Page 9 of The Outlaw's Bride
Rhona loosed a deep breath. “Thank the Lord she didn’t. I don’t know how ye would have talked yer way out of that.” She crossed to the sideboard and picked up a bone-handled dirk and a slingshot. She handed them to Adaira. “Ye need to be able to defend yerself. Do ye remember how to use a slingshot?”
Adaira nodded hesitantly. “I think so,” she murmured. She certainly hoped so. She remembered their father showing her how to use a slingshot when they were children. She'd be very rusty, but she was sure she’d regain her skill quickly. Especially if need drove her to it.
Adaira favored Rhona with a sickly smile. “Da watches me like an eagle these days,” she murmured. “Do ye think he suspects something?”
Rhona shook her head. “I don’t think so. However, those of us left behind must brace ourselves for his rage when he discovers ye gone.”
Adaira wrung her hands together, squeezing so hard she heard the bones of her fingers creak. “I don't want ye punished because of me.”
With a sigh, Rhona went to her and pulled her into a tight hug. “I won't be. If things go to plan, no one but the cunning woman will know that Taran and I have helped ye.” Rhona stepped back, meeting Adaira’s eye. “Ye are to meet him in the bailey courtyard, to the right of the front keep steps, later … once the moon has risen.”
Adaira nodded, nervousness coiling in the pit of her belly.
“Taran will take ye to the dungeon and help ye free the prisoner,” Rhona continued. She started to pace the chamber, agitated. “The guards should be fast asleep by then.”
The coil of nerves in Adaira’s belly tightened. She hoped Rhona’s sleeping potion would work, although she didn’t voice her fear. Heaving a deep breath, Adaira crossed to the open window. It was almost completely dark outside now; the last of the sunset was fading from the sky.
Now we must wait, she thought. The tension was almost unbearable.
Waiting was the hardest part.
“Are ye ready, lass?” The low rumble of Taran’s voice soothed Adaira’s jangled nerves. She’d stepped out into the bailey and waited in the deep shadow of the keep for Taran to join her.
“Aye,” she whispered. “Are the guards asleep?”
It was too dark to make out his face although she sensed his expression was grim. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he murmured. “Follow me.”
Adaira fell into step behind Taran and drew her cloak close around her. It was a still night, and the air was damp and cold. She was traveling light, with just the satchel slung around her front. It was heavy with the food and water. The buns would stave off hunger for a short while. She imagined that Lachlann Fraser would appreciate some good food.
It was late. The keep slumbered, and a deep silence had fallen over the fortress. The stillness of the night unnerved Adaira; she’d have preferred the whisper of a wind to take the edge off it.
She followed Taran toward the entrance to the dungeon, marveling at how silent his tread was for a big man. He moved like a shadow, and she was careful to follow suit.
As she walked, Adaira glanced up at the window to the tower chamber, high above her. It was dimly lit, signaling that someone was still awake. Rhona would be up there, awaiting her husband’s return.
The sisters’ goodbye had been painful. Adaira’s chest still ached from the tears she’d seen in Rhona’s eyes.
“Promise me, ye will be careful,” Rhona had whispered. “Promise me that when ye get free of here, ye will fight to remain so. Don’t look over yer shoulder … don’t ever come back.”
Adaira had nodded, tears of her own welling.
She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her sister again, yet she had little other choice. Once she wed Budge, and he took her off to Islay, she’d likely not see Rhona again anyway.
Taran and Adaira entered the dungeon stairwell. Neither of them carried torches, and so they were forced to feel their way downstairs in the dark, using the damp stone wall as a guide.
The glow of light ahead warned Adaira that they were reaching the guard room. Blinking, she followed Taran out into a small space with a low ceiling that had been carved out of the rock. A narrow passage led out of the back: the way to the cells.
Adaira’s attention moved to where two guards sat at a table in the corner. The men lay slumped against the wall, mouths gaping. Two trays with empty clay bowls and cups sat before them.
Adaira’s breathing hitched.Are they asleep—or dead?
Taran pushed back the hood of his cloak and approached the nearest guard. He then snapped his fingers in front of the man's nose. The noise cracked like a whip in the damp air, but the man didn’t stir. He reached down and felt for a pulse upon his neck. Taran’s breath gusted out. “He’s alive.” Taran checked the second guard. “And so is this one. They sleep deeply, but they'll live. Ye did well.”
Relief swamped Adaira, making her legs go weak. Guilt assailed her then. If her father ever discovered the truth, Rhona's life would be spared, but Taran’s wouldn't. He’d swing from a gibbet for this.
She stepped next to Taran, placing a tentative hand on his arm. “I haven't thanked ye properly, Taran,” she murmured. “I know ye are doing this for Rhona … ye must love her very much.”
Taran turned to her. The guttering light of the torch on the wall illuminated his scarred face. “I couldn’t let Rhona do this on her own,” he admitted quietly, “but I also can’t stand by and see ye wed Aonghus Budge. If I can help in any way … I will.”
