Chapter 4
How could a lass so beautiful have such venom in her eyes?
Owen shook his head, trying to dislodge all thoughts of Lady Heather.
She had appeared at the bars like an ethereal vision, to the point where he had momentarily wondered if he was already dead, and she was the angel coming to take him away to the hereafter.
A vision in sapphire blue, with big eyes that matched the shade of her flowing skirts and cinched bodice, she continued to steal his breath away, long after she had departed.
Her silky, golden-brown hair had been confined to a braided bun, but the loose, wavy tendrils that framed her face made him long to unravel every braid and run his fingertips through the glossy, freed locks.
Her skin had been the color of fresh cream, flushed like an apricot at the plumpness of her cheeks, with full lips, anxiously bitten to a reddish hue, and a dainty chin that complemented her equally delicate nose.
A small freckle above her lip had drawn his gaze to her mouth, while another freckle at the rise of her ample, shapely bosom created another diversion, filling him with an intense desire to kiss those tiny flaws. Though they were not flaws to him.
Her hatred of me is her only flaw— Indeed, the moment she had spoken in a harsh, loathing voice, he had realized his mistake. She was not an angel, come to guide him to the hereafter, though she would likely be standing there when his last seconds came.
“Ye shouldn’ae have laughed, M’Laird,” Sawyer’s voice whispered through the grate that connected his cell to Owen’s. “I ken ye’ve little understandin’ of lasses, but they hate it when ye laugh at them. I’ve had the stingin’ slaps to me cheek to prove it.”
Owen rested his head back against the dank, slimy wall, not caring how much filthier he became. He was not trying to impress anyone. Although, if he and Lady Heather had met in another circumstance, he would certainly have done everything possible to impress her.
“I wasnae laughin’ at her, Sawyer,” he muttered. “I was laughin’ at the stupidity of it all.”
Sawyer chuckled. “I ken that, but the lass just lost her brother. She isnae goin’ to be in the habit of listenin’ for subtlety.” He paused. “How are yer ribs?”
“Better. How’s yer head?”
“Achin’ like there’s a wild mare tryin’ to kick the stall door out of me skull,” Sawyer replied.
He had suffered a few brutal knocks to the head after breaking out of the wooden cage at the camp, and trying to fight his way to Owen, who was being dragged out of Elias’ tent.
Whether it had been an act of desperation or distraction, Owen did not know, but at least his friend had survived it.
“I will ask for ye to be released,” Owen said quietly, contemplating his grim future. “Nay matter what they do to me, ye didnae have a part in it. Ye daenae deserve to be locked up like this, nor will I have ye share in me unjust fate.”
Sawyer snorted. “We came into this world together as wailin’ bairns, and we’ll go out of it together an’ all. If ye think ye can be rid of me in the afterlife, ye’re sorely mistaken.”
“Och, and there I was, thinkin’ I’d have some peace at last,” Owen jested.
It was true that the two men had been born on the same evening, to mothers who, though unbound by blood, were once as close as sisters.
Sawyer’s mother had been the lady’s maid to Owen’s mother, and they had raised their sons together, as if the boys truly were brothers.
Indeed, Sawyer often joked that, as long as Owen survived a battle, he would, too.
A blood pact, signed by their mothers, even though Owen’s mother had died many years ago.
“It is ridiculous, though, I’ll grant ye that.” Sawyer sighed, after a few silent moments. “I could see ye from me little bear cage. I watched ye tend to that Sassenach lad like he was a Clan lad. If I saw it, every soldier in that camp had to have seen it, and that includes Spencer.”
Owen’s chin dipped to his chest. “Aye, but I’d wager they heard William shoutin’ that I was tryin’ to kill him an’ all.”
“He had a fever, M’Laird. I daenae have yer healin’ prowess, nay, but I ken what a fever does to a lad.
When I was in me own fever a few winters back, I couldn’ae tell ye what I said to the healer or to ye or to Rosie when she came to see how I was farin’.
Och, do ye reckon that’s why she will nae accept me proposal of marriage?
Do ye think I said somethin’ to her then that offended her? ”
Owen smiled. “If ye rambled at her like ye rambled at me, I wouldn’ae be surprised. Ye’re bawdy enough when ye’ve had a few drams, but ye were worse durin’ that sickness.”
“Lucky I will nae be makin’ it back home then, I suppose,” Sawyer replied, with the slightest note of sadness. It was not an emotion Owen heard often in his friend, which made it all the worse to hear.
“Daenae say that,” Owen urged. “I meant what I said. Ye will nae suffer whatever they have in mind for me.”
Indeed, he fully intended to escape his fate altogether. With time, he would figure out a way for both of them to flee this place. The trouble was, he did not know how much time he had.
With no windows or grates to see even a speck of sky, it proved impossible to tell the time. Day or night, morning or afternoon, rain or shine, light or dark, Owen could not have guessed. Mostly, he slept, knowing he would need to conserve his strength if he was truly going to escape this castle.
