Heather squirmed uncomfortably in her chair as she listened to the tale, trying to hear any hint of deceit in the Laird’s voice. In truth, she did not want to believe him, but he seemed so very genuine. His eyes, revealed to be green in the glow of the firelight, were intent and honest. His expression, tense with sorrow and anguish, was not the kind that could be performed. Nor was the bitter confusion in his tone.
“I’m sorry for yer loss. Sorry I couldn’ae save him. As a healer, ye cannae save everyone, but I did want to save him,” Laird Dunn added. “Believe me or daenae, but think on this—why would I lie to ye when yer faither is goin’ to have me killed either way? Would I nae gloat over it instead? Also, consider why I wouldn’ae have just killed him durin’ the first few hours of me healin’, instead of workin’ meself to exhaustion, without a wink of sleep, to try and keep him alive?”
Inside her, where her heart beat with life, she somehow knew that he meant everything he had said. It was not a sensation she understood, feeling trust in a stranger she was supposed to hate, but like the grief and guilt that swirled within her, it would not be denied. And, for once, it appeared the idle gossip of maids and servants had been grounded in truth. Something else was going on, but with her brother gone, she wondered if she would ever find out what.
“I think someone wants me dead, Sister.”A memory came back to Heather, half-remembered. Her brother, confessing that to her as they walked in the grounds.“I cannot explain it, dear thing, but I believe I am in danger. If you should notice anything strange, or hear anything among the maids, you must inform me.”
How could she have forgotten? Her heart lurched, remembering how she had brushed off her brother’s remark as nothing but nerves, for he had been about to ride away with Cromwell’s army. How she wished, now, she would have listened more intently to his fears. Perhaps, that would have made this inner confusion that much easier to wade through. Indeed, she might have been able to keep him from going altogether.
“I am not saying that I believe you,” she said stubbornly, clasping a hand to her heavy heart. “But if I were to consider your words, what would your suspicion be? If not you, then—”
“I heard a noise, Halston,” a loud voice cut through Heather’s troubled contemplation, jolting her nerves. “I swear to you; I did.”
“The door was locked, you fool. Don’t tell me you’re hearingghostsagain? Only children believe in that sort of thing,” came a second voice, followed by the echo of footsteps coming down the staircase at the very end of the passage.
Heather glanced quickly at the Laird, and whispered, “I will return tomorrow, Laird Dunn.”
“Owen,” he replied, extending his hand to her once more.
Too overwhelmed with panic to think clearly, her hand reached impulsively for his. His fingers closed around hers in a gentle grip, his palms rough and warm, as if he toiled hard. The light squeeze gave her a sudden burst of courage, her fingers squeezing back in return before she hurried away from the bars and the mysterious, not-so frightening Scotsman.
Seeking the wooden door opposite, she opened it as carefully as possible and slipped inside, knowing the gaoler would not be here at this hour. Gallagher Castle did not have enough prisoners, ordinarily, to warrant a gaoler who kept watch through the night.
There, she hid herself inside a closet on the far side of the dark, dismal room and prayed the guards would not come looking in there. If they did, and she was found, she would have a great deal to explain to her father. Then again, it appeared that he also had a great deal to explain. Namely, why he was holding an innocent man captive?
She rubbed her palm, where it had touched Owen’s.Or am I truly more naïve than I think?
6
“Do ye think she’s pleadin’ our innocence to that ungrateful faither of hers?” Sawyer whispered through the grate, the following morning. At least, Owen suspected it was morning, though he only had the delivery of more thin, watery porridge to use as a clock.
Owen rolled his eyes, wishing he could see his friend so he could level a true scowl at him. “Ye daenae always have to be eavesdroppin’ on matters that daenae concern ye, ye ken?”
“I couldn’ae exactly get a decent kip with the pair of ye chatterin’ like larks, now, could I?” Sawyer retorted defensively. “As soon as the lass was gone, though, I doubt me maither’s awful singin’ could wake me. Slept like the dead, I did. Anyway, it does concern me, unless ye’re goin’ back on yer word to see me free of this English pit?”
Pushing a wooden spoon through the wet, unpleasant porridge, Owen smiled. “I havenae forsaken ye, Sawyer, but I wouldn’ae start bracin’ yer legs for the journey home just yet. I daenae think the lass is goin’ to try and murder me in me sleep anymore, but there’s more to this situation than I thought.”
In a hushed voice, he quickly informed Sawyer of everything he had discussed with Brandon the previous day.
“I thought ye would’ve eavesdropped on that, too, but ye must’ve managed to sleep since it wasnae a beautiful lass comin’ to impart knowledge,” Owen concluded, before spooning the sour porridge into his mouth and swallowing it down. It tasted disgusting, but it would nourish him for any challenges to come.
Sawyer clicked his tongue. “So, ye think she’s beautiful?”
“I have eyes, do I nae?”
“I daenae ken; I cannae see ye. Last time I saw yer face, one of yer eyes looked like the bits that fall out of a deer after huntin’. Ye might have lost it while we’ve been waitin’ here,” Sawyer replied, chuckling.
In truth, Owen had thought of nothing but Lady Heather since her furtive departure the previous night. She had hidden away in what appeared to be a gaoler’s room until the two guards had come to inspect the prisoners, then hurried out without another word for him. Although, he had noticed her pause momentarily by his cell and straighten her fingers, as if remembering his fleeting touch.
Or they’ve put somethin’ in this porridge and I’m imaginin’ things.With little concept of time, he had no choice but to sit and wallow in his thoughts, so it would not be so strange if his thoughts veered into the improbable now and again.
“Och, if ye really wanted to anger that Earl, ye should get his daughter to fall hopelessly in love with ye. Ye could fall in love with her too, marry her, and elope together. I wouldn’ae be surprised if his skull exploded,” Sawyer teased, cackling away to himself in the neighboring cell.
Owen sighed. “Aye, half the Clan would likely collapse from the shock an’ all.”
As plans went, falling in love with an angelic, ethereally beautiful young lady and running away to marry her did not sound so awful. Then again, he was facing execution for a crime he did not commit, so any alternative sounded wonderful.
“The shock of ye with an actual, livin’, breathin’ lass, or the shock of seein’ ye wed to a Sassenach?” Sawyer shot back, clearly pleased with himself.
