“Nay!” Cam roared and took a step toward the stables. He’d get a fresh horse and leave this instant. He’d get Mari back and they’d run. Somewhere far away. He wasn’t sure where yet. They’d figure it out when he had her in his arms once again.
He got to the stables and found his way blocked by Bryce, Liam, and four of his other men.
“Stand down,” he ordered, but they didn’t move.
In fact, they stepped out toward him, creating a half circle. He spun to see Lachlan close in with three other warriors.
Cam pulled his sword. “I don’t want it to come to this. But I’ll strike you down if you don’t get out of my way so I can go claim my wife and bring her home.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He knew he’d not be able to return to Dunardry. He wouldn’t bring the English down on his clan.
“Cam, take the letter. I’m sure she explained her decision—”
“No!” He pulled his dirk so both hands held weapons. He was one man facing down ten warriors. Most of them trained by him. All his brothers, his kin. “Please,” he begged, knowing he’d not win against them all. Not at the same time. “Help me get her back. I beg you.”
Lach swallowed and shook his head. “I canna. She didn’t want it. She chose to go in peace rather than risk harm to those she loves. You would have done the same. You know in your heart it was the bravest thing to do. The only thing possible.”
Cam let out a sob and fell to his knees, his weapons scattered in the mud.
The men gathered around him, placing hands on his shoulders and head, some whispering prayers, some wordlessly telling him they hurt for him. The icy rain on his neck added to the chill in his bones as he wailed, his cries echoing off the stone walls of the courtyard.
When the pain had exhausted him, the men helped him to his feet and led him off. He didn’t bother to look where he was going. He knew wherever it was, there would be whisky.
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.
She’d not been one for travel sickness before, but her nerves were a jumble and had made her nauseous. Who could blame her? She was facing certain death.
Wiping her mouth, she took in the pale-pink sky of early morning. Would this be the last day of her life? Would they even bother with a trial?