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He knew the ink had run and that whatever the letter had once said was now lost to memory. Its words may have exonerated him and proved his heart's feelings, which told him without a doubt he was telling the truth.
“I swear on whatever you hold sacred, laird, I am telling the truth. The Jacobite cause is mine, it is in my very blood, and I have been sent here with some definite mission to complete. The key, the coin, this letter– they are all proof of my allegiance to the same noble cause you hold dear,” he said, turning to the laird, who nodded.
“Whoever ye are, this crest has saved yer life–for now. I will send word to Hamish MacGlen and ask him if he knows anythin’ of what has passed here or of yer ship. Now, return to the dungeons,” the laird said, waving his hand dismissively.
The jailer stepped forward and took him by the arm, pulling him angrily away.
“Move along now,” he snarled, just as the laird turned to him with an angry expression.
“And jailer, if ye daenae wish to know yer rats better, I suggest ye treat our prisoner a little better. Give him scraps from the table and victuals to drink,” he said, and the jailer nodded, even as an angry look came over his face.
“This way, fortunate favorite of the laird,” he said.
But as he was taken away, his eyes fell on the woman still seated at the table. Their eyes met, and the hint of a smile passed over her lips. He was fascinated by her, captivated by her beauty. He did not know if he had ever known love, or even if at that very moment a woman was waiting for him somewhere, but the sight of her–of this unknown woman–was enough to capture his heart.
“Who is she?” he whispered, and the jailer turned to him in surprise.
“She is the laird’s daughter, ye worthless dog, now move along, before ye feel my whip,” he said, and grabbing hold of his arm, he pulled him roughly from the great hall back towards the dungeons.
