she might be thinking. Did she fear he would not return for her? Did she fear she would never see their son again? His mind turned with all the worst sort of possibilities. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the roaring din of worry, but it was to no avail. Until they were together again,—Marsaili, himself, and their son—he would have no peace.
“My lady,” the chambermaid assigned to bathe and dress Marsaili said, “shall I braid yer hair for the wedding?”
Marsaili shook her head. She feared she did not have long before one of her father’s men, or her father himself, came to fetch her to take her to the chapel. “Nay,” she said. “I prefer it down. Now, if ye’ll leave me, I’d like a little time alone to pray to God for counsel.”
Technically, it was not a lie. She would pray to God, just not for counsel. She would pray for the courage to jump into the moat, and that she would not drown. She had swam a few strokes long ago on the day she had almost drowned because of her Campbell half brothers, and she remembered the euphoria she had felt on her first time ever of gliding through the water. It was also her last.
She tried to recall what she had done. She had pulled the water with her hands and arms, it seemed, and she had kicked her legs. She prayed she remembered correctly and would be able to overcome her fear. If there were any other way, she would have taken it, but there was not. She and the maid were locked in this bedchamber by the earl’s command. Marsaili had only one possible way to avoid being forced to marry the earl, and that was the window.
“As ye wish,” the maid answered, went to the door, and knocked. “My lady and I are finished.”
The lock on the door scraped and clicked as it was opened, and then the maid exited the room. The door shut immediately, and the lock once again snapped into place. She wasted no time rushing straight to the window. She tried to open it, but the thing would not budge. Muttering, she strode to the bed, yanked off the quilt, and hauled it over to the window where she dropped it in a pile on the floor. Then she tried to pick up the chest at the foot of the bed so she could stand on it to open the window and escape. The chest was too heavy, though, and she feared that when she moved it, it might draw the attention of the guards and they would open her door. But what choice did she have?
She first tried pressing her hands against the chest, but try as she might, the blasted thing would not budge. Her brow was damp from the effort, and her head and heart pounded. She crouched near the chest, lodged her back against it, and dug her heels into the ground while she pushed with all her might. The chest barely budged, and tears sprung to her eyes. But so did an image of her son. She had to keep trying.
Gritting her teeth, she once again positioned herself against the chest and shoved. This time it moved with a great loud scrape. Her breath caught with fright, but a burst of men laughing came from just beyond her door. She started to expel a relieved breath when she heard her father speak, and then the men laughed once more. She breathed in quick, shallow gasps as she grunted and shoved at the chest, finally moving it in front of the window.
She shook badly as she grasped the quilt, wrapped it around her hand, and then rearing her hand back, she threw her body weight into her fist and shoved her hand through the window. The quilt protected her skin and muffled the noise, and without hesitation, she knocked the last of the glass from the window, rid herself of the quilt, and placed her hands on the window ledge, hauled herself up, biting her lip to keep from screaming in pain. Shards of glass sliced into her palms, but behind her, the rattle of the door being unlocked made her entire body tingle with terror.
She dangled for a moment, her arm muscles burning as she struggled to find the strength to pull herself all the way up. Digging deep, she shoved, propelling her body up to wiggle through the space. She ignored the sharp pain of the glass cutting through her gown to slash her thighs, hip bones, and stomach. Her father’s voice boomed from the other side of the door, and she thanked God that he had always loved to be the center of attention. It sounded as if he was telling another one of his hunting stories.
The cool wind hit her hard as she poked her head out of the window. Black had swallowed the night, but the full moon illuminated the area around her enough for her to realize she could not see the loch below. It was so steep. Fear lodged in her throat. The loch was there; she knew it to be so, for she had seen it earlier. But she would be falling blind, eyes open yet unseeing.
She absolutely did not want to plunge into the water headfirst, so she turned onto her bottom, scrunched herself as small as she could, and slid her legs under her. Then, gripping the ledge, she put her legs out the window and dangled there, heart pounding and blood roaring. She could not seem to release herself, though. Terror had frozen her ability to move, but her fingers were slipping, and soon, the inevitable would happen.
