“You didna eat your food.”
Jamie sat up slowly and leaned back against thewall, a hand to his head to hold back the pain. “I dinna see any food.”
“In the sack, over there by you.” The boy pointed. “They just drop it down. ’Tis bound so the bugs dinna get it ’afore you do.”
“How thoughtful,” Jamie replied tonelessly as he grabbed the sack and opened it. There was a chunk of oatbread and half of a small heathcock—fine for a peasant, but he was used to better. “If this is all that’s allotted a prisoner, it looks as if I’ll have to be escaping in order to get a decent meal.”
“You’re no’ a guest, you know,” the lad said stiffly.
“But I’ll be treated as one if I’m no’ to grow bitter over my confinement,” Jamie replied casually, as though arrogance came naturally to him. “Old Dugald wouldna care for my anger, I can assure you.”
“Och, but you’re a bold one to be talking of revenge from where you sit.”
“And who is it I’m talking to?”
“Niall Fergusson”
“I’ve no doubt you’re a Fergusson, but which one?”
“I’m Dugald’s son.”
“The young laird, eh?” Jamie was surprised. “You’re a wee one, to be sure.”
“I’m thirteen,” Niall said indignantly.
“Are you now? Aye, I’ve heard The Fergusson tried often enough to get you ’afore you finallycame along.” Jamie chuckled. Then he groaned as his head throbbed again.
“Are you hurt?” Niall asked with genuine concern.
“Just a wee bump.”
Niall fell silent as the prisoner tore apart the bird and began to eat. It was a large man he was looking down on, wrapped in a green and gold plaid with two rows of triple black stripes. His legs were long and hard-muscled, his chest wide. The plaid distorted the rest of his shape, loosely wrapped as it was, but Niall could guess by the size of him that the clothes hid a remarkably strong body. The man was young, his face smooth and boylike despite the hard jaw and firm lips, the narrow, hawklike nose. It was a face of strong character, and disgustingly handsome.
“You’ve golden hair,” Niall said suddenly.
Jamie grinned and looked up at the lad. “You noticed, did you?”
“They say not many have golden hair like The MacKinnion himself.”
“Och, well, there are those of us who can thank a Norman ancestor for golden hair.”
“A Norman? Really? One of those who came with King Edward?”
“Aye, a few centuries back that was. You know your history.”
“My sister and I had a good teacher.”
“You mean your sisters. I know. You have four of them.”
“Only one studied with me.”
Niall paused, angry with himself for mentioning Sheena. It would be almost sacrilegious to talk of her with this Highlander. He shouldn’t have come at all. Heaven help him if he were found! But he had been so full of curiosity that he hadn’t been able to talk himself out of it.
“Do you know The MacKinnion well?” he asked the prisoner.
Jamie smiled, and his face softened. “You could say I know him better than any other man knows him.”
“Are you his brother, then?”
