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traditional Robertson hospitality. If we were wrong, I apologize.”
    Tannoch’s scowl softened. He evidently wasn’t sure what to make of a polite apology. A voice in Rheade’s head told him to remain silent, to allow time for his words to settle in his brother’s befuddled brain.
    But the voice wasn’t loud enough. “Lady Margaret has appreciated the comforts of our mother’s dressing rooms, and—”
    Tannoch brought his fist down on the table again, his blotchy face reddening further. Rheade had never seen a volcano, but recalled the tales of Crusaders who witnessed the awesome power of Vesuvius while journeying home from the East. He half expected fire and smoke to burst forth from his brother’s ears.
    “The bluidy cells is where they should be,” Tannoch shouted, his nose inches away from Margaret’s face. “Not in my bluidy mother’s bluidy dressing room.”
    Anger knotted Rheade’s gut. He hazarded a glance at Margaret. The color had drained from her face. She trembled like a sapling in the teeth of a mighty gale as she came to her feet. The stench of Tannoch’s whisky laden breath was overwhelming.
    She gripped Rheade’s hand like a vise, but her voice was steady when she replied, “I will of course obey yer commands, since ye are chieftain of this clan. But I must assert my innocence in this matter.”
    Grumbling murmurs wafting through the Hall suddenly fell silent as folk gaped at the wisp of a girl who had challenged Tannoch Robertson with such calm assurance.
    The gloating grin left Glenna’s face as her eyes darted about. “Rheade’s taken with the woman, that’s why he’s lodged her in yer Ma’s chambers. Who knows what’s been going’ on there. See how they cling to each other.”
    Margaret gasped, staring in frowning disbelief at the chieftain’s wife.
    Rheade was used to censure from his brother, but now pure hatred darkened Tannoch’s narrowed eyes. He feared nothing he might say would calm his brother’s temper, but he had to try. “I can assure ye Glenna’s accusations are false.”
    “Philandering with a traitor’s whore?” Tannoch bellowed.
    “Now look here,” Sir David protested.
    “To the cells with the lot o’ them,” Tannoch shouted, gesturing wildly.
    The desperate plea in Margaret’s eyes as Tannoch’s bullies dragged her and her relatives from the Hall would haunt Rheade forever. Disgust rose in his throat as his brother lost his balance and keeled over in front of the dais, loudly demanding more whisky. Logan hurried over to help him rise. Rheade hastened from the Hall to do what he could to ensure Tannoch’s prisoners were treated humanely. He suddenly had a glimmer of understanding of the traitors’ motives. A cruel and tyrannical leader shouldn’t be allowed to rule.
    ~~~
    Ogilvie House had no dungeon. There were store rooms in the cellar where miscreants were confined while they awaited Duncan Ogilvie’s decision regarding their punishment. Her soft-hearted father didn’t keep anyone incarcerated there long and Margaret had never ventured into those dank places.  
    Fear and disgust swamped her as a foul-smelling burly Highlander hoisted her over his shoulder and embarked on the descent of a narrow stone stairway.
    Despite her terror, she momentarily wondered how they would wrestle her aunt down the narrow steps. Edythe’s screeching echoed off the stone walls, drowning out Uncle Davey’s protestations. It was a nightmare from which she hoped she’d soon waken.
    The deeper they went, the darker it got. She held her breath against the stench, shivering as the damp chilled her bones. Metal squealed.
    She clenched her jaw, expecting to be dumped unceremoniously, but the brute carrying her was surprisingly gentle as he slid her from his shoulder and lay her on what felt and smelled like a pile of stale straw. It didn’t lessen the shock of the cold stone floor.  
    Davey was silent, but Edythe wailed. She assumed they were in the same cell.
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