Highland Captive Read Online Free PDF Page B

“that he does. But to escape into a crowded bailey? ‘Tis
madness.”
    “We
wouldnae have seen him had Malcolm not chanced to look up.” Lagan chuckled. “‘Tis
really quite clever.”
    “If
he doesnae end up splattered upon the ground,” Parlan growled. “This is a
cursed annoying business. I have one boy sick and near to death and the other
trying to kill himself. Mengue will pay dearly for raising such brats.”
    Lagan
laughed. “Weel, we should wander over there to greet the lad when he reaches
the ground.”
    “Oh,
aye, I will greet him.” His fear for the dangling boy turned to anger as Parlan
strode toward the wall.
    “It
may be the tales ye just mentioned that drive him to such an act,” Malcolm
suggested quickly as he hurried to keep pace.
    Struggling
against his anger, Parlan finally nodded as he glanced at Malcolm. “‘Tis true.
I will keep that in mind whilst I am beating the brat.” He looked back toward
the small figure gingerly descending the wall just as the wind stole the bonnet
the lad wore. “Jesus wept.”
    Parlan’s
soft curse was repeated by all around him.
    In
her haste, Aimil had not only failed to secure her bonnet but her hair as well.
It tumbled free in glorious thick waves, the wind catching it and tossling its
beauty with abandon. The predominant color was a blond so fair it was silver in
color but streaked with shades of gold and red that caught and held every beam
of light. What Aimil thought a bane, an unruly mass that could not decide upon
a color, Parlan and those with him thought beauty itself.
    After
shock had released its hold, the first thought that entered Parlan’s mind was
that he would like to wrap himself up in that hair which was like silken
sunlight. He then wondered if she was old enough to be used in the ways he was
thinking of. Her small stature might yet indicate youth. Few mature women he
knew could so easily and successfully disguise themselves so. The
disappointment he felt when that possibility occurred to him surprised him
some. Suddenly he recalled the “lad’s” delicate features and swore at himself.
    “I
should have seen it,” he snapped as he again moved toward where Aimil was now
hanging some feet short of the ground.
    “The
lass has come up short. We best hasten before she tries to drop to the ground,”
suggested Lagan. “She could land afoul and break a bone.”
    “I
am sorely tempted to break a few of her bones. T’was a foolish move for a
laddie to make. For a wee lass...” He shook his head, stunned by the daring of
the girl, even as he guiltily admitted that his reputation, which he had done
little to clear, might have driven her to the rash act.
    The
advance of the men halted as abruptly as Aimil’s whistle pierced the air.
Parlan sensed what was about to happen, but his shout of warning barely came in
time. Men hurled themselves out of the way of an onrushing Elfking who stopped
directly beneath the dangling girl. They watched in astonishment while they
rose, dusting themselves off, as she neatly lowered herself onto the stallion’s
back. Her plan of escape was clear to all now.
    Aimil
recovered quickly from the jolt of dropping onto Elfking’s back and grasped the
reins. Riding bareback did not trouble her. She did, in fact, prefer it.
Exhilaration filled her though she tried to quell it. Freedom was so close she
could taste its nectar.

Chapter Three
    “Close
the gates! Get my cursed horse. Fools! Dinnae bother with a saddle. She will be
sitting at Mengue’s table before I have even mounted.”
    If
Aimil had not been so afraid that she could yet fail, she would have laughed at
the sight of the much-feared Black Parlan bellowing orders and his men
scrambling to obey. She knew, however, that what looked like confusion was not.
It was only haste, a haste that could rob her of her goal when she was so close
to it. With a yell that rivaled any battlecry, she urged Elfking toward the
gates that were already being shut against