Excerpt of My Highland Protector by Miriam Minger

“Laird Campbell, I must speak with you!”

Groaning, Cameron stopped as one of the guards from the prison rushed toward him, the stricken look upon the man’s face causing him to stiffen.

“What is it, man?”

“We’ve found more captives, Laird! We thought all the cells emptied, just as you ordered, until a stench most foul in one of them seemed tae come from beneath the floor. We swept away the straw and found a trapdoor with a chamber underneath! Aye, and five men crammed into that wretched hole, well, what’s left of them. Two dead and the others skin and bones—and one a youth, no more than sixteen, I’d wager—”

“By God, did you move them tae the infirmary?” Cameron cut him off, Conall having come up beside him. “Are they able tae speak? More Campbells?”

“No, Laird, they’re Irish! So one of them claimed, the other two unconscious. We dinna know if they’re friend or foe so we laid them out upon the cell floor and I came tae find you—”

“If they’re prisoners of Seoras’s, of course they’re friends—probably come across the water tae fight for King Robert—enough! Take me tae them.”

Scowling, Cameron didn’t wait for the guard but strode ahead, calling out to Conall, “Didna you tell Uncle Torence you’d join him for a cup of ale? Go on, then, but meet me afterward at the training field.”  

Cameron didn’t glance behind him to see if his brother had obliged him, for he knew Conall was highly disciplined when it came to orders—aye, well, except when it came to women.

Cursing under his breath, he wondered if the guards had called for the healer, Tobias, the man heavily tasked of late with all the freed prisoners.

Most had managed to stumble out of their filthy cells while unfortunate others knocked at death’s door, damn Seoras to hell! Cameron wondered if they might find other cramped spaces beneath the prison floors. The thought sickened him and made him walk all the faster toward the stone building with narrow slits for windows at the far corner of the fortress—aye, far enough away so that those feasting in the great hall wouldn’t hear the moans and screams.

A pair of guards bowed their heads in deference as Cameron approached and pushed open the heavy metal-studded door so he could enter. At once his eyes watered and he sucked in his breath, the stench of the place overwhelming.

He was accustomed to the smell of death after battle, but this wretched place seemed to reek of misery and despair, though not by his doing.

Seoras, during his short reign as earl, had filled the place to the rafters—and clearly beneath the floors!—with most of the hapless prisoners destined for execution. Cameron’s part in saving King Robert had spared them that fate, and there could be none more loyal than freed men with a second chance at life.  

“Just ahead, Laird.”

The Campbell guard had spoken behind him, Cameron’s jaw tight as he turned from the dark hallway into a lamplit cell to see Tobias rising from a crouched position over what appeared a lifeless body. The stocky healer glanced at Cameron over his shoulder.

“Three dead, Laird Campbell, and those over there, barely alive.”

Grateful that Tobias had been summoned, Cameron stared grimly at the two figures stretched out upon the straw… one so slight of form that he wondered if the lad might be younger than sixteen. The other male bore a graying beard, which amazed him that an older prisoner had survived, while the dead men, all younger as well, had perished. 

Without a word, Tobias beckoned to the four menservants waiting just inside the cell, who stretched out blankets upon the straw to use as makeshift stretchers. Then he moved over to the nearest prisoner to lend a hand, his voice low and grave.

“Take the lass first—”

“Lass?” Dumbstruck, Cameron stared at Tobias, who nodded his balding head.

“Eighteen, nineteen, who can say? She’s more than half dead from lack of food and water and likely will die this night—”

“Stand aside, now!”

Cameron didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, but moved to the slender figure and knelt down beside her, staring in disbelief.

Her face deathly pale. Short red hair plastered to her head. Thin arms and long legs telling him that she stood tall, aye, taller than most women—if she ever stood again.

“Lass?” Still incredulous, Cameron couldn’t take his eyes from her hollow cheeks even as Tobias leaned down to press his palm to her forehead.

“Aye, Laird, and burning with fever. She’ll die right here in this cell if I canna get her quickly tae the infirmary—och, be gentle with her!”

Cameron already had picked her up from the floor, her weight so featherlight that indeed, she was no more than flesh and bones.

Her head lolled back.

One arm lodged against him while the other dangled limply, along with her legs… and what appeared now as Tobias lifted a lantern, her soiled face etched with what Cameron would swear were tracks of tears.

Tears…