Parlan’s gaze narrowed as he paused in the doorway. “I will tell ye how weel we suit.”
“Ye do that.”
A frown touched Parlan’s face as he shut and bolted the door, hearing a soft laugh. “A strange boy.”
Even stranger than he could ever imagine, thought Aimil, when she overheard the muttered remark. Once free of prying eyes, she wasted no time in pulling off her soiled clothes. She ached to rid herself of the dirt and stink of her imprisonment.
Leith watched her, amazed at how womanly she had grown since the last time he had seen her naked which, he realized, would have been when she had been only about fourteen and they had gone for a swim together. Using the eyes of a man viewing a woman and not those of a brother seeing his sister, Leith carefully studied Aimil. She was small and lithe but did not lack for curves. Full, high breasts offered all a man could want. A tiny waist led to gently-rounded hips and slim legs that appeared longer than what was accounted for in her height. Her skin had a light honey tone and was without mar. As if that was not enough to stir any man, her every movement was graceful, unknowingly sensual. He was surprised that the MacGuins still thought her a lad.
“Lass, if your ruse is discovered, dinnae fash yourself over me, just run,” he said sternly, his order given strength by his fear for her.
Pausing in drying herself, Aimil looked at her brother in surprise. “All right, Leith, if ye think it best.”
“Aye. Trust me. ’Tis best.” He smiled weakly, knowing she was unaware of her draw for a man, something he knew would only make her appeal stronger.
“I wonder if I can see the stable from here,” she mused aloud, and moved toward the window while donning the shirt that had been set out for her.
“’Ware now. Dinnae let them see ye. That hair can be like a beacon at times.”
Aimil scowled at the calf-length hair she was rubbing dry. “Aye, cursed mane. Never fear, I can stay to the shadows here.”
“Weel?” Leith asked when she sat grinning for a moment but did not say a word. “Can ye see anything?”
Hardly able to talk because of her laughter, Aimil gasped, “Aye, Elfking performed verra weel.”
“God’s tears, the Black Parlan tipped out of the saddle. How I wish I could have seen that but I am so weak I cannae even scratch my own arse,” he muttered, disgusted with his weakness.
“Weel, dinnae expect me to do it for ye.”
Leith’s chuckle turned into a cough. Aimil dropped the cloth she had been drying her hair with and fetched him a drink of mead. She was helping him to drink it, easing the rasp that forced the cough, when a young, brawny man entered with a meal for the prisoners.
Stunned into immobility, Aimil gaped at the young man who stared at her. She was unaware of her allure as she stood with her damp hair tossled from its drying and her slim shapely figure only barely covered by her shirt.
His gaze was fixed upon the full curve of breasts barely restrained by the unlaced shirt and he did the first thing that came to mind. He set down the tray and lunged.
A soft expulsion of breath was all the noise Aimil made as she was slammed up against a broad chest. Leith struggled to rise, but she heard him fall back onto the bed, too weak to aid her. Aimil struggled in panic for a moment as her captor ground his mouth onto hers and mauled her body. Then she calmed as she maneuvered her knee between his legs and raised it with as much force as she could. The young man yelled a deafening howl, released her, and bent over to clutch at his abused groin. Aimil made a two-handed fist and brought it down hard on his head, watching in amazement as he crumpled unconscious at her feet. It was the first time she had used the trick and had not expected it to work. She sank down onto the bed to catch her breath.
“I was wondering when ye would recall what I had taught ye,” Leith said in a voice that was little more than a hoarse whisper. “Ye must go.”
“How can I leave ye when ye are so ill?”
“They willnae harm me. Ye heard how they spoke. They dinnae want a corpse. Try to flee.”
Hesitant, Aimil quickly dressed and covered her hair with her bonnet. She crept to the door and opened it a crack. Not peering out, she heard the sounds of voices and footsteps and knew there was little chance of escape that way. She was lucky that the man’s hollering had not been heard. As she closed the door and turned to tell Leith that no escape seemed possible, her gaze fell upon the extra linen left to change Leith’s bed. Dashing to the window, she thoughtfully measured the distance to the ground then made her decision.
“I will make a linen rope and go out the window.”
“The men in the bailey,” Leith ventured, fighting to keep his mind clear.
“They willnae be looking to the walls. Rest, Leith. This short time of sanity and strength show that ye can beat this illness but only if ye rest.” She sat on the bed and began to knot her makeshift rope. “We have done such a height before, and this should be strong enough to hold me.”
“Aye, ye cannae be above a hundredweight.”
“I would rather stay here with ye.”
“Ye cannae. That mon showed ye what can happen.”
“Black Parlan seemed to want no trouble though.”
“He thought us both lads. Aye, that man will nay doubt be punished but only because he tried to take what should be offered to the laird first. Trust me, your only chance lies in escape.” He closed his eyes against a wave of weakness. “Are ye nae afraid of rape?”
Aimil shrugged. “’Tis hard to say. I am afraid of being hurt. T’was that which made me panic when this man leapt upon me. I look at rape much as I look at death. There is little I can do about either. Both are somewhat commonplace. I willnae go in search of either nor will I go down without a fight,” she said firmly, knowing that her character would make her fight either fate with any means at hand.
Leith grinned weakly as, when the man at her feet began to stir, Aimil calmly knocked him on the head with a heavy candlestick, set the makeshift weapon back by the bed, and returned to knotting the linen all without a pause in her speech.
“’Tis wretched that men must take their pleasure of unwilling women, but they do. ’Tis a fact of life. I cannae fash myself to the bone over facts of life.” She tied her rope to the end of the bed and tested its hold. “That should do. Are ye sure I willnae be safe here?”
“Aye, I am sure. The Black Parlan is weel-kenned for his healthy appetite for the lasses.”
“Oh. Weel, wish me luck,” she murmured and sighed, reluctant to leave him but feeling he was wiser in such matters.
“What will ye do when ye reach the bailey?”
“Whistle for Elfking.” She grinned. “If I get down this wall unseen and onto Elfking’s back before the men down there move, I will have a verra good chance.”
There was no disputing that. Leith knew that few horses existed which could match Elfking for speed. He felt a slight hope rise. She might
