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

sister.
    They reached the small door at the end of the walk and the soldiers were so close, Anne could hear their comments. Their English was very precise, much more the speech of native Northerners than of the Lowland Scots, even those who now spoke English only.
    Perhaps they were English soldiers.
    She consoled herself with that as the jailer opened the small door in the ground. Below them was apparently another dungeon, although a look down inside told her it wasn’t very large. Deep, for William was standing, but barely wide enough for three men to stand at sides.
    Perhaps not even large enough for William to lie down. What unique torture.
    His face was dirtier and bloodier than she remembered, but he still wore the now-stained-and-bloody uniform she’d found for him in the store room. His side, where his wound would still be, was soaked in blood and he leaned back against the rock wall against his other side, as though favoring the wounded one.
    In keeping with her character, Anne gasped at the sight of him and knelt in front of the tiny door.
    “William, oh, William. Do you recognize me? It’s your cousin Rebecca.” She grasped the sides of her wimple and offered a fake sob. “Oh, William. What have you done to deserve such a punishment?”
    Before William could answer, Anne heard Finlay’s voice call out across the giant dungeon. Once everyone had their focus on him, he gestured for them to follow and the soldiers all jumped to attention, fumbling with their spears.
    The soldiers clambered along the opposite side of the pit from Finlay and as he waited for them, Anne heard distinctively unique sounds.
    Keys turning in locks.
    Suddenly, the cell doors along the left side, where they’d just passed, all burst open. Men poured out of them, toward Finlay, and the soldiers on the opposite side all froze. There was no way for them to escape without having to pass through their captives.
    The jailer reached for his sword, but Andrew had clapped him on the back of the head before the fighting even began. The captives had no weapons but the chains they’d freed themselves from, and only the healthiest of them stepped forward to fight at first.
    Beside her, Andrew produced a rope from inside his sleeve that he lowered to William and then grasped. He must have had it tied around his waist, for the weight of William’s ascent seemed to be anchored at his middle, pulling him and him leaning back against the force of it.
    Once they had William out of the oubliette, Andrew cut the rope with his sword and left William with Anne in order to storm the guards from the other side.
    If they could finish this within the next five minutes, according to the plan, the next shift would just be arriving when they dispatched the first of the guards and they could lie in wait for the change of the guard.
    Anne smiled at William. “It’s Anne de Cheyne. Do you remember me?”
    He groaned and bent at the waist. “My lady.” His acknowledgement came at great pain, it sounded, and she looked around for Andrew or another healthy man to help. She certainly couldn’t carry William in this state. He was much worse than he had been two days previous.
    “I can’t carry you, William. Can you walk?”
    “I can try.” He leaned heavily against the wall as he made slow progress behind Andrew, who had just killed the last of the guards.
    Men with keys hurried around the pit, passing Anne and William, and opened the last of the cells, unlocking chains as men emerged.
    A low hum of noise began to echo through the vaulted ceilinged room. Andrew raised his arms wide.
    “Quiet, everyone. You all know the plan.”
    A constant thrum of whispered conversations continued as men embraced each other, assisted one another into the open, and looked around at their fellow prisoners.
    One of the nearby men, obviously a highlander from the tongue of his language, called out to Andrew. “What about the men here who are not with us?”
    “They will have a