by Alisa Adams
“But surely the guard will stop us?” Maudie protested.
“That, Maudie, is where you come in.”
They waited until the guard had changed. When the second shift of the day went down to take their place at the entrance of the corridor, which led to Rodric's cell, Maudie went down too. She chatted amiably with the guard and soon captured his full attention, then they walked away from his post to look out a small window at the sunny day outside. Adaira, who had been lurking nearby with a canvas bag containing a stoppered bottle of milk, a bannock, cheese, two apples, and a great chunk of cured ham under one arm, slipped into the corridor while the guard was laughing with Maudie.
The cell that contained the prisoner was down at the end of the corridor, after which it turned a corner into another slightly narrower passage. Adaira hurried, moving fast for fear that the guard would turn around and see her despite Maudie's best efforts.
She got to the end of the corridor and made her way around the corner safely, however. The door of the cell was made of stout oak with great iron hinges and had a little window covered with crossed bars of heavy wrought iron. She stepped up, looked through, and came face-to-face with Rodric Montrose. Ice seemed to grip her belly. He was standing with his face so close to the bars that when she stood on tiptoe and peered through into the gloomy room beyond, she was suddenly eye-to-eye with him.
In that moment, they were both as shocked as each other. For a long, endless moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Adaira felt her heart beat faster. He was disheveled, and he had an ugly bruise above one eye, but for all that, he remained by far the finest looking man she had ever seen. Her brief glimpse of him on the day of the battle had not had such an effect on her. She felt her breath catch in her chest. Then came the sound of laughter from the other end of the corridor, a man and woman's mingling.
“Who are you?” asked Rodric. His voice was cold, and the expression on his face was not kind. She did not answer his question.
“Where do they put the food?” she said.
“Food?” he gave a bitter laugh. “They have given me no food since I came here! Who are you? What do you want of me? Have you come to torment me?”
She was looking up and down at the door. Any minute now, she knew, the guard might remember his duty and come to check on the prisoner. After a moment, she saw what she was looking for: a small hatchway at the bottom of the door. She crouched. It was not locked, just latched with a little hook on the outside.
“Hush!” she said, as Rodric kicked the door from the other side. She then slid the hook out of its setting, swung the little hatch open, and pushed through the canvas bag of food.
His face was now at floor level, peering through the hatch. As her hand reached through to push the package in, he grabbed at her. As quickly as she could, she yanked her arm back. She felt his hand on hers as she stumbled back, landing on her backside on the floor. They peered at each other through the little hatch.
“What is this?” he asked in a quieter tone when he realized what was in the bag.
“It’s a secret,” she said, glancing back down the corridor. “You must not let on that I have brought you this, or they will double the guard. I cannot stay. Eat what is in the package. I will come again when I can and bring you more.”
She had tarried too long already. She leaned forward and closed the hatch quickly, slipping the hook back into place and standing up. Before leaving, she could not resist standing up on tiptoe to peer through the bars at him again.
He was standing, his face close to the window, and their eyes met again. His were an intense blue, like the color of the sky on a summer day. His fierce glare had changed and become gentler. He seemed to be about to speak, but she turned and hurried away.
At the end of the corridor, she glanced around the corner. Maudie and the guard stood with their heads close together by the window, chatting confidentially. Adaira turned away, walking quickly but silently off in the other direction, the Highlander’s blue eyes and handsome face seeming to follow her.
4
Rodric
Rodric Montrose invaded her dreams that night. In the morning, Adaira awoke feeling flushed and feverish. Like the afterimage that comes from staring at the sun, the Highlander’s fierce face remained in her mind, his intense eyes reappearing vividly every time she closed her own. She awoke early and, when she glanced into Maudie's smaller room and saw that her maidservant was still fast asleep, Adaira slipped into a simple gown and soft shoes, covered her hair, and headed out into the corridors of the castle.
When she reached her father’s room, high up in a tower away from the noise and bustle of the rest of the castle, the sleepy man on guard there nodded her through. As the daughter of the clan chief, she had access to his room at any time.
Adaira pushed the heavy door open and slipped in. Her father, the once-great chief of the once-mighty Clan Strachan, was propped up in his bed, gray-bearded and gaunt from his long illness. With relief, Adaira saw that he was awake. His heavy-lidded eyes fluttered towards her, then widened in recognition. He still had the sweetest smile of anyone she had ever met.
“Ah, my dear,” he said in a soft voice. “You are here. Bring me some water, please.”
Adaira moved to the table, poured cold water from a pitcher into his cup and brought it to him, then helped him to drink.
“And are you well, Adaira?” he asked. His once-deep voice had become a rasping wheeze that was painful for her to hear. Answers fought each other in her head, each trying to come forward and take precedence.
“I am always well, Father,” she said, kissing his forehead and smiling. “Shall I read to you for a while?” She knew that he loved to have his favorite stories from Scripture read to him since his eyesight was now so bad that he could no longer focus on the words.
He nodded, and she began to read from the prayer book that was always by his side, but in a few moments, he was asleep. Adaira laid her head on his chest and prayed for death to take him and put an end to his suffering.
