Page 93 of Wild Wicked Scot
He was trying to will himself to face another night when he heard footsteps coming back toward him. But these weren’t the footsteps of the jailer. These were quick and light. He heard the clang of the door, and the footsteps were now inside. Someone was moving down the hall, jangling the doors, trying to open them.
The doors opened, and he heard Ben shout; then a male voice shouted back. “Mackenzie!”
Arran froze. Was this it? Had they come to take him for the mockery that would be his trial? But wouldn’t there be more than one of them to take him?
“Aye, here!”Ben shouted. Arran realized at once what Ben was doing—his men would do anything to protect him, including pretending to be him now. He suddenly shoved aside the soup from the shelf and shouted. “Here! The laird is here!”
The footsteps hurried toward him. He heard a fumbling of keys, first one in the lock, then another. Then a third. A moment later, the door swung open, almost hitting Arran. He blinked against the candlelight, still unable to make out who was there.
“For God’s sake, come on,” the man said. “The jailer will return at any moment.”
“Who—”
“Are you blind? Knox Armstrong.”
Arran couldn’t gather his wits. He didn’t know why Knox was here, and he could only assume that like all of the Armstrongs, Knox was against him. But Knox’s arm appeared through the candlelight, and he grabbed Arran’s forearm.“Come,”he demanded. “You’ll have us all killed.”
“My men,” Arran said.
“We’ve no time—”
“Mymen,” he said again.
Knox threw the keys at him. “I’ll keep watch. Make haste, make haste,” he urged him, and hurried down the corridor.
“Here, milord!” Ben said, his hand showing in the slit of his door.
Arran fumbled with the keys, found the one that worked and opened the door. Ben burst through and grabbed the keys from Arran. “Go, laird, donna wait for us. Dermid is ill, aye?”
Ben lunged for a door across from his. He opened the door and disappeared inside. He reappeared only moments later with Dermid half-draped over his shoulder.
“Diah,”Arran exclaimed. The man was emaciated, his hair matted against his skull.
“Go milord,” Ben urged him. “The clan can survive without me or Dermid, but they canna go on without you. Save yourself.”
“The hell I will,” Arran said. He took part of Dermid’s weight from Ben, and together they dragged the ailing man from the jail.
Just outside the door, Knox was waiting. “The keys, the keys,” he said, gesturing for them. “We’ve not a moment to waste.”
Ben handed him the keys.
“Just at the bottom of the hill are the stables,” Knox said, speaking quickly and quietly. “They are unmanned tonight—I’ve just come from there. Saddle your horses. Be prepared to ride.”
“And you?” Arran asked.
“I’ll lead you out of here,” Knox said. He turned and began to stride away, the candlelight bobbing with his near sprint.
Arran didn’t pause to question Knox’s intent. At least they were out of the cells. At least now they had a fighting chance. “Aye, let’s go, then,” he muttered to Ben, and together, they carried Dermid down the road.
* * *
MARGOTWASBEGINNINGto panic. Putnam was frightening her. She had two of his markers on the table before her, and he was perspiring heavily, alternating between tears and anger.Where was Knox?
She forced herself to draw a steadying breath and mentally ran through her options: she could scream, which would surely bring someone...if there was anyone lurking about this old abbey besides the butler. She could pretend that she needed a retiring room and flee. But if Knox hadn’t found Arran, where would she go? And how would she come back for him?
As she was debating what to do, Putnam picked up the deck. “Again,” he said.
“My lord, you are distressed—”
