by Jayne Castel
Rhona swallowed, before nodding. “Just three drops then.”
“Aye … and no more.”
Adaira picked up a sweet bun and took a bite. It stuck in her throat as she swallowed.
Fighting the urge to gag, she turned to the young woman with thick brown hair and hazel eyes who stood at a work bench before her. “How’s Gordon faring these days?” Adaira asked.
“Much better, thank ye, milady.” Greer twisted her head and flashed Adaira a warm smile. “I appreciate ye asking.”
Adaira forced a cheerful smile back. Truthfully, it was difficult to concentrate, hard not to look at the two trays behind Greer, where she was setting out food and drink: cups of apple wine and dishes of mutton stew served with oaten dumplings.
Supper for the men taking their watch in the dungeon tonight.
“I was relieved to hear he’ll keep his leg,” Adaira continued. She felt bad feigning conversation with Greer, although her concern for Gordon MacPherson was real. The warrior had taken a serious injury to the thigh during the battle against the Frasers.
“So was I,” Greer admitted, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “He’ll bear a limp for the rest of his days though … and he won’t stop grumbling about it.”
“Better a limp than a peg leg,” Adaira replied, keeping the smile plastered on her face.
Greer snorted. “Aye, that’s what I tell him when his complaining gets too much.”
Adaira laughed, although to her ears it sounded like a nervous titter. Until this evening, she’d always felt comfortable in this kitchen. Greer and her mother, Dunvegan’s cook, had been good to her over the years. She’d spent a lot of time with them after her mother died. Tonight, Greer’s mother, Fiona, was poorly with a bad head. Greer had overseen the day’s food preparations.
Swallowing hard, Adaira tried to calm herself. It was hard though as her heart was beating so fast it felt as if it might leap from her chest. She felt sick.
Maybe I should have asked Rhona to do this.
No, her sister had already taken a great risk on her behalf. Adaira needed to complete this task—no one else. She just hoped her nerve wouldn’t fail her.
Next door to the kitchen, Adaira could hear the lilt of female voices and laughter. The servants in the scullery were hard at work, washing up after supper had ended in the Great Hall.
Adaira’s attention shifted to the haunch of venison that hung from the rafters on the far side of the kitchen. Noting the direction of her gaze, Greer’s face turned serious. “It’s for the handfasting feast.”
It was the reminder Adaira needed. The wedding was looming now. If she messed this up, she’d never escape it. “I imagine ye will be busy with the preparations,” she said, her voice suddenly brittle.
“Aye.” Greer favored her with a sympathetic look. All of Dunvegan knew she didn’t want to wed Aonghus Budge. “I’ve got a lot of baking to do over the next two days. Hopefully, Ma will feel better tomorrow so she can help.”
Taking another bite of bun, Adaira widened her eyes. “I love these, Greer … ye really are a talented baker.”
Greer was, although if Adaira took one more bite, she felt as if she’d throw up.
Greer grinned, her cheeks flushing at the compliment. “Take some away with ye, if ye want, Lady Adaira.”
“Can I?” Adaira took a small basket and placed four more buns inside. She cast Greer a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose ye have some butter to go with them … and some of that blackcurrant jelly ye made at mid-summer?”
Greer huffed. “For a wee thing, ye have quite an appetite.” She cast a glance behind her at where the trays were waiting. Adaira was interrupting her chores, although she couldn’t deny one of MacLeod’s daughters. “Very well … wait here. We’ve got plenty of butter left over from today, but I’ll have to dig out a pot of jam.” She moved toward the pantry, wiping her hands upon her apron. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
A moment was what Adaira had been waiting for.
As soon as Greer disappeared, she set aside her basket, withdrew the bottle from her sleeve, and approached the two cups of apple wine.
This was a stressful situation. Rhona had told her that tincture of nightshade could be deadly. She needed a steady hand and really didn’t want to be rushed. Yet this was the only chance she’d get. Crouching down, so her gaze was level with the cups, she unstoppered the bottle.
To her horror, Adaira saw her hands were shaking.
