by Terry Spear
"We've been sent to see to the prisoner's injuries," Maili told the two guards.
The massive guard, Gegrim, wearing leather armor and helm, crossed his arms over his chest. "The chief mentioned naught to us about it."
"What are you about, Maili?" Elrick yelled as he crossed the courtyard.
Stiffening her spine, she waited until her brother stopped a few feet away. "We're trying to make sure your prisoner survives. What do you think the MacKenzie chief will do if his brother dies here at your hand?"
"Not at my hand, my daft sister. He was already badly injured when my soldiers picked him up."
"Do you think the MacKenzies will believe that?" she challenged.
Elrick narrowed his eyes. "I don't give a damn."
"I'll ask the elders what they think we should do, then," she said.
"Nay, not a word to them," Elrick growled. "Go. See to the whoreson, and be quick about it." He turned to the guards. "Watch them and make certain the prisoner does not escape."
Gegrim gave a sharp nod and stepped aside. Maili proceeded down the stone steps into the darkness below, Tavia following.
Good lord, how Maili hated the dungeon. She could distinguish little until Gegrim brought forth a torch. Then she saw that the prisoner lay on his side on the filthy dirt floor of the cell. The second guard unlocked the door and she entered with Tavia.
"We need better light," Maili said, motioning Gegrim forward. He entered the cell and stood near them, bringing the torch so close the heat of it warmed her skin.
Maili knelt on the floor beside the dark-haired man. "Master MacKenzie, we're here to dress your wounds. And we brought food."
He turned his bloody face toward her and his swollen eyes opened a crack. "Thirsty," he whispered.
"Of course." Damn her brother and his men for beating him so badly. "I have some ale," she said in a soothing voice. After uncorking the stoneware jug, she tilted it to his mouth. He drank heartily, some of the liquid running down his cheek and spilling onto the floor.
He lay back, breathing hard. "I thank you, m'lady," he whispered.
"What is your name?" Maili asked.
"Shamus MacKenzie." His voice was a bit stronger, not as raspy.
"I brought the healer to tend your wounds. Are you in much pain?"
When he didn't answer, she grew concerned. "Master MacKenzie—"
"Shamus," he murmured.
"You will not harm us, will you, Shamus?" she asked.
"Nay."
Kneeling, Tavia set about removing his doublet and shirt while Maili stood beside the guard holding the torch and tried not to watch. But Shamus was a lean and finely-hewn man with broad shoulders and defined muscles in his chest and arms. She had accidentally glimpsed a few men of her clan, distant cousins, taking swims in the loch at sunset once but none would compare to Shamus.
The healer cleaned the wound on his shoulder and rubbed healing salve on it before bandaging it. Once she was done, she helped him put on his shirt and doublet again. Next, she cleaned the cuts and bruises on his face and head, then smoothed the salve on them.
For once in her life, Maili envied the healer, for she had good reason to touch him. Maili had never wished to touch a man before, nor even be near one.
"There we are, sir," Tavia murmured and arose from her knees. She then took the blanket Maili had brought and covered him with it.
"I appreciate it," he said.
Maili moved forward. "Would you like to eat? I brought bannocks."
"Aye." He turned onto his side, facing her.
She dug into her satchel, crouched and handed him the oatcake.
"I thank you." His raspy voice grew stronger. "You are the chief's sister, are you not?"
How had he figured that out? From her and Elrick's argument in the barmkin earlier?
"Indeed."
When he finished the bannock in three bites, she handed him another one. He must surely be starving.
"How long since you've eaten?" she asked.
"I know not. 'Haps a day."
With his injuries, 'twould be best if he didn't overeat at this meal.
Though she wished she could stay longer, she feared 'twas time for her and Tavia to take their leave. "Do you have need of aught else?" she asked him.
"Aye, my freedom."
Well, of course. If only she could grant that to him, she would. She arose, stepped back and glanced at the scowling guard who held the torch.
