Twenty-One
Lachlan crouched hidden in the trees alongside Graham and the rest of his men, and stared into the dark at Arthorn Castle. He was not tired, though he had pushed himself and his men relentlessly to get here as quickly as possible. It had taken an entire day for Graham to pick up the trail that Colin and Atholl had taken, driving Lachlan nearly half-mad with impatience and worry. Once they started following the trail, terrible weather had ensued, making their progress painfully slow. But when they had neared Arthorn Castle, a home that had once belonged to his uncle but had been abandoned when Jamie was forced to leave Scotland, Lachlan knew his uncle was here. And so was Bridgette. He could sense her. He could not explain it, but his heart took on a different beat, as if keeping pace with hers.
He stared up the hill through the woods that surrounded the castle and conjured an image of Bridgette. Was she unharmed? If not, what had been done to her? Had she been forced to marry Colin by threat to Marion’s life? His insides twisted just thinking about it. The questions fired into his mind like a deluge of released arrows.
“We go as soon as the light is completely gone,” he whispered to Graham.
“Aye,” Graham agreed. “Up the hill, past the waterfall, and through the secret escape tunnel?”
“Aye,” Lachlan murmured, hoping his uncle had not closed the secret passages their father had told them about long ago. He had been explaining the tunnel created at Arthorn because he was having something similar constructed at Dunvegan. At Arthorn there were two secret tunnels. One led straight to the laird’s keep, the other to the watchtower. It was the watchtower that overlooked the loch and sat separate from the castle that he wanted to reach. His plan was to scale the rock that met the shore of the loch to reach the tower. It would be dangerous, as slipping from the rock could mean falling to their death in the loch.
“Shut yer eyes,” Graham said. “Ye have barely slept since we left. I will keep watch.”
Lachlan was about to argue, but weariness pressed heavily upon him, and he knew a short respite would give him renewed strength. He set his dagger across his legs and his sword by his side. With both hands curled around his weapons, he closed his eyes and dreamed of Bridgette. At first the dreams were sweet memories of holding her, caressing her, simply walking by her side, but the dream quickly turned to terror. Her terror, and he was but a bystander unable to help her. Her in a dungeon, screaming in agony, and he locked on the outside pounding against the door that held her within.
He awoke with a jerk to the sounds of the forest alive around him and his brother staring at him with unguarded eyes. Lachlan saw the pain there, and it was like it was his own. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I would give my life for ye. The last thing I ever meant to do was hurt ye.”
Graham flinched, and Lachlan expected him to retort in anger, but the tension in Graham’s face suddenly softened, and with a weary sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face and his eyes, and when he looked up, he inhaled a long shuddering breath and then spoke again. “I was there in the woods the day ye kissed Bridgette.”
Lachlan frowned. “When?” He’d kissed Bridgette in the woods several times.
Graham glared at the question. “At her home…before she killed the boar. Her screams brought me to her, and I saw ye.”
The shock of Graham’s admission robbed Lachlan of the ability to respond. For a moment, he simply stared at his brother. “Why did ye nae ever say anything?”
Graham gave Lachlan a long look that seemed full of regret. “I did,” Graham replied. “That night in the great hall I confessed to ye she had my heart because I kenned ye’d nae pursue her if I told ye. I wanted to take her from ye because I wanted to best ye at something.” Graham shook his head. “I’m sorry for that. I regret it. I do.”
Lachlan reached over and grasped Graham on the shoulder. “I forgive ye. I’m sorry for many a thing.”
Graham nodded. “I’m ashamed of myself. I had convinced myself ye did nae care for her, but I kinnae deny it any longer. The pain on yer face when ye learned she’d been taken…” He paused and swallowed hard. “I’ve nae ever seen ye look that way.”
Lachlan frowned. “What way was that?”
“Vulnerable. I made ye into a god as a boy and longed to be like ye, and then when I constantly fell short, I made ye into a devil, but ye’re just a man. And a good one, at that. I am sorry.”
Relief flowed through Lachlan. Their bond was not severed. “We are brothers, despite the wrongs heaped upon each other.” He said no more. It was enough in this moment to know his brother was not lost to him forever. Lachlan watched the sky and waited for the darkness, preparing for when he would take back Bridgette.
She awoke in a tiny hole lit only by a small sliver of moonlight that shone in from above. The dungeon was wet, cold, and miserable. They had not been here long. Between the weather, Colin’s head injury, and leading his horse, as well as the one Marion was on, their progress had been painfully slow, which gave her hope. If Lachlan had been able to discern where they had been taken, perchance he would reach her in time.
