Maeve didn't understand what was going on. She was just grateful to have her arms free, though they ached from being held in the same position for so long. She couldn't understand what Ann was implying, or even how the maid could be here right now. Perhaps she was delusional. Perhaps she'd already been sent to her grave and didn't even know it. "Ann, how are ye here?"
Ann smiled lightly, though there was a spark of something in her eyes. "I brought ye food. They werenae goin' tae let me, of course, until I told them ye were havin' yer woman's troubles. I asked if perhaps they, the men, wanted tae deal with it themselves, but suddenly, they were more than accomodatin' about me bein' the one tae aid ye."
It seemed silly, given the circumstances, to be embarrassed by such a thing, but Maeve found herself blanching anyway. How… how crude, and yet how genius of Ann to think of it! Womanhood truly was the greatest fear of weak men like those guards, even though women were the thing they desired most. How strange it all was.
Ann's smile was more genuine this time. "Dinnae be embarrassed. Now, ye must listen quickly. There's much tae tellye, and I have nae time. Firstly, we're goin' tae get ye out of here, I promise."
"What?"
Ann gently put a hand on her shoulder. "We ken ye didnae kill him. We ken that ye dinnae understand what's goin' on — that's the point, unfortunately. Ye're a victim in all of this, but we're nae gonnae let ye suffer like this forever."
Doubt filled Maeve at that. Getting the manacle key and sneaking her way into the room was one thing, but she doubted that Ann would be able to help her escape a death sentence, no matter how wily the maid might be. "Who iswe? What are ye talkin' about?"
"Ye've got a lot of questions. I ken. I have answers, but not enough tae satisfy ye for the moment, I'm afraid. I ken, I ken, ye dinnae understand, but ye will. Ye just have tae be strong and wait a wee bit longer. Tell me ye can do that." Ann's voice had grown low and urgent, and she stared Maeve straight in her eyes as she spoke. "Tell me ye can manage tae wait."
"Wait for what?" Maeve demanded, a little frustrated now. "I dinnae understand. Ye cannae just leave me without anythin'. How do ye ken that I'm innocent? How can ye possibly help me escape?"
Ann sighed. "We ken ye're innocent because we ken who killed Malcolm. Ye're nae murderer, and the real killer is right here in the castle, restin' back on his laurels, sure that ye're gonnae take the punishment for his crime. It's?—"
"What are ye doin' in there, woman?" barked the sudden loud demand of either Rod or Brian. "We told ye that ye can leave the food and deal with her issue, then leave. Dinnae try tae pull one over on us."
Rolling her eyes in frustration, Ann said, "Maeve, I'm sorry, I've nae time to explain anythin' just now. I just need ye tae trust me. Can ye do that?"
Maeve didn't know. She'd almost forgotten how to trust, if she'd ever known at all. Her older sister had ever been the only one she could believe in; her mother had been distant and cold, her father cruel. Nessa, the youngest, had followed in their parents' footsteps. Maeve had had friends as a child, of course, who had been her solace, but nobody whom she could fully trust her own life to. Even Breana, whom she adored, needed protection more than she could be the protector, even though Maeve was younger.
But Ann had been here for her since she arrived, and, more pertinently, Ann was the only friendly face here when the alternative was nothing but the end. Though her prospects were bleak and she had nowhere to go, Maeve wanted to live.
"I trust ye," she said, and in that moment, she meant it with all of her heart.
"Then wait," Ann told her. She touched Maeve's cheek as she got to her feet. "Be strong, and wait, and I'll be back for ye. I swear it."
Rod shouted again, and Ann gave Maeve one last swift smile before she turned and left. Maeve did not cry or shout for her to return. Instead, she allowed the hope to flood her, allowed herself to believe that the world was giving her another chance. She held her head high, and gave herself to trust.
Maybe, just maybe, she could get out of this alive. And who knew what would come next?
The stone floor was cold and a little damp, but it was comfortable enough for a bed when Maeve had nowhere else to rest her weary head. However, she felt that she'd only given intosleep for a few moments when a rough shake at her shoulders woke her from her slumber.
Her eyes flew open, and she opened her mouth to cry out in alarm, but a strong hand covered it, and a voice whispered, "Shhh."
The sleep faded from Maeve's eyes and she adjusted to the candlelight. There, standing over her, was Eoin Darach, the son of the chieftain's advisor. Or perhaps he was the son of the chieftain himself, now that Malcolm was dead. That was a strange thought.
He was a tall man, his hair a dark auburn and his owlish eyes a deep blue. His freckled face was pale in the candlelight, and his smile, warm and kind and welcoming, was enough that it made her heart leap. Eoin had always been handsome in his own way, though there had never been any attraction between the pair of them. Since Maeve had gotten to the castle, other than Ann, Eoin had been the only person who had made her feel like a human being. He'd been kind to her, though too distant to be considered a true friend. She'd always had the feeling that he'd hung back over fear that the Chieftain, her late husband, would misunderstand his interest. It was a fair assumption, she supposed.
"I'm goin' tae move me hand now," Eoin said quietly. "Keep yer voice low, aye?"
Maeve nodded mutely, and Eoin moved his hand from her mouth. When she was free to speak, she said, "Why are ye here?"
A flicker of a grin crossed Eoin's face at that. "Straight tae the point as always," he said quietly. "Nae wonder Malcolm couldnae handle ye."
"I dinnae…"
"We dinnae have much time," Eoin interrupted. "But ye must trust me. Ann and I are workin' together, all right? Is that enough?"
It wasn't, not nearly, but Maeve nodded. She accepted the hand that Eoin offered her, and he pulled her to her feet. Together, the two of them left the cell, and Maeve winced at the sound of the heavy door closing behind her. Surely someone had heard that?
"Come on," Eoin said, not slowing down. He still held her hand, a reassuring brotherly grip that made her feel stronger. "We cannae stop, not for anythin'."
Maeve thought of some of the little things she was leaving behind — little trinkets she'd collected over the years — and felt a certain sadness. Even though she was going to live, she was leaving part of herself behind, or maybe all of herself. She wasn't materialistic, but to go out into the world with nothing at all was daunting, to say the least.
