Chapter Twenty-Two

"One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish."

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

"I won't be the cause of a civil war," Sara said aloud as she paced in her locked tower room. With her window open, she'd heard the sound of riders heading out to search for the flag and knew Rory had been with them. Across from her, Eleri waved from her own tower window, and Sara waved back, trying to look cheerful. Jamie had ordered Sara locked away alone.

Rap. Rap. Rap . Sara spun toward the door as the lock turned and it swung open.

"Lady Seraphine Macdonald," Brodrick said, "ye will accompany me."

"Where?" she asked, but he came forward.

Outside the door, Reid hopped nervously from foot to foot. "Oh, Lady Sara." He worked his clasped hands before him. "Chief Jamie has ordered ye to the pit."

She stared, her stomach dropping inside her. "Rory—"

"Isn't here," Jamie called from what sounded like the bottom of the steps.

Brodrick's cheeks had turned red. "Please don't make me carry ye."

Sara spoke through gritted teeth. "He will punish you when he returns."

Brodrick swallowed hard, looking away. Dark circles surrounded his eyes from the break to his nose.

She had no weapon but what God gave her, and teeth and fingernails wouldn't do too much to this warrior. She grabbed her heavy cloak, throwing it around her shoulders, and followed Brodrick out of the room with her chin held high.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jamie studied her. "Ye can choose the pit or…my bedchamber."

Reid gasped softly, and Brodrick stared at his chief as if he hadn't thought Jamie would truly resort to rape. But the gleam in the chief's eye told Sara quite plainly that he would take anything his younger brother had claimed, including her.

"I choose the pit," she said firmly, holding his stare with blatant disgust.

He frowned, and for a moment she worried that he'd force her to his bed anyway. But then he waved a hand at Brodrick. "Throw her into the pit then." Jamie walked away, his boots cracking against the floorboards. "Ye might change yer mind when the tide comes in."

"Rory will know he can't trust his brother."

"He already does," Jamie answered without looking back.

Reid trailed her as she followed Brodrick, sniffing every few seconds like he had an ague. They entered the bowels of Dunvegan where a dampness hung in the cold air. The smell of old fruit and vegetables emanated from several root cellars.

When they reached a square cut into the rock floor, Brodrick threw his torch into a sconce bolted to the wall. "There's a ladder," he said, and Sara looked down at a rope ladder attached at the top by two iron hooks. "Climb down."

"So, throwing one in is against your conscience, Brodrick," she said, "but making a woman choose to be raped or climb down into an icy wet hole underground isn't?"

Brodrick didn't answer.

"Oh, Lady Sara," Reid said.

She looked at the nervous man. "Let Mistress Margaret know about this." He nodded and hurried off.

With a resigned sigh, Sara hitched her petticoats up to find secure footing. At least she was wearing her boots and not slippers, although they hadn't dried since last night's ride in the storm. Her feet were damp and cold already. Brodrick didn't hurry her but waited quietly as she stepped down each rope rung. "It won't fall off the hooks, will it?" she asked him when her face was even with the edge.

"Nay, milady, 'tis secure."

"Secure but treacherous," she murmured as the floor disappeared, and she continued down into darkness. She hesitated at the bottom, not wanting to step off into the inches of water.

"I need to pull the rope up," Brodrick said.

"God's teeth," she swore and finally stepped into the icy water. It soaked quickly through the leather of her boots. "'Tis better than a slimy devil's bed," she said and stared up at the square-cut hole eight feet above her head.

"When Rory finds out about this, it will be civil war," she called up as the rope was hoisted out of her reach. "The blood of your clan will be on Jamie's and your hands, Brodrick."

"There's quite a bit of blood on Macdonald hands, too." Brodrick walked away from the open hole.

Thank God he hadn't covered the top. She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling the cloak tighter. The dank moisture on the stone walls made Sara feel damp despite the dry warmth of the woolen garment. She lifted one foot from the water at a time, but the cold permeated up through both her legs. Even though the hole above was a four-foot square, the prison below opened into a rectangle so that a prisoner could lie down flat about eight feet across. Not that she would lie down in the water.

"Sweet Mother Mary." She leaned back against one wall.

Long minutes passed when, somewhere above, a door opened. Slow footfalls came down the chiseled stairs leading to the corridor above her. She watched the open square, listening as whispers grew closer.

"Don't fall in. Ye'll squash the lass."

"I'm not going to fall in. Ye're the one with one eye who can't see how far away something is. Stay against the wall or crawl across the floor."

A face appeared over the square-cut hole. 'Twas John Sutherland. And then Simon Sutherland's face joined his. "Bloody hell, she is down there," Simon said, holding a lantern over his head. "Are ye well, lass?"

The bright light made her squint like the one-eyed man. "Well enough."

"See," John said, "she's sturdy."

"Are yer feet wet?" Simon called down, trying to keep his voice both soft and loud enough to carry.

"Yes."

"Sorry for that," Simon said. "But we brought ye food and drink."

"Because that cold water will suck the life right out of ye," John said.

Simon hit John's shoulder. "Don't worry her about that. Hold on to me while I lower this down."

A pulley was already rigged with a rope above the pit, and they lowered a basket slowly down into the hole. Sara caught the edge with stiff fingers, pulling it into her arms. She opened the bladder first and took a long drink of the sweet, weak ale. Wiping her mouth, she looked up. "Thank you."

"No good reason to put a lady down there," John said.

The sound of the door opening above made their faces snap to the left in unison. "Bloody hell," one of them said, and their faces disappeared.

"Lady Eleri?" John said and lowered his voice. "What are ye doing here?"

"'Tis no place for a lady," Simon added.

Eleri's face appeared over the square hole. "Which is exactly why I'm here."

