Enraptured by the Highlander

If the bottle had shattered and the man had woke up, he’d be dead on sight. He rested the bottle on the table and was about to move off when the man’s bleary eyes opened.

“Roger?”

“A-hm?” Caelan hummed. He did not d

are speak as his accent would reveal who he was.

“Is…” the guard looked at him and his unfocused eyes seemed to sharpen on Caelan’s face. Damnation! He’s found me. This is it, I’m discovered.

The man’s eyes blurred over and his eyes fluttered closed. The rancid smell of whiskey and sour stomach made his nose wrinkle. “Is it my r-rotation yet?”

“No,” Caelan said in the best English accent as he could conjure. “Not yet.”

The guard flipped on his stomach and with a muffled snort and a loud snore the man was out. Caelan moved away and took the stairs to the basement. It was as dark as the dungeon he had left but he was not dismayed. He dropped and trailed his hand along the stone floor. He felt an iron bar and grasped it.

He tugged it up and a rush of stale air met his nose but the smell was no deterrent. Slipping inside, he dropped to the floor and took a breath. With the latch closed above, he took out the candle and the flint. Striking the candle to light he looked around. The tunnel was dirt but there were sections were daub had been added to keep the dirt from closing in.

Gritting his teeth, he moved off. “The west wall…Artur, I better see ye there with a warhorse.”

He fully intended to ride to Scotland, and if the damned Earl came to contest him, the tables would be turned. The English lord would be on his land where his Crown privilege meant nothing. If God gave him the chance, he’d subject the Earl to the same hospitality he had been shown.

The trail was rugged and at one point he had to rip the soles of the dratted hose from his feet to stop himself from slipping. The Earl must have had this tunnel fixed because he knew it was old. His fingers touched hardened daub at sections all through its length.

He had no way to time how long he had been in the tunnel, but he thought it was more than an hour. Thank God there were no turn-offs or forks in the tunnel and that it went straight. The air was getting scarce and he needed to get out before he suffocated. He walked faster and even broke into a run, but the consequence was that he had less air.

His lungs were beginning to burn as he reached an incline. Scrambling up the slope, he got to the other door and pushed it open. It did not budge. He tried again and it barely moved. His muscled tensed and he pushed with everything inside him. His low groan of effort grew louder.

Caelan felt like Samson, straining against the wall in the Philistine’s house. He pushed and felt something shift. Summoning up a strength that came from his mind more than his muscles, he gave a roar and shoved the door out. A series of crashes came from behind the door and the door opened. He heaved himself up through the doorway. The sky was dark, but he was able to see a long streak of splintered saplings and broken bushes.

With the little strength, he had left he heaved himself up and looked behind him. Curving alongside him was the east wall to the Earl’s estate. He slumped on the ground and he breathed in desperate breaths. He felt weak. The meager meals he had in the Earl’s dungeon had sapped his strength, but the few good ones the cook had given him in the mornings had been his saving grace.

Mustering up the last vestiges of his strength, he stood and looked around clearly. The ravine Adelaine had told him about was indeed there. It looked like an old river must have cut through this ravine because the rocks on the bottom of the bed were smooth.

He moved slowly but surely, taking one step at a time. He looked up at times to see the shadowed lips of the ravine, covered with scrub and brambles, he walked until the lips of ravine leveled out into a bank and the flatbed of the ravine rose.

“McLagen!”

Caelan’s head snapped up and the welcoming sight of Artur met his eyes. Exultation surged through him as his brother-in-arms rushed to his side. “Artur,” he said as he slapped the man on the back. “Yer a sight fer sore eyes.”

Artur’s eyes were laden with disbelief as he ran them over his long-lost Laird, “She did it, my God, she actually did it.”

Adelaine…

Looking up at the three other men, Caelan saluted them, “Rogan, Donnan, and Gregor, how are ye men?”

“Much better now that yer here,” Donnan said as he led a horse toward him. “We must thank that lass; she came through on her promise. Sent us the very directions where to find ye.”

Pride swelled Caelan’s chest. That’s me Adelaine…she saved me life. I’ll be damned, if I dint save hers.

Artur handed him the handle of a heavy broadsword and grinning at the feel of steel once again in his hand, Caelan hefted it from his right hand to his left and smiled before stashing it on the side of the horse. With a little help, Caelan then mounted the impatient steed, “We’re nae only going to thank her…the moment I get my health back, I’m coming fer her.”

A look passed among the four, but only Gregor had the courage to ask. Still, his tone was a bit timid. “Me Laird…what is this woman to ye?”

“The love of me life,” Caelan replied, not caring about the mixed reaction he would get from the four men. “Aye I ken she’s nae Scottish and worse, she’s the daughter of me captor, the man who wanted to execute me but, I am nae going to let her suffer under the hand of her faither. And trust me, when he gets wind that Imma gone, she will be in trouble.”

Chapter 25

Caelan, has he made it? In the midst of the lavish New Year’s celebration, Adelaine’s mind was stuck on Caelan. She wondered if he had made it through the ravine and into the welcoming arms of his men. What if he had not made it at all? What if he had gotten caught?