“Laird Dunn?” An urgent whisper awoke Owen from another fitful slumber.
Blinking until his eyes adjusted to the glow of the brazier, Owen was surprised to see Brandon Watson crouching in front of the iron bars. Though, to his partial dismay, there was no sign of Lady Heather.
I daenae even ken the lass. Why do I feel like I want her to ken the truth, more than any other? It did not make sense to Owen, but he was content to blame the various head injuries he had received, combined with many sleepless nights and nothing but watery porridge to satisfy his hunger.
“Mr. Watson?” Owen shambled over to the bars and sat down again. “Have ye come to try and torment the “truth” out of me, or are ye ready to listen to the actual truth?”
Brandon glanced down the passageway, as if anxious that someone might see him. “I know the truth already, Laird Dunn.” He looked back at Owen. “I know it was not you who killed William.”
“Pardon?” Owen raised an eyebrow.
“I was in the encampment. William was my dearest friend, and akin to a brother. Indeed, I was the one who had heard rumor of you and insisted on finding you, to bring you back the camp to aid William,” Brandon explained in a hushed tone.
“The Earl was right about the healers in our camp, you see. They would have made William’s situation far worse. ”
Owen narrowed his eyes. “Ye were one of the ones who ambushed me and me friend?”
“I was.” Brandon nodded apologetically. “When we brought you back to the camp, I was naturally wary of your intentions, despite being the one to suggest your help. So, I kept a close watch over your endeavors, and I saw no indication that you meant William any harm. In truth, I was in awe of your care toward him. Without doubt, I know you did all you could.”
Owen sniffed. “Then why nae say all this to His Lordship? There’s nay use in ye tellin’ me. I was there. I ken what I did, and it’s exactly as ye’ve described.” He paused. “Obviously, now, I wish I hadnae bothered.”
“Because there is more to it, Laird Dunn, and I do not dare to speak out in case my testimony is met with… similar violence,” Brandon whispered.
“You see, I do not believe William was injured upon the battlefield. We were being held in reserve, so there was no reason for him to be in such a position at that time.”
Owen frowned, scratching his stubble in consternation. “What do ye mean?”
“When he was brought back to the encampment, in the state in which you saw him, the battle had already been won. I asked why William had been in the fray and was informed that he left in the dead of night, not wanting to miss out on the surprise attack.” Brandon unleashed a shaky breath.
“But William was not that sort of fellow. He was not in search of glory and abhorred fighting. He only marched with his father and Cromwell to fulfill his duties as the future Earl of Gallagher.”
Owen’s curiosity deepened, for he had certainly not expected to find an ally among the residents of an English castle. “Ye suspect foul play?”
“I do, Laird Dunn.” Brandon ran a nervous hand through his dark hair.
“I am, at present, making a discreet investigation. I have the names of men who would have seen William, if he had been upon the battlefield. And I am certain there are men within this very castle who know what really happened, but I must be cautious in my approach.”
“Why are ye tellin’ me all of this, Mr. Watson?” Owen leaned closer toward the bars. “If ye ken I’m innocent, and ye suspect it was murder, but ye will nae speak in me defense, then what’s the use in sayin’ aught to me?”
Brandon chewed on his lip for a moment. “I need you to know that I am working to free you, but that there are people who might hurt us both if they were to discover my suspicions.” He hesitated.
“Until I have all of the information and evidence in my possession, we cannot act. In the meantime, I will keep you informed, and I will also delay Lord Gallagher from having you executed before my suspicions can be brought to light as truths.”
“So, ye’re sayin’ me life is in yer hands?”
Brandon shrugged. “In a way, yes.”
“And if ye cannae discover the truth or delay His Lordship?”
Brandon glanced once more up the passageway, before ducking forward to whisper, “I will break you from this prison myself, but I cannot do that right now.”
“Why nae?” Owen reasoned it was the perfect solution for their predicament.
“You would become a fugitive, Laird Dunn,” Brandon lowered his voice, not in threat but in warning, “and the Earl would raise his army and summon all of his bannermen in order to catch you. If he could not catch you, he would take your clan, your family, your castle, and anything that stood in his way, until he smoked you out of hiding. He is bereft to the point of madness, Laird Dunn, and one should never toy with madness.”
Owen hated to admit it, but, for once, an Englishman was speaking a great deal of sense. If there was one thing the Laird of Dunn would not do, it was risk the lives of everyone under his protection.
“Very well.” Owen shook his head in annoyance.
Brandon put his hand through the bars. “I know you have little reason to, but you can put your faith in me. I will not see you die for a crime you did not commit, and I will have justice for the friend that I lost. But we must be patient.”
“That’s simple for ye to say. Ye’re nae the one stuck in a dungeon.”
Brandon nodded. “I realize that.” He wiggled his fingers. “Does this mean we have an understanding?”
Owen took the proffered hand and shook it, knowing that, for the second time since the end of the battle, he did not have a choice.