Page 29 of The Anguish of the Scottish Lairds (Clans of Mull #3)

Maeve

Maeve sat up, brushing her wild strands back from her face and searching for light to tell her where she was, but there was nothing but a small tallow burning somewhere down the passageway. The soft rhythmic breathing of her son calmed her immediately, so she leaned over to kiss his head, watching him smile in his sleep in reaction to her tenderness.

Her memory came back. They’d arrived at the Isle of Ulva and been led into a building. Then at the very back of the manor home, under a chest that was pushed aside, a piece of wood was lifted by one of her captors and they were hurried down a staircase that took them into what looked like a dungeon in a small castle. A cold passageway with four doors that locked, two off to each side, was not the least bit welcoming. Their abductors had shoved them into the farthest chamber, a room with four pallets, a pot to pish in, and several blankets, all disgustingly dirty. They were given one loaf of bread to share along with a pitcher of water and then the men disappeared, leaving Maeve and the children alone in the cellar, the wooden door with one small window now locked by a key on the outside.

Thank the Lord for small favors that wee Lia had the foresight to grab the two thick woolen plaids on the way out of the great hall. The two were plenty large enough to cover the five of them. She lay on one pallet with Grant and Sandor tucked up against her, covered with one plaid, while Lia and Tora slept on the pallet next to them, snuggled under the other clean plaid Lia had grabbed.

How long were they going to be stuck there?

Maeve had to admit that seeing how well-hidden the staircase to the cellars was had not made her feel any better. If Maitland entered, he’d never know the cellar or the staircase existed because with the chest replaced, it was so well hidden the door would never be seen. Even though Lia persisted in telling her that they would be saved, and that this all needed to happen for a reason, she couldn’t shake the fear deep in her belly.

Her worst fear could come true on the morrow. If they were headed to Coll, they’d be back on another boat in the sea, and fear would have its fingers in the deepest parts of her body.

Especially when their only path to safety might mean swimming. She couldn’t swim and neither could her son. It was possible Tora and Lia could, but probably not Sandor. Three of them would drown if forced to swim anywhere or if their boat capsized.

The tears welled in her eyes, but she did her best to keep them inside. Sleeping would be the most pleasant way for the bairns to pass the time. They’d be less afraid that way, though Sandor persisted in thinking they were on an “aventuwe,” as Tora had said.

Sandor opened his eyes, his back up against Maeve, a little beneath wee Grant. He smiled and waved, though she had no idea why.

“Who are you waving at, Sandor?” she whispered, not wishing to awaken the others.

“Gwanda. He o’er dare.” He pointed into the corner, one thumb in his mouth.

She had to give that some thought. Sandor’s grandfathers were Connor and Derric’s father; neither were dead, so who could he be seeing? “Gweetings to you, Gwamma. See Gwamma too.” He pointed to a spot next to the first place he pointed. “Her hair like you.”

What was the boy seeing? He must be dreaming and not awake yet.

Tora woke up and explained to Maeve as if she read her mind, “Nay, not Gwandpapa Connor. Gwandpapa Alex is watching over us. He said to tell you not to wowwy. Maitland will save us on the morrow in the boat. Maitland, Sloan, and Eva.”

Maeve’s insides nearly burst. She wished to jump off the pallet and beg her dearest mother and father to help them get out now. If she could believe their ghosts were truly here watching over them and communicating with Tora and Sandor, she had so many questions.

“Gwamma says be patient. She says we will all be fine. She says my mama is coming on the morrow.” Then Tora sat up and said, “Gwamma, I’m cold.”

Maeve couldn’t imagine the lass would warm, but she had to ask. “What’s happening, Tora?”

“Gwamma told Gwanda to warm us up.” Then she giggled.

“What?” Maeve didn’t wish to miss any of this, whatever it was.

“Gwandda says she’s always cold. And she said, ‘Alex.’ And he said he fix us.”

A sudden blast of heat came from the ceiling as if a hearth sat above them. “Tora! Do you feel it?”

Tora said, “My thanks, Gwandpapa.” Then she settled back under her blanket.

“Da? Mama?” Tears misted her gaze as Maeve stared into the darkness. Alex and Maddie Grant had adopted her long ago and treated her as their own. She’d been their youngest, and once she arrived on Grant land, she’d never left until she had fallen in love with Maitland.

Suddenly, the aroma of apples overpowered her, the same scent she had enjoyed whenever she and her father had picked apples in the orchard they’d planted long ago. She gasped and tipped her head back, inhaling to cherish the moment, the memories so strong that she could revisit the experience of running in the meadow, the scent of lavender from her mother now cascading over her.

“I’ll be patient, Mama. But please don’t go.” When the scent dissipated, she whispered, “Sandor, are they still there?”

The wee lad said, “Aye, Gwanda and Gwamma stayeen. I seepy.” His thumb returned to his mouth, and he closed his eyes.

Maeve breathed a sigh of relief and said a quick prayer of thanks. That was just what she needed to continue to be strong for these bairns.