Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(28)

It stunned her and made her smile at the same time.

Because it had been a very long time since she had felt so alive.

*

McTavish land

“Where is Katherine?”

William McTavish turned and eyed his son. “I’ve never had an Englishwoman at me table.”

Rolfe considered the captains on his father’s right who were sending him cutting looks. “So, she is just locked away until the matter of her ransom is resolved?”

His father took a bite of his supper and chewed it before answering. “It worked well enough for the other one ye brought home.”

“Helen Grant was only here for a week.”

“She did nae cause such a fuss, either,” one of his father’s captains declared with a frown.

“That was good fun,” Adwin shot back from his place beside Rolfe. “Clever lass to stuff a dress with the bedding and send it out the window. Nice to see Scotland has influenced her. Ye can wager she did nae learn such spirit in England.”

There were some chuckles in response, but Rolfe was more focused on his father. “I’ve been gone nearly a fortnight. Are ye saying she’s been locked in her chamber all that time?”

“Nae,” another of his father’s captains answered. “We’ll no’ be wasting men on the guarding of that hellion. She’s down in the cellar, where she’ll not be—”

Rolfe didn’t wait for the man to finish. He shoved his chair back and gave his father a single, hard tug on the corner of his bonnet before he was striding away.

“Hey.” Adwin caught Rolfe by the bicep in the passageway between the hall and the kitchens. “Are ye certain ye want to be showing so much concern? The lass has a purpose, and so do ye. Or did ye no’ notice that yer sire sent ye out because of yer little tryst with the lass?”

“It was a kiss,” Rolfe defended himself. “No’ a tryst. For Christ’s sake, what are ye all so concerned about? Do ye think she has the pox?”

“Worse than that. She’s English, Rolfe.” His man gave him a hard shove in the shoulder. “Ye’re no’ daft. It matters. To some more than others.”

“She’s a lass,” Rolfe cut back. “One I’m sorry I brought here.”

But she was there, and he’d been gone a long time. Rolfe made his way through the kitchens, startling the women working there. The closest thing McTavish Castle had to cells were the cellars next to the buttery where the casks of ale were stored. Cells were generally unnecessary; the worst thing that could happen to a person on clan land was to be put out of the castle without his colors. Rolfe turned and descended belowground where the air was chilly year-round.

“Angus?”

There was a shuffled step on the hard floor. The massive form of the butler came into sight. A ring of keys hung from his belt, but his collar was open and the skin of his neck wet.

Angus reached up and tugged on his bonnet, except that it was missing, so he settled for touching two fingers to his temple.

“Where is the English lass?”

Understanding dawned on the butler. “In the back. The laird said it had to be so. For meself, I would have placed her near the stairs, to keep her warmer, as well as give her more than bread and water. The laird was firm in his orders, though. Very clear. Bread and water, naught else. And only once a day at that.”

“Of course he was.”

Rolfe went down the dark passageway. Below the tower, it was narrow, the walls composed of rough rocks that were not plastered to make them smooth. He caught sight of a maid hurrying away before he recognized her, only half of her hair shoved up into her cap. At the end of the passageway, there was a very solid door. It was barred and locked. Angus came up behind him, the keys jingling as the butler sorted through them for the correct one.

Rolfe peered into the darkness and cursed.

*

Time had never moved so slowly. Of course, it was difficult to grasp it when there was no sunlight. Katherine began to know the day by the visits from her jailer. Angus wasn’t unkind to her, at least not after their first meeting, when he’d made it clear he knew a great deal about causing pain, should she be any trouble and need a lesson in minding him.

She believed him. The butler bore the marks of too many fights to count and seemed to enjoy his battered appearance. As far as choices for guarding the buttery, she had to concede that Angus was a fine selection. No one would be getting into the stores of ale and grain without permission.

Every house had such strictures, lest gluttony deplete the storerooms before spring arrived with a new harvest to fill them again.

He came once a day and unlocked her door. If she wanted to be fed, she would be against the far wall and stay there. He left her plate and changed her toilet bucket before locking her back in. A crude sort of grayness made it into the room during the daylight, but by night, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

And so the days passed slowly, because she could only sleep so much and the chill kept her from ever being comfortable. She passed the time by coming up with escape plans or at least attempting to concoct a means of escape. Just because she hadn’t succeeded didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So, you have come to see me.” Katherine recognized Rolfe’s voice and did her best to sound as though it meant little to her.