She nodded.
He didn’t blame her for hiding it from him. Anything could have happened, but having his son arrive sooner than later would only be a benefit, given his scheme. “When do you expect…ah…”
She gave him a knowing smile. “Three months give or take. Around St. Crispin’s day, I expect.”
A giddy flutter tickled his stomach. “Excellent. I shall send you to my Uncle’s stronghold in Duntulm. No one will recognize you there.”
She covered her mouth with her palm and stepped away. “You desire to be rid of me?”
“Not at all. I desire only for you to birth the bairn in secret.” He chuckled at his ingenuity. “Henceforth, I’ll allow no one to see Lady Helen. Once I receive word that you’ve birthed my son, I’ll send for you.”
“And what of your wife?”
He chuckled. “She’ll remain locked in the dungeon and receive her meals under the door. No one will know whether her belly is growing or not.” He eyed Mary. She was the only person to whom he could entrust his plan. “After I fetch you with my son, Helen will perish from birthing the bairn in her cell. I’ve the whole thing planned.”
A delightfully wicked grin spread across Mary’s face.
Helen had lost track of how long she’d been incarcerated in the dank dungeon. When the sentry came with her meals, a ray of torchlight would flicker from beneath the door, but otherwise she’d been in darkness with no idea whether it was day or night.
If only they would allow her some light, she might be able to read or embroider to allay the endless boredom. But no, the most malevolent guard in all of Mingary was her jailer.
Aleck had assigned Robert to her care. And Helen had no doubt her husband contrived to put her under a guard who had no sympathy for human life. When he wasn’t acting as a guard, Robert spent his days in the great hall sitting alone, sharpening his weapons. Helen had once caught him in the courtyard, pulling the claws from a kitten. He’d put the poor thing in a burlap sack, holding one paw through the opening. Helen wouldn’t have known he had the kitten until it yowled in pain as Robert tortured it with a pair of iron tongs. She’d given him a firm lashing with her tongue and snatched the poor, trembling kitten from his grasp.
Of course, Aleck had found the whole incident amusing and Robert never did receive a reprimand. After that, the sadistic guard would sit in the hall and glare at her whilst sharpening his dirk. She could have sworn, the whetstone would screech louder when she passed through the hall. It always made her skin prickle.
For the past several days, she crouched in the corner, rubbing her outer arms. The cell was always cold. On the far wall, a stream of water trickled tirelessly. With no privy closet, she’d used that side to relieve herself. Helen hated how miserably disgusting her life had become. Living in the dark, she’d lost all sense of time. She could have been imprisoned for a sennight or a month. Time simply blurred. With her mouth riddled with sores, her hair matted, she had been reduced to a subhuman troll living in purgatory.
Aside from the lack of a chamber pot, she had no ewer and bowl for bathing. She had no comb, no cloak and no blanket. She slept on a musty bit of straw, which she imagined had been there for years. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about who else may have used it or what they might have used it for.
How could Aleck do this to me?
Helen’s anger had transformed into a numbness that consumed her. She’d never thought she could hate anyone, but now she realized exactly how much she hated Aleck MacIain, and it tore at the inside of her gullet like the iron tines of a rake claw into the earth. The only thing that kept her remotely sane was her driving need to protect Maggie.
Would Sir Eoin help her?
Did he know she was there? Surely he had returned by now. Did Aleck discover she’d sent the missive to John? Had Aleck killed Eoin?
My God, the possibilities are horrendous. Will no one come to my aid? Bile burned her throat. Why on earth did I scribe that missive to John?
The door above creaked as it always did when Robert descended the narrow steps to the dungeon with a bit of food. Prisoner’s fare she’d grown to expect. A bit of bread. A half a cup of ale—broth if she was lucky.
Heavy footsteps slapped the stone steps and stopped outside her door.
Helen crawled to the gap and held her hand to the light now shining through the three-inch space.
“Are you there, m’lady?”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Mr. Keith?”
“Aye. I’ve a trencher for you.”
He slid the wooden platter under the door. Helen nearly swooned at the heady smell of roast lamb and onions. With a trembling hand, she grabbed a piece of meat and shoved it into her mouth. The sores hurt like someone pierced her gums with knives, but she salivated at the stimulating juices and her eyes rolled back.
“Mm.”
When she swallowed, she realized Mr. Keith hadn’t yet ascended the stairs. The light still shone from beneath the door. “Thank you for bringing me something other than bread.”
“I cannot bear to see you in here, m’lady. ’Twas the least I could do.”
“Where is Robert?”
“He sailed with Sir Aleck. The chieftain received a summons from the king.”
“Whom did Sir Aleck leave behind to tend the keep?”
“Just the grey-haired warriors. Much the same as usual.”
She reached her hand under the door as if she could touch the light. “Have you seen Sir Eoin?”
“Not in some time. Come to think on it, not since you…”
Not since before Aleck threw me into the dungeon. Dear Lord in heaven, what on earth happened to him? “How is Miss Maggie? Have you seen her?”
“I believe she’s well. Miss Sarah has orders to keep the bairn above stairs.”
“Could you…” She had to ask. After all, Mr. Keith was loyal to her—at least a little. “Could you please bring her to see me?”
“Oh no, m’lady. I shouldn’t even be speaking with you. We’ve all strict orders to stay away. I took a risk bringing you a good meal—if it weren’t for Peter’s insistence, you would have ended up with your ration of bread and ale.”
Helen wasn’t about to stop. Deploringly, she pushed her hand under the door as far as it would go. “Please. I’ve not seen a soul in God knows how long. I need to hold my bairn in my arms. You cannot know how devastating it is to be locked in blackness for days on end.”
“I-I’m ever so sorry, m’lady, but Sir Aleck threatened to hang anyone who dared help you.”
“I’m not asking for help. I’m merely asking to see my bairn. Please. Talk to Glenda. She’ll ken how to spirit Maggie here with no one the wiser.”
“You do not ken what you ask. These walls have eyes.” His feet shuffled. “I’d best be getting back to the patrol, m’lady.”
“Mr. Keith,” Helen raised her voice, her pulse racing. “Please. Fetch Glenda. You can bring Maggie—”
Footsteps clapped. The light faded.
“I need to see my daughter!”
The door above boomed, snuffing the light.
“I must see her!” Helen screamed at the top of her lungs. Over and over she shrieked and pounded her fists on the door. “Please, please, please, pleeeeaaaasssse. I will die if I cannot see her.”