Chapter Eight

"Caboc is a rich double cream cheese… The recipe for Caboc dates back to the 15th century in the Scottish Highlands. Mariota de Ile, the daughter of the chieftain MacDonald of the Isles, developed the recipe of Caboc and passed it to her daughter, who in due course handed it over to the future generations."

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Rory fought to keep his gaze on the men moving about the great hall instead of letting it slip to Sara Macdonald. He wanted to clasp her head in his two hands and stare into those glittering blue eyes until he extracted all her secrets.

Had she not known about her father's scheme? Or was she playing the innocent to wheedle her way into their midst? Her dislike of his brother seemed genuine enough, but she'd wed him anyway. Could her father have forced her?

Don't let foolish sentiment hide the facts.

His father's advice was sound even if he'd been a devil.

Margaret said Sara was the one to knock under the church, giving them the idea to smash through the floorboards. Sara led Margaret out, leading the way for the rest of them to follow. Then she'd been abandoned by her clan. Why? Did Walter Macdonald want her to finish his work inside Dunvegan? Killing Jamie and discovering the entrances in the castle so her Macdonald Clan could infiltrate?

Sara had looked at Rory, not Jamie, after the ceremony when her father loudly commanded her up the aisle. She'd whispered to him that something wasn't right, snatching Gus from him.

With Sara following Reid, Rory allowed his gaze to settle on her straight back where pins stuck out of her loose hair. Even muddy, rolled in ferns, and missing her shoes, she walked with grace and dignity through the archway toward the kitchens. She hadn't begged him to leave her in the woods. She'd demanded it and then fought with courage. Sara Macdonald wasn't a meek maid following her father's orders to wed. She was brave and clever.

She could be another Macdonald spy. Rory was surprised Jamie had accepted Walter Macdonald's suggestion of a marriage alliance. Maybe he'd planned to feed his new wife false information.

"There," said Hamish, cutting the string he'd used to stitch up Rory's arm. "Keep it clean. Margaret will likely have a poultice for it."

"Thank ye," Rory said, standing.

"Yer orders?"

Rory turned toward his red-haired, freckled friend, Jok Duffie. Jok had taken over training and command of the MacLeod armies when Rory was imprisoned in England. He'd seemed truly happy when Rory had returned, even though Jamie had said Jok wanted to keep control. More brotherly lies. Rory didn't believe anything that came off his brother's tongue. Even the truth could be twisted.

"Place a watch on the village, all night and day. Make sure no Macdonald enters." Rory rubbed the back of his neck. "Send a messenger to Kenan Macdonald, telling him what has occurred. I'll meet him at his aunt's, the crow house, in three days' time."

Rory wasn't going to order a slaughtering raid on the day that peace was supposed to be declared. He needed to know what Walter Macdonald intended.

Rory glanced at the archway. And, at present, there was only one person, even if she wouldn't admit it, who might know the plans of the Macdonalds of Sleat.

…

Sara held her damp hair in a towel over one shoulder as she entered the square tower room cautiously. There was a single bed against the wall across from a small hearth. She glanced up at the heavy wooden beams of the ceiling.

Reid set the basket of food and flask of ale on a table that looked like it might buckle under its weight and lit the candle from his lantern. "There are sconces on the walls that ye can light from this," he said.

"Thank you," Sara said, but two windows set in opposite plastered stone walls let in plenty of daylight. A rug of dull blue and yellow roses lay across the floor, matching the blue of the quilt on the bed. A dry towel and rags along with a hair comb and tooth powder had been left by a water pitcher and close stool. Several small paintings of landscapes and the sea hung about, making the room rather cozy, but she knew it was a prison.

She swallowed hard, knowing Rory could've easily ordered her to the dungeon below. Instead, he'd let her wash away the smoke and dirt, and had Reid lead her to a comfortable room.

"I'll return to light a fire in the grate when night falls," Reid said. With one last glance and hesitant smile, the man left.

