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“I have water and bread, though. Here, try to drink.” Owen held the waterskin to her mouth and tilted it. Amber drank some and then coughed.

“God, I’d give my arm for some Advil,” she muttered.

Ad— What? That must be something from her time. But that wasn’t important right now.

“Shush. Save yer strength. Eat.” He broke off a piece of bread and brought it to her mouth. She moved her arm under the cloak but hissed, winced, and stopped. Then she bit into the piece and chewed slowly.

“That’s awful,” she said through a mouthful.

“Aye. When we get out of here, I’ll make ye my famous field stew. It tastes only a little bit better than this.”

A weak smile lit up her face. Owen’s breath disappeared from his body at how beautiful was.

“You said, ‘when’ we get out of here… Do you still believe we will?”

He didn’t know what he believed. But he had to make sure they had hope. Or there wouldn’t be a point to any of this.

“Aye,” he said. “I swear to ye, we will get out.”

The door to the dungeon rattled again, and there was the sound of steps shuffling through the hall. Owen frowned and peered into the darkness. He didn’t want to leave Amber’s side in case they’d come back for her.

But it was Muireach who stopped in front of the bars and glared at Amber.

“The lass woke up,” he said. “Better if she were asleep.”

He passed a cloth pouch through the bars and put it on the floor with a dull clunk. Owen stood and went to pick it up.

“What’s this?” Owen said.

“Put the salve on her cuts. It’ll help her heal and protect against rot. There’s a drink that’ll dull her pain. Give it to her first. Put the salve on when she sleeps, or she will scream, and guards will come. There’s also a bone needle and catgut thread if her cuts need stitching. Give her more of the drink if ye do, or she’ll wake up from the pain. Also, there’s some boiled mutton and bannock for her and for ye to keep yer strength up. Ye will need it.”

Owen came closer to the bars. He was ready to kiss the old man.

“Thank ye,” he said. “Highlander to Highlander. Thank ye.”

Muireach faltered. “We both ken who the true king is. ’Tisna the old Edward, and ’tisna his son. I canna do much from Stirling, but I can help a fellow countryman. ’Tis long overdue that the English leave our lands. And God be my witness, I will help ye both escape or die trying.”

Owen looked back at Amber. She was smiling.

“I told ye we will get out of here,” he said to her.

“But first,” Muireach said, “ye must make sure she doesna die.”

Chapter 9

Amber blinked against the fog. Something bothered her, a sensation at her back. Not quite pain, or maybe a distant pain. She was cold. Her head weighed a hundred pounds, and she couldn’t feel her body. Through her blurred vision and the darkness, she noticed someone on their knees by her side.

She shifted her head to look at them better, and the movement sent a sharp agony ripping through her back.

Owen. With the name, her memories came back. The time travel. Being captured by the English.

The lashing.

She groaned as she remembered the sensation of torn flesh, of fire consuming her skin.

“Lass?” Owen said. “Are ye in pain?”

“A bit.”