“Och, the high and mighty, Laird of Greystone, is a feared of me?” The man laughed, a big hearty one.
Never taking his eyes off the man laughing at his expense, Gavin reached down pulled his dagger out of his boot, and then slid it behind his back.
Once the man finished laughing like an imbecile, he lifted the sword in the air. “I’ll admit, I am almost hate ta do this ta ye, but I have me orders.”
“From who?”
“Och, Laird, who else?” He gave Gavin a toothless grin. “Can ye no guess?”
“Aye, I could…” His body listed to the side, losing focus again. He forced his vision to stop waffling. “But I want ta hear yer last words before I send ye ta yer maker.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “With what, Laird? Yer pretty looks?”
“Nay.” Gavin shook his head, seeing his chance. “With this.” In a flash, he flung out the blade. It found its intended mark, right into the neck of the man.
A surprise look crossed the man’s face as warm blood spurted from the wound. “Ye cheated.” He fell backward and was dead before he hit the ground.
“Aye, that’s what pretty Lairds do.”
He would have said more but he lost his battle with consciousness and promptly passed out.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past – the Cottage-Greystone Lands
Paige couldn’t feel her legs or her arms for that matter. She didn’t’ know where she was or where she had even been. She was in limbo. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions—terror taking precedence to them all.
For some reason, her mind took her on a mini-vacation. Back to when she was younger.
She had dozed off with her feet propped up on a table. The phone rang, startling her awake. She stood up to grab it and immediately fell to the ground because her legs were asleep. She couldn’t feel them for a few minutes, and now, she grasped that memory and held on, hoping like hell that was the case now.
Willing herself to move, she forced her eyes open. It didn’t do much good. All she saw was blackness. Trying hard not to freak out, she focused her eyes again. This time, she could make out some shapes but nothing solid. Everything was a bit blurry, like she had Vaseline in her eyes. She did that once, while trying to remove her makeup. But the problem was, she didn’t remember trying to remove her makeup. Or where she even was.
Closing her eyes, she tried to form a coherent thought. Everything was mixed-up in her mind. And she was so tired. More tired than she had ever been. She felt like she should be crying or screaming, probably both, but she couldn’t even muster enough energy to do either.
In the end, it didn’t matter. The darkness she was trying to keep bay pushed its way from the corners of her periphery and pulled her unwilling mind back under the blanket of oblivion.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past – the Cottage-Greystone Lands
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
Gavin pushed himself up to a sitting position and tentatively touched the side of his head.
“Gah!” He pulled his hand away.
“At least it is no bleeding any longer,” he said, even though there was a good-sized pool of his own blood on the ground. He looked outside and was thankful to see the man he had the run in with earlier was still dead. Knowing his luck, the man would come back ta haunt him at some point.
Standing, he braced himself on the doorframe. Everything was a bit blurry but that was ta be expected considering the blow he had taken to his head from the blackguard earlier. He couldn’t help but wonder who the man was working for, since he didn’t get the chance ta ask him properly after he plunged Muir’s dirk in his throat.
He tried to remember what he had been about before the run-in and then, like a ton of stones, it hit him. His lass, Paige, she was gone. He suddenly remembered other things as well. Looking over his shoulder, he cautiously peered down into the big hole. He spotted at least three bodies, they were in different states of decay. It was odd ta see such a thing. Did someone dump the bodies under the floorboards of the cabin at different times, and if so, why? Now that was the biggest unanswerable question of all.
Pushing his way through the door, he stepped outside. The air was crisp and there was a frigid breeze ripping leaves from trees and scattering them like ashes ta the wind. Bending over, he pulled his dirk out of the man’s neck and had half a mind ta drop him in the hole with the other dead bodies, but that would take effort and he needed all his strength ta go and find his lass.
After cleaning his blade off on the grass, he stuck it back in his boot and took off back the way he had come, ta do just that.
♦
Broderick paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth. He stopped and raked his hand through his greasy black hair, making it poke up at awkward angles. He peered closely down at Gavin’s witch who was lying on the floor at his feet. He had an urge to kick her, ta wake her up but thought better of it since a few men were watching him. “Where is Gregory?”
The highlander closest to him, shrugged his broad shoulders. “I expect he will be back any time now.”
“Why did ye no go with him?”
“Not ta worry, Laird, Gregory is more than capable of dispatching, Laird Grey.”
Broderick gritted his teeth. “He is no the Laird any longer, I am!” he bellowed, making the three other men in the hall flinch.
“Aye, that ye are,” the highlander placated.
“Keep watch on her.” He strode past.
“What if she wakes up?” one of the men asked.
Broderick stopped. “If she puts up a fuss, dump her in the dungeon. Then come and get me, immediately.” Broderick turned to leave.
“What of the other one?”
“Tell her, I will be back shortly.” He started to walk again.