Calm down. If ye fail in this, it’s over.
Carefully, holding her breath to catch a tremor in her wrist, she tilted the bottle.
One, two, three.
In the pantry, she heard Greer mutter a curse as she rummaged through the pots of jam for the elusive blackcurrant. Adaira knew their stores were getting low of that variety—which was why she’d asked for it. However, any moment now, Greer would locate her last jar.
Inhaling sharply, she moved to the second cup. She could feel sweat beading on her upper lip. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
One, two … three.
It was done.
The Lord preserve her, she hoped she’d got the measurement right.
Adaira stoppered the bottle, rose to her feet, and stepped back sharply. She’d only just hidden the bottle up her sleeve and picked up her basket of buns when Greer burst out of the pantry. The young woman held a small clay pot aloft, her expression victorious. “Here it is—just one left!”
Adaira beamed at her. “Ye are an angel. Blackcurrant is my favorite.”
“I know,” Greer said with a wink, handing her the pot and a large pat of butter wrapped in linen. “There ye go … now off with ye. I’ve got some hungry guards to feed. They’ll be wondering where their supper’s got to.”
Chapter Four
No Place for Ladies
“I’M SORRY, PUP, but I can’t take ye with me.” The wolf hound puppy, Dùnglas, wriggled in Adaira’s arms. He reached up with his front paws, trying to lick her face. Adaira’s eyes filled with tears. She’d chosen Dùnglas from a recent litter. His name, which meant ‘grey fort’, had been her choice too.
She didn’t want to leave him behind.
“Go on.” She set him down inside the stable and watched as he scampered off to join the other puppies. Their mother lay in the corner of the stall, a long-suffering expression upon her face. The pups were getting to an age where they were becoming mischievous, their needle-sharp teeth nipping at her teats when they fed.
Not wanting to draw out the moment, Adaira turned on her heel. She hastily blinked away tears and hurried from the stables. No weeping. She couldn’t crumble now, not when she was to make her escape tonight.
Rhona and Taran were risking their necks for her. She had to be brave.
The sun was going down, setting the western sky ablaze. Supper had been a tense affair. Adaira had sat in silence while Aonghus Budge threw her heated glances and whispered more filth. If her father heard any of the comments, he’d made no sign. Instead—his attention tonight had been fixed entirely upon the mutton stew and dumplings before him.
Adaira climbed the stairs that led to the upper levels of the keep. There was no one around; it was still too early for most folk to retire.
In her bower, she found Rhona waiting.
“There ye are!” Her sister hissed, gripping her arm and steering her back through the door into the empty corridor. “Where have ye been?”
“I was putting Dùnglas back down with the other pups,” Adaira whispered back. “If he stays in my bower alone overnight, he’ll howl.”
Rhona’s face relaxed. “Good thinking … come on. We need to get ye to our chamber up in the tower. The first of the guards will be taking up his post outside yer room shortly.”
“Just wait a moment.” Adaira crossed to the bed, where the satchel she’d prepared awaited. The satchel’s sides bulged. She’d packed a large water bladder and the four sweet buns, with the butter and blackcurrant jam, all tightly wrapped.
Grabbing the satchel, she slung it across her front.
The thump of heavy booted feet ascending the stairs below them, made both women freeze. The guard in question was early.
“Let’s go.” Rhona’s fingertips bit into Adaira’s upper arm, but she didn’t complain. Instead, she let her sister drag her along the corridor, down a narrower stairwell, and down to the bottom level of the keep. By the time they reached the tower stairs, both of them were out of breath.
The guard would have taken up his position outside her door by now. Their father had recently instructed Adaira to retire directly after supper. The guard would take his place outside her door, assuming she was inside her bower. She would not be disturbed until her hand-maid, Liosa, visited her the following morning.
The sisters did not speak until they were safely ensconced in the tower room.
Shutting the door firmly behind her, Rhona turned to Adaira. Her cheeks were flushed and tense. “Did ye manage it?”
Adaira nodded. “I think so. I had to be careful.”
