But it didn’t have the desired effect. Raith stepped back a pace, safely out of range. Yet he still didn’t go away. “This morning,” he said, his tone impassive once more, “you mentioned wanting to leave the house. I’ve decided to grant your request. There’s really no reason to keep you incarcerated here every minute.”

Afraid to credit what she’d heard, Katrine nevertheless felt hope flare within her. Yet she tried to keep her eagerness from showing in her expression, even as her thoughts rushed ahead. How much greater would her chances be for escape if she were no longer imprisoned in the house?

“Indeed, I don’t see why you can’t have the run of the place,” Raith continued. “You can’t escape. I’ve given instructions that you’re to be watched every moment. You won’t be able to visit the privy without a dozen pairs of eyes on you.”

It was fortunate then, Katrine thought resentfully, that she wasn’t required to visit the privy; her garret bedchamber was supplied with a chamber pot. But no lady ever spoke of such things.

Biting her tongue, Katrine cast a rancorous glare at Raith. Had he enjoyed raising her hopes, only to shatter them? Of course he wouldn’t have made such an offer if he thought she had the slightest chance of escape.

More than anything, she wanted to throw his magnanimous offer back in his face. But she would only be spiting herself; after being cooped up in his house for days on end, she was desperate to be allowed out of doors, even if she couldn’t escape. She would be drawn and quartered, though, before she thanked him for the privilege.

“Your generosity is overwhelming,” Katrine retorted in as scathing a tone as she could muster. She left off sweeping with her broom and swept him a deep curtsy instead.

The falseness of her gratitude must have pricked his own temper, for his anger showed in the way his mouth tightened. “One day, Miss Campbell…” Raith murmured under his breath.

He didn’t finish the threat, but she had little doubt it was a serious warning. In response, Katrine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze defiantly, staring back at the smoldering eyes that were hooded and dangerous. She had no idea what he was thinking, but it wasn’t pleasant, of that she was certain.

She was determined not to look away first, to maintain her composure under his fierce regard. Katrine was beginning to feel highly uncomfortable, when, without another word, Raith turned away.

She stood there after he’d left the room, listening to his retreating footsteps, her spirits totally deflated. She had known she was being watched by his household, but his revelation just now about the orders he’d given had further dashed her hopes of eventually stealing a horse and making good her escape. And, although she was loath to admit it, it wounded her that he considered her capable of harming his young ward. How could he think so little of her, even if he considered her a hated Sassenach?

Yet what did she care what he thought of her? She was a fool to allow the opinion of an unscrupulous villain to mean a thing to her.

So chiding herself, Katrine resumed her sweeping with renewed vigor, determined to put any thought of Raith MacLean out of her mind. Yet she was only partially successful, for every time she remembered Meggie’s tragic tale, she recalled the contemptuous way Raith had looked at her, the accusation in his eyes, as if he blamed her for what the English soldiers had done.

Katrine couldn’t help brooding over the child, either, and she tackled the subject the moment she next saw Flora.

“Is it true that Meggie won’t speak?”

“Aye, the poor wee mite,” Flora answered with a grim nod.

But that was all the dour woman would say about Meggie. Flora’s mouth shut tighter than a clam’s when Katrine asked what had happened.

It was only when Katrine lost patience and made a disparaging remark about the laird’s ability to protect his dependents that Flora found her voice. “We’ve a saying in the Highlands, Mistress Campbell—ne’er speak ill o’ them whose bread ye eat.”

Flora, Katrine was learning, tended to punctuate her speech with proverbs, and this particular one was well-timed; Katrine had just helped her plate to the first decent meal she’d had since her abduction. Glancing down at the savory meat pie and steaming colcannon, Katrine considered the alternative and decided to still her tongue.

She was glad she did for, on a full stomach, it was easier to be optimistic about her future. Her spirits rose steadily after supper, and by late that evening, as Katrine warily climbed the service stairs to her garret chamber, she had regained much of her former confidence.

She would manage to elude her captors somehow; it would merely be more difficult than she had first hoped. She would keep a sharp eye out for her chance, and if she failed to gain her freedom on her own, her uncle was sure to rescue her. In the meantime she would make the most of her newly granted per

mission to leave the house. Tomorrow she would explore her surroundings and get the lay of the land.

Katrine began forming her plans as she donned her shortened nightshift and braided her hair for the night, and by the time she crawled under the covers, she was actually looking forward to the morrow. Her last thought as her eyes closed in slumber was the hope that it wouldn’t rain.

She dreamed of Highland sunrises, and when she started awake just before dawn, anticipation was building in her veins, both at the prospect of temporary freedom and at the chance to experience the birth of a new Highland day. Fairly leaping from her pallet, Katrine went to the small window in one corner of the room. The only redeeming circumstance of her captivity was the fact that her window looked out at the mountains behind the house.

She hadn’t missed the sunrise, Katrine noted with exultation. The towering peaks and crags were still wreathed in darkness, while ribbons of pale crimson were just now streaking the sky. Excitement filled her, overpowering her previous reflections about escape.

Katrine stood there for another instant, watching the night shadows fade, then hurried to wash and dress. Her fingers tugged at her hair, freeing the wild tresses, but she was too impatient to bother with combing it out, and so left the fiery mass to fall down her back in disarray. Not wanting her dilapidated slippers to be ruined further by the dewy grass, she went barefoot as she had when she was a child, as Scottish lasses all over the Highlands usually did.

Aware of the need for silence, she made no noise as she crept down the back stairs. For even though she had the laird’s permission to leave the house, she was afraid she’d be prevented from exploring the glen if she roused the household.

It seemed, however, that her fear was unfounded, for the house was quiet. Only the scullery maid was up before her, Katrine discovered as she entered the kitchen.

“I mean to go outside for a moment,” she explained, though knowing she wouldn’t be understood. “I won’t be long.” The girl gave her a shy smile but made no move to stop her as she slipped out the door.

The moment Katrine was outside, she came to an abrupt halt, drinking in the splendid view. The scene captivated her. The mountains were bathed in a misty gray light, while the color of the eastern sky had deepened to crimson. Awestruck, Katrine took a deep breath. It was a magnificent late-spring dawn, chilly and clear, with a glimmer of brightness on the horizon that heralded the rising sun. This was why she had returned home to the Highlands.

Tags: Nicole Jordan Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net