Sara waited, her eyes closing as she heard the key turn in the heavy iron lock. She was definitely a prisoner. At least until Jamie woke and decided if he'd release her. She wrapped her arms around herself and sat on the bed. Would Jamie retaliate against her? Was he the type to batter women in a rage?

She'd heard whisperings about Jamie's dark ways between the maids back at Dunscaith when her betrothal had been set. But she'd prayed that the rumors were false. Jamie's mistress, however, must be true from what Sara had witnessed of the wailing woman in yellow. At least she didn't look battered.

"But right now, I'm clean and warm," she said. Her brother, Kenan, had told Sara that Rory would help her if she were mistreated by Jamie. The two men had been imprisoned together in Carlisle Castle after they'd been traded for prisoners taken at Solway Moss. Rory is honorable . Sara held tightly to Kenan's assurance. Would she lose that help if Rory thought she had colluded with her father?

Sara stood, straightening the woolen skirts of a rose-hued costume that Margaret had found for her to wear. She walked to the basket of food in her matching slippers. The honey ale, probably the same that was to be served at the ruined wedding feast, was cold and refreshing. She drank and pulled out the wrapped cheese.

Caboc cheese rolled in oats was a light-tasting soft cheese that she'd helped make at Dunscaith whenever she hid from her father down in the kitchens. Sara's mother used to say the cheese was first created by her great-great-grandmother.

Sara spread some onto a piece of dark bread and took a bite of the familiar meal. She chewed while she inspected the painting above the table. It was a scene of Dunvegan Loch as if seen from the tower. The paints had been mixed expertly, depicting the hues of a summer day.

Another painting, featuring a field and forest she recognized from the other side of Dunvegan, was crooked, and she adjusted it on the wall. Vibrant greens and sky blue were broken up by a purple haze of flowers on a field, and the little chapel was a gray structure in the distance. She wandered about the room, noticing that each painting was from the vantage point of being up high as if in a tower. But not this tower because she couldn't see the chapel from either of her two windows.

She combed her long hair and spent the next hour nibbling on the mild cheese, thick bread, and a sweet, crisp apple while moving from window to landscape painting to window. The windows weren't locked since there was no fear of her trying to escape down a four-story tower, and she pushed one open. The breeze off the sea blew in, ruffling the curls that had dried around her face. From the window, she saw another tower on the east side of the castle.

Sara blinked as she stared across at the open window in the far tower. "Eliza?" A girl looked out toward the sea, a girl so familiar that a sob caught in Sara's chest. Long brown hair was captured in a thick braid, leaving wisps about her oval face with its pert little nose and rosy cheeks. She was only twelve and still held that childlike softness.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Sara yelled across the space to her sister. "Eliza! Eliza Macdonald!"

The girl's face snapped to her, eyes wide, lips parted. Good Lord! It was Eliza. Sara leaned as far out of the window as she dared and waved her arm, horror surely on her face at the thought of her sweet young sister being imprisoned in a Dunvegan tower. "Eliza!" Sara had left her safely in their room back at Dunscaith a week ago.

But instead of calling back, the girl pulled the glass window shut. "Eliza?" Sara said, her hands dropping back to the rough window ledge. Why was she imprisoned at Dunvegan? And why had she shut Sara out?

…

Sara's gaze moved between Reid and the unlocked tower room door. He was crouched before the small hearth, lighting the night fire. The temperatures still plummeted when the sun began to set as if winter threatened to invade despite the beginning of summer. She'd wrapped the quilt from her bed around herself as she sat by the open window. The window in the opposite tower had remained shut, but Sara had watched it the rest of the day.

She looked at Reid where he crouched by the hearth. "Why is Eliza Macdonald locked in the tower across from me?" Sara asked, her voice stark and forceful in the silence.

Reid jerked, knocking his arm into the ash bucket with a thunk . He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Yer sister?" His brows furrowed deeply. "I know of no other Macdonald at Dunvegan."

"Who then is in the opposite tower from me?" she asked, standing.

Reid stood, too, walking toward the door as if in full retreat. "I…I don't know."

