The Bard

by Greyson, Maeve

  “Aye, as his mother was until she reached a certain age.” MacIlroy dropped his hands to his lap and lifted his head, but the faraway look in his eyes said he was trapped in his memories. “I loved her so. She seemed a bit on the simple side, but the kindest, sweetest lass I had ever known. Until later. At times, she would change. Wasna herself at all.” His shoulders slumped, and he rocked forward with his head bowed. “She killed our firstborn. Three years old, my precious son was, when I came home, and she had strangled him with her belt. When I opened the door and found her holding him in her arms, she smiled and told me she had sent him to the Lord to save him from all the evil in the world.” He continued staring at the floor. “I wouldha killed her, but the crazed look in her eyes stayed my hand. So, I took her to the asylum after I buried my dear little lad. They sent me word of her expecting another bairn a few months later.”

  “She had Heckie in the asylum?” Sutherland asked, feeling sorrow for the man and all he had endured, but nothing but malice for Heckie and increasing fear for Sorcha’s safety.

  “Aye. She birthed him early and died with his coming. I brought him here and found a wet nurse, thinking God had given me another son to replace the one I had lost. But every year, as I watched him grow, I realized—my Heckie wasna quite right.” He blew out a heavy sigh. “I know now I shouldha had him locked away years ago, but I didna have the heart. I prayed the kindness he found here at Greyloch would somehow keep his simpleness from turning dark as his mother’s had. I had hoped he’d escaped that part of the madness.” He stared at Chieftain Greyloch. “He loved yer daughter. I pray he hasna harmed her.”

  “Where would he take her?” While Sutherland felt bad for the man, his sad tale made the need to find Sorcha even stronger. Heckie’s mother had killed her own firstborn d. Who was to say Heckie wouldn’t murder Sorcha? “Where would he hide her?”

  “She has to be somewhere in the tunnels,” Greyloch said. “There’s no other place he could hide her and still walk among us as he did today.”

  “She’s awake!” One of the sentinels around Jenny’s bed clapped his hands to get their attention. “Mistress Jenny’s eyes have finally opened.”

  Aderyn climbed down from the bench where she had been bandaging Kiff’s arrow wound and hurried to Jenny’s side. “Aye, ’tis true! The lass be awake!”

  The guard who had first noticed the change in Jenny’s state remained on his knees at her bedside, her hand cupped between his. “Jenny,” he whispered. “Stay awake for yer Lachlan, aye? Speak so I can hear yer sweet voice, and my heart can finally rest easy.”

  Sutherland stood at the foot of Jenny’s cot. “Heckie has taken her, Jenny. Where can we find the madman?” The lovers could talk after he found his Sorcha. Nothing else mattered.

  Jenny’s brow creased, and her tears welled. “I am so verra sorry, Sutherland. I didna see him step out from the turret until it was too late.”

  He stepped closer, standing beside Lachlan. “I dinna blame ye, Jenny. None of us suspected Heckie. He duped us all.”

  “When we were bairns,” she whispered. “We played in the tunnels. Some of them could be closed off and made into rooms. We thought no one could find us if we hid in the rooms.”

  “There has to be a way to find the room, Jenny. My Sorcha’s life depends on it.” Sutherland knelt beside her cot, his heart about to break. All his hopes depended on Jenny and whatever she could remember about the passages.

  “Look at the walls,” she said with a wan smile. “That’s how Mama always found us no matter where we hid or how many times we switched the rooms.”

  “What do ye mean look at the walls?” He struggled with the urge to shake what he needed to know from her. “Help me, Jenny. I fear he surely means to kill her.”

  “The colors of the walls,” Jenny whispered. “Mama said when we made our different rooms, the walls were a lighter gray stone with white chips that glittered in torchlight rather than the dull, dark grey of the passage walls and floors. She said the builders designed it that way to keep the tunnels that made the rooms straight from the others so the chief could always find them.”

  “God forgive me. She’s right,” Greyloch said, amazement in his tone. “I had forgotten. My father told me of the glittering walls when I was a boy, and that’s also how Amelda said she always found Sorcha when they played their hiding games.”

