Surely not even Roland would have tossed Robbie down into that horrible, long-abandoned dungeon.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again in hell, MacQuarrie.”
Robert replayed Lardiner’s parting taunt over and over in his mind as he tried to form his next logical move.
Cold, hard stone bit into his back and head where he leaned against the wall, but he didn’t change his position.
Roland hadn’t bothered with a ladder. His men had simply pushed Robert into the hole. Thank the saints for all the training Coryell Enterprises had put him through. He’d tucked for the fall by sheer instinct, dropping like a stone. When he finally managed to stand, he’d reached up, unable to feel anything above him with his fingers, which told him the depth was well over seven feet.
After that, just finding the wall in the infinite black of this hole had taken all his energy.
All he could manage for the moment was to breathe through the pain in his chest and the one in his heart.
Fear, despair, frustration. He recognized their ugly feel. Not fear for himself but for Isa. Despair over his inability to protect her. Frustration that the wound in his chest had weakened his body and sapped the strength he’d needed to fight these bastards off.
From his perspective,thiswas hell.
It seemed clear from Lardiner’s comment that they intended to leave him in this hole until he rotted. The memory of the castles he’d toured a couple of years ago with Jessie came back to him. There’d been one place where the proprietor had handed them a flashlight to look down through a metal grate into the dungeon below, pointing out the bones that had been unearthed there. They’d laughed at the time, making some joke about gullible tourists and cow bones.
It didn’t seem so funny now, considering that it would be his bones illuminated in the dull glare of tourists’ flashlights in seven hundred years.
Enough!
He couldn’t let himself sink into that trap. It would be all too easy to simply give up. He wouldn’t allow that. Instead he needed to keep his mind active, focusing on the facts at hand.
The stench of ammonia stung his nostrils, but whether it came from prior occupants or too many rats he couldn’t say, and didn’t really care.
He did care that Isa was somewhere above him in the castle, likely in danger. The thought of her alone, grieving for poor Jamie, tore at his heart.
If he’d only taken the boy with him to hunt for Isa, he’d still be alive.
If he’d paid closer attention to what Isa was up to instead of blindly accepting her word, they might have gotten away before Lardiner’s men arrived.
If he’d simply forced her to leave that first day...
“If, if, if,” he muttered, his own voice echoing back to him in the darkness more reassuring than the sound of his labored breathing. Clutching his hand to his side, he scooted into a less uncomfortable position.
He hadn’t done any of those things and now they all paid the price for his lack of action. That was the bottom line.
And all that mattered? Figuring out how he’d get out of here and find Isa before it was too late.
Both of which he fully intended to do, just as soon as he could gather his strength.
Malcolm MacDowylt stared into the fire, an untouched cup of fine Scots whisky at his left hand.
His mind must be clear this night if his plans were to meet with success. Though he’d claimed his right as laird this afternoon when he and Isabella had exchanged their vows, much remained to be done to clear that path in fact. There were too many small details any one of which could slip through his fingers at any moment.
“Colm?” Patrick stepped inside the laird’s solar, a satisfied grin covering his face. “All’s in readiness as you ordered.”
“Yer certain the lad overheard you? And that the men understand their instructions?”
“Aye, it’s all as you said.”
“I want the men leaving no stone unturned here. I need to learn every dirty secret these walls have to share. Do they ken how important their task is?”
“Yer men are well aware of their assignments.” Patrick shook his head and pulled the door wide open, making no attempt to hide his irritation. “For the love of Freya, Colm, show some trust.”
His brother was right. They each had their own tasks to accomplish this night. Pat had carried out the first part of their plan and now it was his turn.
