“Me? Trouble?” Isabelle slowly wrapped her arms around Campbell again and sighed with contentment as he wrapped his large arms around her. She breathed in deep and laid her head against his chest. He smelled of wood smoke and a musky scent that was all his own. It was intoxicating. She breathed deep again and closed her eyes, fatigue claiming her.
Campbell patted her gently on the back. “Naught but trouble. I knew it the instant I realized ye were English.”
He picked up the sleeping form of Lady Tynsdale in his arms and took her upstairs. He paused at the door that led to the ladies’ sleeping quarters. He should put her in there somewhere. Except, he rationalized, if he did he would wake all the ladies and they certainly must need their sleep. Surely it would be best to take her upstairs to bed.
His bed.
Isabelle drifted somewhere between dreaming and waking. A sense of comfort she had never before experienced wrapped her with its warmth, seeping into her very bones. Every muscle relaxed, leaving her like jelly. Happy, warm jelly.
“Isabelle,” whispered a familiar voice.
Isabelle’s eyes flew open. Where was she? She brushed aside some soft fur blankets and propped herself up on one elbow. David Campbell murmured, snuggled closer to her, and continued to sleep.
“David?” She was in bed with David Campbell? She sat upright. Pale sunlight filtered through linen drapes, revealing the undeniable truth. On one wall of the bedchamber was the large family crest. On the opposite wall was an impressive arsenal of weapons hanging from brackets. His large claymore was there, along with many other sharp implements, all looking more deadly than the next. Charming. She sat farther up in the bed, piled high with soft fur pelts. She was in bed with David Campbell!
What had happened? How had she got here? She remembered nothing. Did they… ? Surely they had not… It was not possible to sleep through
that
, was it? Was it?
“David?” she whispered.
His breathing was slow and steady. His face, for once, was relaxed, no frown lines marring his appearance. He was simply beautiful in the morning light, a promise of a smile on his inviting lips.
“David.” She gave him a little nudge. Nothing happened so she gave him a proper shake.
David grunted, rolled over, and began to snore. Isabelle rolled her eyes. So much for romantic.
What should she do now? Should she stay? Memories of their night in the inn rushed through her with a hot wave of desire. He snored louder. She waited for him to wake. He started to drool.
He was certainly exhausted. Had they…? Isabelle jumped from the bed and fanned herself with her hand, trying to cool down a sudden hot flash. She found she was still fully dressed. So they probably had not… except skirts are rather easy to lift… but surely she would remember…
“Bother!” She still didn’t have the right words for the occasion. She found her shoes on the floor and stomped to the door, half expecting to find herself locked in. She was not. She opened the door, walked through and slammed it shut behind her. She made herself jump at the sound. He must be awake now. He must. Should she run?
Slowly, her heart pounding in her chest, she opened the heavy oak door and peeked inside the room. He still slept. She took a deep breath and closed the door, placing her hand on the cool stones on the castle wall, then placed her hand on her forehead, trying to cool down.
He was an impossible man. He had her all hot and flustered and he was not even awake! She was pathetic.
Isabelle slunk down to the women’s quarters. No one was in the room except Cait, who sat on the window seat, her head bent over her embroidery. She was different from the last time Isabelle had seen her, smaller, her shoulders more rounded, her eyes swollen and red.
“Ye have returned,” said Cait, without looking up.
“Er… I was… Rabbie and the chapel and…”
“We thought ye had gone back to England.”
“Oh, yes! I did try. My plans went a bit awry.”
Cait gave her a half smile that did not reach her eyes. “Me too.”
“Are you… well, Cait?” Isabelle took a few tentative steps toward her.
Cait shook her head. “David is holding Andrew and he winna listen to me. Andrew dinna abduct me. He is innocent and David is going to kill him.” Fresh tears spilled down well-worn tracks on Cait’s face.
“Oh, Cait.” Isabelle sat next to her on the window seat. “I am so sorry, but who is Andrew to you?”
“He is… he is… my friend.”
Isabelle took Cait’s hand. “Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help.”
Cait told Isabelle about being kidnapped by Archie McNab and then meeting Andrew. Cait described her relationship with Andrew as a friendship, but her occasional breathy sighs and surreptitious tears were not fooling Isabelle.
