“Bloody hell,” Ella whispered in the small empty room. She should have acted insane, too, but would Alec Sutherland have fallen for the same ruse in a daughter, a ruse that he had witnessed before in a barren wife?

The room was warm with the fire and relatively bright despite the deepening darkness outside. No one had bothered to bring her food, but Merida had left a cup and a pitcher of weak ale.

Ella unbraided her hair, running fingers through it, and rolled up her sleeves before tipping her head forward. The ends of her hair skimmed the surface of the water in the tub, and she watched it lie on the top, coiling like grasses in a pond. If she had to, could she drown herself in a bath?

But was death just the easy way out? She would be buried outside the church grounds, shunned for taking her own life. The Sinclairs would then lay siege to Dunrobin, killing all who stood in their way. Her father’s strength and keen strategy had kept Cain’s father at bay these past years, but now both chiefs were dead, and she bore the responsibility for keeping her people alive, for keeping young Jamie alive.

“Mo chreach,” she said to the water and sighed. She could do nothing to help her people while locked up in a Girnigoe tower. She must escape. If she died trying, it would not be a sin. But how could she keep her oath to protect Jamie if she was dead? Guilt twisted inside her, and she took a deep breath.

Leaning forward, she submerged the heavy mass of hair in the warm water. Her knees pressed into the damp bathing sheet under her as she worked into her tresses the scented soap Merida had left, her mind still spinning from her capture. Ella’s heart squeezed. Kenneth, Jamie, and Florie must be so worried about her. Could she get word to them that she still lived?

She worked through knots and picked pieces of leaves out of the mass. Leaning far over until she was completely upside down, she submerged the hair up to her forehead into the tub for a final rinse.

Rap, rap.

The two short bursts of sound on her door made her jerk partly upright, her soapy hands slipping on the edge of the tub. She lost her balance, falling forward.

Splash.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Cain frowned as he tried once again to coax the black and white feline off his head while balancing a tray of food. The large splash on the other side of the door made him lay his ear against it.

“Cac!” Ella’s voice held fury, and she coughed, cursing further.

“Mo chreach,” he murmured as the kitten pierced his scalp with her needlelike claws. Perhaps the kitten and her new mistress had things in common, namely a hatred for him.

“I brought ye some food. Are ye well?” Cain called.