"You Highlanders are filth," the man spat, running forward with the point of his sword aimed at Lennox’s chest.
Rose winced as Lennox suddenly leaped to one side. The man couldn’t stop in time, tripping and falling straight through the hole. His scream chilled her blood but it was nothing compared to the silence after he slammed into the floor of the oubliette.
"Come on," Lennox said, grabbing her hand. "Before his friends come to check on the noise."
She glanced down the hole. "He’s dead. Look at his neck. You killed him."
He continued pulling her over to the open door.
"You killed him," she said, fighting to break free. "You just killed a man."
"Rather him than us."
How had she ever thought him handsome? He was just a brute, climbing a flight of spiral stairs and dragging her with him. Wait, spiral stairs? She looked back down.
This couldn’t be MacGregor Castle. She’d come down a straight flight of stairs from the grassy courtyard. Now she was climbing far newer looking cream stone steps and coming out into what was this?
"Their armory," Lennox said, answering her unasked question as he pulled open the next door. "And a linen store. Perfect. There’s a decent sword or two in here."
She watched him as he stripped off the tunic and began pulling open wardrobe doors. His chest was solid muscle, rippling as he hefted his sword through the air a couple of times, testing it against imaginary enemies.
She coughed when he saw her watching him. "I appreciate I may not want to know the answer to this but why do you have a sword?"
"All Highlanders have them," he replied, heading for the linen store. "Well, except some of the peasants of course."
"Of course," she replied, fairly sure she was going mad. "Why not? Stupid question, obviously. Wait, what are you doing?"
He was pushing his trousers down off his hips. She spun on her heels, facing the other way. "Could you not have warned me you were about to strip?"
"This is no time for modesty," he replied. "I need clean things and fast. Here, put this on."
Something flew over her head, landing in front of her.
"What’s this?" she asked, grabbing hold of it.
"A dress. Put it on."
"What? Why?"
"Because if you leave here wearing that you’ll likely be held as a witch."
"What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?" she asked, looking down at her jeans and teeshirt.
"Arms exposed, hose of bright blue as only royalty are permitted to wear. Get them off and get that dress on."
"All right," she said with a shrug. "If it’s a dream, what does it matter? Look the other way then."
"Make it quick" He turned to face the wall, tapping his foot impatiently.
She slid her jeans off, looking up to make sure he was still facing away from her. He looked more like a Highlander now, tartan plaid across his top half, black hose across his bottom half.
As quickly as she could, she pulled off the teeshirt, slipping into the faded red dress, surprised by how heavy it felt. "Why have they got tartan dresses in an English castle?" she asked, brushing out the creases.
"Probably stolen from the last poor souls they imprisoned here. Are you ready?"
"How do I look?"
He turned and a smile broadened across his face. "More like a proper lady. Shush, listen."
