Laird of the Wind by Susan King Page B

Then he could have carted her down the cliff as he had wanted to do, slung over his shoulder, head down. Both he and Henry Rose had argued with her that she should let James carry her draped over his shoulder; a little time like that would not harm her, they had said. But Isobel had protested the idea stubbornly, and James had relented.
    He had also given in to her insistence that she needed spare clothing and other items. Their escape had been further delayed while Isobel and Eustace had gone off to collect her things in a cloth bundle, which Eustace now carried down the cliff side.
    Although she had not complained, James saw the traces of fatigue and starvation on her face. He was keenly aware of her physical weakness as she rode in his arms. She was a well-made girl, but hunger and injury had left her scant strength. And he heard every wince of pain that she tried to suppress.
    He glanced to either side and saw the other men, lowering along lengths of rope nearby, moving silent and steady over the jagged rockface. All of those who had come out of Aberlady were weakened with the strain of the siege. James had reminded his own men, who were fit and rested, to usher Aberlady's survivors down the cliff side with care.
    He glanced back at Isobel. "How do you fare?" he asked.
    "I do not envy birds," she said wryly, her pale face inches from his own. She was face to face with him, her legs circling his hips and her uninjured left arm around his neck. James had fastened her to him with a rope harness, like a bear cub to its mother, leaving his arms and legs free to manage the rope ladder.
    "Ah, then, I promise we will not fly," he said with a half laugh. Isobel grimaced and glanced down, and the grip of her arm became choking strong. "Do not look down," he said quickly. "Be at ease. You are safe." She loosened her hold around his neck and tucked her face against his shoulder.
    The cliff side was high, raw rock, plunging straight down in some places. The northern face, where they descended, was steep and jagged. Mossy ledges and crevices provided hand and foot holds, some large enough to stand upon. Each man proceeded carefully; in the moonlight, a loose bit of turf or rock could be mistaken for a secure hold. Mist drifted over the cliff face in torn, gauzy veils, making the descent even more dangerous.
    James and his men had climbed upward in fading daylight, using ropes fastened to scaling forks, which they tossed up as they went. The downward climb was a greater challenge than James had anticipated. During the hours in the castle, he and the men had created two long rope ladders, and had added sturdy knots along the lengths of the other ropes to aid climbing. But the going was slow and dangerous, for the ropes were not long enough to reach the ground. The lines, secured to the iron forks, had to be loosened and reattached in different places, while the climbers waited on narrow ledges.
    James glanced toward the ground and saw its dark expanse beneath the mist. He looked upward at the castle, perched high overhead, its blazing walls casting a reddish glow into the night sky. Moonlight both helped and hindered them. If they could see their way, then the enemy could see them as well. Only the treacherous mists and darkness protected them.
    James knew that the English could discover their escape at any moment, and attack them on the cliff side, where they would be most vulnerable. He hoped that the blaze would so distract the enemy that they would neglect to send a patrol around the area until the cliff face was again deserted.
    Cold wind whipped his hair into his eyes, and he turned his head to clear his vision. He went down another rung, easing his weight onto the bouncing brace of the rope. The girl's weight was not a burden, though her long legs and her injured arm, strapped tightly, proved awkward to balance. His quiver and bow thumped against his back in the wind, and he paused on the ladder, gripping it firmly with one hand.