Hugh.
He’d found it amusing, my tears and my pleas. He’d enjoyed the small power it afforded him, to bully someone weaker than himself, and at his laird’s orders no less. Something about the unbalanced hierarchy of it had satisfied him. It occurred to me then that he didn’t know of Aleck’s death yet. No one did, aside from me and my sisters. It also occurred to me that Hugh was Aleck’s right-hand man; they always trained together, fought together, planned together: if Aleck was the cause of the division within our army, and the instigator of the Campbell alliance, then Hugh would no doubt be a part of it, as well. And if Aleck wasn’t entertaining Campbell and his officers—he was occupied, they knew, with other pressing matters—then that task would have fallen into Hugh’s hands.
Hugh would be with Campbell and his men. The very men who had taken my husband away.
There were other voices, too, and laughter.
I pulled Maisie along with me, cautiously. “This way,” I whispered.
As we drew closer, the voices grew louder. There were many of them, maybe eight or ten. It would have been Campbell’s senior officers, I guessed. Gathered, very possibly, around the entrance of the dungeons.
The area behind the hill, as we made our way around, was covered in shrubby bushes and tall grasses; the brushy fauna seemed overabundant in the open space of the grasslands, as though it might have been planted there to disguise a doorway. At least I hoped that to be true and I was looking for evidence that it might be. And I was glad of the shrubbery; it would allow us to stay hidden.
From our distance, we peeked through the shielding branches to see a number of men gathered. I counted them: eight in total. Seven of them were seated in an uneven semicircle around a small fire. They were talking and passing around a bottle of whiskey. The eighth was lying on the ground; he appeared to be asleep. I focused more carefully. I could identify Hugh, and I could see that the other men were Campbell’s top-ranking officers. The sleeping man, I thought but couldn’t be entirely sure, was Laird Campbell himself. Several hours, perhaps, had passed since my husband had been taken by these men. More than enough time to inflict very real damage on a prisoner. Campbell appeared to be taking a respite from his torturous pursuits, satisfied perhaps that he had made a good job of it for now.
Behind them, near where Campbell slept, was the unmistakable shine of metal.
Hinges. And the frame of a door.
The dungeons. Clever, I thought, to situate the prisons so close to the barracks, but underground, with a secret entrance, hidden from enemies who might try to retrieve their prisoners.
I knew we had found it. I knew that behind that door was my husband.
Somehow we needed to get past these men.
The bottle of whiskey was placed to the side and I could see that it was less than a quarter full. If I could somehow pour the sleeping drug into it, I thought the proportions would be right: enough to knock them out for an hour, maybe more.
But how?
Maisie offered me the answer, as though I had asked the question aloud. My sister, for all her faults, was well versed in the ways of clever feminine wiliness. And she had a plan.
“I’m going to distract these men, Stella,” Maisie whispered. “And you’re going to sneak around behind this row of bushes and pour your potion into that bottle of whiskey.”
I looked at her in the semidarkness under a bold crescent moon and a myriad of bright stars. The black clouds were gone now. I prayed that this might be a good omen. “What are you going to do? You can’t show yourself, Maisie. ’Tis far too dangerous. These are uncivilized men. There’s no telling what they might do.”
“I can handle them,” she said. “I’ll promise to return to them with food and more drink. And perhaps a little more than that. They’ll allow me to leave. I can be quite convincing when I put my mind to it.”
I hoped she was right, and I feared greatly for her safety. I refused to let go of her arm.
“We’ve little other choice, Stella,” she said, prying my fingers loose. “Let’s do what needs doing. Go.” And with that, my sister unfastened the top two buttons of her gown and strode out into the clearing.
Galvanized with fear, for her, for me, for my husband most of all, I crept along behind the row of shrubbery, as quiet as I had ever been.
“Good evening, soldiers,” Maisie said coyly, walking right into their circle as if she were a long-lost friend of Campbell and his rebellion. “Hugh,” she greeted. “Campbells, welcome. I’ve been sent from the manor to offer our guests refreshments. Indeed you must be hungry.”
Her intrusion, for a moment, was met with silence. Then, with leering chuckles, followed quickly by lewd, suggestive comments. “You’ve no idea, lass,” said one of them, “and I know exactly what I intend to eat.”
This inspired bawdy laughter.
Maisie giggled lightly at his comment. I was astounded by her bravery. She had the courage of all these soldiers put together. Either that or she wasthatsure of her feminine influence that she had no doubts whatsoever that she could manipulate these and any other men any way she chose. “That might be arranged, afterI bring you some meat from our kitchens. What do you prefer? Lamb? Or venison? Why don’t I bring a bit of both?” She stood close to the soldier who had spoken to her directly, fingering the tufted horsehair of the helmet he still wore. “A big, strong warrior such as yourself needs sustenance.”
“Aye,” the man replied, somewhat less lecherously, as though he was, in fact, hungry.
She weaved her way through the men, describing some of the food the kitchens had to offer. She had the undivided attention of each and every one of them.
And I took my opportunity. I reached from behind the leafy branch I hid behind to grab the whiskey bottle, which was unstoppered. Carefully—and quickly—I poured the entire contents of the glass vial into it, swirling it to mix the contents. Then I placed the bottle back where it had been.
Maisie watched me out of the corner of her eye as she leaned over one of the men, granting him a privileged view of her abundant cleavage. “What a big sword you have,” she commented, touching his shoulder. “I like strong warriors with big swords. Why don’t I get you some more whiskey, as well? Have you run out?”
