“No, I’m all right.”
“Good. Grab my waist.”
“What?”
“Like this.” He took her hands and wrapped them around him. Her face was an inch from his. “Hold on tight.”
He began to climb, looking her in the eyes as he did so. The pit prison usually stank but all he could smell was the sweetness of her skin. He was glad when they were up out of the pit and he could stand away from her. “Come,” he said. “You will stay in my tower tonight. I will keep you safe.”
“But what about the necklace?”
“We will find it soon enough and get you home. You have my word.”
“I don’t mean that. How will you convince your men I didn’t steal it?”
“Leave that to me.”
He led the way through a maze of corridors, making sure to stay away from the great hall. Once they were up in his tower, he locked the door, something he had never felt the need to do before. With that done he turned to her. “You will sleep in the garret. I will put bedding in there for you. That way none will be able to reach you without getting through me first.”
“Thank you. I am sorry.”
“What for?”
“About the cook. I didn’t say before and I should have done.”
“It is done. What matters now is finding the killer before he strikes again. I sense dark hands in this and I dinnae like it. I must go back and deal with the MacKenzies. Will you be all right in here?”
“Could I possibly have some water?”
She held out her hands, blackened from the filth of the pit prison.”
“Of course,” he replied, unlocking his door and calling for a servant. Running feet echoed toward him and the spitboy appeared. “They are all busy. They sent me,” he said, looking up eagerly. “What do you need?”
“Fetch me a ewer of water at once and a clean cloth.”
“Of course.”
The boy sprinted off. Cam stood by the door and waited, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend Rachel if the need arose. He would not have them sacrifice her, nor blame her for the death of the cook. They had been foolish to imprison her. She had been in the great hall when it happened. He would explain that to them soon enough and then they could get back on task, find the killer and bring them to justice.
The boy was back quick enough, splashing water from the ewer as he ran. He panted heavily as he brought the ewer into the room.
“Into the garret with it,” Cam said.
Roger passed through the door in the far side of the room. When he came back he stopped dead, looking around him in wonder.
“What is it?” Rachel asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I’ve never seen a room so grand,” the boy replied.
“What’s your name?”
“Roger, my lady.”
“A good name. Here, you need this.” She walked into the garret and came back with the dripping cloth. She wiped his face gently while Cam stood watching in wonder. What did she care about a spitboy?
“There,” Rachel said. “There’s a handsome young face under that grease.” She looked up at Cam. “You should treat your people better. He’s just a boy.”
“Och, he’s a spitboy and paid well enough for his work.”
