Ye are a warrior now,he’d said, chuckling.Ye don’t hang yer head for anyone, hear?
There were two soldiers kicking their heels at the entrance to the cellar, and she knew there’d be two more at the bottom. They eyed her insolently but moved aside. Clenching her jaw, Una descended into the miserable dampness below. The steps herewere painfully steep and uneven, too. The jug on the tray jiggled when she almost missed a step in the dark, water slopping over the side.
She winced and hoped that the water had landed in the porridge. It wouldn’t make any difference, since the stuff was already so watery.
The two soldiers at the bottom of the stairs huddled around, sitting on upturned barrels with a third barrel serving as a table in the middle.
“Three square meals a day for him, eh?” one man remarked, scowling. “And now this latest instruction. Is he a prisoner or a guest?”
“Both at once,” Una retorted. “The Abbess was reluctant enough to house a prisoner here in the convent. Best not to complain.”
The first soldier—she couldn’t see what tartan he wore in the gloom—scoffed and stretched out his legs.
“Aye, but taking him aboveground for fresh air? I don’t?—”
“What’s done is done,” Una interrupted. “Excuse me.”
She strode off without a backward glance, her knuckles turning white from gripping the tray. She could hear the men muttering darkly behind her.
No doubt they resented Struan getting to sleep under a roof, even if he was sleeping in acellar. The vast majority of Thomas’ army, along with the remaining Grahame and Kenneth men, all camped out in the forest. They wouldn’t all fit in the convent in any case, and anyway the nuns couldn’t feed and house them all. It was too much of a burden. With men like Thomas in charge, the soldiers couldn't even wander into the town to steal, cause trouble, and harass pretty women.
They’re bored,she thought worriedly.And bored men make trouble. They were braced for Laird Dickson to retaliate, and he just… he justdidn’t.
What is he waiting for?
That was an unpleasant thought. Shivering, Una banished it, thinking firmly of a wall. She added details—a nasty gouge in one stone, as though an axe had struck it, or…
Stop!
She reached the cell and found that her heart hammered so hard that she could taste it in her mouth. Or perhaps that was just good old-fashioned fear. Swallowing thickly, she stepped closer and peered in through the bars.
This time, Struan sat facing the door, leafing through a heavy old book. His black hair had grown longer since he’d been here, now touching his collar. He was provided with a bowl of water every day to wash with and seemed fairly diligent in keeping clean. He was given soap, but no razor, of course, so a month’s worth of beard growth clustered around his cheeks and chin. It was a decent beard, all things considered.
He glanced up as she approached, and his eyes darkened.
“I thought there’d be no breakfast today. I thought ye had finally seen sense and decided to starve me.”
His voice was thin and a little raspy, like he didn’t use it very often.
“Nay,” she responded shortly. “We wouldn’t do that.”
He scoffed. “Why not? I’m dead already.”
He closed the book with a snap and tossed it carelessly aside. Una followed the movement, pressing her lips together.
“Be more careful with that book,” she heard herself say sharply. “Kyla brought that for ye. Handle it with care.”
There was a small gate at the bottom of the cell door, secured by a bolt. Keeping a wary eye on him, Una undid the bolt, opened the small gate, and slid in the tray. She’d grown practiced at pushing it, and the tray slid forward all the way to where he sat on his pallet bed. The jug touched his crossed knees.
Struan leaned forward and dunked a finger in the porridge. He sucked it thoughtfully. Una folded her arms.
“It’s cold,” he announced at last. “A wee bit congealed, too.”
She clenched her jaw. “This is not a boarding house. Besides, by the time I get it down here, it’s always cooled down. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
He shrugged, picked up the bowl, and ate a delicate mouthful. “Ye haven’t told me why ye are late.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s none of yer concern, is it?”
