Heart Of A Highland Warrior (7 page)

Anna jumped up and lunged at the guard again, striking him in the groin. It wasn’t a direct hit, but he groaned and staggered back. Still, he held on to the gun. She expected him to shoot her, but a roar echoed down the corridor.

The guard cursed, holding his crotch with one hand and the gun with the other. “I thought you sedated him.”

“I did.”

“He’s out of control. We’ll have to give him more.” The guard hobbled to the door.

“He’s not the only one out of control,” Lance said, looking at Anna. “We need to kill her.”

“Not until I get what I want.”

Anna backed against the wall, anger and fear making her blood pound. She didn’t know if he meant answers or rape. She didn’t mind a fight, but rape…the thought made her sick. Her mother had been raped. It had ruined her life.

The guard slammed the door and started to lock it. “The lock’s broken. The bullet must have hit it. We’ll have to move her.”

“Not if we kill her,” Lance said. “We have too much to worry about with these other two.”

Did that mean there were only three of them being held here? The prisoner, the hybrid, and her?

“No. The master will want to know who she is. She must be a warrior. She had one of those necklaces.”

She touched her bare neck. Warriors didn’t lose their talismans. It just wasn’t done. What a bloody mess she
’d
gotten into.

“Put her in with Faelan for now. I’ll deal with her later. Move,” he ordered her. He stayed several feet away, aiming the gun at her head as Lance unlocked the other cell and shoved her inside. “We’re not finished. You’ll pay for this.” The guard gave her a dark look, and the two left.

Anna turned to the prisoner. He sat on the stone bench, his arms shackled to the wall above him, his bare feet shackled to an iron ring in the floor. Dried blood smeared his kilt and shirt. He was unconscious, head cradled between his upraised arms and his chest. Who was he? The guards thought he was Faelan, and he did resemble him, but they were wrong.

She touched his arm, and he yanked at his chains and opened his eyes. Anna leaned back. She had no doubt he could be dangerous. His dark gaze locked on her, and something zinged along her nerves. “What’s your name?” she asked.

He looked disoriented, but his gaze was steady. “Faelan.”

He couldn’t be. He didn’t have Faelan’s battle marks. “What’s your last name?”

“Last?”

“Faelan what?”

He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Amnesia? They had beaten him so badly it was no surprise. “Where do you live?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“How do you know your name is Faelan?”

“That’s what they call me.”

“Hold on, I’m going to try to free you.” Anna tested the shackles and chains. They were strong. She needed something to pick the lock. Her hair clip. It had a sharp edge. She touched her head, but the clip was gone. It must have fallen out when she fought the guard. She hurried to the bars and scanned the floor of the next cell. The clip was lying in a corner. She lay on the floor and stretched out her arm. Too far. Blimey. She reached around behind her and unhooked her bra. She shrugged one shoulder free, then the other, and wiggled out of it.

The prisoner watched, his brows drawn together. If he hadn’t looked so broken, his astonishment would have been comical.

“I’m sure it isn’t the first time you’ve seen a bra.” Holding one end of the bra, she knelt and tried to snag the clip through the bars. It was sort of like fishing. It took several tries to retrieve the clip. When she got it, she scooped it up and hurried back to the man. She stuck the pointed end in the lock. She wasn’t as good at picking locks as Ronan, but she wasn’t bad. Her efforts paid off, and she heard a click as the shackle released. She opened it, and the prisoner’s arm dropped. His wrist was raw from where he
’d
pulled at the chains. The second shackle proved harder. Anna glanced at his face, only inches from hers. She felt a jolt of something, but decided it was sympathy or shock.

His eyes moved over her face. He frowned and shook his head.

“I’m Anna. Anna MacKinley.”

“Anna?” He said the name stiffly, but there was no doubt he was a Scot. And a warrior. Why hadn’t she seen him before? There were some smaller clans who kept to themselves. Perhaps he belonged to one of them. But it didn’t answer the question of what he was doing here and why the guards called him Faelan. A thought was forming in her head, but it was so outlandish, she didn’t give it credit.

