He crouched behind a support beam, well within the shadows, and watched. The cells stretched in a low line ahead, reinforced with rusting iron bars and thick stone mortar. Only one cell was lit from a torch right outside it.
And inside that small chamber of stone and darkness?—
Alyson.
She sat against the wall, her head tilted back, eyes closed but not asleep. Her long, dark hair hung in a tangled braid over one shoulder, her dress threadbare and creased. She was thinner than he remembered, paler, and yet still strong. There was something unbent in the line of her shoulders, even in stillness.
The guards mumbled amongst themselves, oblivious. One yawned. The other paced, then sat on a crate near the stairwell, eyes barely open.
Michael waited long enough to be sure. Then, silent as breath, he crept closer, hugging the wall where the flickering light barely reached. He stayed just around the bend from Alyson’s cell, where neither she nor the guards could see him, but where his voice could carry low and soft through the cracks in the mortar.
He pressed his palm to the cold stone and leaned in.
“Alyson.”
No answer.
He tried again, just above a whisper. “Alyson. It’s me.”
Silence at first, then movement; a faint shift of cloth against stone, the soft intake of breath.
“Michael?”
Her voice was hoarse, disbelieving. Michael wouldn’t blame her if she thought his presence nothing more than a hallucination, dream, conjured up by her desire to see a familiar face, to hear a familiar voice.
“Aye.” He gritted his teeth at the sound of her voice, strained and tired. “Dinnae speak louder. I’m behind the wall.”
He was desperate to get her out of there and back to safety; back to their family, their home. He wanted nothing more than to grab her and flee with her at that very moment, but he had to be patient. One wrong move could spell the death of them both.
“I thought—” Alyson stopped herself. “How? How are ye here?”
“I came as a Grant envoy. Tòrr and Daemon sent me. I was headed here already, but…” he hesitated, glancing toward the guard still dozing near the stairwell, “… somethin’ delayed me.”
He didn’t explain what that something was. He didn’t want Alyson to have another thing to be concerned over, and so he didn’t tell her about everything that was happening with the laird’s daughter—or the fact that he was considering ways of getting her out of there, too.
Instead, he said, “We’ve got a plan. Ye’re nae forgotten. I’ll get ye out o’ here, Alyson, I swear it. The moment I can, the moment I get the chance, we’ll leave this place. Taegether, alright? Ye’re still here fer me.”
“I’m still here,” Alyson said, voice stronger now. “Barely.”
Michael nodded to himself as he swallowed hard, trying to force down the knot in his throat. “Ye’ve done better than most could. We’ll get ye out soon. But if I move too fast, the whole plan falls apart.”
“I understand.”
Michael sighed, his breath escaping him in a rush. Silence followed, one that stretched between them and Michael didn’t know how to fill. But he didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. He didn’t want to be separated from Alyson, to leave her there all alone and scared once more.
If he could have spent the night there with her, he would have.
Then she whispered, “It’s good tae hear yer voice.”
His hand lingered on the stone. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to stop himself from doing something foolish as he stood there, desperate to reach out to her. But the more time he wasted there, the more likely he was to be found, and he couldn’t afford any unnecessary risks. He had to go back to the guest chambers,back where he was supposed to be, and hope that his chance would soon come to get Alyson out.
“Ye too, Alyson. I’ll come back fer ye soon. I swear it.”
He gathered all the strength and patience he could muster and peeled himself off the wall. The time for action would come, but not that night. That night, he returned to the shadows, and the fire in his chest burned all the brighter.
He had seen her, even if it had only been a glimpse. He had seen her and heard her voice and now he knew, beyond all doubt, that she was alive and waiting for him to save her.
Michael wished he could write to Torr. He wished he could write to his family and let them all know that Alyson was safe—as safe as she could be under the circumstances—and that he would be bringing her back soon. But that was another risk he could not take, another thing he could not do for them.