  “We need more torches and lanterns,” Sutherland said as he rose to his feet.

  “Wait!” Lachlan called out. “She wishes to say more.”

  Sutherland turned back and bent close. “What is it, Jenny?”

  “When ye see a glittering wall, the lever to make it slide open will always be close to the ground and to the right.” She wet her lips and flinched with a hard swallow. “Even when we were bairns, some of the levers were almost worn down even with the floor. If they’re gone, find where they once were and shove in the hole real hard with a staff. That’s what we used to do to make them open.”

  “Thank ye, Jenny.” Sutherland clapped a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder. “Stay here with her.” He pointed at the other three men. “The rest of ye join us. ’Tis time to end this.”

  *

  With an ear cocked for any sound of Heckie’s return, Sorcha worked feverishly to free herself from the rest of the swaddling. If he came back and caught her, hopefully, she could convince him she had only done so out of the need to find a chamber pot. Which wouldn’t be a lie, but she tried not to think about that right now. She wished he hadn’t left her in the darkness but remembered enough about what she had seen that she could light the lantern if she ever got free. And if she managed all that before he returned, she could escape. She knew these tunnels as well as he did.

  “That’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ lass,” she observed out loud. “Aye, but ifs are hopeful,” she promptly argued, a tad concerned about carrying on a conversation with herself. She shrugged the worry away. Whatever it took to get herself out of this trap was fair and right, as long as she accomplished her goal.

  Heckie had unknowingly helped her with the crust of bread and cup of water. The effects of whatever that medicine was that he had stuffed inside the gag had faded faster with the sustenance. The throbbing fog clouding her mind had gradually lessened to a barely noticeable ache. Her ribs and shoulder still hurt like a fiend, but she could bear it.

  Since she hadn’t quite figured out the best way to sit up from her current position, she worked her feet, ankles, and knees to loosen the bindings just like she had when she freed her hand. She pulled away as many of the folds as she could, hoping she wasn’t tightening any knots in the process. After what seemed like forever, her hopes soared as straw scratched against her bare heel. The sharp poking renewed her strength. It only took a few more moments of wiggling and pulling until both her feet were free, and her knees were loose enough to bend easily. She shed the cloth from her knees down, then braced herself for what she knew would probably be extremely painful.

  Swinging her feet to the floor, she almost cried out as she sat upright quicker than she had expected. Cold sweat covered her forehead and trickled into her eyes. She blinked it away, and concentrated on her breathing. She promised herself a sip of water as soon as she lit the lantern. “We’re closer, lass,” she encouraged out loud.

  Reaching out, she found the wall, supporting herself as she slowly stood. Her bruised hip made itself known, adding its ache to the rest. Leaning against the wall, she stood there for a bit, gathering her bearings. It was so easy to get off-kilter in this blasted darkness, but a blessing came with her new position. Her loosened wrappings fell into a pile at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but her sleeveless shift and the bandages securing her ribs and shoulder.

  “Praise God Almighty,” she said. The bedsheets had weighed on her mind as well as bound her body. One hand outstretched, she felt her way to the table, found the water bag, and took the promised drink. “Now, to light the lamp and get out of here. I’ll wet in the tunnel and
leave my captor a little gift.” She wasn’t about to waste a moment of precious Heckie-free time by searching for a chamber pot in this prison.

  A loud scrabbling and the muffled sound of a man’s yell almost stopped her heart. Another shout came from a different direction, but she couldn’t make out the words or the owner of the voice. She had to hurry. Whatever was happening surely had something to do with Heckie and might cause him to return. Her fingers brushed against what felt like the fat stub of a candle, then closed around the tinderbox beside it. That’s when she realized that creating light was a two-handed operation.

  With her left arm bound to her side, she was as crippled as a winged bird. “I dinna care if I set my shift on fire, I will have light one way or another.” And she needed to hurry. While she hadn’t heard any additional shouts or sounds, that didn’t mean Heckie wasn’t headed her way.

