Connor leaned toward her, still smiling, his dark eyes bright with amusement. “Not helpless, milady—cosseted, as you deserve.” He took the pillow from her and slipped it beneath her feet. “How can anyone think less of you for that?”
“′Tis doubtless a blessing that Sir Ivor isn’t here,” she said, sobering. “Else I’m sure he’d have something uncomplimentary to say.”
Connor sat down beside her. “It seems his opinion is changing,” he told her. “According to Will—” He broke off as the two knights reentered the hall and approached the dais.
She couldn’t hear what they were saying as they crossed the floor, but she nearly slid off the settle, so great was her shock, when Sir Ivor let out a roar of laughter and clapped Sir Will on the arm.
She glanced at Connor, who appeared as surprised as she. He merely raised an eyebrow in response to her questioning look before his face settled into a noncommittal expression.
A trail of servants followed hot on their heels. In no time, the hall had been prepared for the evening meal and the chamber began to fill with noisy diners. Sir Will and Sir Ivor drew the furnishings on the dais as far from the main floor of the hall as they could, and as they ate, Connor laid out the details of what he’d learned.
Sir Will and Sir Ivor had discovered nothing during their search of the undercroft, and Moira could see that all three of the men were frustrated by the lack of progress. She, too, wished that some helpful bit of information would turn up soon, for at this point, it seemed that immuring themselves within the castle indefinitely was their only alternative to giving in to Hugh MacCarthy’s demands.
Everyone left the hall after the meal was over, the men heading for the barracks outside the keep tower and Moira wearily seeking her bed. But once she climbed beneath the covers and settled herself, sleep abandoned her.
She stared at the fire in the hearth through the opened curtains at the foot of the bed, letting her mind wander where it would and hoping the low, dancing flames might lull her into slumber. The warmth and comfort relaxed her body. Her mind, however, refused to stop worrying about the question of a secret entrance into Gerald’s Keep.
Where could it be? The men had inspected barely half of the undercroft. ′Twas a dirty, time-consuming task, especially since they knew nothing about the arrangement of the supplies stored there. They’d have been better served to have taken her with them—she knew the storerooms more thoroughly than anyone else at Gerald’s Keep, save Brigit, perhaps.
Now that she considered it, she recalled several places where the tower foundation incorporated stones far older than those used to build the castle—from the ancient fortress that once stood there, most likely. What better place to hide a passageway?
And if ′twas from the old fortress, perhaps ′twould explain how the MacCarthys had learned of it.
Excitement coursed through her veins, making her restless, eager to finally have something useful she could do. She threw aside the bedcovers and dressed in an old, shabby gown, drawing a cloak about her shoulders against the cellar’s constant chill. There were no lanterns here, but she could find one near the door from the hall to the bailey. Making certain she had her ring of keys, a flint and steel in the pouch suspended from her belt, and her eating knife in its sheath, she left her chamber.
Staying to the shadows, Moira crept past those sleeping on the floor of the great hall, took up a lantern from the hook by the door and went outside.
The bailey was deserted, lit only by a few flickering torches set at intervals on the stone walls. She paused beneath a torch not far from the door to the undercroft to light the lantern, swiftly shuttered it, then stole the rest of the way, her soft shoes noiseless on the cobbles.
She knew the trick to making the lock work smoothly and silently. Picking up the lantern, she entered the noisome depths of the cellar and pulled the door closed behind her.
Connor spent a short while in the barracks with the men, as much to judge for himself whether any of them might be a traitor as to observe how well the soldiers of Gerald’s Keep had combined with his troops. Satisfied that the rigorous training program he’d instituted hadn’t sent Moira’s men to their pallets, he’d also been pleased to see their spirits remained surprisingly high, and that they seemed eager to fight.
Now all he needed was a real foe for them to face, instead of vague threats from a spineless coward.
A foe who remained outside the castle walls.
A flicker of light across the bailey caught his attention, but it disappeared before he could see anything more. Tightening his hand on his sword hilt, he glided closer in time to hear the faintest creak of metal against metal.
But he saw no one.
Senses alert, his suspicions aroused, he seized a torch from the wall and crept toward the door to the undercroft. A tug at the handle showed ′twas locked, as it should be, but the sound had come from here. He felt in the pouch on his belt for the key that Will had returned to him tonight. Snuffing the torch and laying it aside, he unlocked the door.
He managed to get it open without creating a racket this time, but whoever had gone inside was bound to hear the faint squeal of the hinges. Connor shut the door, blocking the faint glow from the bailey and pitching the area into total darkness.
Clutching the partially shuttered lantern in one hand and holding her skirts up off the damp floor with the other, Moira passed quickly through the large storage rooms near the entrance to the undercroft. When she reached the winding passageway leading to smaller chambers deep beneath the keep, she set down the light and wrapped her cloak more securely about her. The chill of the place seemed to seep straight through the heavy wool of her clothes.
Her movements awkward, she looped the hem of her gown and cloak up over her arm and slipped her eating dagger free of its sheath. She doubted she’d find anything but rats here, but she knew better than to go unarmed. Indeed, she should have drawn the knife as soon as she came through the door. She sighed. Clandestine endeavors such as this were clearly beyond her.
