If nothing else, their capture had taught her that life was too short. Should he revive and once they were free—if that miracle happened—she would marry him.
She tugged the moth-eaten blanket tighter and ignored the suspicious stains on the floor within the cell, refusing to try to decipher their contemptible origin.
In several of the cells, men moaned in agony, their ramblings interrupted only when guards stormed in and hauled a prisoner away. She closed her eyes against the memories of the men’s pleas for mercy, entreaties ignored by the stone-faced sentries.
The distant tap of steps grew. Moments later, the wooden door scraped open.
Elspet braced herself, prayed the Earl of Odhran had returned and demanded that she and Cailin be freed.
An elder with stringy gray hair, bushy eyebrows, and age lines dredged deep across his face limped forward, a bucket in his hands. He paused at each cell, filled a battered clay bowl with foul-looking stew, shoved it beneath the iron bars, then shuffled on.
He paused before her. Lumps of unidentifiable brownish-gray meat plopped into the bowl.
Bile rose in her throat. “Has the Earl of Odhran returned?”
He sniffed with disdain. “If he had, he wouldna be speaking with the likes of anyone plotting treason against the Earl of Dalkirk.”
She shoved to her feet. “Cailin MacHugh is the rightful Earl of Dalkirk.”
“A lie the steward said you’d claim,” the elder sneered. “Nor when Lord Odhran returns will he find amusement in your deception.”
Cailin moaned.
Thank God! She rushed to thebars. “Cailin!”
The elder grunted, limped over, filled the bowl outside Cailin’s cell, kicked it into the dank cell,then moved on.
Body trembling, Cailin wove slightly as he shoved to a sitting position. Eyes dark with pain, he looked around, paused when his gaze met hers.“Are you well?”
“Aye,” she breathed.
He rubbed the back of his head where he’d been hit, pushed to his feet. “How long havewe been here?”
“Since yesterday.”
The elder who’d delivered the vile substance meant to pass as edible ambled past, casting a scathing look toward Cailin before departing the dungeon.
The door slammed shut, and she rubbed her arms. “The steward believes we are traitors plotting against Dalkirk.”
He grunted. “Nay doubt a result of what my uncle penned to the Earl of Odhran, and he isna here.” Legs aching, he made his way to the bars, frowned. “Why would the steward open the missive?”
So caught up in her worry for Cailin, a point she hadn’t considered. “Do you think Odhran’s man is in league with your uncle?”
* * * *
“I do, which means the steward isna a man we can trust, and Odhran must be warned. Then again, it could be gossip the runner passed.” On a muttered curse, Cailin braced himself against the iron and rubbed his throbbing head.
He needed to talk to the earl, but what if he couldna convince him of his uncle’s lies? God’s teeth, what if, upon the earl’s return, he was never informed oftheir arrival?
No, with the many people gathered when they were seized, Odhran would be informed. The only question remaining was when.
Cailin scanned the dungeon, where men sat huddled in their cells shivering, moaning, with several laying lifeless. Regardless of Elspet’s friendship with the earl, never should he have brought her to Syridan Castle. Though he damn well knew why he’d allowed her toaccompany him.
He’d wanted her near him. Bedamned, he’d wanted her.
A shameful admission for a warrior, more so for a Knight Templar to allow his decisions to be swayed by lust. It mattered not that she was beautiful, intelligent, or a strong woman who drew himlike no other.
He’d sworn to protect those in harm’s way. Instead, not only had he placed her in danger, but however drawn to her, never should he have allowed them to make love.