  She was afraid to take the time to remove the bandages binding her arm. Instead, she opened the tinderbox and placed the steel in her left hand, then leaned as close as she could to what she hoped was enough tinder left in the box to grant her flame. “Come on now,” she said, gritting her teeth. She held her breath and struck the steel. The tinder caught and blessed her with a weak flame. Dropping the flint, she grabbed the candle and lit it.

  “Let there be light,” she whispered as she finally exhaled.

  Pawing through the items piled on the table, she found a thick, new candle for the lantern. Remembering the hiding games of her childhood, she emptied the cloth sack of bread and tucked it into her sling. The sack would come in handy should she need to hide the light of her lantern and seek safety in the darkness. With the flame shining brightly, she headed for the wall at the foot of her cot and found the lever in the floor. Thankfully, it wasn’t so worn that she needed anything other than a painful stomp to set it in motion. Every bit of her body throbbed and ached, but she didn’t care. She tasted freedom, and it fed her the strength she needed to keep going.

  “Grant me a bit of luck, aye?” she prayed to anyone or anything that might be listening.

  Her guardian angel had probably quit her long ago after all that had come about recently. She held the lantern low so as not to blind herself and also not to be a beacon for anyone else, namely Heckie, to spot. The cold slabs of stone beneath her bare feet triggered memories of sneaking to Jenny’s chambers in the middle of the night when they were both wee things and supposed to be tucked away in their beds. They’d had such fun playing in the tunnels. “Please let Jenny still be alive,” she whispered as she limped through the passage.

  After a bit of walking, her battered body forced her to stop and rest. She leaned back against a wall, ignoring the coolness of the stones sucking the heat from her body. A wicked smile came to her. She had relieved herself right after stepping out of her prison. The thought of Heckie slipping in the warm puddle she had left behind brought her an untold amount of joy. Another painful deep breath, and she forced herself away from the wall. Time to move on. She had to find Sutherland. The urgency to be safe in his arms once more pushed her forward.

  Her gait became less steady when the shivering took hold. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. At least the tunnels remained quiet so far. No sound of moving walls or anyone’s footsteps. She had heard a rat or two, but those didn’t worry her. The vermin would keep their distance as long as she had fire in her lantern. Her goal was to make it to one of the intersections. If she could make it that far and find the markings on the floor, she would know for certain exactly where she was in the maze.

  “Heckie!” The loud roar echoed through the passages.

  Sorcha halted with her breath held, but her heart pounded loudly in answer. That was Sutherland. Her dear one sounded healthy, hale, and infuriated. She snatched the cloth sack out of her sling and slipped it over the lantern, dimming her light. With Sutherland shouting Heckie’s name with such rage, that meant he knew. It also meant Heckie would be on the run and probably a great deal more dangerously insane than before. She had to hurry and find the nearest intersection. If she didn’t, she risked running into Heckie head-on from the sound of it.

  Forced forward into a limping run, she kept the lantern muted. There had to be a connecting passage coming up soon. She prayed she didn’t collapse nor run into Heckie before she found it. The slapping sound of leather hitting stone was faint in the distance at first, then gradually grew louder. Even in the darkness, she knew who it was. Only Heckie would run through the tunnels without a light. She had to get to the connecting passage before he reached her.

  She forced herself to move faster, running directly toward the sound she feared the most. Trailing her right hand along the wall, she held the bale of the lantern in her left. The weight of the light made her weak side tremble. Ignoring the shaking pain, she increased her speed even more. Just when she had almost given up hope, a passage opened up on her right. She slipped inside it, found the lever, and collapsed on it to seal the tunnel off.

  The echo of someone running toward her grew so loud it made her want to scream. She bit her lip and held her breath to keep from giving herself away with her gasping. The harried footsteps passed and started fading in the distance. Sorcha rested her forehead on her hands that were still clasped on top of the lever. “Thank ye, Lord,” she whispered.

  Heckie would discover her gone at any moment. With any luck, he had hit the puddle of piss at full speed, slipped, and broken his neck. But she couldn’t count on that. She had to take the shortest route out, and that meant reopening this passage and returning to the one she had just left. From the markings she had felt on the lever, she had a fair idea of where she was now. It would take a bit of walking, but if she hurried, she would soon be standing in the hallway between the kitchens and the great hall.

