The darkness enveloped him, leaving nothing but a memory. Her scent was upon him and Callum closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Today. He was going to speak with the Duc and make his way out of the prison. He didn’t doubt that Marguerite’s father would leave him down here to rot, if he could. The sound of the guards returning interrupted his plans. A man’s voice broke through the silence and a chained figure fell upon the ground, only a few feet away. In the darkness, it was hard to tell who it was, but Callum spied the tell-tale marks of a whiplash. ‘That you, MacKinloch?’ Sileas demanded. The older man’s hands were chained together, but he managed to come closer. Callum said nothing, letting the man believe that he still lacked the ability to speak. The older man slumped against the wall beside him, his head resting between his knees. ‘Hope ye said a prayer last night.
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