“Do you remember how you got here?” she asked.

“No. They’ve taken my memories with their damned potions and needles.”

“An amnesia drug?”

“I don’t know. I woke once, and they were taking my blood. And I think they branded me.”

“Branded?”

“There are marks on my chest.”

Strange that he would refer to them as brands and not tattoos. Maybe they weren’t battle marks. Lots of guys had tattoos on their chests. But he didn’t remember who he was, so it was possible he didn’t remember that he was a warrior. “Can I see them again?”

He looked slightly taken aback. “Aye.” He pulled his shirt aside.

They both jumped when she touched his skin. Her fingers ran over the marks, confirming what she
’d
seen before. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Faelan.”

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HE WOMAN STARED
at him with the most startling blue-green eyes. They reminded him of water he
’d
seen in Greece. Greece? He dug through the fog in his head, grasping at the small thread of recognition. Was he from Greece? But the memory moved past like a wispy cloud on a windy day.

He looked away from her breast jiggling a hand’s length from his face as she worked on the shackle. “How do you know I’m not Faelan?” He was oddly distressed by her words. He had felt a connection to the name. The only connection he had in the midst of this darkness. Until her. She was bonny. Perhaps the most beautiful woman he
’d
ever seen, and that made him nervous, but he didn’t know why.

“I know Faelan,” she said.

“You know him?” That was a bloody odd thing, for her to know someone by the name his captors were calling him. “And you’re familiar with his chest?”

“Of course.” At his questioning look, her dark brows drew into a delicate arch.

“How do you know him?” he asked, hoping the words didn’t sound as impolite to her ears as his.

“He’s a friend.”

Friend. That could mean anything. “Why would they call me Faelan if I’m not him? Is it a common name?”

She continued to work on the shackle. “No. Uncommon, in fact.”

Yet she knew a man named Faelan, the very name they called him. Very odd indeed.

“Well, we know you’re Scottish.” She nodded to his kilt.

“Do you want me to try?” he asked, looking at the shackle.

“I think I can get it. We need to get out of here. We’ll have to set a trap and attack him. Maybe one of us can play dead, then we’ll attack him when he comes to check. I wish I had my dagger.”

Damnation. What kind of woman carried a dagger? The shackle clicked open. He removed it while the woman, Anna, started working on his feet. The shackles there opened easier. When he was free, he stood, wincing.

“Are you all right?” Anna asked, looking him over. “They’ve beaten the crap out of you.” She looked oddly guilty when she said it.

He frowned at her rude speech. Obviously a whore, which made him wonder again if she was telling the truth about this Faelan. More likely he had used her services. She was the bonniest thing he
’d
ever laid eyes on. He didn’t visit whores himself, but he
’d
be sore tempted with this one. How could he know he didn’t visit whores when he didn’t recall his own name? He touched his face and winced.

“Aye. If feeling like you’ve been run down by a team of horses is all right.” He noticed a streak of blood on her thigh, and his stomach knotted. “Did the guard
hurt
you?” Lasses like her were often ill treated, but whore or not, it made his blood boil.

She followed his gaze to her thigh and then wiped the blood with the edge of her gown. “It’s his blood, so it doesn’t matter.”

Cheeky wench.

“Do you know how long you’ve been here?” she asked.

“I’ve lost count. A fortnight or longer.”

She seemed puzzled by that. “Fortnight? What do they want with you?”

“They’re testing me.”

“For what?” Anna asked, smoothing down her gown.

“I don’t know.”

“Is your leg still bleeding?”

He lifted the edge of his kilt. Dried blood still crusted the cut on his thigh, but it had closed up overnight. “Thank you for tending me.”

She glanced away. “No problem. We have to get you out of here and back to your family.”

Family. Several faces rushed through his head so fast he didn’t have a chance to recognize them. It was damned frustrating.

