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“Oh,” Mrs. Hearth waved him off. “Don’t you worry about that. Tybalt is just loyal to His Lordship, that’s all, and takes his allegiance to some extremes.”
A face full of spit is extreme.
Cleaning the bowl, Caelan tucked the
bread into his shirt to munch on through the day and handed the woman the bowl back. “Thank ye, Mrs. Hertha for yer kindness. God will surely bless ye.”
She took the bowl and smiled, “Just doing my Christian duty, sonny-boy.”
As she left, he reflected on this Tybalt Montfort and deliberated if he could be a problem for Adelaine and him. Caelan knew jealousy was an ugly beast. He had been a first-hand witness to how damaging it could be when a man of his Clan, consumed by jealousy, had maimed the young son of a man who had stolen his lady. He already knew this Tybalt was jealous that Adelaine came to see him daily, but he did not know what to expect from him.
His eye strayed to the pile of paper, the unused quill, and inkpot. There was no solid plan for him to escape but could he prepare his men anyway? It was probably wise, for his men to be aware, since the plan could happen in a moment. But then, he did not know where exactly the tunnel ended in the outer lands for him to accurately place them.
With his hands tied because he did not know all he needed, he sagged back on the stone and groaned under his breath. His eyes went to the tiny window which was just large enough for air to come through. Then, he looked toward the iron gate of his prison. It was an original creation, far removed from any other dungeon he had seen. The iron bars of the portcullis-shaped cage were soundly grounded on the floor. It would take a blazing projectile from a cannon to dent the iron bars. Human strength would not even budge them.
His head fell to rest on the corner and he sighed. “Lass, yer my only hope.”
Nibbling on the hunk of bread and reading the book Adelaine had given him as the hours passed, he waited for her to appear. His Latin had been unpracticed for a while but the book was surely making it come back. He had read halfway through it when he came to the part where a resurrected Theseus prayed to the sea-god Poseidon to curse and kill his own son Hippolytus.
“And then as the sea-surge made it swell and seethe up much foam all about, it came toward the shore where the chariot was. With its very swell and surge the wave put forth a bull, fierce and heaven-sent…” Caelan translated and read out loud.
He read on to how the bull dragged the innocent boy into the depths of the sea and he grit his teeth. He was right, this story was a tragedy. He closed the book and shook his head. “All this for a misunderstanding….”
His acute ears heard the scrape of the door above and prayed it was Adelaine but when he heard the stomp of boots he groaned. The guard Leicester was coming. Hiding the book under his shirt, he sat up and looked up to the window. It had started to snow again.
“Scot!” Leicester called. He jerked his head toward him and the bowl he was holding. He stood and went to take the water first only to find was milk. And there was no stew or weak soup, but a hunk of bread and cheese. “I don’t have much time so drink and take the bread, you can eat on your own time.”
Drinking hurriedly, he took the bread and cheese. “Thank ye.”
Leicester’s eyes went to the unused papers at the corner of the cell. “Listen, Scot, it would be in your best interest to write your confession. The King sometimes tends to be merciful, but not when his patience runs out, and believe me, His Highness is not one who will change his mind after that.”
I wonder if yer talking about the King or your master, the Earl?
“I willnae admit to something I dinnae dae,” Caelan said calmly. “It is not the Scots’ way, not the honorable way.”
Leicester shrugged as he spun on his heel and called over his shoulder, “If you choose honor over your life then so be it. Just don’t be upset when you’re being walked to the noose.”
Slumping back into his place near the corner, he broke the bread and nibbled on the cheese. Time was slipping away and as it grew dark, he let the thread of hope he held on seeing Adelaine slip away, again. He was just about to give up entirely when the tell-tale grate of the door above made his heart beating faster.
He stood with anticipation, training his eyes on the entrance of the dungeon, praying to see Adelaine’s lovely figure coming through. Who did come through was her dark-haired maid, Martha. Swallowing over his disappointment he did not turn away from her as she hurried over.
“Is Adelaine well?” he asked before she could say a word.
She was taken aback, as her arched eyebrows were near her hairline. But she smiled. “No, not so well, Mister McLagen. She bid me to tell you that she is a bit ill and to give you this,” she reached into her coat, pulled out a wrapped circular seed cake and handed it to him through the bars.
When he grasped it, she held on to the cake and in a hushed voice pleaded. “Laird McLagen…please don’t break My Lady’s heart.”
Her words had his heart in his throat. Did she mean that Adelaine was in love with him? “I’ll try nae to, and I will ne’er hurt her either.”
Nodding, Martha left and he retreated to his corner. He unfolded the seed cake and smiled. “Lass…I swear on me life, yer heart is in safe condition with me.”
Chapter 15
Adelaine hated that she was lying to Caelan, by asking Martha to tell him she was ill. It felt even worse to compound her excuse with a puny seed cake. She absolutely abhorred it, but there was nothing else she could do. How could she tell the man that the one witness to his innocence was dead while she still had not found that tunnel? Time was slipping by. The rains had ended and though snow fell every day, the air was dry. Her father would be back any time now to send Caelan off to his execution.
Wrapped up in her house dress, and standing at the window, she was keeping an eye out for Martha. It was dark but she could still see that path between the keep and the house. Mrs. Hertha had come and gone, Leicester had come and gone and even the front guard had dipped in for a while. She bit her lip in worry. Why had he gone in and how could she ask Caelan about it if she was ‘ill’?
I am sorry, Caelan, I truly am.