“So Andrew McNab would take you riding?”
“Aye,” said Cait with a smile that lit her face. “He took me to the nicest places. One place had a remarkable vantage, a lovely view.” Her face fell and she looked at the floor. “That is where they found us,” she added softly.
“Sounds like you did not wish to be found,” suggested Isabelle softly.
Cait continued to look at the floor. “He was… verra kind. I looked forward to his visits.”
“He touched your heart.”
Cait looked up at Isabelle with searching eyes. “He asked me to marry him.”
“Oh,” said Isabelle, trying to stifle a gasp.
Cait was instantly wary. “No one believes me, I dinna ken why I bother talking at all. I can see ye disapprove too.”
“No, well, have you thought that he might have wooed you to try to get your dowry. Sometimes people can be less than sincere if it would mean their own enrichment.”
“But that’s the thing no one understands. I switched places with my lady’s maid and everyone, including Andrew, thought I was Alys.” Cait frowned, causing tiny worry lines to appear on her forehead. “Poor Alys, she is still a prisoner.”
“Poor Alys, indeed.”
“David will get her back.”
“I am certain of it.” Isabelle nodded, that much she knew of David Campbell.
“The point is, Andrew wanted to wed me when he believed me to be nothing more than a lady-in-waiting. He truly loves me!”
Isabelle pondered for a moment. “And you? How do you feel about him?”
Cait looked at her with large, liquid eyes. “I love him. Indeed, I do.”
“And Campbell is going to try him for the crime of abducting you?”
Cait’s bottom lip trembled. “Which he did not do. He is innocent.”
“Forgive me, but I could not help but overhear. Did Campbell not say that Andrew had confessed to the crime?”
“I dinna ken why he would say that. It wasna him. It was his brother, Archie.”
“Well then,” said Isabelle thinking fast. “We should try to find him and ask him.”
Cait’s face brightened and she smiled a big grin, even as the tears continued to fall. “Would ye? Would ye help me?”
“I would be honored to help you,” said Isabelle and gave Cait’s hand a squeeze. Even as she did so, she had a pang of guilt that this was exactly the type of behavior Campbell had considered locking her in the dungeon to prevent. Isabelle shook her head to dispel the notion. She had told him she would not try to escape. She had never mentioned anything about not helping Cait.
“Thank ye, Isabelle. I kenned ye were a true friend the moment I met ye. Except… why are ye wearing that ugly thing?”
***
Isabelle followed Cait to the entrance of the prison, which was carved into the rock below the storeroom on the western wall of the castle. Cait had helped her dress in one of her old gowns. Despite its age, it was a relief to be back in a silk. Compared to the wool kirtle, it was heaven. Isabelle was also careful about her headdress, making sure all her hair was swept up under the lace snood. She may not be respectable anymore, but at least she wanted to look the part.
“Do ye think Andrew is well? What if he hates me now that he knows who I am?” Cait’s eyes opened wide and she clutched her hands to her breast. “What if he blames me for what David did to him? Why do ye suppose he took the blame for my abduction? But how will we get into the prison? Do ye think he is well?”
Noting the circular and repetitive course of Cait’s speech, Isabelle stopped listening and focused her attention on the one relevant question Cait had asked. How were they going to get into the dungeon to see Andrew McNab?
The door to the storeroom was open a crack, allowing the ladies an opportunity to peek into the room. Besides the stacks of barrels and other stores one would expect to find, there was a young guard sitting on a barrel, humming a jaunty tune.
“How do we get past him?” whispered Cait.
“Just follow my lead,” Isabelle whispered back, hoping she could devise a plan in the five seconds it would take them to cross the room to where the lad was sitting. Isabelle opened the door.
“Halt! Who goes there?” called the guard before either of them could set a foot in the room. Isabelle rolled her eyes. Not even five seconds! So unfair.
“My, but you are assiduous in your duty,” said Isabelle, entering the room.
The guard blinked and gave her a blank look.
“Ye do yer job verra well,” said Cait with a winning smile. Her pale blond hair was loose, a simple gauzy veil framing her face. Even with her eyes swollen and red, she still was a lovely creature.
