“To the toilet.”
Owen just stared at her, confused.
Amber coughed. “To relieve myself.”
“Ah.” Owen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.
Was he self-conscious? Amber didn’t think he was the type. He seemed to have too much self-confidence, be too self-assured. A man who looked as dreamy as he did was probably used to smooth-talking the ladies.
He looked at her like he knew something about her, something he didn’t want to share. It was a reminder not to trust him.
She asked the guard to let her go relieve herself in the woods and two soldiers escorted her to the edge of some bushes. All around the camp, warriors in iron armor bustled about making fire and setting cauldrons over them. Small tents were erected here and there. Some men tended to the wounded, who let out pained yelps and groans. She couldn’t see any other prisoners. Sentinels were posted here and there, but they wouldn’t see much once it was dark. The woods were thick, and Owen and Amber could disappear quickly if they ran fast enough.
She returned to the cage with a small glimpse of hope. She sat next to Owen, leaning against the bars like he did, and whispered without looking at him. “Our best chance is to overwhelm a guard at night, go into the woods, and run as fast as we can. The army is stretched along the road like a snake, so it will take them a while to gather some guards to hunt us.”
“Aye.”
When darkness fell, and mouthwatering aromas of stew reached Amber, she knew it would be time to flee soon. They waited till men lay down to sleep.
The guard put near their cage soon drifted off against a nearby tree.
“Hey,” Amber called. “Hey!”
He woke and looked up at her.
“What?” he said with a frown.
“I need to relieve myself.”
“Again?” He folded his arms on his chest and huddled. “You just went.”
“That was a while ago, and I need to go again. If you don’t want to smell piss the whole way to Stirling, let me out.”
He grunted, seemingly exasperated, came to the cage, and opened the lock with a big key. As the door opened slightly, Owen grabbed him by the collar and smashed his forehead against the bars. Amber looked around, but no one seemed to have noticed so far. The tents remained silent, and the few sentinels around the campfires didn’t move.
The guard moaned, and Owen banged him against the bars again, and he fell like a heavy sack.
“Come,” Owen said. “Hurry.”
He jumped off the cart and helped Amber off. Her heart drummed in her ears. Half bent and staying low, they hurried away from the camp.
Trees and bushes flashed by in the darkness, and all Amber could hear was her ragged breath loud in her ears.
But then shouts rang from behind them. Their escape had been discovered. No, not again!
Amber glanced back. English warriors. Dozens of them.
“Faster!” she cried.
They sped up. Her lungs burned from the strain, her muscles on fire. Faster. She was a fast runner. If only it weren’t so damn dark. Her leg hooked at a root, and she fell, facedown.
“Amber!” Owen yelled and stopped to help her up.
They ran again, but the English were catching up, and their cries were louder now.
“Stop!” someone called from behind.
Arrows flew past them, hitting the ground and trees. Someone grabbed her, and she fell, crumbling under the weight of a grown man. Pine needles and twigs stabbed her hands and legs.
“Got her!” the man announced. He reeked of old sweat and alcohol.
Amber wriggled, trying to free herself, but she was already surrounded.
“Got him,” another voice came. “Not going anywhere today, you bloody Scot.”
Tears of helplessness burned Amber’s eyes.
“Let me go!” she yelled. “I’m not even a freaking Highlander!”
“Shut up.” The man above her slapped her hard.
Her head burst with pain. He hauled her up and dragged her after him back to the camp. To her right, two men led Owen. Amber and Owen exchanged an angry, disappointed look. Their guard sat by the cage with a cloth pressed to his forehead.
“Wanted to piss, eh?” he spat as Amber passed by. “Go to hell, you evil bitch. Let the cart stink, you won’t leave it again till we reach Stirling.”
“Go to hell,” Amber said.
Amber and Owen were shoved back into the cage, and the guard locked them.
“Damn it!” Amber hit the bars. “So close.”
“Aye, well, lass. We’ll try again.”
But his tone wasn’t as optimistic as before, and he wore a deep frown.
“No, you won’t,” said a voice, and Amber turned around.
Sir de Bourgh stood by the cage. Not in armor anymore, he wore a red coat, a tunic that reached his knees. He had a large sword at his waist. The pommel was decorated with beautiful coiled patterns that gleamed and reflected the light of fire.
“You won’t escape again,” he said, eying Amber with curiosity.
He approached the cage and gripped two bars in his hands. Amber felt like an animal at the zoo from the way he stared at her.
“Pray tell, where are you from, dear? I’ve never seen anyone like you.”
A white-hot wave of anger and anxiety hit her. Those eyes again, the lazy authority of a powerful, military man.
Owen moved a step closer to him. “Doesna matter, ye pig. She’s my wife.” Amber looked at him with astonishment. Was he really going to lie to try and protect her? A sweet lightness filled her. “Stop asking yer unnecessary questions, and let us go.”
De Bourgh chuckled without taking his eyes off Amber.
“Your wife? And where did ye get such a beauty?”
“Dinna look at her like that. Allow yerself one dirty thought, and ye’ll be missing yer cock.”
De Bourgh looked at Owen, amused. “And how do you plan to do that from inside a cage, without your sword or your dagger?”
“A Highlander always finds a way.”
“Right. Well. I’ll keep a watch over my cock. Thanks for the warning. What is your name, brave Highlander?”
“Owen Cambel.”
De Bourgh’s eyebrows rose. “Cambel? Wonderful. The longest and closest allies of the Bruce. Look at me, lost a castle, but perhaps won the whole war. Owen Cambel and his wife… What’s your name, dear?”
“Amber,” she said begrudgingly.
“What an exotic name. Owen and his wife, Amber, you are in my hands. Once I get started with you, you’ll tell me everything. I might win the whole war for King Edward II.”
He walked away, whistling a merry tune that sent a chill snaking down her spine.
“I’ll be talking to you both soon,” he threw across his shoulder.
Owen hit the bars, his face distorted in helpless rage.
“Why do I have a feeling that being your wife might not be a great thing?” Amber said.
Owen glared at her from under furrowed eyebrows. “Because ’tisnt. Now he thinks he has power over me, can blackmail me with ye.”
Amber curled her hands into fists. “Then why the hell did you lie?”
“To protect ye, why else?”
“Once again, I do not need your protection! All you’ve done is put me in more danger.”