Highland Thirst Read Online Free PDF Page B

little good. Heming needed a free man, a strong one who would know
how to get him out of Rosscurrach. Colin was not that man.
    “Get
some rest, Fergus. I dinnae ken if the lass will be able to help us, but ‘tis
best if we stay as strong as we can. This place sucks the strength and life
right out of a mon, so resting is e’en more important.”
    There
followed only a few sighs and soft grunts as the two men obviously tried in
vain to get comfortable. Heming closed his eyes, unable to fight the weakness
anymore. He was cold and the pain in his body was so unrelenting he wanted to
howl until his voice died.
    The
soft sound of something dripping caused him to open his eyes enough to look
down. A small part of his mind was pleased that his ability to see in the dark
still lingered, but what he saw chilled him even more than being naked in a
cold, damp dungeon. He was still bleeding. It was a slow bleeding, one small
drop at a time, but it was an ominous sign. His wounds should have closed
enough by now to halt his bleeding.
    Heming
realized that he might well die in this cursed place. He had thought it before
a time or two but had been able to push the thought aside. It was impossible to
do that this time. Unless he got some blood soon, he would die. A bone deep
chill in his body told him he had lost too much blood to simply rest and
recover this time.
    Closing
his eyes again, he gave himself over to the encroaching blackness as despair
swept over him. He did not want to die this way, but it was time to make his
peace with it. His kinsmen would avenge him. That infuriated him, for he wanted
to kill Hervey with his own hands, wanted to watch the bastard quiver with
terror just before he ripped his throat out, but Heming could see no hope of accomplishing
that now. He prayed that Tearlach fared better than he. At the moment his only
hope of getting out of the trap he had fallen into, of escaping the torment,
was a wee lass named Brona. Heming decided it might be time to make his peace
with God.

Three
    Her
heart was pounding so hard, Brona was surprised she could not see the front of
her gown moving from the force of it. She could hear the rapid beating inside
her head as she crept from cell to cell in the dungeon. Hervey had few
prisoners, which made her search much easier. She did not have to keep trying
to see if the huddled pile of rags and misery in the corner of each cell was
Peter or some other poor soul Hervey felt had wronged him in some way. It also
meant she did not have to make any hard decisions about who should be freed and
who should be left behind. It appeared that the four men she intended to set
free were the only ones in the dungeon.
    Finally
the light from the lantern she carried fell upon the huddled form of a man. The
fair hair falling in soft waves to a pair of broad shoulders told her that it
was probably Peter. His face was pressed against his upraised knees so she
could not be certain of that yet, however. It was no surprise that the man was
curled up so tightly, either, for he was naked. Brona decided she did not wish
to know or understand why her cousin had stripped the poor man of all his
clothes. She had brought two shirts and two sets of breeches for Sir Heming,
but would now use one set for Peter.
    “Peter?”
she called and was a little startled by how quickly the man responded to her
tentative call, moving his head up enough to stare at her.
    “Mistress
Brona?” he asked in a raspy voice and even in the wavering glow of light from
her lantern she could see him blush.
    “Aye,
Peter. I have brought ye some clothes. I didnae ken ye would have none at all
and had brought two sets of clothing for the other mon, but I think they will
fit ye as weel.” When he did not move, she turned her head away and held the
rough woolen breeches and jupon in through the bars. “Get dressed and I will
let ye out of there.”
    She
heard a sound as if he was dragging himself across the floor and it was