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Kenna moved quickly down the steps, feeling her way and only lighting her candle with a flint when she was well inside. The flickering darkness gave her no pause, for there were worse things to fear than the dead rising. If the pale lady came for her and killed her, it might be a mercy more than anything.
Having excused herself as soon as she could and slipped off to bed, Kenna had then spent hours sitting like a statue and waiting. Eventually, the castle had fallen silent. The sounds of merriment and loud shouts had dwindled to a murmur and then to nothing. When she had slipped back down to the hall, drunk and sleeping, they all were, heads slumped on tables, snoring to the heavens. It had been the work of a moment to stuff her pockets full of food and head for the darkness, one last time.
Conall rose stiffly, with a huge smile on his face, when she approached. Should she tell him of her fate, could she bear to see his face fall, to bring him news of his doom? Perhaps it was best to spend one last night in his company, bring him some comfort and a little joy before it all ended for both of them. What if she pretended for a few sweet hours that he was to be her husband? What if she told him how he made her feel, that she cared for him, dreamed of him, was breaking her heart at being torn away from him?
‘I was beginning to think you would not come tonight. I feared it, Kenna,’ he said softly.
His face was intense as ever, eyes watching her like a hawk, pinning her with his gaze.
‘I got lots of food, for my father has guests, and his tables were groaning with hearty fare for a change. I’ve even got a wee dram of whisky for you in my pocket.’ Kenna forced a smile onto her face as she handed him an apple. It almost killed her to do it.
‘You are an angel, Kenna, but you risk too much.’ He took a bite, crunching happily and gulping it down.
She carefully placed the candle on the floor beside them and grabbed the bars, her face inches from his.
‘Conall…I…I would do anything for you, to free you.’
‘I do not doubt it.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Kenna, what is wrong.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘Tis nothing. I feel a little sad, is all.’ She looked down at her feet, trying to muster the courage. She had to know, just once, what it felt like with someone you wanted. ‘Conall…would you…would you kiss me?’
Mercifully, he said nothing for a moment. Perhaps he sensed her desperation, or perhaps he thought her a fool. When he finally spoke, his voice was very grave. ‘Kenna, I have wanted to kiss you for the longest time. Come here.’
He cast the apple aside and reached his hand between the bars and around the back of her head, and before she knew it, Conall’s lips were sliding slowly against hers. What a strange feeling it was to be kissed, so many sensations all at once. His beard tickled her face and was softer than she had imagined it would be. His lips sliding across hers made her loins quicken, and she squeezed the bars tight in her hands.
Conall tasted of apple and sweetness, and when his tongue flicked against hers, she gasped against his mouth. It did not stop him. His grip on her head increased, and she found herself reaching for his shoulders and squeezing them. His other hand went to her waist and took a tight hold, and Kenna felt the urge to press herself into him and hold fast, but the bars prevented her from getting closer.
That kiss grew harder and faster, almost angry, his mouth devouring hers, his passion taking her away to somewhere wonderful. She felt his power and his yearning, and the same need was in her too. It was the most exciting, beautiful moment of her life. There was so much joy in it, as if they were the only two people in the world. It was dangerous and delicious, and she didn’t want him to stop, ever.
Her head was yanked back by her hair so hard and so spitefully that she cried out in pain. Something had hold of her, and it was so sudden she couldn’t think. It swung her around and away from Conall.
‘Let go of her,’ she heard Conall shout. ‘Leave her be, you bastard.’
She twisted around and stared up into Euan’s livid face. He shoved his huge hand down her bodice and swung her across the room. Her thighs banged painfully into the side of the table as he threw her over it, onto her back. He began pulling at her skirts, forcing her legs apart. ‘You filthy little whore, on the eve of your wedding too. Well, if that’s how you like it, maybe I’ll have a go before old Menzies, eh.’
‘Stop, let go of her.’ Conall was shouting desperately. ‘If you touch Kenna, her father will kill you.’
‘How’s he to know? Not like she’ll tell him,’ Euan shouted back at him, his hand going around her throat, shutting off her air, pressing her down.
‘Always looking down your nose at me.’ He shook Kenna hard by the neck, banging her head against the table. ‘Not good enough for the Laird’s daughter, am I? And all the time, you are whoring yourself to that dog. Watch how it’s done, boy,’ he snarled over his shoulder to Conall.
‘I'll kill you. I’ll kill you if you touch her.’ Conall’s shouting seemed to fade to nothing as Euan fiddled with his breeches. Fear had overcome her at the suddenness of his attack, but now Kenna’s wits flooded back in. She managed to squirm free and get a hand to his eyes. She dug her nails in as hard as she could, drawing blood, and Euan recoiled from her.
He would kill her now. She was sure of it. She only had this one chance. She sat up a little and searched frantically in her pocket. It must be there. It had to be. Euan wiped his hand across his eye, cursing and Kenna braced herself. When he came at her again, arm drawn back, ready to lash her across the face, she managed to get the stopper off and flung the flask of whisky in his eyes.
He screamed and staggered back, right up against Conall’s cell. Kenna watched in horror as Conall reached his forearm through the bars and around the man’s throat. He took hold of his hand with the other hand and pulled tight. There was nothing the other man could do. He flailed his arms out behind him, trying to punch, but couldn’t reach Conall. When he started clawing at Conall’s arm, Kenna rushed over and tore at his fingers. Euan swatted her away like a fly, and she fell to the floor. It hurt, but she forced herself to her feet and went to help again.
‘Leave him,’ bellowed Conall, his voice like a stranger’s, cold and vicious.
‘What are you doing, Conall?’
He said nothing, his face was a mask of hate, and his grip did not falter. Euan was kicking at the floor, his hands still clawing, drawing blood, eyes bulging in his head, and an awful gurgling sound coming from his throat.
‘Conall stop, stop it.’
