Page 12 of Sins of a Scot
Hope that her father and brother had not been tortured. Hope that Laird Sutherland had kept to his word, and that the only remaining family she had was still alive. Hope that she would find that damned crystal before it was too late. Hope that someone, somewhere, would send her in the right direction to discover its whereabouts. Hope was all she had, for none of the things she wished for had any certainty at all.
Laird Sutherland had given her an impossible task. Perhaps that was his intention. Maybe the crystal was simply a ploy to get her away from the castle and her people. With her father and Keane in custody, there was no one to lead.
The council ken well what tae dae, Iseabail. Ye are only torturing yersel’ with these ridiculous thoughts. Yer faither’s army is great. Nay one, nae even Laird Sutherland, could overcome them without a great battle. Has he nae already tried on several occasions?
Of course, he had. And their army had pushed Laird Sutherland and his men back on each occasion, never letting them cross the threshold of the castle gates. Then again, she would never have imagined her father and brother could have been kidnapped either, but the laird had managed to do that.
“Och, quiet me dreadful thoughts,” Iseabail huffed, dropping herself back to the floor and placing her head in her hands.
For a long time, she sat there waiting, her mind awash with those thoughts, only to battle with herself to try and keep a tight grip on the hope that had kept her going up until now. After some time, she began to doubt that Owen and Daire would return at all. Perhaps she had made a mistake in thinking they would. However, soon after, she heard heavy footsteps, and then she heard the guard jumping to his feet.
“Good evening, sir,” he said.
“Open the gate,” Owen replied.
Iseabail listened to the high-pitched protest of the rusty metal once more, and then, she heard the gate closing again. Still, she did not lift her head. What was the point? He would ask the same questions, and she would give him the same answers.
“I’ve brought ye something,” Owen said, when she didn’t move.
Only then, did Iseabail look up at him. In the dim candlelight, she noticed Owen holding a tankard in one hand, and something wrapped in a thin cloth in the other. Pushing herself to her feet, she approached him tentatively, looking at the tankard with suspicion.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s poison,” he drawled sarcastically. “I always find that killing me prisoners off is the best way tae get information out o’ them.”
Iseabail rolled her eyes, and then reached out and took the tankard from him. She didn’t fully trust him, and why would she? But still, she brought the tankard to her lips and took a small sip.
Water. Cold, refreshing water.
As she took another sip, it occurred to her that she had not realized how thirsty she had been until that very moment.
“Here,” he said, handing her the item wrapped in muslin.
Tucking the tankard into her arm, she took it and unwrapped the thin cloth. Inside were two pieces of bannock, still warm.
“Thank ye,” Iseabail said.
“There’s naething tae thank me fer. I was hardly going tae let ye starve, was I?” he snapped.
“I dinnae ken what ye were going tae dae,” she bit back. “Ye’ve dragged me from the tavern and are keeping me yer prisoner fer nay reason at all.”
“Och, ye ken that isnae true. Ye tried tae steal from me. Ye cannae deny that fact.”
“Ye are mistaken, sir,” Iseabail replied, trying to push some conviction into her voice.
A knowing smile danced at the corner of his mouth. “I am nae, and ye ken it. Ye’re here fer good reason, and given that ye’re choosing tae stay here?—”
“How am I choosing tae stay here? ‘Tis ye who is holding me against me will,” Iseabail retorted. “I am hardly here by choice.”
“Och, but ye are, Iseabail.” Owen shrugged. “Ye have chosen nae tae answer me questions, and thus, yer circumstances are yer own doing.” He then turned towards the gate, but before opening it, he looked back over his shoulder. “If ye change yer mind, tell the guard. They’ll send fer me. If ye dinnae…” hepaused, looking about the cell, “well, I suppose ye may make yersel’ comfortable.”
The clanging sound of the gate being shut firmly behind him rang through her very bones. Owen then approached the guard who had remained at his post.
“If she decides she wants tae talk, send someone tae fetch me. I dinnae care what time o’ the night it is.”
“Aye, sir,” the guard replied.
With a final glance in her direction, Owen then strode away. The guard moved towards the gate and locked it once more. After giving her a long look, he then returned to his post.
