THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

Please, God help me. 
      She opened her mouth to scream. Before it could rip from her parched throat, she heard heavy footsteps. She snapped her jaw shut and listened. The footsteps—out of synchronization, telling her two people approached—grew louder, and then silence.
    She nearly jerked when a man’s mirthless chuckle echoed directly above her.
    “Should the lady wake, give her naught.” She recognized the deep voice. It belonged to John the Bruce, who apparently studied her from above.
    A different voice, this one gravelly, “Aye, my liege.”
    The footsteps, again out of sync, sounded and then grew faint.
    She took a deep breath, jerked at her bonds. A second later, fresh air seeped into her mask. Her heart lept with the realization that the hook wasn’t secured around her neck. She shook her head repeatedly, dipping her chin, and was relieved to find she was able to see a glimmer of light.
    Her tears flowed as she twisted and squirmed on hard packed dirt, aggravating an already miserable headache, until the mask finally slipped off.
    She took a deep lungful of air, craned her neck and saw damp stonewalls in every direction. She looked toward the light, up through a narrow tube, and saw a metal grate. She was in a bottle necked dungeon. But why?
    This cell was larger than Blackstone’s dungeon, could easily have held four big men. The only keep of any size within two days ride of Blackstone was the Bruce’s. It made sense, but she couldn’t be sure. She could have been out cold for an hour or for a day—perhaps two, from the feel of her head—but then she couldn’t be sure. Without windows she couldn’t tell if it was day or night.
    She took a second, deep shuttering breath. “Damn Flora.”
    Her thoughts flew to Duncan. He had to be frantic by now. She hoped he would see through Flora’s duplicity, but there was every possibility he wouldn’t. She hadn’t. Like a naïve fool, she’d blindly followed Flora, thinking her a friend, while picturing sautéed fiddle ferns in a garlic butter sauce.
    A sob wracked her. Beth, you’re too stupid to draw breath!
    Her fear that something dreadful—torture or rape—lurked only minutes away gave way to a new, far more compelling terror; that Duncan wouldn’t find her.
    What if Flora told Duncan she’d fallen into the sea? He’d search the coast, not his enemy’s keep. What if she’d told Duncan she’d run away? Would Duncan only search the roads? Her heart stuttered...oh God...what if he thought she’d deliberately slipped away from Flora so she could remove his ring and return to her own time?
    The very thought turned her blood to ice, nearly made her ill.
    Surely not.
      Surely, he knew she loved him and would never leave without a very good reason—and certainly not without saying goodbye. Her fingers found his ring. Out of habit she spun it, seeking comfort. She rubbed a fingertip across the small cabochon rubies, the first she’d ever worn. Her heart thudded when it slipped over the first joint.
    Good Lord! She could remove it if need be. She had a means of escape.
    Her breath hitched as she pressed the ring into place, closer to her heart.
    Did Duncan realize how much she loved him even though she hadn’t said so?
    Fresh tears made mud along her right jaw as it rested on the floor. Why the hell had she waited to say, “I love you,” wanting him to say it first? And why the hell hadn’t he said it?
    As hour after silent hour passed, she decided she would not—short of dying—slip the ring from her finger. She would face the devil if need be, but had to cling to the hope he would eventually find her. She also resolved that if she did survive, she would declare her love the moment she laid eyes on Duncan’s handsome face. Then she’d swat him—-hard—for putting her through this agony.
      She started to cry again. As another muddy puddle formed under her cheek, she wondered how she could still have tears. She’d not had a drop to drink in what felt like forever.
     
    ~#~
     
      Angus pointed to the ground. “Three horses, my lord, one carrying a heavier burden than the rest.” He pointed to a flat, muddy print. “One has foundered.”
      They were in Bruce territory. Duncan, sweat running down his back and chest, only nodded and kicked Ransom’s flanks.
      With every step Ransom took, Duncan prayed he’d find Beth safe. He had come to depend on her smile, her gentle hands, even her odd ways. Just knowing she would be