"Aye," she said softly. "I think... I think I'd like tae stay."
Alpin's smile was brilliant. "Good. Then it's settled."
He walked her to the edge of the courtyard, their hands brushing occasionally as they moved. At the entrance to the keep, he stopped.
"I'll see ye at dinner?" he asked.
"Aye. If Donnach decides tae teach me how tae set broken bones, in which case I might be covered in splints and plaster."
"Even better." His eyes were warm as they looked at her. "I like ye when ye're covered in healin' supplies. Means ye're daein' work that matters."
Before she could respond, he squeezed her hand briefly and strode away toward the main keep, leaving Mhairi standing there with her heart doing complicated things in her chest.
The dungeon was cold.
Alpin descended the stone steps slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the dim torchlight. The air down here was thick and stale, carrying the smell of damp stone and unwashed bodies.
Two guards stood outside the prisoner's cell, straightening immediately when they saw him.
"Me laird," the older one said. "We werenae expectin' ye."
"I need tae speak with the prisoner. Alone."
The guards exchanged glances. "Me laird, we should guard ye, just incase anythin’ goes wrong."
"Nay need fer that." Alpin's voice was calm but left no room for argument. "Leave. Now."
They went.
Once their footsteps had faded up the stairs, Alpin turned his attention to the cell. The prisoner sat slumped against the far wall, wrists still bound, the wound in his side freshly bandaged.
Donnach's work, no doubt. The old healer wouldn’t let even an enemy soldier die of infection if he could help it.
"Comfortable?" Alpin asked.
The man's head jerked up. "Go to hell."
"Already been. Wasnae impressed." Alpin pulled a stool closer to the bars and sat, casual as if they were having afternoon tea. "We need tae talk."
"I've got nothing to say to ye."
"That's unfortunate. Because I've got plenty to ask." Alpin leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Let's start simple. How many men daes Ashcombe have at that border camp?"
Silence.
"Twenty? Thirty? More?"
The prisoner's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
"Fine." Alpin shifted tactics. "What are his orders? Is he plannin' tae attack, or is he just tryin' tae intimidate me?"
Still nothing.
"Ye're nae very good at this," Alpin observed. "The whole 'silent prisoner' act. Ye keep flinchin’ every time I mention Ashcombe's name. That tells me ye're afraid of him."
"I'm not afraid of anyone."
"Liar." Alpin's voice went cold. "Ye're terrified. And ye should be. Because Ashcombe is the kind of man who'll sacrifice his own soldiers without blinkin' if it serves his purpose."