"Can you arrange it?" Shamus asked.
She couldn't believe the slight grin on his swollen lips. Was he mad?
"Nay, I fear not."
"A pity," he mumbled.
Saints, but he was a teaser. How she wished she could've met him under far different circumstances. Regret tensing her muscles and her stomach in knots, she moved toward the cell's door and prayed her brother would not kill him before he gained his freedom.
Chapter 3
Shamus slept, he knew not how long. The loud clanging of metal awoke him. He squinted at the bright torch outside the cell's bars.
"Wake up, Laird MacKenzie! I have your supper feast." The guard dropped something onto the ground, turned and left him in near darkness.
Bastard! Shamus couldn't believe he was in the MacDonald clan's dungeon. He ground his teeth against the soreness slicing through his body at the least movement.
He must have slept for several hours for he was again hungry. He forced himself to endure the agony of getting to his feet. His head throbbing, he swayed, limped to the iron bars and crouched.
Expecting the worst—moldy bread and rotting meat—he untied the worn cloth bundle to find a generous amount of fresh bread and cheese and a skin of ale. Pleasantly surprised, he smiled. Had the lady prepared this for him? He wished she would've brought it to him.
He devoured it, thankful he had good food at least.
After eating, he tested the strength of the iron bars, as well as that of the door. Neither budged. "Damned MacDonalds," he muttered. Except for her, of course, and her healer.
The lady was a wee fae creature with dark hair and wide-set pale eyes. He guessed they must be blue or green, though 'twas hard to tell in the torchlight.
How soon would the chief send his messenger to Cyrus? He hoped 'twas soon. Cyrus would be furious with the MacDonalds, and with Shamus, too, for getting himself into this fix.
What about Fraser and the rest of his crew? He prayed they had not drowned. Surely, if they'd washed up on shore alive, the MacDonald scouts would've brought them in and imprisoned them, too.
Prior to this, he had never been to this castle and didn't know how strong their defenses were. The walls he'd glimpsed when they'd hauled him in appeared to be thick and well repaired.
The chief's sister haunted him… her image teased at his overburdened mind. What was her name? Mayhap he could convince her to secretly help him escape. There had to be some way out of here.
Pains shot through his left shoulder, and his head ached with a dull throb. Thankfully, his legs hadn't been injured, just a few scrapes and bruises from bumping against the rocks in the ocean. And his sword arm was still good. If he could get out of this hell-pit, he could travel north on foot, or mayhap find someone with a galley to take him back to Dornie.
Could he convince the lass to help him? Would she even visit him here again?
***
Hours later, voices echoed from some distant part of the dungeon. Shamus opened his eyes to see light from a torch barely illuminating the darkness. How long had he slept? Was it night or day?
When he turned onto his back, soreness shot through his muscles like sharp arrows. He gritted his teeth and suppressed a groan.
"Have you checked on him?" asked a female voice. 'Twas her. The fae lass.
"Nay," growled the guard as they descended the steps.
Lying still and pretending sleep, Shamus squinted, watching as they approached the cell door.
The guard shoved the torch into a wall sconce and t
urned to leave.
"Unlock the door," she said.
"Nay. The chief said you are not to go inside." He clomped away.
"Bastard," she hissed in a low whisper as she stared after the guard. When a distant door slammed, she turned her attention back to him. "Sir? Shamus… are you awake?"
"Aye." Clenching his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself to a sitting position.
"And how are you feeling this morn?"
'Slud, that much time had passed? "As if I was trampled by a herd of red deer," he grumbled, trying not to let her see exactly how much he hurt.
"The guard won't let me in to check your wounds."
"I heard."
"Are you able to rise to your feet and come over here to the bars? I've brought you food to break your fast. I wanted to return last night but Elrick wouldn't allow it. Did you get the food I sent?"
"Aye and I appreciate it."
He could understand her brother not allowing her to return. Shamus certainly would've never allowed his sister, Isobel, to visit a prisoner without a guard present.
