20. Scotland, 1823The prison reeked so strongly of sadness and despair that Tom avoided breathing deeply. He followed the prison guard, who didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the unsanitary conditions. The jailer unlocked a door, which opened with an infernal creaking.
Fearmòr hesitated for a second, afraid that by entering this sordid spot he’d end up staying there. Finally, he resigned himself to stepping inside. In the depths of the dark cell, he barely recognised the haggard face of the man turning to face him.
“Tom Fearmòr! What a surprise. I’m so honoured.”
Fearmòr ignored the sarcasm in Geordie Proudfoot’s voice. He almost offered the man his hand, but reconsidered.
“I wanted to see you,” said Tom, disturbed to find himself in front of this formidable adversary reduced to suc