The woman, Anna, walked to the cell bars. He glanced at her bare legs, wondering why a whore would feel so familiar to him. Perhaps he had glimpsed her briefly when she was put into his cell.

She grabbed one of the iron bars and tested it, then went around the cell testing them all, as he
’d
done when he awoke in here. “They’re strong,” he said. “I’ve checked them all.”

“We have to find some way out of here.”

She was serious. Was she barmy? Women didn’t break out of dungeons and fight guards. “I’ve tried to escape. Then they started giving me potions to keep me under control, and one of them keeps a pistol aimed at me. If they got it close enough, and I wasn’t half asleep from their bloody potions, I
’d
disarm them and kill them both.”

She turned and looked at him. “I think I know what you…” Her mouth closed, and she shook her head slightly. He wondered what she had been going to say, but she bent to inspect the lock, which bared her legs almost to her arse, and that’s all he could think about. The polite thing to do would be to look away, but he couldn’t make himself. She must turn a good profit. “How did you get here?”

“I followed the skinny guard, Lance.”

“How do you know Lance?” Had he used her services?

“I saw him talking to someone outside my friend’s house.”

He glanced at her indecent gown and wondered if her friend was a whore too.

“I wanted to know why he was there.” She continued prowling the room, an odd action for a woman, but she moved with grace and power that tightened his loins. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking about how bonny she looked when they were both trapped in a dungeon, and he still didn’t know how he
’d
gotten here, or why? They just dragged him away and beat the hell out of him, waited for him to heal, and did it all over again. He would have tried to escape—he was certain he could kill the guards—but every time they opened the door, they either had that bloody pistol or slipped him a potion that made him helpless as a bairn.

What now? Even if he could escape, he couldn’t leave a woman here. Not even a whore. Not after the things they
’d
done to him.

The guard appeared at the door holding a plate. “Stand back.” He set the plate down and held the pistol on them as he unlocked the door. He slid the plate inside. “Eat,” he said, leering at her. “You’ll need your strength.” He tossed in a basket with towels. “And take a bath, both of you.”

The woman’s eyes met his. He saw a flicker of alarm underneath that bravado. The guard expected them to bathe, without privacy. They both ate their food, and he tried not to think about it. It didn’t work. There wasn’t a lot of her that wasn’t uncovered, but he was unusually curious what the rest looked like.

“Don’t they believe in cooking?” she asked, taking a small bite of the rare steak.

He shrugged. “They prefer it bloody.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I wish I had a bowl of cereal.”

What was cereal? A roar echoed somewhere in the dungeon before he could ask.

“That must be the hybrid,” she said. “What is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“If they’re calling him a hybrid, he must be a mix of two different species.”

She seemed troubled by the thought, as he was. He found it just as troubling that she wasn’t hysterical at the thought of something as alarming as hybrids. “I’ve heard him, but I haven’t seen him.” He took a bite of his meat, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I think he saw you. The guards said they didn’t move you from the torture room. They thought he carried you back here. Do you remember anything?”

“Someone carried me, I think.”

“Maybe the hybrid felt sorry for you? They’re probably doing the same thing to him that they’re doing to you—” She broke off.

Were they trying to turn him into a hybrid? He looked at Anna’s legs stretched in front of her. Long, firm, and very bare. What would they do with her?

“Could I have a drink of your water?” she asked.

Her cup was in the other cell near the pot. His face warmed, remembering how she
’d
used hers. He handed his over. “I’m sorry you had to…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase it, but she knew what he meant. She didn’t look at him but focused instead on his cup.

“It’s OK.” A slight smile touched her lips. “I’ve faced a few embarrassing situations before.”

“Aye?” He kept forgetting what she was, or what he suspected she was. She looked like a whore, but although she acted damned strange, she didn’t have the manner of a whore.

She handed his cup back. “They keep talking about their master. Do you know who he is?”

“I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him. I feel I ought to know him.” He
’d
dreamed of him, dreams that felt real, like memories trying to surface.

“What does he look like?”

