Page 119 of Bride of Mist
“Who’s there?” she ventured.
There was no response. But Feiyan wasn’t afraid. Whoever was in the cave with her was imprisoned just as she was. And a possible ally in an escape attempt.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
No answer.
“Merraid?” she tried, creeping cautiously forward, inch by inch. “Campbell?” She hunkered down beside the silent form. “Are you all right? Are you injured?”
When there was no answer, she reached out to jostle the body. Gently at first, then with more force.
A loud rasp of breath alerted Feiyan that her fellow prisoner had roused. “Feiyan.”
Her heart skipped at the familiar voice. “Dougal? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to save ye.”
The great wave of pleasure and relief that had washed over her at the sound of his voice crashed and fizzled when she realized he was in no position to save her. The fact that he’d been thrown into this prison with her was proof he’d failed to defeat his brother.
Dougal was exactly where he meant to be.
He’d known—after his outburst in the great hall, standing up to his brother and the Fortanachs, announcing their crimes before half the clan, giving the laird’s minions a verbal smack in the face—Gaufrid would have no choice but to imprison him.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked, pushing himself up from the floor. “If anyone’s raised a hand to—”
“Me?” She sounded incredulous. “I’m fine. But what about you?”
“I’ll live.”
“What’s happened? Why did you come to Darragh?” Her disbelief was beginning to wear off. Now she sounded peeved. “God’s eyes, you could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“But youcouldhave been. Bloody fool. I suppose you marched in, all full of outrage and honor.”
“I did.”
“And you threatened your brother, face to face, with his crimes?”
“Aye.”
“And you expected he’d confess and concede to your greater wisdom?”
“Gaufrid? Nay. He’d ne’er do that.”
“Then how did you…?” she sputtered. “Why did you…?”
“I had to see for myself that ye were safe.” He found her hand, enclosing her fingers in a clasp of reassurance. “After all, I can’t let harm come to my bride.”
“Your bride?”
“Aye,” he murmured, his heart in her hands, “if ye’ll have me.”
She was silent for so long after that, he feared he’d made a mistake. Misjudged her affections. Lost respect in her eyes. He wished he could see her face. See whether she was stewing in indecision. Laughing in mockery. Or weeping in happy relief.
“Well, I don’t know,” she hedged. “I’m not sure ’tis wise to tie my fortunes to a stubborn man who refuses to take my obviously superior advice.”
His mouth eased into a grin. “I’ll remind ye, your obviously superior advice landed ye in this gaol.”