  She crossed herself before activating the lever to reopen the passage. She pushed onward, focusing on Sutherland up ahead. If she kept going, she would be in his arms soon enough, and all this madness would be over. She reached the point where the main passage had been closed off and understood her beloved husband’s shouting.

  Even though she knew he wouldn’t be on the other side, the thought of him being near spurred her on, giving her the strength she needed to keep moving. Light shone up ahead. And it wasn’t the flame of a single lantern; it was the bright, cheery light of the torch-lit hallways leading from the kitchens to the great hall. She was almost there.

  Tossing her lantern down, she broke into a faster pace, half running, half limping along the last bit of the passage. Just as she cleared the entrance and careened into the open hallway, she heard him coming up fast behind her.

  “Ye are mine!” Heckie bellowed like an enraged beast baying at its prey.

  “Sutherland!” she screamed, diving for the archway leading into the great hall. “Sutherland!” she screamed again just as she felt fingers knotting in her hair.

  “I have ye now!” Heckie yanked her backward and pressed a blade to her throat.

  “Heckie, please,” she sobbed as she sagged to her knees. “Please let me go. We can never be. Ye know that, Heckie. Ye’re like a dear brother to me.”

  “Like hell!” he roared, pulling her across the floor until his back was against the wall. “Ye’re mine! And I’m nay yer damned brother. We be man and wife, ye and I. Ye’ll be birthing my bairns soon enough!” He yanked her around to face those gathering in front of him. He tucked the blade tighter under her chin, and she felt the warm drip of blood trickling down her throat. He laughed as he took the dagger and smeared the blood on her cheeks. “Isna she even lovelier now? See how rosy her cheeks are since she’s about to be my beloved wife?”

  “Let her go, Heckie,” Sutherland ordered, taking his place at the front of the group growing ever larger by the minute. He pointed down the hallway toward the passages. “Yer way to the maze is blocked. See the guards there? Ye’ve no means of escape. It’s over. Let her go.”

  Sorcha remained as limp as possible, praying her
dead weight would knock him off balance. He yanked her higher by pulling on her hair. It felt as though he would surely rip her bald.

  “She…is…mine,” Heckie said with a hard shake of her. He pointed his knife at Sutherland. “And I’ll be killing the first bairn that comes out of her just to make sure the next one is really mine.”

  “Heckie…please,” she sobbed, hoping that somewhere in the muddled madness of his mind was the dear sweet lad she and Jenny had played with as a child. “Ye dinna want me. Remember? Ye always said ye would marry a woman with golden hair like my mother’s. A queen, ye said. Remember? Ye know I will never be a queen.”

  “Ye are my queen,” he growled with a hard kick into her side. “Ye’ll either learn that or die, ye ken?”

  Unbearable pain shot stars in front of her eyes. She lost the ability to breathe.

  Several thunking sounds, like tapping the ripeness of a melon, sounded somewhere above her. Heckie squalled out a stream of curses. Or maybe she dreamed he was cursing. She seemed to be sinking in and out of darkness with every agonizing moment. The sharp edge of the blade fell away from her throat. The knife bounced, then spun across the hard floor. She watched it, marveling at the way the light reflected off the blade as it danced across the stones. She surfaced from the blanket of darkness just as Heckie tossed her aside.

  The coolness of the stones against her cheek soothed her. She closed her eyes, hoping the velvety blackness would take away the pain.

  “Mo ghràdh.” The sweetest voice she had ever heard reached her through the foggy void in which she floated.

  She reached for the sound. “Mo chridhe,” she whispered as she stretched her hand out into the unknown, searching for the voice’s warmth. “My heart and soul, mo leannan. I promise to meet ye in the next life. I swear I’ll find ye.” She had to be dying. Heckie would never free her. He must’ve slit her throat.

  “Nay, my darling,” Sutherland said softly as his strong arms held her close. “Ye’ve nine bairns to give me in this life. Remember? Ye dreamt of our babes, and a dream is as good as a promise.”