The drip of water joined the noise of worry in her head and the ache for food in her belly. She wondered where Marion had been taken since she had not been put in the dungeon with Bridgette. Would they harm Marion? Bridgette didn’t think they would kill her, because if they did, they had nothing to use to compel Bridgette to marry Colin. Suddenly, the hole above her flooded with light, and the bars above the hole squeaked as they were opened. A rope fell, dangling in front of her face before hitting her in the legs.
“Do ye wish to come out?” Colin asked in a cruel snarl. “Or do ye wish to stay down here and risk me becoming angry at Marion?”
Bridgette frantically reached for the rope and gripped it. “I’ve hold of the rope,” she snapped and gave it a hard tug.
“I was certain ye would be obliging,” Colin sang as the rope went taut and he pulled her up out of the pit. When she reached the top and attempted to stand, her legs gave way from being folded crosswise for such a long spell.
Colin chortled as he caught her and pressed her to him. He shoved back her hair and grimaced. “Ye look awful. This will nae do for yer wedding day.”
It was then she realized he had cleaned up and was dressed to be married. Her stomach roiled a protest and her heart ached for Lachlan.
“Ye ken I dunnae wish to marry ye,” she growled.
He slipped his arm under her legs and offered her a cynical smile. “I ken it, but I also ken that ye will do so to keep Marion alive.” Looking ahead, he strode with her through the courtyard, up the stairs, and into a bedchamber where two servant girls gave her wary glances.
She looked upon the water basin and sagged. It did not escape her that she was conquered in the moment by the desperate need to scrub off the grime. Her mind refuted the notion that she’d been bowed. She was simply preparing for the next battle.
Colin deposited her on the bed, then stood above her staring down. He spoke to the servants yet his gaze did not waver from Bridgette. “She’s really quite bonny when filth is nae covering her. Make her so quickly. Everyone awaits us in the chapel.”
As he started to turn away, Bridgette grasped his leg. He glanced back, a cruel, amused look upon his face. “Aye?”
“Is Marion in the chapel? Is she well? If ye’ve harmed her—”
“Ye would do what?” he snarled. “Refuse to marry me? I want ye to think upon this, Bridgette. Think hard. I dunnae wish to kill Marion, truly I dunnae. When Iain is killed, she would make a bonny bride—as she’s the MacDonald’s niece—for my youngest brother. But I will kill her if ye dunnae marry me with haste and without protest. Do ye ken me?” he demanded, not waiting for a reply but turning to leave.
Unless Lachlan arrived very shortly, she was going to have to marry Colin to save Marion. Her sense of loss was beyond tears. When an image of Lachlan rose in her head, she shoved it away, fearing that if she did not, she would not be able to make the sacrifice she needed to make.
She delayed as long as she could, but soon Colin was pounding on the door, ordering they finish. The servants hurried to dress her and fix her hair, and as they started to brush it to flow over her shoulders, she instructed them to yank it back into a severe knot, recalling Lachlan telling her that her hair was a thing that made men lustful. At the time, she had reveled in his compliment, but now she’d rather have no hair than have it be something that made her pleasing to Colin.
Much quicker than she’d hoped, she was ushered out the door and into Colin’s clutches. Her stomach was in knots, and she felt sure she would be ill. Her legs shook, but she forced herself to move forward, determined not to show weakness. As they entered the small chapel, Marion stood stonily at the front, but when she saw Bridgette, regret twisted her features. She moved to step toward Bridgette, but the man beside her restrained her. As Colin tugged Bridgette toward the altar, tears started to stream down Marion’s face.
When Colin stopped Bridgette in front of Marion, Marion cried out, “I’m so sorry.”
“How touching,” Colin snarled. He squeezed Bridgette’s arm. “As ye may have surmised, Marion is yer witness, and”—Colin waved a hand at the tall, dark-haired man gripping Marion’s arm—“Jamie MacLeod is mine.”
Bridgette gasped as her gaze flew to Lachlan’s uncle. His lips were thin, as if always on the edge of anger, and the set of his chin suggested a stubborn streak. He had eyes of a hawk, dark and predatory.
She shuddered but tilted her chin up and looked him in the eye. “Ye’re a traitor to yer own family,” she growled.
His mouth twisted unpleasantly. “They betrayed me first.”
