Page 54 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
And Emma was left alone, in the dark bowels of the castle, weeping for its Laird.
CHAPTER 22
Three days later
Emma huddledin the corner of the cell and pulled the worn blanket around her tighter. Her aching head rested against the wall, her burning eyes half-focused on the single shaft of sunlight falling to the floor. Dust motes swirled in the air, and she wondered idly if she’d ever feel the sun and wind on her face again.
Somewhere, mice were scrabbling through the hay.
That should have disturbed her. Indeed, the first night, she had screamed. Now, she did not care. She was too cold, too filthy.
But the guards who brought her food did not answer her questions and pleas—they barely looked at her. And after the first day, she had stopped trying, knowing that Reuben must have told them not to speak to her.
Red-hot hatred and rage had flared in her chest the first day, after she’d slept and some of the shock had worn off. She’d shouted and screamed, banging on the bars, but no one had come. She had also not been fed dinner that night.
Now, all of that had faded into a dull ache. She’d been hopeful that Grant would recover the first day. After all, Reuben had not said he was dead, only implied that it did not look good. But Grant was so strong, so capable. Even as he’d succumbed to the poison, he kept fighting it.
“Emma.”
Emma stirred at the soft voice, then started as she spotted the figure standing on the other side of the bars.
Lady Ronson drew back her hood and stared with endless compassion at the girl on the floor.
“Oh dear, ye poor thing.” She hastily took the basket off her arm and slipped it between the bars. “There is a hot drink in there for ye. Cider with a bit of tea. Drink it and warm yerself.”
Emma shook her head. “Why?” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Have ye come to tell me that Grant—Laird Ronson is dead? Is this my final meal?”
“Grant survived.”
Emma scrambled up and flew toward the woman, who reached up and caught her hands. For a moment, neither of them was able to form words.
“He’s—he’s all right?” she whispered. “Are you sure?”
“Aye, he pulled through and is restin’ now. He should wake up soon, Kyla said.” Lady Ronson’s deep green eyes shone with tears. “All of this will be over soon.” Her throat worked. “I am so, so sorry for Reuben’s actions. I didnae realize that he’d gone to these lengths—I was too distraught to check on ye.”
“I—he was trying to protect his brother,” Emma said in a stiff tone.
“This isnae the right way to go about it,” Lady Ronson sighed. “Sometimes?—”
“It’s all right,” Emma said. “All that matters is finding who did this.” Her thoughts drifted to the bandits who tried to kidnap her. “Perhaps it is my fault—some men were after me. Grant risked his life to save me.”
Lady Ronson gave her a soft smile. “That wasnae yer fault,” she insisted. “And I think I spoke too hastily when we first met. I am glad to hear ye call him Grant.” She squeezed Emma’s hands. “I wish I could stay, but I cannae. Someone will come soon to let ye out.”
“Thank you,” Emma croaked.
The older woman nodded, before letting her go and hurrying away.
Pulling in a deep breath, Emma sank to the floor and clasped her hands to her chest.
Grant is alive.
A happy, gasping laugh escaped her lips, and for the first time in three days, she found that she could indeed eat.
Finding the cider, she toasted both Grant and his mother. However, she hoped she’d never have to see Reuben again.
Rope creaked, and a cold wind blew. Grant’s feet were kicking in the air, his fingers clawing at his neck, and a terrible pressure was ripping him apart from the inside out.
He was dying.
