She held out her hand.“Siubhail,”she said easily.
He looked as if someone had dropped a boulder on his head, but he took her hand just the same.
“I need work,” she said, because Patrick had thought that might serve her well.
Mr. Campbell, or his ancestor who looked just like him, nodded. “Thomas,” he managed. “Apprentice blacksmith.”
Of course he was. Emma decided abruptly that she didn’t need to know more than that. She gave her little speech about being a journeyman blacksmith escaping a terrible master, all the while trusting that what she’d memorized thanks to Ian shouting it at her while Patrick was trying to kill her would do what it was supposed to.
Thomas the blacksmith only nodded, wide-eyed, no doubt having been in those exact straits himself. When he invited her to come with him back to his master’s shop—at least that was what she hoped he’d been inviting her to do—she thanked him most kindly and followed him.
It was fully dark before she reached the forge. She was happy to see that the village was mostly asnooze, as it were, and all she had to do was stand behind Thomas and let him negotiate for her. The head blacksmith, a man with absolutely enormous muscles in his arms, looked her over, then nodded shortly to a spot in the corner. She thanked him briskly, then decamped for her spot without further comment. She sat, then looked at the girl who was stirring something in a pot over a small fire.
“Orphan,” Thomas said, coming to squat down next to her. He nodded at the dark-haired girl. “She’s a bastard, but we don’t care. She’s a good gel, so don’t vex her.”
The girl looked up. Emma supposed it was years of pretending to yawn while being absolutely caught off guard that saved her at the moment. That girl looked almost exactly like a photo she’d seen of Nathaniel’s sister...
“Ceana,” Thomas said, “give the lad dinner. He’ll begin work in the morning.”
Emma ate what she was given and listened to the blacksmith discuss with Thomas and another of his lads the fact that they had a prize in the dungeon that pleased the laird enough to keep him off their backs for a bit.
Or words to that effect.
And all the while, that beautiful, dark-haired teenager watched her carefully, as if she didn’t dare hope for anything that might look like a rescue. Emma hadn’t anticipated having to help two people, but she didn’t think that would matter. There was no way she was going to leave that girl, a girl shewould have bet her father’s fortune was Nathaniel’s mother, behind in Fergusson clutches.
She made herself more comfortable on her scrap of dirt floor and tried not to sigh in relief, on the off chance that someone found that odd. She had arrived where she was supposed to, found shelter where she hadn’t dared hope for it, and still had all her gear with her.
The first hurdles were behind her.
That was enough for the day.
Chapter 30
Nathanielwondered if it would be ungrateful to wish that the first thing to truly fail in his generally useful mortal frame would have been his ears, not his legs. He couldn’t feel his feet any longer, but he could damned well hear far too much.
He wasn’t quite sure who was sitting right above him blethering on endlessly, but he had been privy to their discussions for what felt like at least a week. Their conversation seemed to lurch between discussing how many years it might take for them to rid themselves of all the MacLeod and Cameron clansmen in the area and how long they could starve the MacLeod bastard they had in their pit before he simply gave up and died.
Fascinating stuff, truly.
The only thing that brightened up yet another interminable day had been realizing that the keep seemed to be quieting down a bit sooner than usual. He had stopped trying to keep track of time in any fashion, but he had learned to at least differentiate between meals being served above. He was fairly sure he’d heard dinner making the rounds upstairs, but unfortunately his had been overturned and fallen through the grate. He could only stare at the heap of slop that resided a foot beyond his feet, which he could no longer feel, and mourn its loss.
There came a time in a man’s life when even rat stew began to have a certain appeal.
The hall above seemed to fall silent more quickly than usual, or perhaps he himself had slept and not realized it. Thetruth was, he was just too damned tired to care any longer. He was going to die. He was resigned to it. He just wanted to have it over with quickly so he wouldn’t have to listen to those punters above him speculate on how long his journey to the afterlife might be.
In time, there was absolute silence. Well, there might have been the occasional snort from the guards above, but the conversation had mercifully come to a stop. He closed his eyes and wondered if he could dream himself into the next life. His mortal coil was apparently too tenacious for a mere shuffling. He was going to have to use a pry bar if something didn’t change very soon.
Such as, perhaps, the grate above him being moved.
He would have winced at the scraping noise it made, but maybe they were sending lads to do men’s work because all the men were asleep. He watched numbly as a figure dropped down into the muck in front of him.
Ah, demons now. That demon there, it was a slender thing and moved with a grace that Nathaniel had the energy only to envy. He watched without comment as the demon unlocked his chains, then shook him.
“Let’s go, sport.”
He was just sure he was either hallucinating or he had finally crossed over and landed not in Heaven but no doubt where he deserved to be.
“Damn,” he rasped. “Hell?”