“Enough,” came a powerfully deep voice from the back of the church. She turned to see a tall man with white hair and a rugged, somber face stride into the room. Behind him came a beautiful woman with pale skin and russet hair that reminded Bridgette of Lachlan. The woman started toward the bench with her head down, her face hidden, but just as she lowered herself and was almost sitting, Jamie spoke. “Nay, daughter, I’ll have ye stand by my side.”
The woman flinched, yet she dutifully rose and made her way quickly to stand next to Jamie.
“Quit staring at the floor like a dog,” Jamie growled.
Slowly, the woman lifted her head until her eyes met Bridgette’s.
Bridgette gasped. “Ye’ve yer cousin Iain’s eyes,” she blurted as she gawked at the woman’s ice-blue eyes, which were framed with thick, long, black lashes.
The woman frowned as she touched a fingertip near her right eye. “My cousin Iain? Did ye ken—”
“Cease the chatter,” Jamie roared and raised a hand as if he was going to strike the woman. She immediately cowered and clamped her mouth shut.
The older man had crossed the room and now stood near Colin. “Ye sent word that the marriage was about to occur, so here I am, son, but let us nae tarry. Once the deed is done, Jamie and I will be away to meet our men.” The Campbell laird regarded Bridgette. “Join with the lass and then follow to reunite with us. I want ye at the gathering.”
Colin nodded and pushed Bridgette toward the priest on the altar. The tremors moved from Bridgette’s legs to course through her whole body. The priest looked at Bridgette with such dispassion that she swore vengeance upon him as well as Colin, Jamie MacLeod, and Colin’s father.
The priest motioned for Bridgette to step forward with Colin, but her feet would not offer aid. Finally, Colin jerked her to him, and as the priest rushed through the ceremony, Marion’s soft crying rang like macabre music in the dark chapel. The priest addressed Colin first, and Colin quickly said his vows, but when it was Bridgette’s turn to speak, her lips would not form words. Numbness had settled within her. The priest cleared his throat, and Colin jabbed her hard in the ribs. Beside her, she heard a gasp, and her first thought was that it was Marion. She turned to her friend, but Marion had her face buried in her hands and was still crying.
As she moved to face the priest once more, her gaze met Jamie’s daughter’s. The woman gave her a pitying look that was also filled with understanding, and Bridgette had a terrible notion that the woman had not had a happy life.
“Bridgette!” Colin snapped. “Shall I kill Marion now?”
Bridgette raised her chin to the priest as hot waves of loathing rolled off her for Colin. “I, Bridgette MacLean, take the swine devil standing—” She never saw the smack from Colin coming. It jerked her head to the left, and her cheek instantly throbbed with pain. Slowly, with rage burning through her she turned back toward the priest who gaped at her. Perspiration ran down his fat cheeks. His tiny, dark eyes darted from her to Colin.
Colin took hold of her hand and squeezed until she could not stop the hiss of pain that escaped between her teeth. “That was yer last chance,” he said, his menacing tone leaving no doubt. “I’ll nae give ye another. Watch yer tongue.”
She nodded, fear for Marion replacing the need to fight the marriage. Memories of Lachlan from the moment he first kissed her in the woods until the last time he kissed her in the great hall flashed in her mind. A sob welled within her, but she somehow managed to hold it back. Bleakness threatened to envelop her and drag her under. She’d had one moment to marry Lachlan and she had convinced him to wait because of the seer’s prediction, but look at her now? Any hope of a future with him was gone.
From somewhere within, she found the strength to force herself to say the vows, each word leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She finished, and a sense of hollowness and lifelessness filled her.
When the priest announced them married, Marion cried louder and Bridgette’s throat tightened with the need to join Marion, but she would not give Colin the pleasure of knowing he had broken her. Distraught laughter escaped her, and when he jerked his head to look at her and eyed her as if she had lost her mind, a feeling of triumph consumed her. Let him think her mind cracked by all she had endured!
Throwing her head back, she let the laughter roll out of her in high-pitched, ear-grating peals. Without a word, Colin dragged her toward the door, and she happily noted the shocked faces of Jamie and the Campbell. Jamie’s daughter’s face, though, was etched with lines of concern and pity. She did not move toward Bridgette and Colin to offer a congratulation, and Bridgette suspected it was because the woman did not think there was much to offer congratulations about.
Once inside Colin’s bedchamber, he shook her and brought his face inches from hers. “Cease yer laughter,” he roared.
