Page 36 of Wed to the Highlander

All of them pointed toward the castle. Maggie turned to look, her heart sinking at the sight of the rotting and warped wood of the back staircase of the shuttered north wing. At the base, half hidden in shadow behind crisscrossed planks, was a narrow crawlspace.

“It went under?” Maggie asked, receiving a chorus of nods. “We’ll just have to retrieve it,” she said with a forced sense of optimism.

No one answered.

Maggie moved closer, bent at the waist, and peered between the boards. The ball sat maybe three or four feet in—just out of arm’s reach. She glanced over her shoulder at the wide-eyed children.

“I think I can get it,” she said. “I’ll be in and out in a wink.”

She pried off a loose board—more easily than expected—and dropped to her hands and knees. Thinking her mother would be appalled if she could see her now, she crawled in between two wooden posts, her skirts dragging in the dust. Cool air brushed her face, thick with the scent of old earth and damp wood. Her fingers brushed grit and splinters as she moved slowly forward.

Only a handsbreadth more…

She stretched, fingertips grazing the leather. Just a bit farther—

“Got it,” she whispered, reeling the ball in just as asobechoed through the darkness.

Maggie froze.

It was the same cry she’d heard before. Low. Guttural. Agonized.

She whipped her head around, heart hammering in her chest. A shadow shifted in front of her.

Her skin prickled. Every instinct screamed retreat.

But when she tried to back out, her skirt snagged on something sharp.

She yanked once, heard fabric rip. Uncaring, wanting only out, she tugged twice more. But there was no give.

Above her, wood creaked.

Another cry sounded. Different. Higher pitched, more frantic.

A waft of air stirred the dust.

Then dirt rained down as, with a louder creak, a board gave way.

Maggie ducked her head and closed her eyes. “Help! I’m stuck,” she cried out, frantically pulling on the remarkably sturdy cloth as another timber snapped loose.

“Fetch help!” she shouted, hoping beyond hope the children outside would hear her.

Suddenly, fingers banded her ankles and yanked hard.

She was dragged from the darkness, coughing, skirts torn, lungs aching. Sunlight and fresh air rushed to greet her—and so did her rescuer.

Duncan caught her under the arms and pulled her against him, one hand sliding up to cradle her dirt-streaked face.

“What in God’s name were you doing?” he rasped, voice tight with fear.

“I-I saw the ball,” she gasped. “I thought it would take a moment. Then I heard…”

She looked past his shoulder. The children stared, pale and trembling.

Duncan turned, jaw tight, as he addressed the lot of them. “You let her go under?”

No one answered. But their parents, alerted by the commotion, began to gather.

“She insisted,” Peter, the stablemaster’s son, finally put forward.