Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(16)

Diocail Gordon locked gazes with Rolfe for a long moment before he looked ahead of him and walked on as though they were not there.

“Go.” Rolfe pushed her forward, breaking her thoughts as she once more focused on the task of escaping.

It wasn’t hard. They emerged from the cells with the use of a narrow set of stone steps that led up into the courtyard where the stake was standing silently in the darkness. Katherine’s belly roiled, making her grateful the Gordons hadn’t fed her because she didn’t want to have to take the time to retch.

She welcomed the cutting cold. With only her shirt on, it was bitter, and she decided she loved it because it meant she was still alive.

“There, lass.”

Rolfe pointed toward his men. They stood beside their horses, many of them swinging up into the saddles as they saw their laird coming. Katherine flexed her fingers, praying they wouldn’t fail her now. She was so close to freedom, something she hadn’t thought would be hers.

She grasped the side of the saddle, pushing off the ground and using the muscles along her midsection to help pull her up. Rolfe didn’t seem to trust her strength, staying beside her and pushing her up with one big hand on her backside that sent a rush of heat across her cheeks.

He was gone a moment later, appearing again on top of his horse. The animal was a full two hands taller than her own, and it danced as its master reached down to pat its neck. Rolfe looked forward, raising his fist into the air. His men reacted instantly, closing ranks around her and riding toward the gates.

Katherine felt time slowing down again. She felt the connection of each hoof as it hit the ground and moved with the motion of the animal beneath her, leaning forward with the need to urge the horse faster. Yet their progress seemed slow, as though the space between her heartbeats was a small eternity where she was left to endure the torment of seeing the open gate while knowing the stake was behind her.

And then they were through the gate. Relief rushed through her, leaving her sagging in the saddle.

She couldn’t collapse now. She drew on the horror that had squeezed her tight during the day, pulling from it the strength she needed to taunt the specter of death and Colum’s vengeance. It was a sweet thing. A victory unlike any other.

Of course, she hadn’t done it alone.

Not that it mattered.

In fact, she discovered she didn’t care a single bit for the circumstances of her deliverance. Life was sweet, and she preferred to revel in the knowledge that hers wasn’t going to be ending any time soon.

The rest of it… Well, the devil could take the details.

*

“We need to rest the horses.”

Rolfe pulled up several hours later. His men cheerfully slid from the backs of their mounts and lifted their kilts to relieve themselves. Katherine left her horse drinking from a stream and moved off a way to deal with her own business.

But Rolfe was watching her when she started to return. He’d stopped and directed his attention enough away from her to afford her some measure of privacy, while making it impossible for her to move past him without being seen. Of course she needed to have words with the man. It was only decent, and having so recently tasted the manner of treatment she might be subjected to at the hands of men who held themselves to no standard of conduct, she was loath to lower her standards, even if all she longed for was to swing back up into the saddle and ride until she was back at MacPherson Castle.

“I owe you my gratitude.” She spoke clearly, making sure she did not flinch in tone or posture.

“Ye’re a bloody fool to have ventured out again in male clothing,” he cut back, turning to face her. He was on the high ground, making him appear even more hulking and imposing.

Katherine set her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “If I had not, you and your men would have been discovered, and would likely be dead now.” She maintained a respectful tone of voice, but that didn’t mean it was lacking in strength. She would not allow him to undermine her confidence.

“Me men fight very well, lass.”

“You were outnumbered more than two to one,” she reminded him. “And the Gordons were looking for blood.”

He was still for a moment and offered her a nod of agreement. Katherine returned it and started to move past him. He stepped into her path.

“Who are ye?”

It was a question, yet edged with the tone of a demand. She decided it was simply his way, for the man had a presence about him. Tyree thirsted for that kind of respect, but would never have it because the Gordon retainer didn’t understand that respect, true respect, was earned.

Rolfe knew that fact, and he didn’t care for her silence.

“Ye wear MacPherson colors, but ye are English.”

“I am.”

Rolfe was suddenly too large. She didn’t care for how aware of him she was. It was unseemly, and the timing was horrible. Fine, she would accept that she was a woman and perhaps prey to the feelings all females seemed to have trouble controlling, but not at the moment. Such things would simply have to wait.

Her emotions paid her no heed.

“Yer name, lass.” He’d crossed his arms over his chest. “Do nae make me ask again.”

“Katherine.”

She didn’t care for how quickly she answered, but chided herself for allowing her temper to rise. It was her name, and there was no reason to deny him such—unless she was simply being peevish. She owed him better than that for the service he’d provided her.