He felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling his face away from the cage door. ‘Twas all it was, really, a cage. Short and squat the cell, he and his soldiers had been forced to stoop to enter, and were obliged to remain upon their haunches or sit or kneel as the metal rails that were the ceiling of the cage were no more than four feet off the ground.
His captain pointed to Donald, who now lie still and silent. Jamie said a prayer for his soul, realizing his friend’s body would not be afforded a proper burial.
Callum held his forefinger to his lips, his eyes like black glass, and then pointed to the steps at the far end of the dungeon, the ones they’d been forced down earlier today.
Jamie listened but heard nothing. There was no guard down here, in the dungeon, in the space outside the cages. Undoubtedly, there were several Craig soldiers in the yard, above the dungeon and very near to the heavy but well-greased door.
He threw a frown at Callum, for the silence, and then heard the noise just as Callum raised his thick brow. The door above was being pulled open. There wasn’t any reason for the door to be opened at this hour of night, unless pain was on the agenda.
Jamie gritted his teeth and met the eyes of Will, while Callum kicked the feet of Ned and Malys, both of whom had fallen asleep, but came quickly awake. All five sat or hunched, ready and alert, with an effort to seem uncoiled. Jamie’s frown deepened as some sound revealed that a person walked down the winding steps though no flickering light guided their way. Who came without a torch?
The sun had set many hours ago and the men were accustomed to the dimness of the dungeon, but this did not help them to recognize the figure that emerged into the space before their cage. Several sets of brows raised as they comprehended the bare swish of sound and the unmistakable silhouette of a woman’s skirts.
“Please do not speak,” said a low voice. The dreary darkness and the distance showed no face yet. “We haven’t much time. I aim to set you free, but only on the condition that you take me with you.” Though her voice was silky and soft, Jamie could well distinguish the tremor in her words.
No one answered, shocked as they were by this turn of events. Many a dungeon they’d collectively seen in their lifetimes, but no woman had ever either effected their freedom or insisted they remove her with them.
“Aye,” Jamie said finally, as she’d gone still at their silence. He saw only a shadowed figure, no face showed itself even as she stepped nearer. He had the impression of a rather tall but young woman, with a pretty voice and long hair that fell over her shoulders when she bent to apply the key to the lock.
Before she turned it, and awarded them freedom, she insisted again, “You must take me with you.”
“On my honor,” Jamie said, so bemused by this circumstance that he didn’t give thought that she might well have no idea who he was and thus, his honor might be a disputable thing. But she turned the key, and the hand he’d fisted upon the bar pushed the gate toward her.
Jamie stepped outside the cell, rose and stood very close to her, but saw only large and frightened eyes, the only shining thing in this hole in the ground. “We need the lad.”
This seemed to startle her. Her eyes moved over all his men. They stopped briefly on Donald’s body. She recovered quickly, however. “He would be in the tower, then.”
“I saw four towers.”
“The northeast one. The armory is on the first floor, prisoners above. There will be soldiers.”
With little hope, he asked, his lips curving, “You wouldn’t have dared to have brought along any weapons now, would you, lass?”
Another guilty, flustered look. “I-I did not. But the guards atop—they’re sleeping. They are, or were, armed.”
“Sleeping?” Callum asked with some suspicion.
“With help,” she told them, patting a leather pouch at her hip.
“Malys, Ned, and Will, get the lass outside the wall. Wait for us on the road to Stobo,” Jamie instructed. “Callum and I will find the boy. We’ll be right behind you.”
Will stepped forward and took the lass’s elbow and Jamie led the way out of the dungeon, up the stairs. The torch light of the bailey showed three guards slumped on the ground, just outside the door, a dull leather flask near one man’s hand.
Callum and Jamie and Malys each claimed a sword from the Craig men.
“Sleeping or dead?’ Callum asked, shoving his boot into one man’s thigh.
“Sleeping,” the lass said, and then with less certainty, “I think.”
