Page 3 of Forge of the Highlander’s Destiny

U seless. The man is bloody useless!

Arya didn’t really think that, but she was furious that this Cohen Kirk had no interest in escape, and he didn’t want to agree to take her with him!

Men! They were endlessly disappointing and cruel.

She had to think of a way to get him to help her.

He was the first lifeline that had come her way in a very long time, and she had to get him to understand that!

It was her only and perhaps final chance to get out from under her father’s thumb and not through marriage to one of her father’s ridiculous men.

Perhaps her father knew that she was thinking of him because he burst through the door, his angry eyes searching for her in the gloom. There was a small window which let in the light, but it wasn’t enough. Arya smirked.

Poor Faither hasnae spent enough time in the dungeons below to ken how to see properly in its darkness.

“Arya,” he said in his low, grumbling tone. “Give me the damn keys!” he yelled, and a guard hurriedly rushed from the doorway to hand him the mass of keys. He had imprisoned so many for so many years that he knew the one he wanted.

He shoved the key in the lock and swung the door open, looking down at his eldest daughter as if she was the devil incarnate. Arya was used to it, and she jumped to attention.

“Faither,” she said with disdain.

“Bloody nuisance,” he complained. “If only ye’d listen, then we could be done with all of this. Ye could be out and married, and I wouldnae have to deal with ye any longer.”

Arya knew that most certainly he would never be done with his punishments as long as she lived in his castle. He was cruel, and he enjoyed cruelty.

“Faither, are ye certain ye want to say all this in front of our guest?” she said in a dry tone, and her father’s face flushed with fury.

“How dare ye ridicule me, Lass. Ye are just a useless wench! I daenae ken why yer maither had to have only lasses!” He grabbed her arm and dragged her out in front of Cohen’s cell. Arya was so surprised by the movement that she’d nearly lost her breath.

She pushed against her father’s solid frame, praying to all the gods or anyone who would listen that her father would become instantly old and feeble, and she could finally hit him down and put him in his place. She received no answer, and his frame was just as strong as it usually was.

“Bloody Hell!” he cried. “I will sell ye off the next minute, Arya. I daenae want ye around any longer. Ye are a drain on everything.” Arya pulled away again, trying to get out of his grasp, wishing that she was stronger and better than him at fighting, but she wasn’t.

She didn’t see his hand raise up before she felt it, slapping across her cheek in a hard movement. She stood stock still, always shocked by the first of his blows whenever he came.

He seemed satisfied by her silence, and he nodded, his voice a low growl. “There, that will teach ye.”

Naturally, tears sprang to her eyes, and she stood still, not wanting to turn to face Cohen. It was his cell they stood in front of, and she bit back the humiliation her father was causing her.

“Come,” he said, pulling on her roughly again until they were out of the dungeons and moving up the stairs. Finally, she was able to spring free from his grasp. A guard was following them, but he made no move to grasp her again now that she was walking on her own.

“I ken the way well enough, Faither,” she spat. “Ye daenae need to hold on to me the whole time.”

“Just enough for that Laird to ken that I have control over me own daughter.”

That is what ye think.

“Now,” he continued, acting as if he hadn’t just pulled his daughter from a dungeon and slapped her in the face.

“There is much to dae. Stop bein’ so lazy and get to it.

Olivia needs yer help.” At the top of the stairs, he pushed her away from him, and she moved to the kitchen.

It had been a ritual for so many years that she knew what he wanted without him needing to say.

Even if she had gone through the motions of this so many times, it never seemed to hurt any less.

Once she knew that he was far enough away, she slipped into a side alcove and fell to the floor, bursting into tears.

To cry in private was one thing. In public, quite another, and alone, it was her only chance to truly vent her grief at the cards that fate had dealt her.

Her father was a monster, just as Cohen Kirk described, and she and her younger sister Olivia were merely victims to his madness and fury.

It was thoughts of Olivia which eventually pulled Arya from her bout of tears.

She couldn’t let Olivia, perfect innocent Olivia, see her like this.

So broken and useless. Arya stood up again and wiped her tears.

She had to think of something. She felt her fingertips steal around the misshapen stones of the wall, and it was like her body needed a base from which to spring.

Her final rebellion against her father would be to leave and take his precious prisoner with her.

It might get her killed, but it might also get her freed, and that was something worth fighting for.

She took a breath, imagining the life before her if she could free herself, and it sparked her courage.

It would have to be done, and she would return to the dungeons tonight when her father would be fast asleep, hazy with wine.

Shite. The lass has a real blaigeard for a faither.

Cohen felt like an idiot. He was put to shame when he saw Laird of Muir slap his daughter across the face as hard as he possibly could. So, she hadn’t been lying when she told him about what she’d had to suffer. It was not a surprise that she wanted to get out of this hellhole.

