He groaned inwardly. What a mess. By bringing Alana here, he not only risked further fighting but placed her in very real peril. He’d already seen the effects of Margot’s plots—his father’s health was evidence of that. How she continued her witchcraft on him baffled Morgann. He ensured all food and drink was checked, yet his father still ailed. And he could not accuse her outright of witchery or plotting until he had proof.
Which was where Alana came in.
Margot cared little about war or his clan. She’d been an outsider to begin with until she’d ingratiated herself to his father and climbed into his bed following the death of Morgann’s mother. But she did care about power. And Alana had the power to prove without doubt that Margot was a traitor.
She flicked her gaze up to him and offered a seductive smile. Morgann saw the sinister undertone to it and snapped his gaze away. Aye, if Alana was the key to Margot’s undoing then he’d placed her in grave danger.
He sagged into his chair. He’d spent too long watching Margot’s every move. It made him edgy. A man was posted on Alana’s door and Margot had not been near the kitchens or her room to meddle with Alana’s food or bath.
A sharp twist in his stomach stiffened his muscles. So why did he feel as if Alana was in danger this very moment? It was the same sensation that had struck him in the mountains. He jumped to his feet.
“Morgann? Is all well?” Margot asked as several members of the household stared at him.
Ignoring her, he pushed past the men around the fire and took the spiral steps two at a time. Sweat tinged his brow as he reached the top, breaths coming heavily as the sickening sensation grew stronger.
Help her, a voice whispered and he shivered.
Finn, his cousin, and one of his strongest warriors, guarded the door to his chambers and he trailed his gaze over Morgann, brow furrowing. “Laird?”
“Has she been out?”
Finn laughed, crossing both arms across his chest. “Nay, of course not.”
“Has she said aught? Begged ye for release mayhap? Made threats?”
“Nay. As quiet as a mouse.”
Morgann cursed and shoved Finn aside. “That’s what I feared.”
Swiftly pulling back the lock, he thrust open the door and stared around. The bed was empty. The wooden bath in front of the fire sat unused. He spun around, half expecting her to leap out from behind the door and make an escape but no one sprang out of the shadows.
Stepping over to the side table, he snatched the only lit candle in the room and lifted it, peering around. His gaze alighted on the bedding tied around one post of the bed.
“God’s blood, foolish lass,” he murmured to himself.
“She’s gone out the window?” Finn asked from behind him. “Brave lass.”
Morgann scowled at the admiration in Finn’s tone and dropped the candle back on the table. They were four storeys up, almost at the highest point in the keep. Falling would mean certain death.
He stomped over to the window and peered out. He just made out the line of white sheets and what looked like the dark red blankets tied together in a makeshift rope. And then his heart froze.
The faintest feminine voice reached up to him, almost lost in the evening breeze. Morgann listened carefully. Aye, there it was.
Leaning further out, he peered into the gloom and swallowed heavily. “Alana?”
“Morgann? I-I’m stuck.”
Halfway down the wall hung Alana, just visible at the end of the line. He just made out the vague outline of her gown and she was clearly nowhere near enough to the ground.
“I-I can’t hold on much longer.”
The distress in her voice was obvious enough though. It yanked roughly at his chest as urgency rushed through him. He couldn’t lose his Alana.
His Alana?
“Finn,” he barked, “find a ladder. With haste.”
Without waiting for a response, Morgann sprinted down the stairs, almost losing his footing twice, and barged out of the hall doors. A gathering of men stood at the base of the keep, looking up, torches held aloft.
“She’s going to fall,” said one.
“Aye, she’ll no’ survive,” declared another.
Morgann glanced around. Where in the devil was Finn? Alana screamed and with the torchlight he could now see that she was barely gripping the line of bedding. He had no time. Eyeing the castle wall, he stepped forward and curled his hands over the stone.
“Laird, what are ye doing?” someone asked but he ignored them.
Boots pressed against the keep, he began to climb, fingers barely hooking into the indents between each stone.
“Morgann!” Alana cried.
Pulse quickening, he climbed harder, boots slipping against the rough stone. His fingers ached and he scarcely held on but some wild determination drove him forward. The muscles in his arms burned and he didn’t doubt his fingertips would be bleeding by the end.