"I saw my sister there and demand to know why she's being held." She clasped her hands before her. "I would give her comfort. We can be housed together and thus—"

"I'll tell Sir Rory about yer questions. Please take yer meal," he said, indicating the new basket he'd brought. "Fiona's tarts are most sought after." Reid, breathless and wide-eyed, yanked the door open and ran out. She could imagine him exhaling with relief on the dark landing before running down the tower stairs.

Sara went to the hearth, turned to warm her back, and stared at the door. Reid hadn't locked her in unless she'd missed the deep click of the turning key. Had he been too flustered by her questions?

She walked to the door, her hand wrapping around the curved iron handle next to the keyhole. Pressing lightly, the door opened outward into an inky darkness cut only by the soft glow of a lantern that showed the descending stairs. Poor Reid would lose his position, and if he worked for her father, possibly his life for his incompetence. Unless she remained in the room and chided him in the morning.

She closed the door and leaned on it, her head tipped back. "I'll just visit Eliza in the tower room," she said to the empty room. They'd plan an escape, and then she'd sneak back to her own tower without anyone knowing. There was no chance she could escape the castle over the wall or by ferry without being apprehended. And right now, she had nowhere safe to go. Aunt Morag wouldn't be able to hold Rory's forces off.

Sara's stomach growled, reminding her of the food set on the small table. Fiona's tart called to her. Sara loved confections, and it was too early to roam the castle corridors. She ate, kept the fire going, and monitored the moon moving across the sky. The dim candlelight in the opposite tower window was snuffed out, and Sara stared at the window's shadowed rectangle for a long moment. Why hadn't Eliza responded to her wave? Had she imagined her?

She shook her head, turning from the window. "Oh, Eliza." Sara had taken care of her like a daughter since their mother died years ago when Eliza was only five. Sara struggled with leaving her at Dunscaith, and she sure as hell wouldn't leave her locked up in Dunvegan alone and frightened.

Sara lit the small glass lantern from beside the hearth with a taper. The door handle made no protest as she depressed it, and she peeked out into the faintly lit landing. She stepped to the top of the turning staircase that reminded her of the inside of a snail shell, wrapping around itself so she couldn't see if anyone waited around the corner. Her heart pounded hard.

She'd taken off her under petticoat in hopes she'd move easier and quieter, and she picked up the light wool skirt to step down the stairs. Around and around, she descended, carefully minding her step so she wouldn't fall. There was no rail on which to hold, so she ran her free hand along the rough plaster of the stone walls. Here, too, there were several landscape paintings in oils. She'd paid no attention to them on her way up earlier that day.

Reaching the bottom, a long corridor stretched out to the left that should lead her to the other tower. To the right was another staircase that would take her down to the third floor where the family bedchambers probably sat.

Was Rory asleep down there? She could imagine him lying on his back, naked and splayed across a large bed, his muscles beautifully sculpted in repose.

The lantern splashed yellow light before her as she turned left away from him and her lustful thoughts. A prickle of unease rose up her spine, and she paused. No footfalls. She swung her lantern around, raising it high, but there wasn't anyone in the center of the corridor. Several doorways sat recessed, but she didn't take the time to backtrack. Turning forward, she hurried on, making sure not to thump her heels, alerting someone below of her expedition. Up ahead was another set of circular stairs, running both up and down. She hesitated, glancing down the dark staircase.

"Ye won't find an escape there."

Sara's free hand thumped against her chest as if to keep her heart from leaping free. She spun toward the darkness behind her. Chill bumps covered her whole body, but she kept her voice even. "I'm not looking for an escape."

Rory MacLeod walked out of the shadows from down the hall. Her lantern cast him in a golden glow, which made the scar peeking out along his hairline stand out in white contrast. Today's treachery had added another one to his arm, and his one eye was still swollen and had blackened. His frown was fierce, and he crossed his arms over his chest, his feet braced. Even though he looked ready for battle, Sara didn't feel the need to retreat.

"Ye taking a wander around the castle then?"

