Sands, Lynsay - Highland Treasure

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

An Excerpt from Meant to Be Immortal

Prologue

About the Author

Praise for Lynsay Sands

By Lynsay Sands

Copyright

About the Publisher

Prologue

The soft jingle of keys stirred Elysande from a fitful sleep. Curled up on the damp, dirt floor, and facing the stone wall, she couldn’t see who was approaching, but didn’t particularly care. It would either be de Buci or one of his men, come to drag her up into the great hall to beat her again. Or perhaps to do something worse this time, since the beating hadn’t worked to get the information he was looking for.

Thoughts of those worse things made her fingers tighten around the corners of the smelly, ragged blanket she’d dragged around herself to ward off the chill in the cold dungeon. De Buci had threatened several tortures for their next meeting as he’d had his men drag her away: rape, cutting off a hand or a foot, marking her face with a hot iron so none would look upon her without horror. He’d listed other threats but she hadn’t heard them since his voice had become a muted growl from behind her as she was dragged down into the bowels of hell that was the dungeon of Kynardersley.

Elysande had never much considered whether she was a brave woman or not, but this experience had taught her that she wasn’t. Because had she the answer the man was looking for, she would have given it to him about halfway through the earlier beatings. But she didn’t know the answer to his repeated and insistent roar of “Where is it?”

“What?” she’d cried just as often, desperate to end the abuse, only to be told, “You know what! Where is it?”

But Elysande hadn’t known. That morning, she’d woken happy and cheerful in her bed, in the home she’d grown up in, with loving parents and a castle full of servants and soldiers who she considered family. Now . . .

The sound of the key in the lock finally had her lifting her head off the floor to look over her shoulder. Elysande stared blankly at her mother’s maid, who now stood at the door to her cell, and then she sat up with surprise. The abrupt movement immediately sent pain rushing through her body, but she ignored it and rasped out a confused, “Betty?”

The maid’s eyes widened with alarm. She put a finger to her mouth in the sign to hush, then peered anxiously to the sleeping guard slumped in the chair by the table outside Elysande’s cell. When the man continued to snore loudly, Betty turned her attention back to the keys she held. Pulling out the one presently in the lock, she tried the next on the ring of half a dozen large keys.

Elysande watched silently, half-afraid she was dreaming. Then the third key worked and Betty eased the door open. They both winced at the squeal of the hinges, their gazes moving to the guard. But he continued snoring loudly.

“Can ye get up?” Betty whispered.

Elysande shifted her gaze back to the maid, a little startled to find the woman now standing right in front of her. She hadn’t seen her move. Rather than answer, Elysande released her hold on one corner of the ratty blanket to reach out to the girl. She wanted to touch her, to be sure she was real, but the maid must have thought it a silent request for help, because she immediately took her arm and began to pull upward.

Steeling herself against the pain, Elysande managed to stagger to her feet with the maid’s help, but it was an effort that left her sweaty and swaying as she fought the pain and dizziness that assailed her.

“Can ye walk, m’lady?” Betty whispered anxiously, looking close to tears as she clutched her arm to steady her.

Elysande swallowed the bile rising in her throat and nodded grimly. She would walk if it killed her.

Betty pulled Elysande’s arm over her shoulders and helped her shuffle out of the cell. It was a slow, laborious effort, but once she had her out of the cell, Betty urged her to grasp the smooth bars to help her stay upright, then rushed to the end of the small hall and snatched up a bag by the wall. Elysande frowned slightly, but didn’t ask questions; she merely watched her pull a gown from the bag and quickly begin to stuff it with the fetid straw that covered the hall floor. The maid filled the bag itself last and then hurried into the cell, and arranged her creation under the ratty blanket. Only when Betty straightened to examine her handiwork did Elysande understand what she was doing. She’d managed to make it look like a huddled figure curled against the back wall of the cell. Like she was still there, Elysande realized as the maid rushed back and closed the cell door.

They both stiffened and glanced warily to the guard when the action set up another protesting squeal. But the man remained asleep.

Elysande released a relieved breath, and drew in another, only to hold that one when Betty moved cautiously over to the man to set the keys carefully on the table in front of him, where she’d apparently got them. Despite the maid’s caution, they made the faintest clanking noises as she set them down. Still, the man didn’t stir.

Releasing a shaky little sigh, Betty moved quickly back to her side and took her arm over her shoulders again.

“This way,” she whispered, and led her to the end of the hall where the bag had been.

“Mother?” Elysande asked in a soft voice when the girl pushed and turned the correct stone to open the secret passage.

“Aye. She told me how to open it,” Betty admitted.

It wasn’t what Elysande had been asking. She wanted to know how her mother was, but as the wall swung open to reveal what seemed like a million stairs stretching upward, she decided that her mother must be all right to have given the girl directions. So she saved her breath and moved into the hidden passage.

Hewn into the stone and disappearing up into darkness, the stairs were too narrow for them to move side by side. Betty couldn’t help her here. She would have to manage them on her own. And she would, Elysande told herself firmly, even if she had to drag herself up them on her belly. And she very nearly did. Elysande was on her hands and knees by the time they reached the top of the stairwell.

Gasping with relief as she made it off the last step, Elysande collapsed to the cold stone passage, every muscle in her body trembling with exhaustion.

“M’lady?”

Elysande sighed at that whisper from Betty. She wanted to just lie there and die, but she couldn’t. Her mother . . .

The brush of cool cloth across her arm and cheek made her open her eyes. She couldn’t see in this stygian darkness, but guessed that Betty was stepping carefully over her to stand by her head in the narrow passage and it was the maid’s skirts she’d felt.

“M’lady? It isn’t much farther now.” The girl’s whisper was accompanied by her hands clasping Elysande’s shoulders. The maid was going to try to help her to her feet.

Ignoring her aches and pains, Elysande ground her teeth together and pushed herself up onto her knees. She then braced one hand against the stone wall, grabbed the girl’s arm with the other and managed to drag herself to her feet.

“Are you all right?” Betty whispered with concern.

“I am fine,” Elysande said, panting, and then took a deep breath to steady herself. “Let us go. I would see Mother.”