“Where shall I tell her ye will be?”
Broderick cut the highlander a sharp look. “Where I always go.”
“Laird?” The highlander closet to the door stopped him again.
“What?”
“Where might that be?”
Broderick fisted his hands. “On the battlements, ye fool.”
“O’ course.” The man tucked his chin and bowed out of his way.
Broderick stepped outside and stared up into the night sky. The moon was just a sliver. When the moon was full once again he would take the witch, and the last remaining descendant of the Grey line and give them both as an offering ta the creature of Loch Morar, just as the gypsy had instructed. Then he would have the gold for the King and his freedom ta do as he pleased as well as a bit o’ gold for his troubles. Aye, that was the plan. But the longer he stood there, the more uneasy he became.
Even though Gregory was more than capable of dispatching the previous laird of Greystone, he couldn’t help but wonder if the deed was done. Because knowing Gavin as he did, he wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow escaped death once again. He had a habit of doing that, he thought bitterly. It wasn’t like Broderick hadn’t already tried many times in the past and failed just as many times.
Shaking his head, he went with his gut, crossed the courtyard and climbed the battlements awaiting the arrival of the true Laird of Greystone once more.
♦
Gavin dipped his hands into the cool waters of the Loch, and washed the blood from his face and head. He was having a hard time keeping his wits about himself and thought the water may revive him somewhat for the journey ahead.
He tentatively touched the wound and winced from the sharp pain shooting through his skull. Aye, it was a wee bit tender to the touch but he had certainly endured worse.
Standing, he looked upward at the sky. The moon was merely a small sliver of what it would be in a day or two. And if Broderick did indeed have Paige, he also knew where he would come when the moon was full again and who he would be planning ta sacrifice ta get the treasure.
One thing that didn’t sit well
with Gavin, was why Broderick would want ta kill him? Didn’t he need Gavin ta fulfill the prophecy ta enable him ta retrieve the damnable treasure?
Is that no what the witch said?
He didn’t know, but what he did know was that he better get-going, else he may be too late ta save his lass. With that thought in mind, he took off towards his home…Greystone.
♦
Creeping up to the castle, Gavin kept low to the ground, and when the men standing guard on the battlements turned away, he ran as fast as he could to the wall just like the previous night he was here, and pressed his back against the stones. Methodically, he felt his way to one of the secret passages.
When he found it, he pressed his hand on a stone, the wall gave way and he slipped inside. A moment later, the wall shut silently behind him erasing all sign that he was even there.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past – the Cottage-Greystone Lands
Once inside the walls of Greystone, it didn’t take Gavin long to enter the passageways leading down to the dungeon. Lit torches lined the walls and there was a rancid odor permeating the air, reminding him of the last time he was incarcerated. Tucking his face down to buffer the smell, he traveled quickly through the corridor, stopping every so often to peer through small openings to see if his lass was behind one of the locked doors.
Knowing Broderick, he was sure the blackguard would have put the lass in one of the rooms, especially since he thought she was a witch. That way his men would keep watch on her, instead of him—especially since he thought she would have the ability to harm him with her dark art.
So lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t hear the echo of footsteps approaching.
His mind coming back to him, he stopped abruptly and pressed back into a corner, keeping in the shadows.
A guard ambled by, humming a familiar tune. One he recognized from his youth. It was strange hearing it and unwanted memories began to swim to the surface—he pushed them back and grabbed the man from behind, covered his mouth with his other hand and jerked him back into the shadows.
The man had his wits about him enough to fight back. Struggling a bit more than he should have, Gavin slammed the man’s head down onto his knee and shoved his unconscious body into the corner, out of sight. He was tempted to slit his throat but something gave him pause…it may have had to do with the fact that it was not a man at all, but a lad, who was probably not more than ten and six.
Gavin exhaled and wiped sweat from his brow, coming to a decision. He had no quarrel with this boy so he decided to let him live…for now. Using his dirk, he tore off a piece of the boy’s plaid and bound his wrists and ankles together. On the off chance he awoke before Gavin got his lass out of the dungeon, he shoved another piece of plaid his mouth and tied the remaining strip of material around his head to secure it in place.
A bit more winded than was warranted from such a simple task, Gavin took the keys from the lad and slipped back out into the passageway.
♦
Paige couldn’t breathe. She felt like a weight was pressing against her chest. And what little air she did get into her lungs was rancid. Gagging, she struggled to move. At least the feeling was back in her arms and legs. Lot of good it did when she was stuck. She opened her eyes and realized why she couldn’t move. She would have screamed but it was stuck in her throat, right behind the bile that was forcing its way into her mouth.
A body was on top of hers, and by the smell coming from said body meant only one thing—the person, whoever it was…was dead.
Turning her head to the side, she promptly puked.
After she finished, she somehow managed to slip out from under the dead weight of the body, only to realize that there was not only one.