At least no harm had come of her lapse this time. The babe gave her a kick beneath the ribs—its usual nighttime activity—as, lantern held high, she wended her way along the stone corridor until she reached a heavy, iron-bound door.
The light glittered off the heavy lock, wet and rusting, that hung open on the latch.
The lock should have been closed. She’d swear it had been, the last time she’d ventured this deep into the cellars.
When had that been? She could scarce recall the last time she’d made a thorough examination of the entire undercroft. The previous spring, perhaps?
Her blood ran cold. Whenever it was, she knew for a certainty that she hadn’t been here since before the MacCarthys had come to Gerald’s Keep.
Had they used their brief time within the castle to explore the place? They could have … They could have done anything while they had everyone gathered together in the hall and bailey and Moira occupied in her old bedchamber, with none of them the wiser. She drew in a deep breath and fought to quell the panic sweeping through her.
What might she find beyond this door?
She’d never know if she stood here like a coward. Her hands shook, making the light waver wildly, but she managed to slip the lock from its mooring. Gathering her resolve, Moira opened the door.
The loud creak of the hinges echoed after her as she passed through the portal. The way grew narrow at once, and the stones more rough. Here she could sense the walls crowding in on her, feel the bulk of the keep tower and the walls pressing down on her. ′Twas a fearsome experience, making her breath seize tight within her chest and the babe shift restlessly.
She let the lantern drop to the floor, setting her shadow to dancing on the wall as the flame wavered, but thankfully didn’t go out. Moira leaned back against the stones and closed her eyes. Smoothing her hands over the squirming child, she searched within herself for a drop of courage to carry her the rest of the way.
&nb
sp; However far that was.
Once her heartbeat slowed and her breathing eased, the slow, measured tread of footsteps suddenly caught her attention. Her pulse thundered in her ears once again, but didn’t drown out the sound. She couldn’t tell whether it came from behind her or ahead of her; either way, ′twould be trouble. Who else would be down here at this time of night save someone who shouldn’t be?
Herself included.
Moira opened her eyes and adjusted her fingers about the knife hilt, pushing away from the wall and broadening her stance. The footsteps sounded louder now—and they were definitely coming from behind her.
“You’ve trapped yourself this time,” she muttered under her breath. “How will you get out of this?”
The tip of a sword edged past the half-open door. Not knowing what else to do, Moira raised her puny eating knife and lunged toward the doorway, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Soon after Connor entered the undercroft, he caught a glimpse of light and set out in pursuit of it. Skulking along in the intruder’s wake, he kept to the shadows, never coming close enough to see who it was he followed. The floor became uneven, slowing his progress further as he tried to move quietly.
He caught up when they reached a series of smaller chambers that afforded some cover, wincing when the screech of metal against metal split the air and echoed throughout the place. The light stopped moving, and the footsteps ceased.
The cellars couldn’t go on any farther than this! Perhaps he’d cornered the intruder? Eagerness singing in his blood, he drew his sword and crept forward.
A narrow opening lay before him, light glowing brightly beyond it. Sword first, he crept toward the half-open portal.
He realized ′twas Moira standing before him just as she screamed and dove at him with a knife. Dropping his sword in the cramped passageway, he grabbed for her wrist as the blade slashed toward his face. “Trying to give me another scar?”
He released her arm and caught her as she slumped against him, her knife falling to the floor. “By the Virgin,” she gasped. “I might have cut you!”
Holding her steady with one arm, he stooped to retrieve their weapons. “You might try,” he said, surprised to feel himself grinning. He flipped her knife around and, catching it by the blade, presented it to her hilt first. “But I think I’ve strength enough—barely—to protect myself.”
“′Tis nothing to laugh about,” she scolded, making Connor want to smile all the more. Hands shaking, she snatched the knife from him and shoved it into its sheath on her belt. She seemed genuinely concerned for his well-being.
From her frown and the way she slapped him on the chest, he guessed his pleasure must have been obvious to her. “You’re determined to do me harm.” He captured her hand in mid-slap, brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You’re freezing!” Catching both her hands in one of his, he tugged her cloak closer about her.
Then he gathered her into his arms and held her. Once her shaking stopped he loosened his hold, though he didn’t release her. Instead he pressed his face to her unbound hair, savoring the sweet fragrance that even their musty surroundings could not overcome. “What are you doing down here, Moira?” he asked, the words a whisper rather than the stern demand he’d intended. “What if someone other than me had followed you in here?” The mere thought made his heart trip and falter.
She drew back and met his gaze, her blue eyes shining with eagerness. “I remembered something, Connor—remembered a place down here that could be what you were looking for.”
“You couldn’t wait till morning to check?” he asked dryly. “Or send for me to come with you?”
“′Twas late—I thought you might already be abed.” Some of the excitement faded from her face. “And I couldn’t sleep,” she added, lowering her gaze, a trace of pink staining her cheeks.
Did he have anything to do with her sleeplessness?
