Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Darkness. Arran heard nothing but the sound of his labored breathing.
Fine mess ye got yerself into.
The small barred window in the door let in a scant amount of light from the one torch in the hall outside his cell. Arran leaned back against the wall and looked for a way out.
The cell wasn’t large, and it was empty, with no cot or bench to sit on, and the stone floor was bare. Iron bars separated this cell and the one next to it. He went to each bar and shook each one as hard as he could with his bound hands, but they didn’t budge.
His only option for escape would be to fight his way out the next time the door opened, but with no fists to swing, his chances were slim. So, he alternated sitting on his haunches and pacing.
The events of the past hour replayed in his mind, and his anger toward MacKeith threatened to overtake him. He’d heard of men seeing red when angry, but it’d never happened to him.
But when Grayson practically admitted he’d sell Skye off and then pushed her down to the floor, something switched inside him. Like the tales he’d heard of the ancient Viking berserkers, he knew he could have killed Laird MacKeith with his bare hands if the guards hadn’t stopped him.
Arran pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on his knees.
He thought about his clan, how he’d let them down, and about the future of his people.
And then he saw Skye’s face in his mind’s eye…
He remembered the fury—and the fear—in her eyes when Grayson threatened to marry her off and pushed her down to her knees.
I dinnae regret it… nary one bit.
Skye paced back and forth in her chamber. The washerwomen were gone, replaced by members of the regular guard. Her homecoming was worse than she had thought. Grayson had changed in the three years since she’d left but not for the better. What had her mother’s supposed death let loose?
I have to get out of here.
She paced the floor, thinking, and soon she heard her door open. She prepared herself, thinking it could be Grayson. But then she saw a familiar, dear face.
“Mary!”
“I’m so happy to see ye, Skye, but I wish ye werenae here,” Mary mumbled, her eyes teary.
“What has happened? Why is me step-father suddenly so pleased to be rid of me?”
Mary sighed. “Ye know that yer worth to him was always that ye would inherit, and that ye could produce an heir.”
“Yes, I kent that,” Skye returned.
“Laird MacArthur’s faither owed MacKeith a debt. I think it was in his mind to marry ye to MacArthur, makin’ all right and legal between them. But then ye and yer mother ran. Then he met a lady in reduced circumstances. And this new lady has a boy and girl of an age to be heirs.”
“But he was already wed.”
Mary went on. “Ye have the right of it. So, he has sent for a member o’ council because he wants to put yer maither aside so he can remarry.
But with yer maither, God rest her soul, dead, he’ll nae be put to that trouble.
He has him a lady love with two children, and one of them a boy.
If he can marry her, then he’ll have his heir. ”
Skye stared at her old friend in horror. “I cannae stay, Mary. I’ve made it out before, I can do it again. The man who brought me here, Laird MacArthur, was kind to me. I need a plan. One that gets us both out of here for I willnae leave him in me stepfather’s hands.”
The night wore on, and Arran finally slept.
At first, he tossed and turned, caught in a nightmare that left him awake in a cold sweat.
But eventually, pure exhaustion won out, and despite the cold, stone floor, he drifted off to sleep.
He dreamed of flowing red hair, blue eyes, and a voice so soft and alluring that he willingly succumbed to its spell.
“Let go of me, ye miserable oaf!”
He awoke to curses and insults being hurled at the jailer as he threw Skye into the cell next to him.
“Me maither was always kind to ye, Brandon! How can ye do this to me?”
The jailer didn’t reply, either from guilt or fear of facing Blackwell’s wrath. He simply slammed the door shut and locked it.
Arran remained still, watching the object of his dreams now standing before him. Her long, brown hair was pulled to the side and fell down her shoulders in a single braid. A few tendrils had escaped and curled gently at her ears and temples. It’s natural red was beginning to show at the roots.
He blinked to make sure she was real before he spoke. “Skye, are ye all right? Why are ye here? What did ye do to get yerself locked up?”
She was still wearing her day dress, and he assumed she had not slept.
Skye remained on the far side of her cell, and she scowled at him. “What did ye mean about getting the deeds?” she snapped.
Arran sighed. He knew if he ever saw her again, she’d want to know what motivated him to kidnap her and her mother.
“It’s a long story.”
“Look around, Laird MacArthur. We’re nae going anywhere soon.”
