Kenn McTavish whispered the words in his mind over and over as he lay awake, huddled on the wet, cold floor of the dungeon. He had his trust in Darach; he'd known the man for years. He'd been right by his side when his wife Maira had died. Kenn had held his hand and helped the Robertson warrior find himself again, so he wassureDarach would do all he could to free him from this god-forsaken hole.
Kenn gritted his chattering teeth and rubbed at his arms. The damned dungeon had to have been built on the side of a mountain. He'd noticed things the night he was brought in. He was a keen observer, and it was partly what had made him such an asset. The prison sat in a wide, dark cave on a cliffside. Some etchings he'd not been able to read yet marked its entrance. Beyond that murky tunnel lay the massive, filthy area where he'd been left in chains.
On the way in, the glow of the torch had flashed across rows of tombs on that path, probably where the first occupants of this keep had been buried. He doubted anyone ventured down here.
Still, Kenn knew that broken pathway was a weakness, an unguarded way into the castle for whoever was mad enough to try it. And if one day he was ordered to take the MacThomas keep, he had a way in.
Given that he survived his stay, of course.
For now, he was stuck in a dank dungeon covered in puddles, cobwebs, and moss, and he had to find his way out. He groaned in irritation as the air filled with the flurrying sound of small creatures running through the small holes that covered the walls.
He’ll come. Darach will come for me.
Kenn knew Darach was a man who would lay down his life for his people. It was his greatest strength and weakness.
And it was why he couldn't see what was happening right under his nose.
Kenn was confident. His laird was a fool, and like a fool, he would surely rush to save him. That wasn't what bothered him. What irked him was the message he received the night he was thrown in here.
One of the guards who'd brought him to the prison had spoken to him.
“Await their message,” the man had whispered before leaving.
So Kenn had waited, hour after hour in this cursed hole, shivering in the cold until the fires died out and weariness pulled him into slumber. But no message had come, no words—not from Darach, not from the MacThomas laird, not from the man he worked for.
It is all a matter of time, Kenn. Ye'll be saved soon.
The good thing about being a spy in the Robertson clan was that he was valuable.
It had been hard to stand beside a man he now loathed. His gut screamed at him every moment he spent in Darach’s company, but he couldn’t show it. At first, it had been hard to betray his old friend. He’d battled with himself, for he’d known the man since they were boys, and his father had vowed to serve the Robertson lairds.
But everything had changed when Darach took the most important thing to him. Kenn’s mind flashed through memories of the past before he slipped off into slumber.
“Kenn! Kenn! Wake up, for God’s sake!”
Kenn was roughly awoken by a hand shaking him. The dungeon cell was too dark for him to make out the features of the man next to him.
“Who is it?” he rasped.
“Thank God, ye’re awake.” The relief in the voice was staggering. “Ye need nae ken my name. I came with a color.”
“What color?”
“Orange.”
That was the code word he had anxiously been waiting to hear. He knew now that he was in the presence of William’s messenger.
“Orange,” he said again, and he shook his chains. “Have ye come tae save me?”
The silence was oppressive. He heard the messenger’s breathing in the darkness. “I’m sorry, Kenn. I was nae sent here tae rescue ye,” the man said grimly.
Kenn sat up, pain ripping through his head as he tried to rise. When he nearly fell, the man caught his shoulders and guided him back down again.
“Why have ye come?” he demanded.
“WhywouldI come?” the man said, fury laced in each word. “The king has a message.”
“For me?”