“Ye only added three drops to each cup?”
“Aye … Greer took some time looking for the food I requested. Even so, she almost caught me.”
Rhona loosed a deep breath. “Thank the Lord she didn’t. I don’t know how ye would have talked yer way out of that.” She crossed to the sideboard and picked up a bone-handled dirk and a slingshot. She handed them to Adaira. “Ye need to be able to defend yerself. Do ye remember how to use a slingshot?”
Adaira nodded hesitantly. “I think so,” she murmured. She certainly hoped so. She remembered their father showing her how to use a slingshot when they were children. She'd be very rusty, but she was sure she’d regain her skill quickly. Especially if need drove her to it.
Adaira favored Rhona with a sickly smile. “Da watches me like an eagle these days,” she murmured. “Do ye think he suspects something?”
Rhona shook her head. “I don’t think so. However, those of us left behind must brace ourselves for his rage when he discovers ye gone.”
Adaira wrung her hands together, squeezing so hard she heard the bones of her fingers creak. “I don't want ye punished because of me.”
With a sigh, Rhona went to her and pulled her into a tight hug. “I won't be. If things go to plan, no one but the cunning woman will know that Taran and I have helped ye.” Rhona stepped back, meeting Adaira’s eye. “Ye are to meet him in the bailey courtyard, to the right of the front keep steps, later … once the moon has risen.”
Adaira nodded, nervousness coiling in the pit of her belly.
“Taran will take ye to the dungeon and help ye free the prisoner,” Rhona continued. She started to pace the chamber, agitated. “The guards should be fast asleep by then.”
The coil of nerves in Adaira’s belly tightened. She hoped Rhona’s sleeping potion would work, although she didn’t voice her fear. Heaving a deep breath, Adaira crossed to the open window. It was almost completely dark outside now; the last of the sunset was fading from the sky.
Now we must wait, she thought. The tension was almost unbearable.
Waiting was the hardest part.
“Are ye ready, lass?” The low rumble of Taran’s voice soothed Adaira’s jangled nerves. She’d stepped out into the bailey and waited in the deep shadow of the keep for Taran to join her.
“Aye,” she whispered. “Are the guards asleep?”
It was too dark to make out his face although she sensed his expression was grim. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he murmured. “Follow me.”
Adaira fell into step behind Taran and drew her cloak close around her. It was a still night, and the air was damp and cold. She was traveling light, with just the satchel slung around her front. It was heavy with the food and water. The buns would stave off hunger for a short while. She imagined that Lachlann Fraser would appreciate some good food.
It was late. The keep slumbered, and a deep silence had fallen over the fortress. The stillness of the night unnerved Adaira; she’d have preferred the whisper of a wind to take the edge off it.
She followed Taran toward the entrance to the dungeon, marveling at how silent his tread was for a big man. He moved like a shadow, and she was careful to follow suit.
As she walked, Adaira glanced up at the window to the tower chamber, high above her. It was dimly lit, signaling that someone was still awake. Rhona would be up there, awaiting her husband’s return.
The sisters’ goodbye had been painful. Adaira’s chest still ached from the tears she’d seen in Rhona’s eyes.
“Promise me, ye will be careful,” Rhona had whispered. “Promise me that when ye get free of here, ye will fight to remain so. Don’t look over yer shoulder … don’t ever come back.”
Adaira had nodded, tears of her own welling.
She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her sister again, yet she had little other choice. Once she wed Budge, and he took her off to Islay, she’d likely not see Rhona again anyway.
Taran and Adaira entered the dungeon stairwell. Neither of them carried torches, and so they were forced to feel their way downstairs in the dark, using the damp stone wall as a guide.
The glow of light ahead warned Adaira that they were reaching the guard room. Blinking, she followed Taran out into a small space with a low ceiling that had been carved out of the rock. A narrow passage led out of the back: the way to the cells.
Adaira’s attention moved to where two guards sat at a table in the corner. The men lay slumped against the wall, mouths gaping. Two trays with empty clay bowls and cups sat before them.