“Black hair, long. Pale, bonny face.” Speaking of bonny…“Is there someone looking for you?” he asked. “Do you have a husband?” He didn’t want to just come out and ask if she was a whore.

“I’m not married.” Her voice was firm, almost as if he
’d
insulted her.

Aye, a whore then. A woman with her beauty couldn’t have escaped male attention for long. “What about family?” Everyone had family. The thought made his chest tight. He must have a family. Were they searching for him?

“None.” Her voice sounded flat. Bitter.

“They’re dead?”

“My mother is. I don’t have a father.”

Everyone had a father. “What about brothers, sisters?” He saw faces in his mind, but the vision vanished as fast as it had come.

“No. I have cousins and friends,” she said, her voice warming. “They’re all I need.”

What kind of friends allowed a woman to sell her body? “Are they looking for you, do you think?”

“I don’t know if they’ve realized I’m missing.” She sounded worried. “I’ve got to get out of here. I think someone’s going to attack them. I have to warn them.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Something I overheard from the man Lance was talking to.”

This made very little sense. What was her connection to this place and to Lance? It was apparent that he didn’t want her here, and the fat guard, Bart, hadn’t expected her.

After they ate, he waited as long as he could. “They don’t offer much in the way of privacy. I need to use that fancy pot.”

She stared at him until he felt uncomfortable. Perhaps it was an insult to mention it after she
’d
had to help him piss into a cup, but bodily functions didn’t consider circumstances.

“Fancy pot?” She looked at the pot, her expression puzzled.

“Sorry to mention it, but…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll…just be over there.” She stood and walked to the front of the cell, turning her back to him.

When he was finished, he turned to her. “If you need to use it, I’ll watch for the guard.”

She shook her head and then uttered a soft thank-you. “What did you call it? A fancy pot?”

“Aye. It’s…strange.”

She looked even more puzzled. “Interesting,” she said quietly.

It was that. He wished he
’d
had one at home. Another flash…a big house. A castle? But the image quickly faded. He didn’t know if he was remembering this place—it must be some sort of castle—or someplace else. “We’re not going anywhere tonight,” he said. “Might as well clean up a bit. I’m sure I don’t smell too good. They haven’t let me bathe for a while.” He
’d
been chained most of the time.

She glanced at the sink. “I probably don’t smell like flowers either.”

She smelled like heaven. “I’ll hold the blanket if you want to bathe first,” he said, inspecting the basket. He pulled out cloths and a bar of soap. “Look here. There’s another wee brush so you can clean your teeth.”

She gave him an odd look again. “You go first. You need to clean your wounds.”

It was awkward, but she held the blanket up for him. He tried to remove his shirt, but it was stuck to the cuts on his back. He could rip it off, but they would start bleeding again. He cursed softly as the shirt pulled at the dried blood and raw skin.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Aye. My shirt’s stuck to my back. I don’t want to reopen the wounds. Do you think you could help me?”

She lowered the blanket and put it on the bench. “I’ll have to wet the shirt to loosen it from your cuts.”

She ran the water until it was warm. A delightful thing, he thought, having warm water right out of a pipe. Even more delightful, her hands on his back as she put the wet cloth over the wounds, soaking his shirt. It stung, but her touch took his mind off the pain.

“I think it’s working.” She gently lifted the shirt away from his back in the places where it had been stuck. “You should be able to take it off now.”

He stretched, feeling the shirt freely move. “Aye. That does it.”

“Do you need help?” She glanced at the floor. “The wounds on your back need to be cleaned. I don’t think you can reach them.”

He swallowed and nodded. “That would be helpful.” Among other things. He turned his back and shrugged slowly out of his shirt, tossing it onto the bench next to the blanket.

“My God. What have they done to you?” She gently bathed one of the wounds. “What do they want? Usually a person is tortured to get information. Secrets.”

What would she know about torture? “If they wanted me to tell them secrets, they shouldn’t have stolen my memories. I don’t know anything to tell them.” Not even his name. Apparently it wasn’t Faelan as he
’d
been told.