The Runaway Highlander (The Highland Renegades Book 2) by R. L. Syme

at her full height.
    There were maybe eight cells in all, and each one looked to be teeming with men. Most had a foot or two of space between the men and the bars, although the farthest cells were so full that she could see men’s shirted backs and their long and short hair sticking out of the tiny spaces between the steel bars.
    Andrew had told her their plan was to saturate the dungeon, and it appeared to have worked.
    The old jailer continued to walk in front of them, only throwing a glance back every few steps to make sure they followed. As they’d come out of the hallway, there had only been room enough for one to walk, and then they could walk two abreast, but there was a pit carved into the center of the floor. Anne couldn’t tell how deep it went, but she could only imagine what all had been thrown into that pit over the years. Deep enough at least that you couldn’t see the bottom to know it, but she bet that was where most of the stench originated.
    “The oubliette is here at the far end of the dungeon,” the old man said. On the far side of the room, a cluster of guards leaned on their spears and watched them. Andrew slowed to allow Anne to walk at his side, though he stayed near to the cells. The first cell they passed, Anne saw a movement out of the corner of her eye.
    She could have sworn that she saw Andrew deliver something into a hand that had suddenly extended from the cell as they passed. With a quick glance to the soldiers, she held her breath, waiting for their response. But they either hadn’t seen the gesture or hadn’t seen the object. Either way, they continued to mumble to one another and occasionally glance at other cells.
    The next cell, the same action. She didn’t dare to look at Andrew’s face. He hadn’t prepared her for this. Somehow, she’d assumed that the keys would be secretly distributed. Not handed out in front of a retinue of guards.
    Anne’s palms itched. She must be sweating. It would only be right, given her nerves. Instead, she tried to engage the jailer, hoping to draw attention away from Andrew.
    “Who are all these men?”
    Andrew winced as she spoke, and she realized why. Suddenly, all eyes were on her, which meant that they were more attuned to them both. All the guards stared at her as though they’d just seen her. The jailer laughed.
    “They’ve been sent to the dungeon, my lady. That makes them criminals.”
    Only by English law . She thankfully held her tongue, as she could only imagine the ire that would draw. She realized for the first time that Andrew was probably also dreading the possibility that they would recognize her accent. As she replayed her words in her head, they were much rougher accented than Andrew’s and Finlay’s had been. She wasn’t sure if Lady Rebecca Langston was a real person, and if so, how Scottish she was, really.
    “That makes your cousin a criminal, as well.” The jailer chuckled again. “But then, given your actions of the day, I guess we can say that everyone down here is in need of some absolution.”
    Anne straightened her back, certain the soldiers had heard his every word. They looked her up and down, leering, which certainly meant they’d heard him. And were undoubtedly imagining just what those actions might have been.
    Her skin might have crawled right off her bones if it weren’t attached. Were all men debauched at heart?
    Another cell went by and Andrew’s key drop seemed to go unnoticed again. Perhaps it helped this time that they were staring at her, because they were fully engrossed in her. This much direct attention would have normally made her uncomfortable and as it was, she had to resort to praying that she wouldn’t give away the whole ruse.
    She wasn’t completely certain of the plan once all the keys had been distributed, so she tried to slow the increased beating of her heart with measured breaths, as she’d always taught Elena. Calm in, fear out. Calm in, fear out.
    It worked for her