The Anguish of the Scottish Lairds (Clans of Mull #3)

Maeve

Maeve sat up, brushing her wild strands back from her face and searching for light to tell her where she was, but there was nothing but a small tallow burning somewhere down the passageway. The soft rhythmic breathing of her son calmed her immediately, so she leaned over to kiss his head, watching him smile in his sleep in reaction to her tenderness.

Her memory came back. They’d arrived at the Isle of Ulva and been led into a building. Then at the very back of the manor home, under a chest that was pushed aside, a piece of wood was lifted by one of her captors and they were hurried down a staircase that took them into what looked like a dungeon in a small castle. A cold passageway with four doors that locked, two off to each side, was not the least bit welcoming. Their abductors had shoved them into the farthest chamber, a room with four pallets, a pot to pish in, and several blankets, all disgustingly dirty. They were given one loaf of bread to share along with a pitcher of water and then the men disappeared, leaving Maeve and the children alone in the cellar, the wooden door with one small window now locked by a key on the outside.

Thank the Lord for small favors that wee Lia had the foresight to grab the two thick woolen plaids on the way out of the great hall. The two were plenty large enough to cover the five of them. She lay on one pallet with Grant and Sandor tucked up against her, covered with one plaid, while Lia and Tora slept on the pallet next to them, snuggled under the other clean plaid Lia had grabbed.