She was surrounded by dead people.
“No. No. No!” Her voice was hoarse, so unlike how she remembered. Scrambling up to standing, she hit her head. Reeling from the pain, she stumbled forward and almost fell again. Her gut twisted and she knew she would be sick again.
Bracing her hand on the slippery wall, she heaved again, but nothing came out. A small opening in the door let in little light but unfortunately it was enough to let her see how many dead people were in the room with her. Stepping over bodies in different states of decay, she crossed the room to the door. A small space of floor was not covered with dead, and she pressed back against the wall. She stood there, not moving an inch, shivering in horror.
♦
Gavin felt like his head would split in two. His vision kept waffling in and out of focus as he continued his search for his lass. It seemed he was going in circles. Every room he came upon looked the same and did not hold his lass. It was as if someone or something was conspiring against him. Going with his gut he kept looking. It did not usually fail him but in this instance, he couldn’t seem to gain any ground. But he continued his vain search with an unbridled urgency. He could swear she was afraid. Very, very, afraid…but of what, he knew not.
♦
Broderick made his way off the battlements well after dark. A thick mist covered the ground and the surrounding area. As he walked across the courtyard and under the tree where he had the men hung before, a prickling of fear assailed him. He stopped dead in his tracks.
“Who goes there?” he called. He could hear whispers, many whispers, nipping at him from every direction. They came, and went, in maddening variants of juxtapositions. He turned to the left, the right, but no matter which direction he turned, he could still see nothing. But he knew, he was not alone.
♦
The corridors Gavin traversed split three ways. Left, right and straight ahead. He made a left and then another. It was strange, queer even. He did not remember the passageways leading to the dungeon to be so vast. Or for there to be so many unattended doors. When did so many doors get down here, he couldn’t help but wonder. He stopped to catch his breath and his bearings for a moment. A rat scampered by and then another. He chased after them down the hallway until he was in front of the door at the end of the hall.
The rats disappeared underneath.
Reaching out, his hand closed over the handle. It was cold to the touch, so cold in fact that he had to jerk his hand away. He felt as though he had just stuck his hand into the flames of a fire—it was that cold. Using his plaid, he covered his hand and jerked the handle.
It was locked, just as he knew it would be.
Using the keys, the ones he took from the lad, he used one key after the other trying to unlock the door.
On the fifth try, he found the key he needed. Turning the key in the lock, he heard the distinct clicking of the lock releasing. The door opened with a groaning creak. He stepped inside and the rancid odor in the small room stole his breath.
“Lass?”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past – the Cottage-Greystone Lands
Callum thought he was dreaming. In fact, he knew he had to be for why else would someone be calling for a lass, down in this hellhole.
“Laird?” Muir called out, his voice threadbare and weak.
Gavin spun around, he knew that voice. Across the hall was another door. He ran to it and placed his hand on the metal handle. It too burned his hand from the cold. “Muir?”
“Aye, it is me.”
Gavin quickly used the keys, just like the other door along with his plaid as a buffer to the frigid temperature and unlocked the door on the second try. He pushed the door open.
Muir scrambled to his feet. “Praise the Saints above. Ye are here.” He launched himself at Gavin and wrapped his arms around his waist.
“Muir, where is the lass?” He tried to disentangle Muir’s hands from his body.
“Och, I do not know.”
“What of Callum?”
“He is in there.” Muir lifted a shaky finger and pointed at the room across the way from his.
Gavin hooked Muir’s arm around his shoul
ders and helped him out of the cell. “Can ye stand here for a moment?”
“Aye. I can do more than that.” He braced his hand on the wall and tried to stand up fully.
“Good. Ye stay here while I get Callum.”
“Aye.” Muir steadied himself against the bars of the cell, while Gavin crossed into the other cell.
“Callum,” Gavin called.
Almost afraid he was hearing things, Callum reluctantly lifted his head and said, “Laird, is that ye?”
“Aye, Callum.” Gavin crossed the room to where Callum was shackled.
He worked the cuffs and released them in a matter of seconds.
Callum’s weak body slumped against him and Gavin had all he could do to keep him upright.
Callum groaned in pain.
Gavin froze. “Are ye hurt?”
“Aye. I think my ribs are broken well and good.”
“Not ta worry Callum,” Gavin said, trying to reassure his cousin. “I will get ye out of here.”
“Where is Muir?”
“He is right outside the door. Can ye walk?”
“I can try.” Callum looked through the bars of his cell at Muir, relieved ta see he was still in one piece.
Carefully, Gavin wrapped his arm around his cousins’ waist, using his body as support. Slowly, he carried Callum out of the cell and into the hall where Muir was leaning against the wall.
Muir pressed himself upright. “See Callum, I told ye our Laird would come for us.”
Lost in the Highlands, Volume Two Page 34