Sara thought of her sweet sister's face in the window, and ire licked up inside her like fire climbing a brittle wall. She took three steps forward to stand before Rory's menacing stare. He was as tall as her older brother and broad through the shoulders. When Kenan had returned from England, he'd seemed thin. If Rory had grown thin in prison, he must've eaten gustily when he'd returned to Skye to fill back out to the mountain before her.

The man seemed to be some type of magnet pulling Sara, and she took a step closer. "I'm finding my sister, you…brute." She gestured toward the other tower stairs. "Locking her up here at Dunvegan." Her voice had risen, and she lowered it. "I don't know how or why you have Eliza, but she needs to be with me, not locked up alone and threatened. She's only a child." The thought of her younger sister being terrified twisted like a snake moving under her skin, making her restless. It snapped the strange tether she'd felt toward the mountainous man.

Rory didn't even blink. He'd washed. His short beard was clean and combed and framed his frowning mouth. The darkness cocooned them in the corridor, making it feel as if they were the only two people in the whole castle. For long seconds, they stared at one another, neither of them moving. Sara found herself trying not to blink, either, as if their contest of wills could be won or lost over eye movement. Her heart hammered.

Unable to stand it any longer, Sara drew her empty hand up and flicked her fingers outward right before his eyes as if she would poke them. He blinked and caught her hand in his large, strong clasp.

"Ha," she said softly and let her mouth relax into a wry grin. "You aren't a granite statue after all. Even the mighty Lion of Skye blinks." She turned away to continue toward the other tower, but he kept her hand, preventing her. The touch sent a sizzle of awareness up her arm. A warmth infused her chest, rising into her cheeks.

He didn't squeeze her hand, making her bones bite together in pain like Gilbert did, but she couldn't pull away from the grasp, either. She tried to ignore the warmth of it, the strength in it, but she couldn't, not when the man was so close to her.

Turning back, her gaze slid up his chest to meet his stare. "Release me." Her words sounded loud in the silence.

His lips parted as if he wished to say something. They looked soft, kissable. She blinked, pushing the traitorous thought away. "I do not cower before brutes, nor do I put up with ruffians."

"Survival at Dunscaith must have been difficult then." He continued to hold her hand like a manacle. Had Kenan told him of their home life? How Sara had taken over the running of the household after her mother died but had to fight for every little freedom she could devise for herself and her sister?

"I must see my sister," she said, feeling her flush turn from ridiculous attraction to embarrassment.

His brows pinched, making a V above his nose. "Yer sister isn't here."

She poked his chest and was reminded of a granite wall. Had he even felt the small assault? What would he do if she rested her palm there? Her hand curled into a fist at the thought, dropping. "I saw her in the window." She pointed the same finger at the dark staircase.

"Ye think yer sister is imprisoned in our tower?" Even the dratted man's voice was a lush rumble. Fool! I'm his prisoner.

"What?" she asked, her mind momentarily blank.

"Yer sister is not here."

She frowned, her ire at her ridiculous thoughts making her words snap even more. "I don't believe you."

"That doesn't change the fact that ye are the only Macdonald at Dunvegan."

What game was Rory or the MacLeods playing?

Sara hadn't realized they were locked in another stare until Rory raised his hand and flicked his fingers out before her eyes. She blinked and slapped his hand away. "Stop that."

"Ye started the game," he said, shrugging. The small rise of his broad shoulders muted the look of fury in the stony facade he wore so easily.

"'Tis not a game." Sara whirled around, and this time he released her hand. The sudden disconnection made her feel adrift in the sea of darkness. But she brandished the lantern before her and charged forward, lighting the ascending steps as she climbed. His heavy footfalls followed behind. "Do you have the key?"

"Aye."

She climbed the narrow, chiseled steps, around and around. His silent presence behind her, as if he questioned her judgment, made her cheeks heat.

At the top, Sara stopped before the door, her breath coming fast. Rap. Rap. Rap.

Movement on the other side shot a knowing excitement through Sara, and she gave Rory a smug grin. She'd caught him in a lie. "I knew someone was in there."

"I never said the room was empty."