“So she would not have heard them coming.”
“Why would anyone kill her?”
“I do not know but her necklace has been taken.”
“Folly. It will be recognized whenever they try to sell, the fools.”
“Tend to her soul, Father.”
“I will, my son. You tend to the living. Let me handle the dead.”
Chapter Six
When Cam got back upstairs, he heard loud voices coming from the great hall. “Where is Cam?”
He passed back through the kitchen and into the hall. The place was in uproar. “We will not be held prisoner on suspicion of murder,” Hubert said when he saw him. “You will release us or try us this minute.”
“Who said anything of murder?”
“Your Man-at-Arms came in here and took your woman away. He told us everything.”
Cam cursed silently. Tor had caused two problems for him already. Perhaps it was time to choose a new Man-at-Arms. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “Where did he take her?”
“You look as if you’re losing control of your clan, Cam MacGregor. Tell me again why we should look to you to lead us against the barefoot man?”
Cam didn’t bother to answer. She’d be in the cell. He left the great hall, searching through his keychain for the one that led down to the pit prison. He didn’t like the idea of her being down there. It would be all too easy for them to sacrifice a woman who couldn’t escape, especially if they felt he was no longer in control.
Why did she have to come today? He had enough problems with the barefoot man and now the murder of his cook.
After unlocking the door, he almost crashed into Donald who was waiting on the other side. He pulled himself up short. “What have you done with her?”
“You told us to look for the necklace. She wears it brazenly around her neck. Tor showed me.”
“Did he indeed? She already wore that, you fool. Release her at once.”
“But my Laird.”
“Now or you’ll get my sword in your ribs.”
“I do not have the key. Tor asked me to guard her.”
“Out of my way.” He shoved past Donald, ducking his head to avoid scraping it on the ceiling as he descended the stairs. At the bottom was a round room with an iron grill in the center. A heavy padlock sat at one end of the grill and he shoved his own key into the lock, looking down through the grill at Rachel who was curled up in the corner of the pit prison, lit only by the light of a single candle. Had she been beaten? He would have Tor’s head on a spike if that was the case.
Pulling the grill up, he kicked the rope down and lowered himself down it hand over hand until he reached the floor. “Are you all right?” he asked, crossing to her.
She looked up, her eyes bloodshot. “They locked me in here. What am I supposed to have done?”
“They think you killed the cook.”
“Me? But why?”
“You have the same necklace that was stolen from her.”
“But that’s stupid. I was wearing mine when she brought the food into the hall. Did they not consider that?”
“They did not consider at all. Come, I will get you out of here.”
He held out a hand and she took it, getting slowly to her feet. “Did they hurt you?” he asked as he took hold of the rope once more.