Later, she told Maudie about it as they sat in the window of their little sitting room.
“I didn't have the heart to tell him,” she said unhappily. “I had all these grand thoughts of what I would say to him, how I would tell him about everything Duncan is doing wrong, tell him about the chance to negotiate for peace with our prisoner and ask him about my marriage to MacCormick; I don’t believe Duncan even discussed that with him. But he was so weak, Maudie. It was as if he barely knew that I was there. So when he asked if I was well, I just said that I was, then I read to him for a wee while, and he smiled and went back to sleep.”
“Ye did the right thing, mistress,” Maudie comforted her. “Ye did the kind thing. For, after all, what could yer father dae at this point? The guards are a’ so used tae treatin’ Duncan as if he were the chief already, an’ yer poor father wouldnae be able tae rise from his bed and come out tae change things himself. It is kinder tae shield him fae the knowledge of what is goin’ on, I think, because he wouldnae be able tae change it, an’ he would spend a’ his time worryin’ about ye.”
“I know, Maudie,” Adaira sighed. “I suppose if we want to change anything, we will have to change it ourselves.”
However, somehow she was not sure that she could.
Through observation and subtle questioning of the kitchen staff, Adaira had established that there were three guards who took turns at the entrance to the prison corridor where Rodric was held. They worked in shifts, and it was not difficult for Maudie and Adaira to find out which guard had which shift. It was plain good fortune for them that the guard who particularly liked Maudie covered the hours between early evening and the first hours of the night, changing shift around midnight when it was darkest.
This meant that in the darkest part of the night, when the castle was at its quietest, Maudie would be able to sneak up to the guard’s post with an earthenware bottle of beer and a bit of food for him and persuade him to come over to
their tiny window for a little conversation. Indeed, they were becoming quite fond of each other.
From a chat with Hector in the kitchen, Adaira established that the orders to beat Rodric on a regular basis were not being carried out. This was for the simple reason that, after the failure of the first attempt, none of the guards in the castle was willing to try again. It was just too much trouble.
“He’s like a wild beast, milady,” Hector gossiped in a breathless voice, rubbing his hands together. “A monster, he is, and some o’ the women are beginnin’ tae wonder if he really is a man like other men, or whether he is some kind o’ half-demon, with beast blood in him.” His brown eyes were round with fear.
Seeing her skeptical look, he hurried on, saying, “That’s a’ nonsense, of course, an’ I told them so. Aye, he’s a man like any other, although very strong, and lack of food an’ drink will tame him in the end.”
Adaira growled inwardly. What her brother was doing to Rodric was cruel beyond measure, and she was determined to put a stop to it.
Rodric had been in prison for three nights when Maudie and Adaira decided they would try to get close to him again.
“We simply must bring him food,” said Adaira, and Maudie nodded her agreement. “If we treat him decently now, we may be able to put an end to this war against all the odds. If he dies through mistreatment, we will never be forgiven by the Montroses, and the other clans will turn against us too. That would mean the end of the Strachan clan, and I must do everything I can to prevent that, whatever the risk to myself.”
They waited until night had fallen outside. As before, the guard welcomed Maudie with pleasure, while Adaira remained out of sight.
“I’m glad tae see ye!” said the guard, grinning and glancing furtively around. “We’ll need tae take care this night because the captain is around. Come on, let us go over tae the window. We can see down the corridor fae there, an’ if he comes, I can nip back tae my post, and ye can go the other way.”
Giggling like naughty children, the two moved away towards their secluded alcove, leaving the path clear for Adaira. Her knapsack of food under her arm as before, she kept to the shadows, making her way stealthily past the guard’s empty post and down the corridor.
This time, when she stood on tiptoe to look through the barred window in the door, Adaira got a shock. Rodric was shirtless, wearing only his hose, and had his back to her. In the dim light that filtered in from the corridor, she could see the toned muscles of his broad back and shoulders rippling under his skin as he raised and lowered his arms and swung them from side to side.
It took her a moment to work out what he was doing, then she realized. Of course. Here was an active man, a swordsman, a man who was used to a very physical, demanding outdoor life. Confined in this small space, it made sense that he would have to find some way of keeping his body in good condition.
As she watched, Rodric lowered himself down and placed his hands on the edge of his bunk. Once there, he braced his feet against the ground and began to push his own body weight up and down with just the strength of his great arms. His muscles bulged and flexed, and she found herself unable to call out to him for a moment. She watched him, fascinated, until, after perhaps thirty repetitions of this exercise, he pushed off with a satisfied grunt and rose to his feet, stretching his great arms out again.
Adaira did not realize she had been holding her breath until she let it out with a quiet hiss. The effect on Rodric was instantaneous. He spun, and with three strides was at the door. His face was fierce, and his fists came up into a practiced fighter’s stance. He took a breath and seemed about to shout, so she spoke urgently through the bars.
“Hush, hush, Rodric,” she hissed. “Do not make a noise. They will hear. It's me.”
He lowered his fists a little and peered out into the corridor. When he recognized her, his face broke into a broad smile. It was like the sun breaking through heavy clouds. He looked, she thought, as if he were a man who did not smile often, and it suited him. That thought brought a smile of her own to her face.