The pleasure she got from his anger—and the red burn of humiliation on his neck—gave her the determination and courage to continue. She laughed so loudly her throat hurt.
“Control yerself now!” He gripped her arms harder. Rage twisted his face, and his lips curled back in a feral smile. “We’ll see if this makes ye laugh,” he said in a dark tone that made her shiver yet did nothing to stop the laughter.
Colin dragged her forward to the fire and shoved her onto her knees in front of it. Sudden fear consumed her as he reached for an iron rod, and she immediately ceased laughing. He was going to cauterize her. She began struggling away from him, but she was no match for his strength.
He thrust the end of the iron into her face. “Do ye see this?”
She jerked her head in a nod as she made out the letters CRC.
He thrust the iron into the fire and curled his fingers into her shoulder until a whimper of pain burst from her lips. After a short spell, he brought the iron out, released the hand that held her shoulder, and yanked up the sleeve of her dress. Fear gave her more strength. She shoved backward, but he lunged at her, caught her by the wrist, and flipped her arm over to reveal its underside. His eyes met hers, and the cruelty she saw there made her heart stutter.
The scorching iron met the flesh above her wrist before she could do more than blink. Agony shot from where the iron was burning her and spread outward like a sweeping flame. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. It seemed like forever that he left the iron against her arm, but finally he pulled it away and tossed the iron into the fire. He pulled her wrist up in front of her face. “Colin Rory Campbell,” he growled, squeezing her wrist. “Ye are mine.”
Her gaze fastened on the letters burned into her flesh. The ugliness of the raw skin made her stomach turn, but from somewhere within, cold hatred sprang and swept through her.
She held his gaze, unblinking, and parted her numb lips. “I will nae ever be yers.”
The brutal blow that met her left cheek sent her flying to the ground. Before she could rise to her knees, Colin clasped her under the arms and yanked her to her feet, only to rip off the gown she wore. When she stood bare, he turned her to him and gripped her chin. “Before this night is over, ye will ken that I own ye.”
She had long since lost her bow and arrows—her weapon to defend herself—but she now was stripped of clothing and worse than that—hope. Colin had taken everything from her that could possibly be taken. All she had left was the ability to enrage him with her laugher. So she opened her mouth and did the only thing she could: she laughed at him.
His face became a glowing mask of rage. He threw her on the bed and met her defiance with pain like she had never known. Each time he touched her roughly, covered her defiant laughter with his mouth, she died a little more, but when he invaded her, her outward rebellion stopped and she feared she really would die. Her foggy mind entreated her to survive for Marion, to help Marion escape. Marion had a bairn on the way and a husband who loved her.
Tears flowed down Bridgette’s face as Colin abused her body, and shame like she had never known settled deep within her. She squeezed her eyes shut and began to plan his death. Was there a weapon in here she could use? She tried to picture the room and all the things it contained. So engrossed was she that when Colin’s weight finally left her body, she was startled. She blinked and turned her head to find he had rolled on his side and his back was turned to her.
She did not move. She waited, counting the pulsing throbs of her seared arm. He would have to sleep, and then…then she would kill him. Since she did not dare move yet, she roamed the room with her eyes, searching for a weapon.
As she swept her gaze over a chest, something yellow caught her eye and she froze. She’d seen the Fairy Flag once as a child, and she remembered being enchanted by the bright yellow silk. Surely Colin was not such a fool to steal the flag, bring it here, and then not keep it guarded. She felt a grin twist her lips, and she knew it to be one of hatred and triumph. Colin was most assuredly a fool, and the more she stared at that yellow silk, the surer she became that it was the Fairy Flag.
It did not take long before the sounds of Colin’s slumber filled the bedchamber. With great care, she crept out of the bed, went straight to the chest, and moved the cloak that had been lying over the silk. She began to shake as she stared down at the MacLeod Clan’s sacred flag. With trembling hands, she picked up the flag and turned to find something with which to end Colin’s life. Her mind was as numb as her body while she searched for a weapon in the darkness, but no weapon was to be found. Then she thought of the iron and scurried toward the fire, but the flames burned so steadily that she could not even see the iron.
The need to fell Colin burned fiercely inside her, yet so did the desire to escape, save Marion, and return the Fairy Flag to the MacLeods. There was no more desire to save herself. It was too late for that. She finally forced herself to cease the futile search. She stood in the bedchamber and stared down at Colin.
“I will kill ye one day soon,” she vowed in a whisper.