He nodded. “Me faither did something foolish twenty-two years ago. He gambled and lost a wager with MacKeith. He paid his debt with a piece of land.”
“How much land?” Skye asked, her curiosity piqued.
“About an acre.”
Her expression changed from curiosity to anger and disbelief. “Ye risked me maither’s life, and mine, for a less than an acre of dirt?” She shook her head. “I dinnae ken ye very well, Arran, but that doesnae make any sense, even for ye.”
Arran understood why she felt that way. “It’s a very important piece of land, Skye. The land sits next to a kirk, and the kirkyard is the resting place of many of me clan’s ancestors. All these years, MacKeith has refused to let me people visit the graves of their loved ones.”
Skye’s expression softened. “And yer faither wanted ye to get it back?”
“Aye, his wishes were quite clear in a letter that was given to me, and the clan council, after his death.”
“Why didnae yer faither buy it back from Blackwell?”
“Oh, he tried many times, but he was turned away. It never made sense to me. That little piece of land is nothing to Blackwell. He doesnae use it, and he never goes there. Indeed, he dare not since it is a consecrated graveyard.”
“It makes sense to me,” Skye said. “That man enjoys controlling people. It doesnae matter whether it’s about gaining something or not. He likes to see people scared or hurting.”
Arran didn’t doubt her words. “I’m sorry, Skye. I’d heard that he is a hard man, and I knew he enjoyed taunting me faither. But that was between them. I had nay idea the kind of person he might be until he taunted ye with selling ye to the highest bidder.”
Skye didn’t reply. She paced around her cell, and he wondered how she weighed his actions and reasons in her mind.
“And that’s nae all.”
She stopped walking and looked back at him.
“If I’m unable to get the lands back, I will be ousted by me council. It is a condition of me faither’s will.”
“That seems a bit harsh,” Skye blurted out. “After all, it wasnae ye who gambled away the land.”
“I agree with ye, but because of me faither’s mistake, many in the clan questioned whether he was fit to lead. This caused bickering and many other problems throughout the years. For the clan to prosper, he kenned the clansfolk would have to have to trust their Laird again.”
Skye’s face softened, and he hoped she understood his motives and would forgive him for bringing her back to this place.
We’ve got to get out of here.
“Grayson said the master of the guard would come. Me plan is to knock out the guard when he opens the door. When I get out, I’ll unlock yer cell. Be ready. We’ll find a way out of here.”
“Ye seem confident, Arran. Do ye really think we’ll be able to walk out of here when everyone is up and about? Ye and I, we kind of stand out, do ye nae think?”
“I do ken one thing. I am nae going to remain locked up. I will claw me way out, one way or another. And I dinnae think ye are meant to suffer here either. But a way out isnae going to be handed to us, Skye. We have to take action to get out of here. Dinnae give up!”
Skye turned toward him, and with a determined look, she stated calmly, “Oh, I’m nae giving up.”
She bent over, reached under her skirt, and produced a kitchen knife. She reached through the bars and gestured toward his hands, then cut his bindings.
Arran rubbed his wrists. “Excellent. Now that me hands are free, when the guardsman comes, I’ll have a better chance.”
“It’ll be too late. The sun will rise soon. We’re getting out of here now!”
“And just how do ye…” Arran started to ask but stopped when she saw her use the tip of the blade to pick the lock.
“Where did ye learn to do that? And more importantly, will it work? Can ye unlock it?”
“Aye, it will work. Ye didnae think I’d let meself get hauled down here without a way to get out, did ye?”
Arran smiled and shook his head, admiring her craftiness. “What did ye do to get thrown in here?”
“I made a ruckus in me bedchamber that upset the guard. He ran to Grayson and told him I was losing me mind—lots of wailing and moaning. I threw some things out the window, too. So, I’m here because I didnae behave meself. Grayson said I could yell and scream all I wanted down here in the cells.”
Arran’s admiration for her grew, but he also felt sad. Watching her pick the lock, he suspected she’d been locked in these cells more than once.
“Braw!” he exclaimed after she’d opened his cell door and they both stood in the hall. “Now what?”
“Follow me. I ken a secret way out.”
Up they went back to the ground floor of Castle MacKeith.
Skye paused at the top; then was surprised when Arran stepped in front of her.
“All’s clear,” he whispered, reaching back to grab her hand.
She gestured toward another door, and they ducked across the hall, stepping through the door she indicated, and into another corridor.