“It’s you,” he whispered, smiling. “I’m glad to see you.”
Against all good sense, her heart was fluttering as if she had just run a race, and yet it was not fear but something else. His body gleamed in the light from the corridor as he faced her. Her voice caught in her throat and came out as a croak when she spoke.
“Have they fed you?” she asked, clearing her throat quietly.
“Not a morsel,” he replied. “I overheard them saying that they can't understand how I'm still standing after three days without food or water.”
Adaira dropped to her knees and pulled the hatch open, passing the food through. He took it, then put his head near the hatch to speak to her through the opening.
“When you did not come last night I wondered if you would ever come again,” he said. She heard the cork pop out of the earthenware water bottle and the satisfied noise he made as he quenched his thirst.
“It’s difficult for me to come here,” she whispered through the hatch to him as he started on the bread. “My maid distracts the guard, you see, so that I can come down the corridor unseen.”
There was a short silence before he replied.
“Your maid?” he said. “I thought...forgive me, but I thought you were a servant sympathetic to my cause. Who are you then, to have a maid who does your bidding?”
Suddenly, she felt that she was teetering on the edge of a cliff. She could have kicked herself for revealing that. At this point, she was far from certain that she wanted him to know her identity.
“I am...a noblewoman living in this castle,” she said, unwilling to commit herself by revealing her name to him. Suddenly, his face appeared at the hatch again, and he looked up at her, his keen blue eyes traveling over her face.
“I knew I had seen you before!” he exclaimed in satisfaction. “You were at the battle. Wee Duncan, the lad who was in command, he showed me to you as if I was a trophy. ‘Sister,’ he called you. So, you are not just any noblewoman. You are the daughter of the Strachan clan chief!”
Adaira grimaced at his quick deduction of her real identity, and he laughed in disbelief. It was a hearty laugh and it was too loud. The quiet murmur of voices that had been coming from Maudie and the guard at the other end of the corridor ceased abruptly.
“What’s a’ the noise?” came the guard’s irritated voice. “Quiet down, Montrose, or I’ll come down there an’...” He trailed off.
Adaira and Rodric froze, then they heard the sound of the quiet voices resuming their chat and a burst of feminine laughter. Adaira breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was a near thing,” whispered Rodric. “Daughter of the clan or not, I don't like to think what they would do to you if they caught you helping me.”
She smiled. “My brother’s stomach turns if he has to kill a mouse,” she said disgustedly. “He acts as if he is big and brave, but he is nothing of the kind.”
The hatch was placed at about knee height in the door. It was a little more than eighteen inches across, a crude, roughly-cut aperture with two heavy hinges to keep the covering in place. It was too low to hold one's face comfortably next to, but Rodric craned his neck to look out at her, where she sat with her knees drawn up and her back to the wood of the door. He might have been able to get his head through the hatch, but no more. There was no hope for his shoulders!
“Why are you helping me?” he asked bluntly. She took a deep breath, tired of pretense. Despite everything, she could not find it in her heart to distrust this man. She feared him, yes, but there was something about him that she could not quite put a finger on. It was something she felt she understood.
“I desire peace between our clans,” she said simply. “I want the war to end because it profits nobody, and I cannot stand to see anyone being treated so cruelly.”
A strange look flashed across his face. “I want peace too,” he said. “Whatever it takes. But your brother desires war, it
seems, since all our entreaties have been ignored. Your father is ill, it is said, and your brother behaves as if he was already the chief. What can we do? We must have peace somehow, and if the only way to achieve that is by destroying the Strachan clan, then that is what we must do.”
Adaira was about to reply when she froze. The sound of conversation from the end of the corridor had ceased again. She heard very clearly the gruff voice of Hamish at the end of the corridor, speaking to the guard.
“Nothing tae report?” Hamish said.
“He was makin’ a bit of noise a wee while back, sir,” came the guard’s reply. “I shouted tae him tae shut up and he did. Nothin’ since.”
“I don't know what he thinks he’s got tae talk about,” said Hamish. “But we'll go down and have a look at him anyway. Come on.”
Horror turned her blood to ice as she heard footsteps begin making their way down the corridor. Rodric's cell was at a dead end. There was nowhere she could go, nowhere except inside.
She looked down at his face, framed in the hatchway, and mirroring her look of fear. They both realized at the same time that the hatch was their only hope.
“Quick, lassie, quick, before they catch you!” hissed Rodric. The footsteps advanced. In a moment McMahon and the guard would turn the corner and see her. Adaira ducked her head, pulled her shoulders in, and, silently praying that her dress would not snag on the rough edges, flung herself through the hatch into the cell, and right into Rodric Montrose’s arms.
5
In the Prisoner’s Cell
It was a tight squeeze, but Adaira was a slender woman, and she made it—barely. She would have banged her head, but Rodric caught her by the shoulders and drew her through smoothly. Adaira had squeezed her eyes shut as she struggled through the gap, but she opened them when Rodric pulled her to her feet. She found that she was standing very close to him.