Adaira’s breathing hitched. Are they asleep—or dead?
Taran pushed back the hood of his cloak and approached the nearest guard. He then snapped his fingers in front of the man's nose. The noise cracked like a whip in the damp air, but the man didn’t stir. He reached down and felt for a pulse upon his neck. Taran’s breath gusted out. “He’s alive.” Taran checked the second guard. “And so is this one. They sleep deeply, but they'll live. Ye did well.”
Relief swamped Adaira, making her legs go weak. Guilt assailed her then. If her father ever discovered the truth, Rhona's life would be spared, but Taran’s wouldn't. He’d swing from a gibbet for this.
She stepped next to Taran, placing a tentative hand on his arm. “I haven't thanked ye properly, Taran,” she murmured. “I know ye are doing this for Rhona … ye must love her very much.”
Taran turned to her. The guttering light of the torch on the wall illuminated his scarred face. “I couldn’t let Rhona do this on her own,” he admitted quietly, “but I also can’t stand by and see ye wed Aonghus Budge. If I can help in any way … I will.”
Adaira swallowed the lump in her throat. “Ye are a good man, Taran MacKinnon. My sister is very lucky.”
“Come.” Did she imagine it, or did his cheeks color slightly at her praise? Turning from her, he helped himself to a ring of keys hanging on the wall and lifted the torch off its brace. Taran carried the torch over to where another hung at the entrance to the passageway. He lit it and passed it to Adaira. “Let’s go find Lachlann Fraser.”
Adaira followed Taran down the passageway. A few yards on, they came to another set of stairs that led down even farther underground. Adaira hadn't visited the dungeon in years. It was forever night time down here, a smothering darkness that made it difficult to breathe. Not that she wanted to take many deep breaths. The air smelled putrid: mold, stale urine, sweat, and worse. It made her eyes water.
“This isn’t a place for ladies,” Taran grumbled. “I can’t believe ye and yer sisters used to play down here.”
Adaira responded with a soft snort. She was wondering the same thing herself.
Moments later they stepped out onto a wide passage. A row of iron grates lined the stone floor.
Adaira stepped close to Taran. “Do ye know where he is?”
Taran nodded. “The second last one. All the rest are empty at present.”
They made their way to
the cell in question. Halting before the grate, Taran passed Adaira his torch and crouched down. He selected a key and unlocked the grate before lifting it free.
“Lachlann Fraser.” Taran’s voice, although low, rang in the stillness. “Are ye awake?”
Chapter Five
Upon Yer Life
A RASPY VOICE broke the silence. “Aye … what’s it to ye?”
The male voice had a harsh edge to it. Adaira’s spine stiffened. She hadn't given any thought as to the character of the man imprisoned down here. She hoped Rhona was right, and that he would agree to help her.
“I have someone here who’d like a word with ye,” Taran continued. He then inclined his head to Adaira, indicating that it was her turn to speak.
Adaira handed Taran back his torch and moved forward. She then bent her head and peered into the darkness below. Dear Lord, the stench coming from down there was awful. Didn’t he have a privy he could use?
“Lachlann Fraser,” Adaira began, swallowing bile. “I come bearing an offer. Are ye interested?”
A beat of silence followed, before the prisoner spoke once more. This time, his voice was gentler, edged with curiosity. “A lady? What's this?”
“Just answer her, Fraser,” Taran growled. “Are ye interested?”
Another pause. “I might be.”
Adaira leaned forward, squinting. She couldn’t see anything in the gloom. “My freedom for yers,” she said quietly, reciting the words she’d practiced with Rhona earlier. “If I set ye free, ye must agree to escort me out of this dungeon to freedom. Ye must protect me with yer life.”
A soft, bitter laugh followed. “I agree readily,” he drawled. “But I also point out that we stand in the dungeon, with a curtain wall and a portcullis preventing my escape.”
“I know a way—a secret way—out of this dungeon,” Adaira countered, her voice low, urgent. “If ye will swear upon yer life to protect me, I will show ye it.”
