Page 26 of Highlander’s Love

The man grunted. He looked back in the darkness he had come from.

“My name is Muireach,” he said. “I’m from Kintail myself.”

A thread of hope moved in Owen’s chest. “Mackenzie land,” he said.

“Aye.”

Owen swallowed. Whose side was Muireach on? The Sassenachs had taken Stirling from the Scots at the beginning of the war, so if Muireach worked in the castle, he could be on the English side, like the MacDougalls. But he was a Highlander. The Bruce had spent some time during the winter of 1306–1307 in Eilean Donan Castle, the seat of Mackenzie clan. Was it possible Muireach was still a supporter of the Bruce? Owen had to be very carefully now.

“Are ye a Mackenzie?” Owen said.

“Aye. From my mother’s side. Came to Stirling as a young’un. But I’m a Highlander to the bone.”

Owen looked for a twitch, for a hitch in his breathing, for something that would tell him if Muireach was lying. There was nothing.

“My wife and I were taken prisoner at Inverlochy,” Owen said. “De Bourgh tried to take the castle back from King Robert the Bruce. He tortured her.” He gestured at Amber, and Muireach looked over to where she lay in the cell. “I'm afraid if she doesn’t get treated, she’ll die.”

Muireach didn’t respond. He seemed indifferent. Owen was beginning to lose hope.

“Ye must be careful who ye talk to,” Muireach said.

He scoffed, took the torch, and walked away.

“Wait!” Owen called. “Please, help her. She’s an innocent woman, she has nothing to do with the Bruce or the English. My family will reward ye if ye help us… Muireach!”

But the hunchback didn’t turn, he only sped up. Owen gripped the iron grating and shook it. Would Muireach tell de Bourgh that Owen had tried to bribe him? Would de Bourgh punish Owen or Amber? Had he just made things worse?

The heavy door to the dungeons rattled and closed. Owen cursed and kicked the loaf of bread. It bounced against the wall and fell on the floor again. He shouldn’t have done that. It was their only food, and he and Amber both needed strength. He picked up the bread and ate a bit of it. It was hard, stale, and tasted moldy. But it was food.

He picked up the waterskin and sniffed. Water. He drank hurriedly, only now realizing how thirsty he was. He could easily finish it all, but he had to leave something for Amber. She’d wake up eventually, and she’d need food and water more than him so she could recover. Hell, she’d need all the help she could get.

Owen came to sit on the floor by her side. Gently, he stroked her curly hair. It was a little wiry but soft to the touch. He studied her face. God, she was beautiful. Those big, slightly slanted eyes with long, curly eyelashes. The full and kissable lips, her wide mouth… He wanted to make her smile, to see how bonnie she’d be if she smiled. She had an elegant neck he craved to kiss.

“Please, live,” he whispered. “Ye must live.”

“I wish I were dead,” she croaked.

Owen sat straighter. “Lass?”