Page 3 of The Highlander's Inconvenient Wife
The man tilted his head back and let out a laugh that echoed down the long hall. “Thank ye, lass, I needed a laugh. Yer story isnae original, but it did make me laugh,” he glossed over her question and plucked at a tear in his eye. “It’s nae often that our prisoners stick to their stories as hard as ye are sticking to yers.”
“My story?” she asked taken aback. “It’s not a story; it’s the truth. Listen,” she tried again as she cleared her throat and composed herself. She was certain that everything was just a big misunderstanding that would soon be resolved if she could just talk to Avery or Darragh.
“Aye?” the guard said with one bushy eyebrow raised.
“I am a lady from London; I’m not sure what kind of misunderstanding has taken place here, but if you can just go and get the laird or his wife, I am certain they will clear things up.” She cocked her head to the side and glared at the man. “You don’t want to get on the bad side of the laird when he hears how deplorably you have been treating me,” she said defiantly.
Shaking his head, the man came closer and beckoned her toward the bars with a chubby finger when she took a step back. “I’ll give ye a piece of advice lass, I may find yer behavior amusing, but ye better behave when the laird gets here. He willnae take kindly to yer little outbursts. So, keep yer mouth shut if ye want to keep yer pretty little head on yer shoulders.”
“Barbarians,” Joan said in shock as she glared at the man. “I can assure you that I am in no kind of danger. The laird would never lay a hand on me.”
“Suit yerself then!” the man called to her over his shoulder as he turned on his heel and walked away, his giant belly wobbling out on the sides as he went.
“Or am I?” she whispered to herself as he left her alone. Her situation was only getting stranger the longer the night dragged on.
* * *
Joan looked at the bars of her cell as a single torch flickered in its sconce from across the hall. She was beginning to think that Darragh and Avery were away. There weren’t any reasonable explanations as to why they would leave her in the dungeons unless everything had been part of an elaborate joke. It was entirely possible that she had been mistaken for someone else, and nobody even knew that she was there.
Sighing heavily, she sat up straight on the pile of hay and hugged her legs to her chest. She’d gotten so bored in the past few hours that she’d taken to cleaning her cell, using a bushel of hay she’d tied together with ribbon from her cloak in an attempt to sweep the floor.
She was hungry, thirsty, cold, and just about fed up with everything that had happened to her. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.
Pushing herself up, she removed a few strands of hay from her hair and walked over to the bars. “Excuse me! Mr. Guard?” she called out to the empty hall.
Her voice echoed down the dark hall, leaving in its wake a deafening silence that wrung in her ears. “I know you must be there,” she tried again. “I don’t think you would throw me in a cell and leave me unattended with no one to ensure that I’d not escape.” She waited a few seconds before taking a deep breath and readying a scream.
The guard’s voice suddenly called to her just as she cocked her head back. “What in the name of all the Gods are ye yelling about?” The same red-headed man from earlier came around the corner with a tired expression on his face. “Nobody can get any sleep with yer yelling.” He rubbed his eyes with chubby fists that resembled hams.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said in relief when he neared the bars. “I thought you would never come.” She never thought she’d ever like anyone that dragged her into a cell, yet even the sight of the ornery guard was a welcome relief after her hours of isolation.
“What is it?” he snapped at her before massaging his forehead with his index finger and thumb.
“Do you remember when you mentioned earlier that the laird would be paying me a visit?” she asked him defiantly, ignoring the grumpy looks he was giving her through her fingers.
“Aye?” he answered with a heavy note of sarcasm in his voice. “I have nae bumped me head. I remember just fine.”
“Great,” she laid her enthusiasm on thick. “When will that meeting be?” She scrunched her shoulders up with a giddy look on her face as if she were a child waiting to hear what treat she would receive. Her mother had often told her that her penchant for sarcasm and humor would someday get her into trouble. Bravery was not a trait that sat with her either.
“I dinnae ken,” he said irritably. “So, why dae ye nae just be quiet an’ wait like a good little lass?” He seemed sincere in his request.
“What do you mean you do not know? I thought you were a guard at this castle. Should you not know details such as that?”
“Obviously I am a guard at this castle.” His tone became even more irritable as he shook the ring of keys on his belt.
“Then how do you not know when my meeting with the laird will be?” She looked him in the eyes as she spoke, trying her best to draw him into a conversation where he’d give her more information.
“Because the laird doesnae schedule meetings according to his prisoner’s whims,” he countered. “Ye will be seen to when the time is right, an’ not a minute earlier.”
“Fine,” she said as her hopes were once again dashed. “Could you at least bring me a mug of water and something to eat? I am practically starving in here.” She licked over her dry lips that were beginning to crack. “I’m parched.”
The guard looked at her with an exasperated sigh. “Fine, I’ll bring ye something to eat an’ drink.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Joan replied earnestly, trying her best to bite back the sarcastic replies that came to mind. She didn’t want the man to change his mind now that he was willing to help her.
“But that better be the end of yer yelling an’ complaining,” he huffed, turning on his heels and glaring at her with one eye shut. “I have been far too lenient with ye since ye got here. That ends now.”
“Whatever you say.” She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh that matched his.