With that promise, she turned and hurriedly donned her tattered gown and wound the flag around her ankle. She tied it there and dropped her skirt over it to hide it. She slipped quietly out of the bedchamber and down the corridor in search of Marion. She had no notion where Marion was being kept, but then the sound of racking sobs reached her, and she knew it was Marion.
Bridgette crept toward the bedchamber door, but it was locked. “Marion,” she said as low as she could. Three more times she called out to Marion thusly, not daring to raise her voice.
“Bridgette!” Marion finally responded.
Bridgette immediately shushed Marion, afraid her friend would alert someone. “Do ye ken who has a key to this room?”
“Nay,” Marion replied, her misery weighing her words heavily.
Bridgette stifled a curse and pressed a hand to the thick wooden door and dug her nails into the wood. A storm of despair swirled inside of her. She inhaled a long, fortifying breath. She would hold back the misery that wanted to sweep her away. She had to.
“Dunnae fash yerself,” she whispered, hoping she did not sound as worried as she felt. “I will get us out of here.”
Suddenly, the air behind Bridgette shifted and gooseflesh covered her body. She turned swiftly to find Jamie’s daughter standing behind her, staring at her. Dark lashes veiled her slanted eyes, but when the woman raised them, her gaze swam with wariness. In one hand, the woman held a large iron key, and in the other, she held a dagger.
Apprehension trickled inside Bridgette. Was the woman friend or foe? Bridgette shuffled backward, smacking into the door.
The woman’s gaze moved swiftly over Bridgette, and she felt as if the woman could see the marks Colin had left upon her body. It was foolish. Though they pulsed with pain, they were hidden.
The stranger’s lips pressed into a thin line, and disgust washed over her face. “Give way,” she commanded in an urgent whisper.
“Give way?” Bridgette echoed, a thick fog blanketing her mind. Was the woman going to try to kill her or help her?
“Aye. Colin is much like my husband, his younger brother, Findlay. Neither devil sleeps verra long. I kinnae stand by and watch ye be mistreated as I have been. If ye’re to have any hope of escaping this hell, give way now and I’ll unlock the door.” The woman waved a slender, pale hand at Bridgette and the door. When she did, her gown slid up her arm to reveal a cauterized imprint much like the one on Bridgette’s arm but with initials that started with F.
Bile rose in Bridgette’s throat as her fingers moved to her own raw wound. Her gaze locked with the woman’s. Defiance and shame glittered there. “All the Campbell men brand their women. They are beasts,” she hissed.
Bridgette frowned. “Does Jamie ken all this?”
The woman smirked at Bridgette. “Jamie MacLeod is nae my father. He just likes to call himself such. He’s my uncle. My father was his brother, Monroe MacLeod.”
Bridgette gaped at the woman. That was Lachlan’s father! But how could that be so? A horrid suspicion hit Bridgette. “What is yer name?” she demanded, her heart racing.
“Lena,” the woman answered without guile, and continued to speak. “My father was a great man, but he was killed, along with my brothers, by Robert the Bruce. My uncle says the Bruce’s son, King David, has returned to take back his throne. My uncle means to stop him, but I dunnae trust a word that man mutters. He has proven himself a bad man in this last sennight.”
Thoughts raced through Bridgette’s head as she battled back her astonishment. “Where have ye been all these years?” Lena could not have been with Jamie if she was only now realizing he was not good and if she had no notion that her brothers were alive at Dunvegan, which was still her family’s home.
Lena’s eyebrows drew together, and Bridgette realized how odd her question must seem, but Lena slowly answered. “I lived with a priest in England from the time I was saved from drowning in a loch near Dunvegan by my father’s closest friend, Atholl, until a sennight ago when my uncle came in the dark of night and said I was to be married to Findlay. He said the Campbells and the MacLeods have joined to strike down King David, and my uncle wanted an alliance. Did ye ken Iain when he was alive?”
“Iain is nae dead, Lena! Ye have been lied to! Marion, whom Colin and Jamie hold behind this door, is his wife.”
Lena’s lips parted, and her face grew pale. “What say ye? Iain is nae dead?” Her hand fluttered to her neck. “What of my other brothers?” she asked, her voice shaking.
The bang of a door being thrown open somewhere down the corridor made both women jump.
“Lena, please!” Bridgette rushed out. “I’ll tell ye all, but we must get Marion and escape.”
