Page 77 of Dark Victory

Peigi paled. “I’d prefer the blood feud to be put to rest, lady, but I would never cross the Macleod. Ye shouldna do so, either.”

Tabby simply looked at her.

“He’ll never forgive ye if ye go against him,” Peigi warned.

In that instant, she knew that Peigi was right. Macleod was not the kind of man to forgive betrayal. He would see her defection as sheer treachery.

Peigi left.

But that was okay, because they weren’t friends—she was his ex-mistress. Tabby felt a new tension arise. She hoped Macleod would remain so angry with her that he would not even think about trying to entice her to bed. She was not up to that battle. Worse, she didn’t want to recall being in his arms. It was a dangerous idea.

Shaken all over again with the enormity of what was at stake, Tabby hurried across the bailey. Coinneach remained in the stocks, soaking wet now. His face was riveted on her as she approached. She took off the dry brat, wrapping it over his thin body. “We have to keep you warm.”

“I told ye he wouldna free me.” He was bitter.

He was so young to hate. “This isn’t over yet,” she said. “I will help you. I won’t let you die.”

Coinneach appeared satisfied. “Then ye’ll have to be very clever. Otherwise Macleod will discover ye and put ye in the stocks next to mine.”

Her first thought was that he would never do such a thing. But how on earth could she know what he would do to her? As far as she was concerned, their affair was over. He might be ruthless toward her now, as well.

“Who has the keys to the stocks?” she finally asked.

“Macleod.”

She would have to steal the keys, somehow. “Does he wear them on his belt with his other keys?”

Coinneach nodded. “Afore his men see ye here, can ye bring me water?”

Tabby started, dismayed. “When did you last drink or eat?”

“It’s been a full day, lady. The well is over there.”

Of course he hadn’t been fed or given water, she thought. Macleod meant for him to suffer and die.

Tabby went to the well, managed to lower a pail, and when it was full, she lugged it back to him.

As he drank, she stared at the hall, the mist becoming so fine now that the air was damp. Blayde loomed, glistening darkly against the heavy gray skies. Macleod wore the keys on his belt, and he only took off his belt when he undressed before sleep—or rather, he only undressed to make love to her. She was almost certain he slept in his clothes otherwise. A lover could so easily retrieve those keys after he was satiated from lovemaking and had fallen asleep. But that was out of the question. She didn’t know how she was going to get those keys off Macleod’s belt, but she would. “I am going to free you,” she said.

“How will ye get the keys?”

“I don’t know. I have to think about it.”

She tried to imagine herself sneaking into his bedchamber while he slept, and removing the keys from his belt. Her sleeping spell was a good one; she had used it a lot with Randall, before their divorce, to keep him away from her. But Macleod was very powerful and she did not know how susceptible he would be to any of her spells, even one she was adept at casting. On the other hand, she’d cast a spell on him across centuries, and it had worked. She was going to have to take a chance and try it on him. There was no other choice.

She was also going to have to find a way to block him from her mind. Otherwise, her efforts to free Coinneach would be in vain—he would know her every move.

She was resigned. Her shock over finding a boy in stocks, left there to slowly die, had dissipated. Resolve had arisen instead. But she did not like going up against such a powerful opponent. And that was what he was.

It all sank in. She was very much alone in the thirteenth century, and the man who had brought her there was her adversary now.

SHE HAD SAID SHE wouldn’t judge him anymore. But she was judging him now.

And she meant to free Coinneach.

He was furious and disbelieving.

He did not know of any Highlander who would ever let a woman betray him. Even a disloyal mistress must suffer the consequences of her actions. Such a mistress would be summarily punished and then exiled—or worse. Neither man nor woman could be allowed to set the precedent of unpunished betrayal.