Page 88 of Her Accidental Highlander Husband

Even when he was locked in the dungeon, he barely noticed. He was numb from pain and longed to become even more so with drink. Through the grates of the cell, his men plied him with whisky, and all sat near to drink with him. It wasn’t until the next morning when he woke feeling like hell itself that he realized he was locked up.

His cell was clean and covered in fresh straw, but it was the dungeon.

What the bloody hell?

“Why am I in here?” he demanded of Lach, who sat against the wall outside his cell. He looked as if he’d been there all night.

“I couldn’t be sure all the warriors in the clan would be able to stop you if you decided to go after her. I don’t want anyone hurt, least of all you.” Lach stood and let out a sigh. “And I don’t know that any of us truly wants to stop you. For everyone’s safety, you will remain in there until we hear that it’s been done.”

Been done.

With horror, he realized Lach meant that his wife had been hanged and was dead.

“What would you do if it were Kenna?” Cam asked, tears of anguish blurring his vision.

“I’d hope you would be the one sitting out here making sure I dinna do something that would endanger the whole clan.”

“I wouldn’t,” Cam declared gruffly. “I’d be on the horse next to yours as we rode like the devil himself to go get her back.” That thought brought on a different question. “Does Kenna know what you’ve done?”

Lach frowned. “Why do you think I spent the night down here with you instead of in my bed with her? She’s spitting mad. I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive me.”

It was small consolation. “I know I never will,” Cam spat out. “In my heart, it’s the same as if you’d tied the rope around her neck yourself.”

Lach’s eyes, already bleak in the low light, shimmered. “Mayhap if you read her letter—”

“I’m not reading the damned letter. If she wanted to say something to me, she should have bloody well been here to tell me herself. Not snuck off as soon as I turned my back.” Cam’s chest was on fire. The slash he’d suffered in battle and the broken ribs had been nothing compared to this pain. He couldn’t breathe.

Lach had already dropped the parchment through the grate. It lay on the stone floor at Cam’s feet.

“I’ll hate you forever for this, Lachlan MacKinlay.” Cam’s voice was calm as he stared at the man he’d once loved like a brother. He would have to move to another clan, for he’d never respect his laird again.

Lachlan let out a breath and nodded. His head hung in despair. When he finally turned to leave, Cam saw unshed tears in the man’s eyes, but he didn’t feel the slightest spark of sympathy.

Despite the fire blazing in the hearth across from his cell, he began to shiver uncontrollably. Picking up the two heavy blankets he’d been given, he wrapped them around himself, but still he shook.

They brought food, but he didn’t eat. They brought whisky as well, but he was past his desire for oblivion. He paced his cell, thinking and planning.

Surely there must be a way to get out of here. When he’d shaken every bar and tested every stone twice, he gave up and slumped onto his pallet. Other than the maid who brought his food, he hadn’t seen anyone. No doubt they were giving him time to be alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

When the main door opened and he heard the soft footsteps of a woman, he assumed they had sent him more food. Was it already time for supper again? He’d lost track of time.

“Cam?” a familiar voice called.

Kenna.

He came close to the bars, and she reached out to take his hand. When tears filled her eyes, he gave in to his own grief once again. He hadn’t cried since he was eleven and his dear mother died. But today he couldn’t seem to stop.

“I have a plan,” Kenna whispered, brushing her tears away.

For a moment, her words made no sense. Then they sparked, and hope began to stir. A plan? That meant doing something to get Mari back.

Kenna held up the key to his cell and glanced toward the main door.

“Come. We must hurry.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

The stench of London woke Mari, and like many other times on their long voyage from Scotland, she was forced to pound on the roof so the driver would stop. She barely exited the carriage before being ill.