My Captive Highlander (Highland Adventure Book 7) by Vonda Sinclair Read Free Book Online Page B

not feeling well and will sup in my room this eve."
    "Very well, m'lady." The servant curtsied and left.
    Maili closed the door. While belting her plaid arisaid , a quick plan formed in her mind. She then slipped down the back stairs, to the busy kitchen, where she wrapped two warm berry tarts in a cloth. The maids were so busy, they paid her little mind, except to curtsy in respect and rush to the next chore. She then took a loaf of bread and large chunk of cheese and wrapped them in another cloth. Three bottles of wine were the last items she snatched. She wrapped each in cloth so they wouldn't break, then crammed them into a satchel. She slipped out the kitchen portal and proceeded to the stables. Gloaming was nigh upon them and the torches in the bailey had been lit.
    "Finnian, can you saddle my horse?" she asked the lanky thirteen-year-old stable lad. "I'm taking the healer into the village to visit a wee sick lad. If you promise to keep this a secret, I'll give you a treat."
    Finnian's eyes widened. "What sort of treat, m'lady?"
    "Two bramble tarts."
    He grinned and raced to do her bidding, saddling Ruairi in only a few minutes. Her horse was a strong gelding who could handle two riders.
    "You promise not to tell anyone I've gone?" she asked when Finnian had finished and stood before her expectantly.
    "Aye, of course, m'lady. Upon my honor." He covered his heart with his hand and bowed.
    "If anyone asks, tell them I must have saddled the horse myself. Hold Ruairi here. I'll be back for him in a few minutes. Here are your tarts." She handed him the cloth bundle. He'd already gobbled two bites by the time she left the stables.
    Moments later, Maili huffed and gasped as she carried the large bucket of well water toward the entrance to the dungeon where the guard stood.
    "Here, let me help you with that, Lady Maili."
    "I thank you, Dugan."
    He smiled and winked, then lifted the bucket as if it weighed naught. "You should not be carrying such a heavy load. Why did you not get one of the manservants to help you with it?"
    "They're all busy with their chores."
    "Where are you going with this?"
    "I'm taking it to the prisoner. He has not bathed since he was brought in. He smells a fright." She already knew Dugan had not been on duty the night before, when the servant had brought the other bucket of water.
    "Aye, naught worse than a stinking MacKenzie ." He chuckled.
    Wanting to stamp his toe, she ground her teeth and hid her displeasure. "Would you mind terribly carrying it down there for me? I must hurry, for supper will be starting soon."
    "Nay, of course not. ' Twould be my pleasure to help you in any way I can." He turned to descend the dungeon steps.
    She followed, wanting to kick herself because she'd forgotten to bring an empty wine bottle. She would simply have to use a full one. She slipped it from her satchel.
    Please, God, forgive me. She lifted the bottle and smashed it against the back of Dugan's head. He went down like a crumbling stone wall. The scent of wine filled the air, and water from the bucket splashed everywhere. He made no sound, nor did he move.
    She prayed she hadn't killed him, for he was the only guard who treated her kindly.
    "Saints," Shamus hissed as he observed her through the bars.
    "I'm sorry, Dugan," she whispered and pulled the ring of keys from his belt. With trembling hands, she fitted the key into the cell door lock and turned. A click sounded and she pulled the door open.
    "Thank you, Maili." Shamus pulled her to him for a quick kiss on the lips which stunned her, but she had no time to enjoy the moment.
    She knew Dugan carried a flask of whisky in his sporran at all times. She'd often seen him slip it out and take a sip. She removed it and poured it throughout the cell, to keep her brother's dog from being able to pick up Shamus' scent. He dragged Dugan into the cell, divested him of everything but his long shirt, and put the plaid on himself over the plaid he already wore. "A disguise,"