Offering no reply, Lena moved to open the door, but her hand shook so badly it took several attempts. When she finally opened it, Marion rushed past her to Bridgette. Marion’s eyes rounded as she looked at Bridgette, and pity filled her eyes.
“Dunnae look at me so,” Bridgette commanded, her stomach clenching. Numbness had settled on her, and she wished to keep the cloak as long as she could. She feared what allowing her emotions to return would mean.
Marion nodded and moved her glance to Lena, as did Bridgette. She didn’t know how much Marion had heard, if any of it, but there was no time to explain. “Ye must come with us! We must away! Will ye lead us?”
Lena shook her head, and Bridgette’s heart plummeted. “I kinnae leave, but I’ll tell ye how to escape.”
“Why can ye nae leave, Lena?” Bridgette demanded. “Dunnae be scairt! Ye are a MacLeod despite yer marriage! Iain and—”
“Lena MacLeod?” Marion interrupted, the surprise in her voice telling Bridgette that Marion recognized the name but could not yet grasp the truth.
“Aye, I’m Lena MacLeod,” she responded.
“Later!” Bridgette said harshly. They had precious little time. “Why can ye nae come with us?”
“Jamie holds a boy prisoner, a child I vowed to protect,” she said. “Please, send Iain to me. Tell my brother that I live! Tell him I was married by threat!”
“I cannot believe this,” Marion mumbled as she gawked at Lena.
Before Bridgette could respond to either woman, Colin roared, “Bridgette!” The sound of his voice echoed down the long hall.
Fear blew through her like a strong wind. When Lena’s hand came to Bridgette’s arm, her skin crawled from the simple touch. She jerked away with the sudden need to wash herself clean.
Understanding eyes met Bridgette’s. “Make haste down this hall,” Lena said. “Go right. It will lead outside. Head across the keep to the far tower that stands alone overlooking the loch. The tower has a tunnel underneath the floor that will take ye all the way down to the shore of the loch. Now away!”
“Where are ye, Bridgette?” Colin roared. His voice did not sound closer, but Bridgette’s heart raced faster as Marion tugged at her. She wanted to shove Marion’s hand off her, the touch near impossible to tolerate once more, but she forced herself not to.
“Lena, we must away!” Marion cried in a low whisper. “We can try to rescue the boy as well!”
Lena shook her head. “I dunnae ken where Jamie holds him prisoner. Away with ye both before Colin sees ye talking to me. He’ll kill the boy if he thinks I helped ye, just to punish me.”
Bridgette and Marion nodded, and when Marion gripped her hand, Bridgette’s belly filled with revulsion. God’s teeth, she could not stand the contact. It made images of Colin and what he had done to her flash in her head. With a strangled moan, she tugged her hand away to a look of surprise from Marion, but thankfully, there was no time for her to question Bridgette.
Bridgette locked gazes with Lena. “I will send all yer brothers back to rescue ye.”
“They all live?” Lena asked on a choked whisper.
“Yes, they all live,” Marion said, her expression baffled at why Lena would think otherwise.
“Marion speaks the truth,” Bridgette said hurriedly. “They are verra well. Iain, Graham, Cameron, and Lachlan…whom I love.”
“I will kill my uncle for deceiving me,” Lena said in a hard voice that reminded Bridgette of Lachlan.
The sudden sound of footsteps pounding toward them made Bridgette flinch. She jerked her head in a nod. “I’ll gladly help ye.”
“We’ll help you,” Marion added before she tugged on Bridgette’s arm, and they turned as one to race away. When they got several lengths down the hall, Bridgette glanced back and was astounded to see Lena plunge her dagger into her leg.
Bridgette came to a stuttering halt, and Marion knocked into her. “What?” Marion gasped, but before Bridgette could answer, Colin appeared at the end of the corridor near Lena.
“My lord,” Lena exclaimed. “Yer lady stole into my room, took the key, and stabbed me when I tried to stop her from fleeing.” Bridgette watched only long enough to see Lena raise her hand and point toward where she and Marion stood. Bridgette yanked on Marion’s arm as she rushed through the darkness and hopefully to freedom.
“I kinnae believe Lena is alive,” Bridgette said in a whisper as they ran.
Whatever Marion’s reply was, shouting voices behind them drowned it out. The vibration of heavy footsteps pounding against the ground tingled Bridgette’s bare feet and made her run faster.
“They’re coming!” Marion cried.
“Aye,” Bridgette responded. “Pray to God we escape!”