Jamie turned to look at her, while Will’s hand was still attached to her elbow. Her eyes were indeed large, round with fright, inside a face that would make for pleasant dreams, he imagined, and surrounded by a wealth of dark hair, glossy and curled down to her hip. “Thank you, lass.”
She nodded. Her fear was palpable, and Jamie inclined his head to Will to get her away. He spared only a second to watch the three men and the lass scurry across the yard; he hadn’t time now to inquire of her circumstance that had her jeopardizing her own life to see them released. He turned then to follow Callum to the north tower, using the inside wall as cover, not daring to cross the middle of the yard.
They met with little resistance inside the tower, their stealth well practiced that the few soldiers within heard them only when it was too late. They were swiftly overtaken and incapacitated, and Jamie and Callum raced up the circular steps to reach the top floor.
Thankfully Henry was unharmed, and Jamie quickly surmised his quarantine had only been a mental tactic used to cause fear and panic. Jamie could well see that Henry’s first instinct upon seeing who opened the door was to run to him. But the lad caught himself, stopped within a few feet of Jamie and only nodded, no questions asked for his laird’s appearance. Jamie grinned and tousled the lad’s hair.
“C’mon, then.” Callum tried to hurry them along. But he was too late. Loud noises broke the stillness of the night, shouts and calls heard all across the keep and yard. Jamie pivoted just as Callum slammed the thick wooden door shut. His captain threw up his hands, helpless, seeing that there was no brace on this side of the door. As one, they turned toward the windows. They hadn’t the weapons or the numbers to face the coming horde, even now loud upon the first floor.
Jamie led the way, using the butt of his pilfered sword to knock out the solid wooden shutters. It was many seconds before they heard the pieces crash to the ground.
Callum looked at Jamie, who said with a shrug of his shoulders that they hadn’t any choice.
“Get on with it,” Callum said. “Might be, we can scale down the wall.” His tone offered little hope that this might actually be the case.
Jamie lifted Henry into the window opening, and gave him an encouraging nod with the advice, “Like going down the side of a mountain, lad. Just hang on and dinna look down.”
The laird and his captain exchanged a glance before Jamie tipped his head toward the window. “You first,” Callum said. Jamie didn’t waste the seconds arguing. His captain would never leave him behind, he knew. The door still hadn’t burst open. He sheathed the sword in his own belt and climbed out the window, turning his back and clinging to the stone. He moved immediately to the left and called for Callum to come.
This side of the tower did not overlook the bailey, or likely they’d have been put upon instantly with missiles of some kind to thwart their escape. Jamie only managed to descend about half a floor before he lost his grip and fell the rest of the way, another fifteen feet perhaps. He landed hard on his back and grunted with the impact but quickly saw Henry’s hand, outstretched to pull him up. Jamie came to his feet just as Callum’s large body thumped next to him with an equally pained grunt.
In the next moment, the three skirted around the keep, further away from the yard, deeper into the darkness. They found the postern gate with only seconds to spare, as torch light now flickered along the wall, heading toward them. Jamie had to put his shoulder twice into the door to free it and soon they were sprinting away
from Dornoch Keep.
They waited for more than an hour, tucked within the trees that framed the Stobo road. Callum and Henry had already walked quite a distance east and west inside these trees, but there was never any sign of Will or Ned or Malys, or the lass who’d freed them.
Twice now, Callum had stopped him from returning to Dornoch.
When he could stand it no more, when he knew they weren’t coming, he resolved that they must scour the vicinity of Happrew, find the MacGregor army if it remained, or any left of his own, and come back.
Jamie cursed volubly, anger warring with helplessness.
He’d never left a living person behind.
“It’s all we’ve got,” Callum said.
They’ll be dead by morning, Jamie knew, if they weren’t dead already. Looking into the eyes of both Callum and Henry, he could see they knew this as well.
Jamie shook his head. He needed another plan, or an additional plan. There was too much going against them. “Callum, take Henry to Inesfree. Wait there, for MacGregor or for me.” His captain wanted to argue again. Jamie pinned him with an intractable glare. “If there’s none still near to Happrew, Inesfree is our best hope.”