The MacDonald chief was a damnable tyrant, but still not half as formidable as Cyrus. His brother would chew the whoreson up and spit him out first chance he got.
Trying not to groan, Shamus slowly pushed himself to his feet and straightened. His head and shoulder pained him greatly. When a wave of dizziness struck, he grabbed onto one of the iron bars, thankful his sword arm was uninjured.
"Here are three bannocks." She offered them to him through the bars.
"You are too kind." He accepted the oat cakes and took a bite. He savored the freshly baked, buttery flavor.
She turned her head sideways, trying to view his shoulder injury in the low light where his doublet and shirt were torn. "The bandage is bloody again. I must have the healer return."
"'Tis healing," he muttered between bites. At least he hoped it was. He needed to be out of here and away. Never had he been imprisoned in a dungeon before. "But I would appreciate it." He would accept any hospitality she was willing to offer, and mayhap he could devise a way to escape.
She eyed his face carefully. Damnation, but she was a beauty, her creamy skin taking on a golden glow in the torchlight. Her pale blue eyes were bewitching and almost mystical. Though she wore the cowl of her arisaid over her head, some of her loose midnight hair draped forward. But her lips… saints… they were dark and luscious like a ruby bow.
As for himself, he well knew he looked atrocious, for one of his eyes was still swollen almost shut. His face felt as if it were covered in bruises where her brother and his men had beaten him.
Looking as he did, he could never seduce his way out of here. Still, she did seem incredibly concerned about him.
After finishing the last bite of the bannocks, he swallowed. "I thank you for the food." The more he moved, the more the pain in his limbs abated. Even his head felt clearer. Aye, movement was what he needed.
"I brought ale, too." She held up a stoneware jug decorated with the face of a bearded man, vines and leaves.
"'Twill not fit through the bars."
"You will have to drink from here." She tilted the jug up to the bars.
He moved closer, placed his mouth against the lip of the jug and drank. He enjoyed the warm and nurturing feeling that spread over him because she gave him ale this way, similar to feeding him by hand.
He drank deeply, not realizing how thirsty he'd been. "'Tis good." He drank the rest of it, then swallowed.
She placed the jug on the floor.
"What is your name?" he asked.
She glanced toward the steps, then back to him. "Maili," she whispered.
'Twas a sweet name that fit her. He wanted to grin at her charming mannerisms, as if she wished no one to ken she'd told him her name… as if it were a secret between them.
He observed her closely, the concerned look in her eyes riveting him. What in blazes was going through her head? 'Twas clear to him that she had a keen, intelligent mind.
Could he convince her to help him escape?
If he did, he might be putting her life in danger, too. What would her brother do to her if he learned of it?
Saints! Don't even think of it. She'd helped him already by bringing him food, drink and seeing to his wounds. He couldn't do anything to endanger her.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the stone stairs. Maili spun around and drew back. She was jumpy. Did she fear her own clan?
The chief came into view in the torchlight, followed by one of his bodyguards.
"I thought I saw you sneak down here," he said to Maili in a snide tone.
"I did not sneak, Elrick," she said firmly. "You gave me leave to bring your prisoner food."
"Aye, and how is our esteemed guest faring?" Elrick observed Shamus, mockery glinting in his eyes.
Shamus wanted to punch the bastard in his smirking mouth.
"If you wish a large ransom, he will need to be in good health," Maili said.
"I can see that he is. I've sent messengers to Teasairg Castle with my terms written out."
"When?" Shamus asked, trying to keep his fury under control until he was free and had a weapon.
"This morn."
If the weather was good, and they had a fair wind, they would reach Dornie by galley in a day or two. Cyrus would take immediate action. 'Haps in four or five days he could be out of this hell-pit.
He glanced at Maili and her worried frown. What did it mean? Was she terribly concerned about him being locked up or did something else trouble her?
