The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(111)

But his reactions were slowing. More were escaping his grasp, and more of their teeth were finding his hand. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

They wouldn’t come for him until the battle was over. As he’d lost track of time hours ago, he didn’t know when that might be.

Damn. It wasn’t just the horror of the swarming rats that was driving him mad, but the knowledge that his friends were out there marching into a trap and he couldn’t help them.

He’d failed. Failed. He closed his eyes, wanting to blot out the bitter truth. The heaviness bore down on him. It was getting harder to resist the pull, the drag toward the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. He was so tired.

This time his eyes stayed closed.

Nothing could wake him. Not the rats, and not the blast of thunder that sent the guards running to the gate a few minutes later.

Someone was shaking him.

“Ranger! Ranger! God damn it, wake up! We don’t have much time.”

Who was Ranger?

His eyes snapped open, only to close again as the beam of light from the torch pierced his skull like a dagger.

He was Ranger.

But how …?

He opened his eyes again. Slowly this time, letting them grow adjusted to the light.

MacRuairi.

He could see the relief on the other man’s face. “I wasn’t sure you were alive.”

Arthur’s mind felt dull and sluggish. “I wasn’t sure either.”

MacRuairi shuddered, and even in the torchlight Arthur could see that he didn’t look well. His face was gray and his eyes flickered around anxiously. He almost looked panicked. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Can you walk?”

Arthur nodded, trying to scoot himself up to a sitting position. He was careful not to look down. The torch was keeping the rats away for now. “I think so.”

“Good, I wasn’t looking forward to trying to carry you out of here.”

He held out his hand, but Arthur shook him off and managed to struggle to his feet. “You’re alone?” he asked.

MacRuairi’s gaze flickered over him, quickly assessing the damage. His mouth hardened as he realized the reason for Arthur’s refusal of aid. “Nay. Saint and Templar are with me. Hawk wanted to come, but someone needed to stay with the fleet. You didn’t hear the blast?”

Arthur shook his head. “Is that how you got in?”

MacRuairi helped secure the rope around his waist and between his legs. Arthur’s legs trembled like those of a newborn foal, but he managed to stay upright.

“Nay, but it’s good for a distraction.” MacRuairi grabbed hold of a second rope and quickly climbed up. Then he hoisted Arthur up with the rope, which wasn’t easy as he was virtual dead weight on the other end. But MacRuairi, in addition to being as mean as a snake, was as strong as a bloody ox.

The sense of relief that hit Arthur to be out of that hellhole was nearly overwhelming. He felt like bawling like a babe. MacRuairi unwrapped the plaid he was wearing and handed it to him. Arthur had forgotten he was naked. He accepted it gratefully, securing it around his waist and shoulders as best as he could with his mangled hand.

“The stench of rat shite will eventually wash away.”

Arthur was surprised to see the hint of compassion in the other man’s gaze. Suddenly, he realized why MacRuairi had looked so close to panic down there. He’d known what it was like. He must have been through something similar. “And the rest?” Arthur asked.

MacRuairi turned sharply away, as if the chip in his icy armor annoyed him. “The rest takes longer.”

Or never. Arthur heard the unspoken words.

“How did you find me?”

“The lass told us you’d been taken prisoner. I figured out the rest.”

The lass ...

“Anna?” he asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.

“Aye, it was fortunate we caught sight of her.” MacRuairi explained how they’d been scouting the area and checking the burial cairn in the woods to make sure he hadn’t left any messages when they heard a group of riders nearby. They’d glimpsed Anna and had followed her when she gave her brother and his men the slip.

Arthur was shocked. “She tried to escape?”

“Apparently she wanted to make sure you were all right.”

He muttered an oath. Thank God she hadn’t been the one to find him. He never wanted her to know what her father had done to him. It was too much reality. Let her hold on to some illusions.

But knowing that she cared enough to come find him meant a lot. More than a lot. He owed her his life. It also gave him hope.

“Ah hell,” MacRuairi muttered with disgust. “You’ve got the same silly-arse look in your eye as MacSorley. We don’t have time for this. I’ll tell you the rest later.” MacRuairi wrapped one arm around Arthur’s waist, careful to avoid his injured shoulder, and helped him walk to the door. He knocked twice in quick succession, then once slowly. The door opened.

“Damn, Viper. I was about to go in after you.” Magnus “Saint” MacKay took one look at Arthur and winced. “You all right, Ranger?”

Arthur tried to smile but faltered at the sting of pain. “I’ve been better, but I’m damned glad to see you. How did—”

A loud boom thundered through the night air, cutting off his question. Night air. Jesus, the attack! “What time is it?”