"I'm holding onto yer ankle, lass," one man said. "Don't fall in."

Eleri's young face was pale as she squinted, trying to see down in the hole. "Sara?"

"I'm here. Simon and John brought me some food and drink."

Eleri glanced over her shoulder. "Thank you both." And then she looked back. "I have a blanket and well…"

"Ye brought her a stool?"

Eleri looked down. "In case the water gets higher with the tide. The stool is to stand on."

"Clever lass," Simon said, holding the lantern over the hole. "We'll lower that first so ye can get it under ye, Lady Sara."

"At least ye won't be standing in the water anymore," John said.

The three of them worked to lower first the stool and then the blanket that Sara wrapped around her and over her head. With the stool, she could even crouch down without getting wet. "Will the tide come up much higher?" she asked, seeing the reflection of Eleri's lantern in the water under her.

"I'm not sure," Eleri said. Sara could see her shaking her head. "But I won't let you drown."

Certainly, the water wouldn't come that high, would it? Sara traced a finger down the water stains on the stone that came up to her shoulder.

The door above opened again. All three heads disappeared, and she could hear muted footsteps as they ran down the corridor, perhaps to hide in one of the storage rooms. Without the lantern, the only light above was that of Brodrick's torch in the sconce, which barely reached Sara. She hid the basket of provisions under her cloak.

A light broke the shadows above, and Margaret's face appeared over the hole. "Milady? Are you well?"

Before Sara could answer, Margaret jerked upward as the other three trotted out of hiding.

"What are you all doing here?" she asked. "Lady Eleri, this isn't a safe place for a lady."

"Lady Sara is stuck down there," Eleri said.

"What did you bring for the lass?" Simon asked. Sara could see him in the light of a second lantern.

"I…I thought a tart from the kitchen would be cheery," Margaret said.

"A single tart?" John said. "She'd starve on one measly tart."

"And a warm brew to fight the chill." She reached up to attach a smaller basket to the winch.

"A single tart," Simon grumbled. "We gave her a piece of venison pie, bread, and butter. And drink."

"She's only been down there for an hour," Margaret said.

Sara couldn't help the smile that played along her lips, and she rubbed the muscles of her neck that ached from looking upward. "Thank you all," she called up as she caught the basket, unhooking it, "but I don't want you to get into trouble."

"Pish," Margaret said. "Jamie's gone to bed, and Brodrick knows better than to cause trouble with me." The woman carried a fierce rod of authority when it came to protecting those she felt were slighted.

"Is the ladder still up there?" Sara asked. If the water continued to rise, she would need more than a stool to stay dry.

Four heads swiveled left and right and then looked down together, shaking. It would have been comical if things weren't so dire.

"No ladder," Margaret said. "Brodrick must have taken it after lowering you. I can find it, though, take it from him if I must."

Simon snorted and leaned his head down a bit into the hole. "The woman knows the right amount of poison to put in one's supper to send him to the privy for the night."

Margaret smacked his arm. "I don't poison people, ye old goat."

Even though Sara was standing on a stool in icy water down in a stone hole, her neck aching from staring up, these four people warmed her. "You all can go now. I'll eat and drink and lean against the wall in this warm blanket and keep my feet dry on this stool. I will be well enough for the night, and then Rory will return."

"Is there nothing else we can do?" Eleri asked.

Sara peered up at her. "Please write a letter to my brother, Kenan, explaining this mess and asking him to help locate the flag."

Margaret nodded. "Aye, we will do that." She leaned away and stood, helping to pull Eleri up.

Eleri's hand fluttered in farewell. "We will be back with more food and drink later."

"We sent her down plenty," John grumbled.

Simon's face appeared again. "And if ye need to use the privy, release it in the water."

"Good Lord," Margaret said.

"Dear Mother Mary," Sara said, ignoring the mead that was winding its way down to her bladder.

With several grunts and groans, the two elderly men helped themselves up and followed the ladies out of the underground corridor. Sara listened to their footsteps fade as they returned above to the land of light, springtime warmth, and freedom. Carefully, she lowered her backside onto the provided stool, and hooked her boot heels to the thin rung under it. Wrapped in the thicker blanket, she leaned against the wall.

She sighed. Where was the damn flag? She hadn't taken it, but it made sense it had been stolen by a MacLeod enemy, the most obvious being a Macdonald. Did her father have Macdonald spies within Dunvegan? Wouldn't he or she have made themselves known to her? Perhaps not, fearing she'd be loyal to her husband or, when the marriage was instantly annulled and she was captured, that she would give information over when tortured or thrown into a damned icy pit.

Sara pulled the blanket tighter around her face to keep more heat from escaping. Resting her chin on her hands propped on her knees, she closed her eyes. Nestled there, she let her mind wander back to before dawn, to when Rory held her against his hard body and hot naked skin.

With her head bent, she inhaled, remembering the feel of him. He'd been all over her and within her, and they'd truly been one. She shivered as she recalled his lips skimming along her, teasing and kissing her. Even if she had everything else taken away, she'd always have the memory of their time in his tower together. He'd thought her beautiful. She drifted to sleep wrapped up in her blanket and the sweet memory.

Her mind was adrift in darkness when she startled. Blinking, she couldn't focus on what she was seeing. Where am I? She didn't move, her arms locked around her legs despite the protest in her lower back from being hunched. The distant glow of torchlight filtered down from above, and Sara realized she was surrounded by dark stone.

The pit.

She straightened on the narrow stool, arching her back. Footsteps faded along the corridor. "Is someone there?" she called, her face tipping up to see the square-cut hole. Her inhale stopped when her gaze slid down the stone, her eyes settling on the wall across from her.

The ladder.

Someone had thrown the rope ladder down into her prison.