He squeezed, not hard enough to cause real damage, but enough to make his point clear. The scar beneath his thumb burned like it was fresh, like he was carving it all over again.
Before Leona could respond, a black blur launched itself from the shadows near the hearth.
Nyx, Rufus’s impossible, feral little cat, collided with Keith’s face in a flurry of claws and fury. Keith shouted, stumbling backward as the cat hissed and scratched, her yellow eyes blazing with feline rage.
“Get it off! Get this damned beast off me!”
Keith flailed, trying to grab the cat, but Nyx was too quick. She raked her claws across his cheek one final time before leaping away, landing gracefully on the table among the plates and cups.
Leona didn’t hesitate. She scooped up the cat, feeling Nyx’s tiny heart hammering against her palms, and ran.
“Leona! Get back here!”
But she was already out the door, her slippers sliding across the stone floor as she fled down the corridor. Nyx squirmed in her arms, but Leona held tight, murmuring frantic thanks into the cat’s soft fur.
“Good girl. Such a good, brave girl.”
Her feet carried her toward the stairs, not up to her chambers where Keith would surely follow, but down. Down toward the kitchens, the storage rooms, the forgotten corners of the castle where she might hide until his temper cooled.
Down toward the dungeons.
The thought struck her suddenly, bringing her to a halt at the top of the narrow staircase. The other laird. The Beast of Ainsley. If Keith held him prisoner, if he was using him to extort gold…
“Laird Ainsley must nae be defeated,” she whispered to Nyx.
The cat’s ears flicked forward, her yellow eyes fixed on Leona’s face as if she understood.
Because if Murdock Lyall fell, if his clan paid the ransom and abandoned him here… Or worse, if Keith decided he was worth more dead than alive, then there would be nothing standing between her and this marriage. Nothing to stop Keith from consolidating his power, from crushing anyone who opposed him.
But if she could help Laird Ainsley escape…
It was madness. Complete and utter madness. She was no warrior, no schemer. Just a lass with a dowry and a cat and a growing collection of scars hidden beneath her sleeves.
But what other choice did she have?
Leona turned away from the dungeon stairs, her mind racing. If Keith had tortured him—and he surely had—the man would need tending. She couldn’t very well help him escape if he was too weak to walk.
She hurried down the corridor toward the storage rooms, Nyx still clutched against her chest. The castle was quiet at this hour, since most of the servants had retired for the night. Her slippers made barely a whisper against the stone as she navigated the familiar passages.
The storage room door creaked softly as she pushed it open. Moonlight filtered through a high window, illuminating rows of shelves stocked with linens, herbs, and supplies.
Leona set Nyx down gently and began gathering what she needed. Clean cloths, stolen from the stack meant for the kitchens. A jar of salve that the healer used for wounds. A small flask of water.
Her hands moved quickly, methodically, stuffing everything into a woven basket she found hanging from a peg.
This was madness. If Keith found her, if anyone saw her sneaking supplies down to his prisoner…
But she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
Nyx meowed softly, weaving between her ankles as she checked the corridor one last time before slipping back out. The basketfelt heavier than it should in her hands, weighted with the enormity of what she was about to do.
She made her way back to the narrow staircase, heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Nyx padded silently beside her, a small shadow about to jump into the basket.
Leona clutched the basket tighter and descended into the darkness.
2
The dungeon stairs were steep and narrow, each step slick with moisture that seeped through the ancient stone.