"Fatten him up, Maili. We want him looking bonny when his brother arrives." Elrick chuckled. "Now go." He motioned her toward the stairs. "We'll have guests arriving soon and you need to see they are well cared for."
Maili narrowed her eyes, irritation tightening her features, but she did not argue with her brother. She slid Shamus one last glance and headed up the steps.
Elrick took the torch and followed, leaving Shamus in darkness.
***
Although Elrick had prevented Maili from spending more time with Shamus, at least he'd allowed the healer to see to his wounds again and change the dressings. Maili spent the day directing the servants and overseeing preparations for food and sleeping quarters for their distant MacDonald cousins, a different branch of the clan from Skye, who would arrive shortly. Her brother said 'twas not unexpected. He had asked Chief MacDonald of Sleat to visit to discuss clan affairs. She had seen the bearded, graying chief before, several times during clan gatherings and such.
When the lookouts announced they'd spied the fleet of galleys approaching from across the loch, Maili changed into her nicest gown, embroidered with roses and leaves.
When Sleat and his men arrived in the great hall, she welcomed them as warmly as possible and tried to ignore Chief Sleat's rude and assessing stare. His behavior was not surprising. Anyone who had heard the witchcraft rumors gawked at her unabashedly.
She stepped aside and motioned them toward the high table.
"'Tis nice to see you again, lass," Sleat said, sidling up to her. Before she could move out of his way, he grabbed her derriere and squeezed.
Gasping in shock, she elbowed him upon impulse. Bastard!
He chuckled and proceeded toward the table.
Ugh! She cringed. What on earth? She would definitely have to steer clear of that old goat. As soon as the men were seated, she directed the maids to serve supper.
She sent another glare Sleat's way. He was about the age of her father. A blade of sadness struck her. How she wished Da was here now. She missed him sorely. After her mother had passed when she was a wee lass of six summers, her da had always given her extra attention and carried her around on his shoulder. And he'd always told her she was bonny like her dear mother.
"Come, sit at the table with us, Maili," her brother called and motioned to her.
Blast! She had hoped the men would ignore her so she might slip away, once the meal was underway, and visit Shamus.
Reluctantly, Maili stepped onto the dais and took the empty seat beside her cousin Constance who was animated and smiling at all the male attention directed her way. Aside from the two of them, all those at the high table were men. Many of them continued to watch Maili openly and with suspicion. Were they curious about the Bearach Witch? Did they fear she would put a curse on them?
"Your sister has grown into a beauty, Elrick," Sleat said.
Maili frowned at the older man, but he sent her a tight-lipped grin, lust gleaming in his eyes.
She stifled a shiver and focused on her food. 'Twas not the first time a man had remarked on her looks, but Sleat usually ignored her. What possessed him this day?
Elrick changed the subject to clan affairs, which she was glad for.
She ignored the men as best she could and ate, allowing her mind to wander to Shamus.
He was not an outlaw and should not be imprisoned. He'd done naught wrong. She wished she could go visit with him again after supper, but she feared Elrick or his guards would stop her.
A vision flashed in Maili's mind of another clan attacking their castle. Steel clanged and blood puddled in the courtyard. She jumped, her eyes flying wide as she glanced around the table. Several of the men noticed her abrupt movement and gave her curious stares. Nay, 'twas not their distant kin who would attack, but strangers… the MacKenzies, intent on rescuing their brother.
Horror and nausea ripping through her, she leapt up from the table. "Pray pardon." She rushed across the great hall and up the steps to her bedchamber.
She barred the door and shook her head, trying to clear it of the ghastly images of war and death. 'Twas her own clan who would suffer. How could she stop it?
After adding peat to the fire, she paced before the hearth. Elrick should not hold Shamus for ransom. He would regret it. How could she convince her brother to release him? He would not see reason. The glint of gold had blinded him to the truth.
A quarter hour later, a knock sounded at the door. When she opened it, a female servant stood outside. "The chief wishes to see you in the library."
