Perfect Strangers (The Scots)

As she watched, the man grinned threateningly and pressed the razor-sharp tip of his blade against the pulse throbbing in the base of Colin Douglas's throat.

Confused, her gaze volleyed between Johnny Maxwell and Colin Douglas.

What on earth was going on here?!

* * *

"Did ye hear me, lad?" a deep, gruff voice demanded. "I asked what the devil is going on here!"

Connor pressed his ear against the slats in the oak door, listening intently to what transpired in the corridor outside.

Curse his rotten luck! In the past half hour, the boy—Simon, the lad had confided was his name, Johnny Maxwell's youngest son—had begun to warm to Connor and answer his questions. In a voice filled with a respect that made Connor more than a wee bit uneasy, the lad started to repeat the latest Border ballad being circulated about The Black Douglas. It was at that point when a guard, judging from the intruder's authoritative tone, had stumbled upon Simon tarrying outside the cell door.

Close to Connor's side, her head tipped as she also listened, Ella fidgeted nervously.

"Well?" the older voice asked. "Are ye going to tell me what ye're aboot, or shall I fetch yer da and let ye try explaining to him what yer doing down here? I'm thinking the Maxwell will not like hearing that his wee bairn was down here visiting such prized, not to mention dangerous, prisoners. What think ye of that, lad?"

"I, er, m-meant nae harm," Simon stammered. "I was curious and wanted but a peek at The Black Douglas, 'tis all. Gordie likes to tell me the beast has fangs as long as my little finger and sharper than any blade. I was of a mind to see if me brother is right. Besides," the boy added, and his voice took on a softly shrewd note, "if ye run and tell me da that I was down here, I'll not have a choice but to also tell him that the only way I was able to get so close to The Black Douglas's cell was because ye'd left yer post. I ken 'twas for but a wee dram to quench ye thirst, and well I ken it that the prisoners could not get free no matter how many guards were posted, these doors be to thick and sturdy. Still, I'm not so sure Da would agree leaving a Douglas unguarded, The Black Douglas at that, was a wise thing to be doing. What think ye on the matter, Seamus? Mind ye, I'm nae squealer; I've nae wish to tattle on ye."

Connor and Ella exchanged a quick glance.

A pause was followed by a muffled chuckle. "Ye be a crafty one, lad. I've not a doubt that in the years to come, ye'll do the Maxwell and yer pack of brothers proud. Aye, that ye shall. Meanwhile..." The man sighed heavily. "Weeell," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "since ye already be here, 'twould seem the damage is done. I suppose there's nae harm in letting ye take a wee peek."

"Do ye truly mean it?" the boy asked excitedly.

"Aye, God help me, I do. After all, 'tis not like Caerlaverock's dungeon is graced with such illustrious hostages e'ery day. Fact is, this dreary place may ne'er see the like again. Besides, were I a bairn such as yerself, I'd be doing me best to get an eyeful and slake me own curiosity. All right, lad, come here. I'll hoist ye up on me shoulders so ye can look yer fill, but as soon as I set ye down, ye're to scoot straight up those stairs and not e'en think of coming down here again. And ye'll not breathe so maun as a word of this to yer da. Do ye ken?"

"Aye!"

The man grunted something in response.

Connor and Ella moved quickly away from the door.

In no time at all, Connor was again sitting upon the cold stone floor with his back against the wall, eyes closed as though he was dozing.

Ella pretended to recommence her pacing in what little space was available on the shadow-strewn floor between her cousin's extended, ankle-crossed feet and the far wall.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway; they stopped directly outside the door. "All right, up ye go. Ugh! Ye're at least a stone heavier than the last time I hoisted ye. Shift a little to the left, would ye? A wee bit more. Och! that's a good lad. Now, take a peek through those bars and ye'll be getting a rare look at the notorious Black Douglas, prisoner of the Maxwell. Go ahead, take a good look, Simon, and remember all ye see. Mark me words, lad, 'tis a sight ye'll be recounting to yer own wee bairns one day, don't ye ken?"

Ella stopped pacing and, fists balled and planted atop the slender line of her hips, chin tilted proudly, she stared at the small, barred window.

Connor cracked his right eye open only enough to be able to glance at the window through the shield of his lashes. The shadows were too thick to distinguish much, but he glimpsed a pudgy face and a crop of bright-red curls just beyond the steel bars.

"'Tis a woman!" Simon exclaimed accusingly.

"Eh?" The man's voice was muffled. "I can't see, lad, ye've got yer leg wrapped around me eyes. Aye, Simon, there's a woman in there; howe'er, she isn't The Black Douglas, merely his cousin. Look aboot, lad."

"But I dinny see... Och! there he is," Simon said, his young voice suddenly hushed with awe. "There, sitting upon the floor. Is he really The Black Douglas?"

Ella grinned, nodded, and took a step toward the door. "Aye," she said, "look yer fill, lad. 'Tis The Black Douglas in the flesh."

"Are ye sure? He doesn't look so fierce."

"And what were ye expecting him to look like?" she inquired haughtily.

"Could ye move yer leg, Simon? I can't see," the man grumbled, but if the boy heard, the lad paid him no attention.

Simon pursed his lips, his red brows drawing into a scowl. "'Tis rumored The Black Douglas stands o'er seven feet tall."