There’s arrogance, he taunted himself. By the saints, Moira had troubles aplenty to keep her from her rest.
“But nothing happened,” she said. “I’ve come to no harm.”
Connor lowered his arms and stepped back, then froze as a steady thumping—pounding?—came from somewhere down the passageway. Moira clutched at his arm. “What was that?” she whispered, her eyes huge in her pale face.
He held up his hand to silence her. The noise continued, faint but distinct. Should he send Moira back for help and go on himself, or take her with him? Either way, they would have to proceed silently and in total darkness, lest they alert the interloper. He eased his sword free and leaned close to murmur in her ear. “Go back, Moira. Tell Will we heard something, and that I’ve gone on to investigate.”
She drew herself up beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder and tugging him down to her level. “I will not,” she said in an angry whisper. “By the time I leave, find Sir Will and come back, who knows what might happen to you?” She drew her blade. “There’s barely room ahead of us for men to fit, Connor, let alone to fight. We’ll be lucky if you can stand up in the corridor. It becomes much narrower just ahead.”
By the rood, he’d no desire to drag her along behind him, but neither could he ignore this opportunity to discover what was causing the noise. The answers he sought might lie straight ahead of them!
Other sounds joined the muted pounding. “All right,” he muttered. “You needn’t go back. I’ll go on, see what’s ahead of us. But I want you to stay here.” Glancing ahead of them, he noted how far the lantern’s light spread. “I’ll be back soon.” He cast one last, measuring look down the corridor, then bent and doused the light.
Moira stared hard at the place where she’d last seen Connor, naught but a black void in a sea of darkness. She knew he’d moved away because she could no longer sense his nearness—the warmth of his body, the nigh-indecipherable scent of him. But he made no sound as he crept down the passageway.
Could she manage to move so quietly? she wondered.
Edging past the lantern, she tightened her grip on her dagger and set off to find out.
Chapter Fourteen
Moira gingerly felt her way along the dank passage, biting back a shriek of terror when she slid her hand across something cold and slimy. Her heart thundered so hard she couldn’t tell if the sounds Connor had gone ahead to investigate continued. They could have grown louder, for all she knew.
The darkness wrapped about her like a cold, damp blanket. She began to shiver again, so hard ′twas all she could do to keep moving.
But she could not let Connor face whatever—whoever—awaited him at the end of the corridor alone, no matter what he’d told her to do. At the least, she could go back for help if he did run into trouble.
The way became so narrow her shoulders brushed against the walls, and the floor grew rough, littered with bits of stone and debris. She wished she had light, for the end of the corridor must be near, and she had no desire to come crashing into Connor and startle him.
She halted and held her breath, straining her ears for any sound. But she heard nothing save the steady drip of water and the rapid thud of her pulse.
Without warning, a large body backed into her. Biting back a cry, she lost her footing and fell hard on her backside, with her attacker sprawled atop her legs.
“By the saints!” Connor growled, following the words with a string of curses the likes of which she’d not heard since she’d left her brothers’ home. “Can’t you do as you’re told, Moira?” He rolled off her. “I ought to blister your backside …”
“There’s no need,” she muttered through her tears. “′Twill be black and blue already.” The floor beneath her throbbing buttocks must be made up of jagged stones.
“Are you all right? I didn’t harm the babe?” He reached out and touched her legs, following them up her body till he could clasp his hands about her middle. “Can you stand?”
She’d force her legs to work, if necessary, to get up and away from the debris still poking into her. “A
ye.” He hefted her off the floor and set her on her feet, keeping his hands at her waist until she steadied. “We’re both fine,” she assured him.
“Listen,” he whispered. They stood motionless.
The only sound they heard was their own quiet breathing.
Connor muttered something beneath his breath. “We must have frightened them off.” He sounded as disappointed as Moira felt. “Come on, then.” He caught her by the elbow and nudged her ahead of him.
“Did you find anything?” she whispered as she limped along.
“No.” Though he kept his voice low, she couldn’t mistake his ire. “And I’m not likely to now, after all the noise we made.” The corridor opened up a bit, and he urged her to move faster. “Anyone who was here will have gone, if they’ve any sense. I was coming back for the lantern—” he tugged on her arm and brought her to a halt “—though I doubt there’ll be anything to see now. Still, it can’t hurt to look.”
The lantern rattled as he leaned past her and picked it up, followed by the sound of flint striking steel. He kindled the wick and adjusted the shutter, the warm light bathing them in its welcome glow.
He wore tension and exhaustion in equal measure upon his face, and frustration in his eyes. Moira lowered her gaze. If she’d stayed where he’d left her …
Connor shifted the lantern to his other hand. “Stay with me.
“You’re taking me with you?” she asked, then felt a fool for giving voice to her surprise. Besides, she shouldn’t be surprised; he didn’t trust her to obey him, most likely.
She followed close behind him, drawing her knife from its sheath before they’d gone far. ′Twas a tight fit for Connor in this passageway. If they encountered anyone, he’d not be able to draw his sword, though she noticed he’d armed himself with a lethal-looking dagger he’d drawn from his boot.
L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep Page 13