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wouldn’t be shut back in the tower, but he hadn’t promised not to imprison her elsewhere. And she had learned something about Laird Alan’s promises. They were a lot like her favorite Swiss cheese—tempting but loaded with holes.
    She gave a small gasp when the heavy door creaked open; it was so unexpected. But then she realized the reason. Alan knew he didn’t need to lock her in a single room. The entire castle was her prison. Even if she could find her way out of the keep, through the courtyards, and scale the massive bailey wall, there was still the moat to cross and the outer palisade to get over. A classic, medieval styled castle like this was one of the most efficient fortresses ever designed. Before the invention of gunpowder, a scant handful of men could have held such a place against almost any enemy except starvation. It was virtually impenetrable. Which meant it would also be virtually impossible to escape.
    “I couldn’t try it in this storm, anyway.” Tabitha sighed. “I may be desperate, but I’m not stupid.”
    She was also famished. Thirsty, too, but she didn’t dare drink from the jug on the table, just in case it was the water that had been drugged.
    Which raised another concern. Why had they drugged her? Simply to keep her quiet? Or had there been a more devious intent? Either way, it rattled her.
    She explored the rest of the chamber with one agitated, sweeping gaze…that stopped on a steamer trunk nestled against a wall. Thank heaven for small favors. They had returned her previously confiscated luggage. That was something, Tabitha supposed. It would be comforting to wear her own sensible clothes again after all those days in Lady Gabrina’s bothersome tartans. The tartans that had gotten her mired in this mess.
    “I hope she and Captain Lawrence made it away safely. I’d hate to think I’m going through all this for nothing.”
    Her breath caught. The image of lovely Gabrina had sparked an inspiration. Perhaps the MacAllisters were actually viewing her as Lady Gabrina. Sort of a six-of-one, half-a-dozen-of-another situation. When they saw her in her true colors, they might lose interest. After all, they had no idea what a severe little Plain Jane she really was.
    “Laird Alan”—she smiled—“I believe I have another surprise for you.”
    The smile flipped into a frown when she opened the trunk. “Honestly! If they had to search my things, the least they could have done was put them back properly.” Quickly, she rummaged through the jumble, looking for one of her high-necked shirtwaists and sedate dark skirts. “What the… These aren’t my clothes! These are all—”
    Her voice was lost in the thunder rolls as she pulled out piece after piece of frilly, frothy, exquisite apparel, all of it breathtakingly beautiful.
    It was Gabrina’s fancy French-made wedding trousseau, ordered and paid for by her Texas kinsmen. The welcoming wardrobe the Scots girl had bragged would be here waiting for her.
    How awful.
    Still, one had to wear something. With a resigned sigh, she selected undergarments and what appeared to be the most modest of the gowns, and dressed. From somewhere in the keep, a clock chimed midnight. The witching hour . But Tabitha didn’t believe in witches, and she needed to find food and drink before she collapsed from hunger. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast on the train, which made her last meal almost two days ago. She snatched a silver handled brush off the bedside table, turned up the oil lamp, and moved to stand before the dresser’s large mirror.
    And froze.
    A scream stuck in her throat. Her blood ran cold. A terrible visage stared out of the glass, its green eyes huge with horror.
    “Oh, no…I look lovelier than Lady Gabrina!”
    The gown was an elegantly cut, forest green velvet with a rather provocative neckline, but she had chosen it for its dark fabric and long sleeves. Unfortunately, the covering of her arms only emphasized the dip of the bodice,