Highland Lover by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online

unless it was simply because such a man undoubtedly had women falling at his
    feet. If not for the fear that he would simply step over her to reach a prettier, more fulsome woman, she would fall there, too.
    Alana was sternly lecturing herself concerning wanton thoughts and ill-judged infatuations when
    she realized Gregor had halted and was now kneeling. She sat back on her heels and watched as he
    struggled to open a thick oak hatch above his head. When it began to open and sprinkled him with
    dirt, she quickly snatched the lantern out of the way of what she suspected would be an increasing
    deluge. Gregor hastily moved out of the way as her suspicion proved correct, but Alana was too
    preoccupied by the lack of any new light that had entered the tunnel along with the debris to enjoy
    being right. Freedom was apparently going to be as dark as captivity. She had hoped for a glowing
    full moon at the very least.
    She waited tensely as Gregor took a cautious look, inching his head up into the opening. “Where
    has it opened to?” she whispered.
    “Outside, but a few feet from the walls,” he replied as he crouched beside her and put out the
    lantern. “Ten yards away lies the shelter of the wood. We can crawl or run to it. Your choice.”
    “I choose whate’er ye think will be safer.”
    “How about a wee bit of both?”
    “Lead on.”
    By the time they reached the shelter of the wood, Alana felt battered and bruised. She did not think
    covering such a short distance had ever taken her so long or hurt so badly. When she felt the first
    drop of rain upon her face, she nearly cursed aloud.
    “Now what?” she asked, glaring up at the sky.
    “We run,” Gregor replied.
    “For how long?”
    “Until we cannae run another step. Then we have a wee rest and begin to run some more.”
    “Oh joy.”
    Chapter 4
    Why had she thought that getting out of the pit the Gowans had tossed her into would mean she
    would be warm and dry? Alana asked herself as she fought to keep pace with Gregor. She was wet,
    cold, and tired. Very, very tired. Dawn had come and gone hours ago, yet on they ran. Gregor
    allowed a few rests and a regular change from a fast pace to a slow one and then fast again. Alana
    knew she was an excellent runner, could go fast and endure a hard pace for a long time, but she
    feared she had passed her endurance miles ago.
    The chill of the rain had begun to sink deep into her bones, joining forces with the well-settled chill of the prison. She ached from the cold, ached from weariness, and ached from pushing herself far
    beyond her strength. She wanted to lie down someplace warm and dry and stay there for a day or
    two, perhaps even a full sennight.
    It occurred to her that she was not even sure where they were running to, but she was too tired to
    ask Gregor. Alana decided that as long as it was away from the Gowans, it would be good enough
    for now. Later she would take up the hunt for her sister again. Exhaustion had so dulled her wits
    and senses, she doubted she could find her sister even if she stood only feet away.
    When Gregor paused to take a drink of water from his wineskin, Alana stumbled to a halt. A
    moment later, she felt her unsteady legs collapse beneath her. She was too exhausted to even curse
    as she sat down on the cold, muddy ground. Although she knew it was unwise to sit, she could not
    find the strength to get back up. Then she began to shiver and a soft roaring filled her ears. She
    looked up to see Gregor staring at her while holding out the wineskin and felt herself slowly topple
    onto her back.
    Gregor cursed and knelt by Alana’s side. He slid his hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her
    partly up out of the mud. The way her head lolled against his arm, the complete limpness of her
    body, told him she was unconscious. When he started to brush the mud from her face, he cursed
    again. The skin beneath his hand was hot despite the cool rain falling on them.
    “Och, poor wee lass,” he