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CHAPTERNINE
Kin lay back on his straw mattress and smiled to himself. It had been a strange night, though one he was thankful for. The memory of his name had given him something to cling to, a point of reference from which to now plot his course. He knew nothing more about himself, but the name was certainly a clue–Kin was not an English name, nor was an allegiance to the Jacobite cause an English trait. But the fact of the laird’s tacit acceptance and how his eldest daughter had spoken was enough to give him hope for the future.
Hers had been a strange offer, but one he could hardly refuse. While he had dined at the laird’s table that night, he remained locked behind a cell door, and the desire to escape was still foremost in his mind. To accept her offer was to take a step closer to that escape and the fulfilling of whatever mission he was entrusted with. Kin knew himself to be a man of considerable means, intelligent and resourceful, and he had now resolved to use Murdina as a means by which to escape. If she were to run away, too, then so be it, but with a plan in mind, and the first dawning of memory, Kin, at last, felt as though this strange and unfortunate set of events was coming to an end…
* * *
“So, that is why ye were so keen to follow him last night?” the laird said, fixing Murdina with a harsh glare.
“I only wanted to know if he would be willin’ to spar with me,” Murdina replied, having just explained her plan to her father–though not to its full extent.
If the laird could be persuaded to allow her the chance to train with the prisoner–and she reasoned her father would not pass up the chance for such a skilled fighter to join his ranks–then there was the possibility of hastening her escape from the inevitability of marriage. Murdina was the sort of woman to act on impulse, and at that moment, her impulse had been to use their prisoner to her advantage.
“To give him a sword? And what if he has other plans than merely to spar with ye? What if he takes it on himself to turn the sword on ye and the others?” he asked, but Murdina only raised her eyebrows and smiled.
“Ye still will nae admit it, Father. This clan has known I am the most skilled swordswoman–swordsman, too. Just because I am a woman, ye doubt me, but if I were yer son, ye would entrust yer army to my lead,” she replied.
Her father’s attitude was hardly surprising, and she had come to accept his belief in her as the weaker sex–but the truth was different, and Murdina was certain she could take on any man with the sword and win, too.
“Tis’ one thing entertainin’ him to dinner, but quite another to set him loose with a sword. I shall have to think about it,” he said, but at that moment, there came a knocking at the parlor door, and the laird called out for whoever it was to enter.
Cillian now appeared, bearing a message in his hand, a scroll of parchment sealed with a wax embossing.
“This was just brought by a messenger from the north, laird. It bears the MacGlen crest,” he said, handing the message to Murdina’s father.
The laird looked at him and scowled, Murdina knew her father did not care much for Cillian, and he glanced at her with a nervous look on his face.
“Let me see this,” the laird said, and he broke the seal and began to read.
Murdina watched, curious to know the content of the message, knowing that it would be the sealing of Kin’s fate.
“What does it say, Father?” she asked, and he looked up at her and shook his head.
“It seems our guest is tellin’ the truth–Kin Findlay–and his cause is ours. Very well, Murdina, ye may have yer sparrin’ partner. But remain vigilant. We daenae know the whole truth about him,” he said, and Murdina smiled.
“Then I can arrange quarters for him?” she asked, and her father sighed.
“Aye, ye can, and Cillian can be his ward.”
* * *
A short while later, Murdina and Cillian were making their way down to the dungeons, and Murdina had explained in the briefest of terms her intentions–though not regarding her planned escape. Cillian was her closest friend in the castle, but to saddle him with the knowledge of what she hoped for would be to endanger him at her father’s hands. This was a secret she would keep, a secret only to reveal itself at the appointed time.
“The rest of the clan will nae like it, nae when they see him with a sword,” Cillian said, shaking his head.
“Then it will be up to ye to make sure they daenae object too strongly,” Murdina replied, glancing at Cillian with a smile.
The jailer was far from pleased to receive the laird’s orders, but he had no other choice but to carry them out, grumbling to himself as he led them along the passageway into the dungeons.
“Wake up in there; the laird has seen fit to house ye as a guest in this castle,” he said, rattling the bars of Kin’s cell door.
A moment later, Kin appeared, a puzzled expression on his face, which soon turned to relief at the sight of Murdina and Cillian.
“I had thought your words might be a ploy, jailer. The sort of thing said to a man before he is led to the scaffold,” he replied, and the jailer muttered a curse under his breath.
“Cillian here is to be yer escort about the castle, and I shall arrange for rooms to be made up in the keep,” Murdina said as the jailer turned the key in the lock and opened the cell door.
Kin stepped out into the passageway, and the party made their way up to the courtyard, where the prisoner–now a free man–breathed in the fresh air with a satisfied look on his face.
