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* * *
Greta settled in quickly, especially after she had been given a thorough scrub and a uniform from the housekeeper, Heather McLeod, whose stern countenance hid a heart of gold. She was given a tiny room of her own to sleep in, just big enough to fit a narrow bed with room for a tiny cupboard.
Mrs. McLeod apologized to her for the tiny size of the room, although to Greta, it seemed like paradise.
“I am sorry, hen,” she said sadly, “but this is the only room we have left. A’ the others are taken.”
Greta smiled. “It is wonderful, Mrs. McLeod,” she breathed, looking around. “I am sure I will be very happy here.”
The housekeeper was impressed by Greta’s gratitude. “Ye will be fine if ye work hard an’ be a good lassie.”
“I will, I promise.” Greta looked around. She knew she could work hard. Good? She was not so certain.
* * *
Greta had thought that she would be completely forbidden from seeing Finn, but she had become so well-liked by the staff that, unknown to her, a little conspiracy had been hatched behind her back.
One day, one of the kitchen maids, who delivered food to the jailers for the prisoners, was ill with a stomachache, and Greta, who had been eating her midday meal in the kitchen, offered to take it down to the dungeon for her.
Her offer was very gratefully received, but as soon as the kitchen door was closed, there was an explosion of giggles.
“Do ye think he will be glad tae see her?” asked Annie, who had the fake stomach problem.
“I think he will be breakin’ the doors down for a kiss!” said Flora, the cook, before they all burst out laughing again.
* * *
Greta had never been to a dungeon before, and she was unprepared for the horrific reality of it. She smelled it long before she saw it, the combined stench of urine, unwashed bodies, and mold, as well as some other unidentifiable odor that made her feel sick. However, she was prepared to overlook all of that for one chance to see Finn again.
The guard at the gate looked pleasantly surprised to see her, and as she handed over the tray of plates and soup, her eyes strayed to the rows of cells inside. She could hear conversations, laughter, arguments and swearing, and the occasional burst of laughter.
“Is Finn Crawford a’ right? Is he well?” she asked anxiously.
“He is,” the guard answered neutrally. His blue eyes studied her for a moment, assessing her, then he smiled and opened the gate.
“I will no’ tell if you don’t. He is in the cell at the end o’ this passage, lass.” He pointed sideways instead of forward, and Greta realized that Finn was being kept away from the others, perhaps for his own safety or to make him suffer more.
The guard handed her a plate of steaming soup, and she strode as fast as she could without spilling it.
The passage was dark and quiet, lit only by a row of tiny windows, which were just above her head, at the level of the grass, meaning that the dungeons were effectively underground. The walls were black and running with water that was pooling on the stone flags of the floor, making the whole place dank and freezing.
Greta walked to the end of the passage, carefully balancing her plate, then almost dropped it. Finn was lying on a straw pallet, looking like a shadow of his former self. He was filthy, and his beautiful deep red hair looked lank and greasy. As well as that, he had lost weight, and his face was gaunt and miserable.
She gasped in horror, and he looked up at the sound.
Finn shook his head, wondering if he was dreaming. “Greta?” he asked in amazement. His voice was hoarse from lack of use, and he realized he was not seeing things. He grinned and found that the muscles of his face were stiff for the same reason. For a moment, he stared at her, then he let out a whoop of delight and moved over to the front of the cell so that he could reach through the bars and touch her.
“Ye are even more beautiful than the last time I saw ye,” he whispered. He felt a glow of happiness warming his heart as he gazed at her.
“What have they done tae ye?” Greta asked as tears began to prick her eyes. “Ye look terrible!”
When he leaned toward her to kiss her lips through the bars, Greta almost recoiled. He stank of sweat, body odor, and bad breath, and it was all she could do not to gag with revulsion as she pressed her mouth against his through the bars. Fortunately, the bars made anything deeper than a soft brush of the lips impossible.
Even though she tried to hide her feelings, Finn saw the repugnance in her eyes, and it hurt him. “I am sorry, Greta.” His voice was apologetic. “They let us bathe only once a week in the burn, an’ I try tae stay clean, but I have only one set o’ clothes. It is hard.”
Greta felt deeply sorry for him and at the same time furious with the laird. “I thought Mackay was a better man than this!” she growled.
Finn shook his head. “I deserve it. I am here tae be punished.” He sighed and picked up the bowl of soup she had passed through the opening at the bottom of the door, then he felt his mouth watering as she handed him a large bannock thickly spread with butter and a ripe red apple. He made short work of the soup and bread, then put the apple under the thin blanket on his bed. “Tae keep for later,” he explained.
