Chapter 16 Animal in a Cage
Animal in a Cage
The dungeons at Keep Grahame were more humane, at least, than the other dungeons Struan had known. They were less damp than the cellar under the convent, although that was hardly meant to house prisoners at all.
The dungeons at Keep Dickson, of course, were the worst that Struan had ever seen. When he was younger, he’d assumed that all Keeps had dungeons like that, with torture chambers and cells so small a person couldn’t stand up or lie flat in them.
He knew now that he was wrong, for all it mattered.
His cell at Keep Grahame was small but large enough to stretch out or stand up in.
It was dry, with a stone bench along one wall.
He’d been offered a thin pillow and a blanket.
There was a bucket underneath to relieve himself, a drain in the corner to pour it out, and that was all.
His food had been brought on a wooden tray, which the jailor demanded back as soon as he’d finished eating.
He was allowed to keep the earthenware jug of water, at least. He sipped from it now and then, sprawled out on the stone bench, watching a rat scuttle along by the drain.
When he heard footsteps approach, he never imagined for a second that they were coming for him. He certainly hadn’t imagined that it would be her.
For an instant, Struan felt as though he were frozen, staring across the length of his not-very-large cell, staring at Una. The woman he had come to care for. The woman he’d lied to. Lied to and been believed.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
“Come to make sure I’m uncomfortable?” Struan said at last, giving a harsh laugh. “What with Kyla’s babe, I shouldn’t have thought ye would need to worry about me. If it’s a boy—”
“Aye, aye, if it’s a boy, it could supplant ye easily. But I can’t help but feel that Kyla could supplant ye by herself if she wanted.”
He smiled grimly. “Not while I’m alive. But ye planned to take care of that, didn’t ye? I was yer wee project, but now it’s time to move on. Kyla abandoned me, and so will ye. Ye just opened yer eyes to what I truly am.”
She lifted her chin, taking a step towards the iron bars separating them.
“Oh, aye? And what’s that?”
He grinned mirthlessly. “An animal in a cage. A wolf ready to pounce on its prey”
She didn’t smile back. “I truly cared about ye, Struan.”
The words seemed to make his soul smart. Struan ignored it.
The feeling will pass, he reminded himself. If not for ye, at least for her.
“If ye cared about yerself, ye would leave me,” he snapped. “Have I not been clear? I feel nothing for ye. Now get away from me before I take ye down with me.”
She said nothing and did not move. Abruptly, Struan swung his legs off the bench and strode over to the bars of his cell. Gripping the bars until his knuckles stood out white, he leaned forward until the cold metal touched his forehead.
“Being near me is like swimming too close to a whirlpool,” he whispered softly. “Ye may feel brave, but what about when the current sucks ye in and down? What then, eh?”
A muscle jumped in her cheek.
“But ye aren’t a whirlpool, are ye, Struan?” she responded, her voice even. “Ye are a man. Just a man.”
Just a man. Had anybody ever described him that way? Struan jolted back, unable to help himself, and knew then that he’d given away his careless advantage.
“I tried my best to resent ye, after what ye said about me,” she said, almost thoughtfully. Her eyes were black in the gloom, her skin glowing white.
Struan wanted nothing more than to lean forward and touch her cheek. He longed for it so much that it was like an ache of hunger or thirst.
He controlled himself, of course, squeezing the bars of the cage.
“I tried to dredge up the old hate and resentment,” she continued with a sigh, shaking her head.
“But it just wouldn’t come. I don’t hate ye, Struan.
I can’t hate ye. I tried to pity ye instead, but I couldn’t find that either.
The plain fact is, I think, that I know too much about ye.
So does Kyla, but ye and me, we’re different from her, aren’t we?
I know that ye are afraid. Don’t try to deny it.
I feel it too, but I am done running from my own feelings.
That’s the most cowardly thing of all, dinnae ye think? ”
Struan fought to find something to say in the silence that followed, but he only swallowed tightly, his throat too dry to speak.
“I won’t die without speaking the truth, even if it’s only once,” she continued, her voice growing stronger.
“Whatever truth ye think ye know about me, it’s wrong,” Struan managed, his voice weaker than he would have liked. How was she doing this? She didn't even seem to blink, staring straight through his carefully constructed facade.
Everything I told her was calculated to make her hate me. Why hasn’t it worked?
“Ye only want to save me,” he added after a beat, trying to strengthen his voice. It didn’t seem to be working. “Ye don’t care for me. Ye can’t.”
She gave a faint, wry smile and tilted her head to one side. “It would be convenient to think that, eh, lad? But I think that plain fact is that I love ye, Struan. I’m in love with ye. I tried to fight it, but it does not seem to be working.”
He rocked back on his heels, mind working frantically.
“No,” he whispered. “Lass, I’ll drown ye. I am the whirlpool. I am a danger and will drag ye down with me, lass, I’m… I cannot offer ye what ye want.”
“And what do ye know of what I want?”
“I just know that it is not me!” he raised his voice, the last word in his sentence cracking. “Una…”
Before he could finish his sentence—and he wasn’t quite sure what it was he wanted to say—her hands flashed forward, cupping around his face. Her palms were warm and her fingertips cool, pressing around his cheekbones.
The touch was so sudden, so determined, that Struan’s face went slack.
He lost the drive to struggle and turn away, even though wrenching himself out of her gentle grip would have been the easiest thing in the whole world.
He only stared at her, eyes wide, his throat so tight he couldn’t believe he could have swallowed even if he tried.
He could only stare at her, breath all tied up between his lungs and his mouth.
“It’s more cowardly to pretend a feeling does not exist than to face it openly,” she whispered. “Don’t ye think, Struan?”
Before he could respond—and Struan was not sure he could have made a response—running footsteps echoed, coming closer. Like lightning, Una removed her hands, and Struan backed away from the cell. He could not drag his eyes away from her, however.
A Grahame soldier appeared, out of breath. He carried a lit torch, which seemed to be on the brink of extinguishing itself. He shot a quick look at Struan, and to Struan’s surprise, it seemed to be more curious than contemptuous.
“Lady Grahame has summoned ye,” he announced brusquely, glancing at Una. “A message has come from Laird Grahame. Her ladyship wants ye to come at once to the meeting room to discuss it. And…” he paused, glancing at Struan. “She wants ye to bring him.”