Anya blinked. No wonder Angus thought the man dull. He had no imagination whatsoever. “Do ye want to marry me or my sister? Think of your future, my lord. With whom do ye want to share a bed for the rest of your days?” Anya drew in a deep, calming breath. “I am nay destined to be your wife any more than ye are destined to be my husband, and the Earl of Ulster has been using us as his pawns for far too long. Are ye a man or a puppet?”
Finovola squeezed His Lordship’s hand. “Please.”
Anya stood. “I’ll meet ye in the courtyard near the sea gate when the tower bell rings for the change of guard.”
“But ye will be seen,” said Finovola.
“Nay. At the change, the soldiers convene at the gate house—for a few moments, they will not be in view of this window. I’ll wear a dark cloak with my hair hidden beneath the hood. No one will know ’tis me, let alone a woman.”
“’Tis a grave risk,” said Lord O’Doherty.
“One I’m willing to bear.” Pursing her lips, she eyed him. “The question is, are ye?”
The man stood and offered a curt bow. “I will make my excuses as ye asked, but if ye are not there upon the change of the guard, I will sail without ye.”
Atop a pallet of musty hay, Angus curled on his side. Every time he moved, hot pain seared his flesh as if he were being whipped anew.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
What the hell was the tapping? It rang out through the cavern of the dungeon cell and rattled in Angus’ head, making it throb.
Where was Anya?
The fair-haired lass in the hall had to be Finovola. He’d spotted O’Doherty as well, but what had become of his Irish rose? Had he risked all for naught?
By the saints, if Angus knew Anya O’Cahan, she would move heaven and hell to see him. Would she not? Or was she still angry?
They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but he knew in his heart if he were allowed to face her and pledge eternal love, she would realize he meant every word. Except her guardian had proven as trustworthy as a gnat. There were unspoken rules between the nobility. Tying a nobleman to a whipping post in a public courtyard and issuing twenty lashes was unforgiveable. Especially when Angus had clearly arrived under the protection of the laws of parley.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The high-pitched pounding was enough to drive a man to madness. Angus raised his chin ever so slightly and peered through the slits of eyes.
“The great Fairhair lives,” growled a black-bearded cur, sitting on the other side of iron bars with his filthy hands gripping the picture of Anya that had been in his sporran.
“That’s mine,” Angus said, dropping his head back to the musty hay.
The man grinned, displaying a row of brown teeth. “’Tis mine now.”
“I’ll be wanting it returned.”
“Ye’ll not need it where ye are heading.”
“And where is that?”
“Ye’ll die in the Tower, mark me. And Longshanks will send the pieces of your body throughout Scotland just like he did with William Wallace.”
Angus tried to swallow, but there was no moisture in his mouth. “Water.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. The arse relentlessly kicked the bars with an iron-tipped boot. “The lad will bring a ladle around…eventually.” The guard examined the drawing. “Who knew the pirate with the devil’s heart would lose it to an Irish lass?”
In a single move that made the flesh on his back sear with pain, Angus rolled to his knees and thrust his face through the iron bars. “Where is she?”
Jolting away, the man howled with an ugly laugh. “Ye may as well forget Anya O’Cahan. By the time ye arrive in London, she’ll be married.”
Dressed in her black sealskin cloak and wearing a kirtle of charcoal grey, Anya waited beside the window while her sister sat in the embrasure, then stood, then paced with her palms pressed to her temples. “This is never going to work.”
“Stop!” Setting aside her makeshift rope, Anya tugged up her black leather gloves, grasped Finovola by the shoulders, and gave her a firm shake. “I cannot listen to a naysayer at the moment. The only way I will be successful is if we play our parts. Heaven’s stars, all ye must do is mind guards and insist I refuse to allow anyone inside—for but two days. Can ye not do that for me?”
Finovola huffed. “Aye. I can.”
“There’s a good lass. And when this is all over, ye will be in the arms of the man ye love.”
“But what if Ulster discovers our ruse?”
“As long as ye allow no one in this chamber, he will not.” Anya took her sister’s hand and led her back to the window. “When the sun rises, Sunday will be upon us, then all ye must do is wait one more day. When ye wake on Tuesday morn, tell the countess I’ve gone missing and show her the rope. They’ll be none the wiser.”
“Ugh!” Finovola threw her arms about Anya’s shoulders. “I hope ye are right.”
“I am right.” Anya kissed her sister’s cheek. “Furthermore, Ulster will curse me to hell for disappearing again. He’ll not be able to deny your happiness, especially when Lord O’Doherty demands your hand in place of mine.”
“Oh, bless it. Why does everything have to be so difficult?”
“Heavens, I’m the one risking my neck. All ye must do is bide your time—embroider and act like the winsome, compliant lass Her Ladyship adores.”
The tower bell sounded, announcing the change of the guard. “I must go.” Anya already had one end of the rope secured to the iron tieback on the wall. She peered out the window and scanned the wall-walk to ensure the guards had all moved toward the main gate.
Taking one last moment, she clasped Finovola’s cheeks between her palms. “Never forget I love ye with all my heart. Ye are my blood and all these years, ye have been my confidant and my closest friend. I wish ye every happiness that ye deserve.”
“Don’t go,” she whispered, a tear dribbling down her cheek. “We shall work it out somehow.”
“I must make haste.” Anya threw her rope out the window, gathered her cloak tightly about her body and climbed out. “As soon as ye see slack, pull it in as fast as ye can.”
“But it isn’t long enough.”
Anya clutched the rope tightly. “It will get me close to the ground and allow me to jump without injury.”
Without another word, she started on her way. But her gloves didn’t grip well at all. Slipping, she darted downward far faster than she’d intended. By the time she reached the end, there was no stopping. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed her urge to scream while she dropped to the cobblestones, her knees jarring as she landed.
“Oof,” she grunted while stars darted through her vision with the searing pain. With no time to spare, she drew in a deep breath. Above, the rope began to disappear, bless her sister’s heart. The pain ebbed as Anya hugged the wall and tiptoed through the shadows, making her way to the sea gate. About halfway, footsteps clattered from the wall-walk and she chanced an upward glance to her window. A flash of white caught her eye as did the veiled amber from the candlelight within. Finovola must have dropped the fur because all at once the light snuffed.