Cohen shrugged his guilt away. It was not as if he had any plans of escape or that Laird of Muir had any plans to let him go. That wasn’t the way of things, and he knew that he was destined for the gallows whenever Laird of Muir decided it.

Hours passed. Once night fell, the chill returned tenfold, and Cohen sat in the dim cell with the thin blanket wrapped around him, wishing that he could have a hot bath and a warm fire in front of him.

His stomach ached with hunger, and his throat was dry with thirst. He closed his eyes and dreamed of Sinclair Castle where he would be treated as the Laird he was.

He realized that he must have fallen asleep when he started to see Arya in the dream, sitting beside him by the fire, only partially clothed.

He jolted awake at the sound of a door opening and closing, and he squinted into the darkness, trying to shake the sleep from him.

The torch was still lit, but he still couldn’t see well.

It was too late for food, and his heart sunk, wondering if the Laird had chosen the dead of night for his execution.

“Lad!” a woman’s voice called, and Cohen sat up straighter, recognizing it.

“Arya?” he asked, and she appeared at his doorway with a mischievous grin. She waved a set of keys in the air.

“Ready to be free, Laird of Sinclair?” she asked in a teasing tone, and he was so dumbstruck that she had succeeded, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He just nodded.

“Good.” He heard the movement of the key in the lock, and he got to his feet when she swung open the door. He felt weak, tired, and dirty, but he sure as Hell wouldn’t lose this chance to escape.

“What did ye do?” he asked, and Arya shushed him.

“Keep yer voice down. The guards are sleeping. Follow me.” She reached back for his hand and pulled him along the dungeons, plunging them further into darkness.

Cohen tensed. Was this a trick? Perhaps this Laird uses his daughter to trick his prisoners into thinking they are friends, and then she leads them to their deaths?

Cohen shook off the worried thoughts and foolish nerves. He would have to trust her. He’d seen the way the Laird hit her. That was no act, and he knew that Arya really did want to be free. He squeezed her hand tighter to give himself more courage, but then they stopped, and Arya dropped his hand.

She began to move both of her hands along the stone wall. “I ken it is here,” she muttered under her breath.

“What?” he asked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.

“A door. Or rather a passage. We will have to squeeze through it. Och,” she whispered with satisfaction, and he heard the grinding of stone as she heaved and pushed.

Dropping lower, Cohen saw it. Arya had pushed in a large square of stone, and there was a long dark tunnel behind it.

It was not the most inviting space he had ever seen, but if it would lead him to freedom, he would take his chances.

“Come. There may nae be much time,” she said in a harsh whisper and wriggled into the passage.

Cohen watched her for a few seconds until she completely disappeared inside.

The stone door was about to swing closed, but he held it open.

He sent up a prayer before he followed her, and he scrunched his nose up when the smell of wet earth hit his nose.

All he could do was follow the sound of her once the stone door shut closed behind him.

He dragged himself through the small space, trying not to think about how completely trapped he was. And in the dark.

His hands slid across cold, wet stone. He just barely fit, but there was still enough room to move forward easily.

Growing up, Cohen had never liked small spaces all that much, but he found that regulating his breathing would keep him from going mad.

He dreamed of home, the green fields, his sister Sienna, and he tried to focus on freedom.

That was the only way he could get out of this.

After what seemed like an eternity, Arya made a sound of delight, and he wondered if they’d reached the end of their journey. He saw a dim light at the end of their tunnel, and he breathed a sigh of relief, speeding up to get to the end.

Arya grinned at him when he slid out of the tunnel and brushed himself off.

They were standing in a storeroom. “The exit to the castle is just here. Come with me.” She led the way, and she opened it, peering into the night.

It was cold and silent, and he cursed himself for forgetting his blanket.

How would he be able to survive without a blanket in this cold night?

It might be too dangerous to build a fire.

He would have to think of some way. After another second, Arya stepped outside and shut the door behind her. “Finally. We are free. Let’s go.”

“Let’s?” he asked. “Ye are nae comin’.”

“Aye, I am,” Arya said defiantly, putting her hands on her hips. “I have gotten ye this far, and ye will take me with ye now.”

“Lass, ye daenae ken how dangerous it is!” He leaned closer, so that he could make his whisper softer. “I daenae want ye to get hurt.”

He could see the steely gaze in her eyes. “Ye owe me now, Me Laird. I could have left ye to die, ye ken. Ye willnae abandon me now.”

He was about to refuse again, not wanting the liability of a lass on his hands as he tried to hide from her father, but the sounds of men on the battlements stirred him to action.

“Bloody Hell,” he whispered under his breath. He clasped her hand in his, and together, they made a mad dash for the forest.