Page 82 of Wicked Highland Wishes
Twenty-Two
Rain poured down upon Lachlan and his men, making the progress up the rock to the tower much slower than he had hoped. His awareness of the time passing was an acute pain. Each step, each breath, each pull and grunt from one sharp rock to the other, offered more time for Bridgette and Marion to be hurt.
He glanced to the dark sky as he grasped rocks above him. His muscles bunched and sweat covered his brow as he hefted himself up. Soon the cover of darkness would be gone, but the light would not stop him. Nothing would stop him.
He could now see the tower in the moonlight. Relief filled his belly. “Almost there,” he hissed to Graham, who climbed below him.
The rest of the men were far back, not nearly as adept at climbing as Lachlan and even Graham who seemed to be conquering his leg injury. Lachlan increased the pace. Rocks cut into his palms, but the pain did not deter him. It spurred him on. He would endure a thousand cuts to prevent a moment’s harm to Bridgette. As he reached the top of the ledge, he gripped the side of it and propelled himself over, then rolled onto the grass, out of the way for Graham to do the same.
Lachlan scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the tower, his heart thudding in his ears. Above him, from the tower, a scream rent the moonlit darkness, and his breath ceased in his lungs.Bridgette.
“Bridgette!” Marion screamed from the top of the tower, confirming Lachlan’s guess.
He heard Graham grunt as he appeared by Lachlan’s side upon reaching the tower. “They live,” Graham said, relief filling his voice.
“Aye,” Lachlan acknowledged, entering the tower, which was lit with the warm glow of torches. He knew the tunnel was below his feet and that it would be their likely escape. He didn’t know how many men he and Graham were about to face, but as he drew his sword and Graham did the same, he felt as if he could kill a hundred men with the rage inside him.
He took the stairs three at a time, spiraling upward. His breathing quickened along with his heartbeat, and as he reached the top, he could hear the wind whistling outside. He leaned around the corner as quietly as he could, and when his gaze came to Bridgette, his heart stopped beating altogether. She had climbed up on the ledge of the tower!
The wind blew her hair around her face, drawn tight with fear that he could clearly see in the bright moonlight. Colin stood on the opposite side of the tower, bare chested and with his sword pressed to Marion’s throat.
“Come down now, or I will kill Marion,” he snarled.
Bridgette shook her head. “Release her and let her go, or I will jump.”
Lachlan’s gut tightened in fear, even as he flicked his gaze to Graham and silently motioned toward Marion. Lachlan would go to Bridgette. The moment Graham inclined his head in acknowledgment, Lachlan surged forward, but as he did, a gust of strong wind blew. Bridgette screamed, her foot slipped, and suddenly she was gone.
With a roar, he surged across the tower, as Graham rushed toward Colin. Behind him, Lachlan heard the clanking of swords meeting. He set his hands to the ledge, and a shock of heat met his fingertips.
“Bridgette!” he cried out, grazing her fingertips where she clung to the ledge but not grasping them for fear he would cause her grip to slip. He needed to climb onto the ledge, grasp her wrists, and pull her up.
“To your right, Graham,” Marion screamed, and Lachlan glanced over his shoulder as he climbed the ledge. Graham was holding Colin back, but barely.
Lachlan howled in anguished rage at the choice before him: save Bridgette or Graham?
The thought of losing Bridgette knifed across his heart with a pain so intense he cried out again. But he could not lose his brother, either. Yet he could not help them both.
Bridgette would die if she slipped, but Graham could hopefully hold Colin off for long enough that Lachlan could help.
He dropped to his knees on the ledge, the cold stone cutting into his skin and the wind blowing across his face and howling in his ear. Rain drizzled down from the dark sky but illuminated it like flashes of white against black. “Bridgette!” he called, reaching blindly into the darkness for her.
“Lachlan!” she cried out, leading his hand to her wrist just as a scream tore from her lips and straight through him. For a moment, he gripped only one of her hands as the other had slipped. The weight of her body swinging in the air shifted his own person, and his mind rebelled against the notion that she might drop to her death below. Suddenly, her other hand clawed at his free hand, which had been frantically searching for hers, and he clasped her wrist, sending a jolt of relief through him.
“I’ve got ye,” he promised, pulling up, and with a final tug that sent them tumbling to the safety of the tower floor. They hit with a thud, Bridgette lying atop him, crying and panting. As she raised her face, she screamed Graham’s name.
Lachlan flipped her over and scrambled to his feet just as Graham and Colin tumbled over the tower edge they had been standing on and into the black night. A moment later, a loud splash echoed back to Lachlan, and he cried out his brother’s name. “Come,” he said, grasping Marion’s elbow as she stood unmoving—no doubt from shock.
“Lachlan!” Bridgette screamed. He swung around to find her pointing to the castle where a stream of men with torches were pouring out. A warning horn sounded through the castle.
Lachlan counted the torches and cursed. At least fifty men were headed for them.
“Come,” he commanded, grabbing Bridgette by the hand only to have her jerk free. She brought her hand to her chest as if his touch had hurt her. “Bridgette?”
She bent down, lifted up her skirt, and fiddled with her ankle.
“Bridgette! We must away!”
She stood again and held something out in her hand.
