wasn’t going to ask any of the others to go inside with her. ’Twas too dangerous. But a lone woman? The guards would dismiss her, not seeing her as a viable threat at all. Lord, but they hadn’t learned their lesson, had they?
All she had to do now was pray that Craig made it through the night.
Twenty
Pain radiated through Craig’s body. But pain was good because pain meant that he was still alive, even if his existence had been relegated to a living hell.
He rolled over in his cell, one eye swollen shut, and stared through the slit of his other eye. The floor beneath him was cold stone. So he’d not been put into the dungeon, where the floors were dirt-packed and soaked through with God only knew what. And he was the only one in here, which was just as well, too. Then again, there would be no one to witness whatever it was Boyd had planned for him.
Alas, that might have been a blessing. Besides, none of them were getting out of here. Death was the only savior for them now.
Was this what being an officer had given him? A cell with a solid surface?
He tried to sit up, pain in his back and both sides. There were definitely a couple of ribs broken, he was certain, but his arms and legs appeared intact. He grabbed his ballocks, both of which were also still there. A man had to check, didn’t he?
Sitting up, or rather pushing himself upright and slumping forward, he studied the empty cell as best he could through swollen eyes. A draft blew around his legs. He still had his boots, but there was a large tear in his breeches by his knee. The cell was barren, no furniture, no hearth, no other inmates. Just Craig, his broken body, and his thoughts. The door was wooden with a small square cut out near the top and iron bars lodged in place, as if anyone would ever be able to slip through the small opening. Only a rat or a cat could do that. A wooden slat had been shoved across the hole so he couldn’t even see out, not that he was getting up to go look anyway.
Thinking of a cat only reminded him of Annie and her brother’s dreadful pet. What had happened to Pinecone?
For that matter, where was his Annie now? Had she escaped as he’d hoped? Was she up the mountain? Or had they decided to head for Skye? Wherever it was, he prayed she was far away from here, safe and sound where no dragoon could get to her.
Och, he was a fool. When had Annie ever run away from anything? The lass was determined to be in the fight. Maybe she would change. Except he didn’t want her to, had told her so when he’d lain with her in the garden. He closed his eyes, reliving those moments that they’d been together. Her soft smile, the flush of her cheeks, the way her lips grew rosier with each kiss. The passion in her gaze, her gasps of pleasure when he’d touched her.
Craig leaned his head back against the stone wall, intending to sleep and dream of her, but dammit, his head hurt something fierce. He let out a groan and rubbed the back of his head. There was a large knot at the base but fortunately no blood. His wounds from Culloden did not seem to have opened back up, thank the saints, but judging from the amount of pain throughout his body, he was covered in new bruises anyhow.
But he’d put up one hell of a fight. He’d likely blackened Boyd’s eye by the end, and he wasn’t the only one with a few broken ribs. He’d knocked one man unconscious and sent plenty of others howling for their mothers.
The bastards deserved every damn blow.
In the end they’d overpowered him, as he’d suspected they would, but the fight—it had been glorious. Craig grinned at the memory, wincing at the pain of a split lip. How furious Boyd had been that Craig had taken so long to fall. He might have lost in the end, but Craig still considered it a victory.
“Thanks, Da,” he said bitterly to the walls, his voice sounding distant and his lips stinging with every syllable. He touched his mouth, feeling the crust of dried blood.
“What was that?” The slat was pulled from the tiny window on the door, and a man’s face appeared in