He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Are you certain there is nothing untoward between the two of you?”
“I am certain,” she replied fiercely, tilting her head to one side. “Might I ask you something?”
Brandon nodded. “Of course.”
“If there were something untoward—which, as I have said, there is not—would it deter you from freeing two innocent men?” She wanted to test if Brandon was the sort of man that she hoped he was.
His expression relaxed. “It would not, my dear Heather. I am merely trying to act as your brother would have done. He would want me to make sure you are not going to come to any harm.”
“I am not,” Heather promised. “But those two will, if we do not find this key.”
Brandon gave a mock salute. “You are quite right. That must be our priority.” His expression turned more serious. “There is not much time.”
He hurried back to the tall stack of drawers, increasing the intensity of his search. Meanwhile, Heather did the same, all but ransacking the gaoler’s room in her pursuit of Owen’s freedom.
“I have them!” Heather cried, not five minutes later, holding a different ring of keys aloft.
She did not wait for Brandon’s reply as she raced out of the room, going straight to Owen’s door. Once again, her patience was tested as she slipped key after key into the lock. Not one would turn, and she was beginning to wonder if someone else had the key to this cell—someone she would not be able to persuade to give it up. Her father.
Please say you have not kept it for yourself. Please say you have not dashed my hopes, Father. Do not make me watch this man die.Coming to the last key, she slid it into the lock and turned. For a moment, it seemed to follow the same useless pattern as the rest, but with a firmer turn of her wrist, she gasped as the key twisted in the lock. It was merely rusty from disuse.
The door swung open, and it took every shred of willpower that Heather possessed, not to throw her arms around the freed Scotsman. After all, there was still a great deal more to do before Owen and his man-at-arms would truly be liberated… and there was always a chance that Brandon might change his mind abouthelping the innocent men escape, if he thought there was some affection blossoming.
It is not affection,Heather chided herself inwardly.It is justice. It is doing the right thing when no one else will.Yet, she could still feel the comforting pressure of Owen’s arms holding her, and the tingle upon her forehead, where he had placed a delicate kiss.
“I owe ye dearly for this,” Owen said, stepping out.
“Aye, we owe ye, now get me out!” Sawyer interrupted, yanking on the bars of his door.
Heather blinked up at Owen. “I should attend to your acquaintance.”
“Allow me,” Owen insisted. “Yer hands are shakin’.”
He took the key from the lock and went to free Sawyer, while Heather stared down at her hands. They were, indeed, shaking, though she did not know why. Was it relief, panic, anxiety, or something else entirely? The same unknown thing that made her breath shallow, her heart race, and her skin turn feverish.
The moment Sawyer had been sprung from his cell, he looked to his Laird for instruction. Indeed, he was not the only one, for Heather did not know what they were supposed to do next. Nor, it appeared, did Brandon.
“Are there any secret passages in this castle—tunnels, hatches, concealed gateways, that can get us out unseen? I ken ye daenae often get besieged, these days, but there must’ve been a time when ye did,” Owen asked, keeping close to Heather.
Brandon shook his head. “I do not know of any.”
“There will be no one in the kitchens at this hour,” Heather interjected, forcing herself to think quickly. “The cooks and kitchen maids retired after dinner and the baker will not begin his work until three o’clock.”
Brandon chewed on his lower lip. “It is almost three o’clock now, Heather.”
“Then we have not a moment to lose!” Heather urged.
Boldly, she seized hold of Owen’s hand and broke into an ungainly run, hampered by her layers of skirts. Nevertheless, he followed her lead, with the sound of Sawyer and Brandon’s footsteps echoing behind.
Bursting out of the door at the top of the narrow staircase, Heather breathed a sigh of relief upon finding the hallway empty. No guards had come to take the night watch, for they likely still thought the door to the dungeons was locked.
“This way,” Heather urged, clutching Owen’s hand tighter as she guided him through a labyrinth of eerily silent hallways, to the kitchens.
“Where are all yer soldiers?” Owen whispered: the foursome slowing in reflection of Heather’s pace.
She put a finger to her lips. “They do not patrol this part of the castle, as many of the soldiers were upsetting the maids. I do not know the details, but the cooks requested that no guards be permitted in these hallways after dinner had been served and cleared.” She paused, suddenly curious. “Indeed, I believe that was when my father began locking my bedchamber door.”
“Perhaps, he’s nae so foolish as I thought,” Owen said, with a grim expression upon his face. “Ye cannae trust Sassenach soldiers when their blood is up.”