The guard snapped his focus to Cait and gave her a slow, warm smile and a low bow.
“Has your prisoner given you any trouble?” asked Isabelle.
“Nay, no’ him. He’s been quiet enough. Want me to rough him up a bit, Lady Cait? He deserves nothing less after what he’s done to ye.”
Cait grabbed Isabelle’s hand so hard Isabelle had to grit her teeth to avoid screaming.
“I need to see him,” said Cait, the desperation clear in her voice.
The guard looked taken aback and Isabelle squeezed Cait’s hand to remind her to keep better control of her emotions.
“Is the prisoner secure?” asked Isabelle.
“Aye, shackled to the wall. He will no’ be going anywhere.”
“You are sure he is secure? There is no chance of his escape?”
“None. Ye may sleep well, m’lady.”
“In that case, Lady Cait needs to confront the man who abducted her to speak the words she needs to say.”
“Nay, I canna allow that.”
“By whose authority do you deny the Lady Cait access?”
“Uhhh,” the guard stammered.
“Unless Laird Campbell has ordered ye to block my path, then stand aside,” commanded Cait.
Without waiting for a response, Cait whisked past the guard and down the stone steps.
“W-wait—”
“Best to let her be,” said Isabelle. “She needs to confront him, to speak her mind. Surely you can understand why she would wish to do so without others hearing.”
The guard looked unsure.
“I’m certain Campbell would be very pleased with how you are standing guard. Tell me, have you been in his service long?” Isabelle smiled, determined to keep the lad in conversation until Cait returned. The guard eyed the stone staircase. Cait best be quick.
***
Andrew Campbell sat on a stone bench shackled to the wall. It was cool and damp in the prison, but at least they had provided him with a serviceable blanket and there was no standing water. Overall his cell was clean and he was fed at least once a day. Not too bad, considering the crime with which he was charged. Not that he had experienced prison before. This was his first. And considering the charges, most likely his last.
Andrew leaned his head back on the rough, stone wall and tried to keep his mind blank. There was not a single topic that did not cause him pain. Though he rarely drank in excess, he wished they would bring him some whiskey. If any circumstance warranted inebriation, waiting for one’s execution certainly qualified.
The swish of silk brought his attention back to his surroundings. Andrew froze as Cait Campbell walked down the stone staircase and into sight. Cait Campbell, the reason he was in shackles. Cait Campbell, who only a few days ago he had desired to wed. She was wearing blue silk with gold embroidery. Even his limited knowledge of fashion informed him that the gown alone was worth more than the entire contents of McNab Castle. Her blond hair was loose, with a gauzy veil framing her face. She was beautiful, and the reason he would die.
“Andrew?” Her voice was soft, her eyes were large.
“Aye.” He should insult her, say something cutting to make her regret her deception. He should hurt her the way she hurt him. He looked away, her perfect face too painful to look upon. Even though she deceived him, he still could not hate her.
“I feared my brother would kill ye.” Her voice was strained.
“Ne’er fear, there is still time. I warrant he brought me back for a proper trial before he has me executed.”
“Nay, dinna say that. I’ll speak to him. I’ll tell him it was no’ ye who abducted us.”
“With all due respect, my lady, but why do ye care? Ye have deceived me well. I was completely taken in. Whatever ye hoped to achieve was accomplished. Ye are home. I am in shackles. What more is there?”
“I ken it was wrong o’ me to deceive ye—”
“Nay, m’lady. ’Twas verra clever. I am impressed, truly I am. Please forgive me, but the sight o’ ye pains me. I have spent the past several days trying to forget ye. Ye standing there is hardly helping my resolve.”
“But this is no’ yer fault.”
“Nay, I am to blame. These past several days I have been forced to take responsibility for myself, and I canna be pleased wi’ the man I see. I have let my brother talk me into many ill-conceived plans or simply watched and let things unfold wi’out making a stand. I may no’ have kidnapped ye, but I helped to hold ye prisoner. I did no’ release ye as I should have.” Andrew bowed his head. “I was enjoying myself too much,” he added in a voice that was barely audible.