ADA HAD ONLY THOUGHT she’d known fear earlier today, or any time in the last many weeks under the same roof as John Craig. That had not been fear, she learned now. Maybe it had been dread, maybe it was anxiety, but it had certainly not been fear.
She knew this for sure, because she now felt true terror.
They’d been stopped near the gates, they’re attempt to flee discovered by a soldier unexpectedly emerging from the gatehouse. No sentry atop the wall had noticed them. But this man, brought up short, just as surprised as they had been, raised a hue and cry and immediately struck out, engaging the sword wielder. The Craig soldier had been quickly joined by his comrades and one man from the dungeon, the only one with a weapon, had been swiftly overpowered and killed.
Another had been cut done only moments later by John Craig’s very angry captain. Having been detained yet unharmed by soldiers near the gates, Ada and the remaining two had stood surrounded, weighing their options with grim countenances. Sir Rodric had walked right into the group, drawing his dagger as he marched toward them. He hadn’t stopped, just kept coming until he was close enough to swipe the blade across the throat of the man, who sputtered and gurgled while blood spurted from his neck. Ada supposed she had been too shocked to react, having gone completely still. She hadn’t even gasped at this gruesomeness.
Her hand had been released, belatedly, by the one who’d tugged her along since she’d freed them from the dungeon. But Sir Rodric had seen this, had put together the entire scenario right quick, and had turned a snarl upon Ada.
“He’s not going to like this at all.” Somehow, she hadn’t flinched, even as he added, “And he’d had such high hopes for you.” He’d left then to meet her betrothed, who’d come from the keep, his head bent as Sir Rodric spoke to him in a low voice as they strode across the yard. Ada saw, even from the distance, the thick but neatly trimmed brow of her betrothed rise just as he lifted his gaze to her.
And then he was standing before her, looking not at all as if he’d been jostled from his bed at such a late hour, but dressed finely in his bright red tabard and buff breeches. His boots, though he’d returned only earlier today from battle, showed not one speck of dirt. He’d bothered to collect his gloves, slapped them against his thigh as he looked at her now.
With a bravery that she absolutely did not feel, she met his gaze. It seemed all but her mind was numb.
The remaining prisoner, who Ada feared would breathe for not much longer, spoke up as John Craig regarded her with some foreboding calmness.
“Aye, but your lasses should no be wandering the yard at night, Craig. Almost had us our own prisoner.”
He was cuffed upside the head by Rodric for his efforts. While Ada appreciated his attempt to remove blame from her, she could see that John did not believe him. He did not even deign to glance at the man, just continued to pin Ada with a hard stare.
“I’m waiting, dear Ada,” John finally said, and shrugged, “for some explanation for your unruly behavior.” There was nothing about his handsome features that spoke of the grim fate that awaited her. No lines marred his forehead, no darkness shrouded his eyes, no curl turned his lip.
She would die, she knew, or she would wish she were dead. He was that manner of man.
“I wished only to be away from you,” she answered. “You are cruel and inhuman, without a shred of decency.”
“So your politeness over this past month was all a lie?” He asked, seeming unperturbed by her response.
“Very much so.” She was numb no more, could feel her legs about to give way.
“I am cruel and inhuman,” he repeated, and turned his head to incite a reaction from the surrounding soldiers. They laughed, barely and uncomfortably. John Craig faced Ada again. He leaned close and whispered at her temple, “My dear, you have no idea.”
She heard a small panicked cry and realized it had come from her.
Ada consoled herself with only this: from start to finish, it had taken the alleged sheep thief about thirty minutes to die; thirty minutes was naught when compared to the lifetime she’d surely suffer at the hands of John Craig if she’d only married him.
John Craig stepped back and Ada breathed again.
He struck out so quickly then, so unexpectedly, that she didn’t see the hand coming until it was too late. He backhanded her, his knuckles glancing off her cheek and mouth, jerking her head to the side with the force of the blow.
Ada tasted blood and swallowed as his shape blurred before her eyes. So caught off guard was she, so stunned by the strike, Ada stumbled as her legs finally gave out. She collapsed at his feet, her skirts billowing briefly before they settled around her. John Craig grabbed her hand, away from her cheek, and bent over her. He held her hand in front of her face as at last he demonstrated his true self, spitting in her face as he ground out, “You will learn just how cruel and inhuman I can be. When the sun comes up, sweet Ada, I will make you beg for death.”
That had been a couple hours ago. And because John Craig was a master of horror, it was too simple, too easy, to have her locked in some room while she waited the morning and the torture to come. No, Ada and the man who’d been caught with her had ropes slung around their necks and had been stood upon wooden crates, which seemed not sturdy enough to handle even Ada’s slight weight. Their hands had been tied behind their backs. John Craig, himself, had adjusted the ropes around her neck and that of the man, so that they needed to keep on their toes to maintain the slack. Standing flatfooted pulled the rope too tight around her neck.
Several soldiers had, at first, stood close to them, taunting them. The man next to her had his face sliced up, though he couldn’t move away from the knife that sliced him, lest he stumble off the crate and hang himself. Ada had only turned her head minimally to see what they did to him, afraid of losing her balance. John Craig had left them to find his bed, content to wait for the morrow to begin his entertainment. But his soldiers, those on the overnight detail, had sought to alleviate their own boredom with the man hanging next to her, one man being so dastardly as to force his dagger, inch by inch, into his side. She thought the man might have passed out, or pretended to, so that they bored with him and moved on to Ada. They had come to her then and she had received similar treatment, a shallow slice from each side of her nose to almost her ear. When this was done, one Craig soldier used his dagger to carve a line across her chest, just above the neckline of her kirtle.
Neither Ada nor the man had cried out or truth be known, made much fuss, as their precarious footing required they remain so still. The soldiers tired of their play soon and thankfully, they’d been left alone after that.
The man next to her was Will, she’d since learned. They’d talked almost constantly to each other, as it was imperative that they remain wakeful lest they stumble
off the crates.
He was of the MacKenna clan. The large man who’d promised to take her with them, who’d yesterday stood up to her betrothed in defense of the boy, was Jamie MacKenna. Will insisted that he would come for them.
“He’ll no let us die,” Will had promised.
“It’s been hours,” Ada had countered. There was no point in having hope, if there was to be none. “Mayhap they are dead.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head very slowly. “The MacKenna’ll no be killed by an insufferable Craig man.” There was so much conviction in his fierce words, Ada was compelled to believe him.
Her toes and the balls of her feet were cramped and sore. She could not maintain this position much longer. She felt drained, bloodless, and about to collapse.
Will suddenly slumped and scrambled, his toes dancing about the crate to find purchase. After a moment, he righted himself.
Ada talked, told him of her life back in Newburgh, with her dear mother, and her favorite sister, Muriel. Told him how she’d arrived here only a month ago, that she was to wed John Craig. Was. She spoke of riding across the heath of Lomond Hills on a sunny day and the last festival she’d attended down near Glasgow. She whispered a raunchy ditty she’d learned here at Dornoch, anything to keep them both awake.
Will tried to do the same, told her he was the fourth son of a fine merchant, that he’d been in the MacKenna army for seven years, that he was in love with a girl named Beth, but he’d never told her. He said he hoped her blue eyes were the last thing he saw.
“Aye, but she hasn’t your heart, Ada Moncriefe,” Will struggled to say. Blood now dribbled from his lip, coming from deep within. “When Jamie comes, lass—and he will—you tell him I’m sorry.”
Ada sobbed woefully.
When it was near to dawn, they’d exhausted their efforts to remain on their toes, to remain awake. Will slept first, not even waking as he slumped, as the rope was tightened around his throat. Tears fell as Ada hissed his name to rouse him, to no avail, even as she refused to believe that he was likely dead now. Her own weariness finally overtook her, and she slumped just as Will had and the rope constricted.
The Shadow 0f Her Smile (Highlander Heroes Book 3) Page 2