Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2)

by Davis, Dee

  Cameron studied the men and horses. "I don't know, maybe. It's hard to tell how many there were before. The trees on the mountain obstructed the view."

  Marjory nodded, her eyes never leaving the small band of men approaching the tower.

  "How many Macpherson men are in the gate tower?"

  "I canna say with certainty, but definitely no' as many as would normally be about. The feasting left many o' them abed this morning."

  "How many in the tower total?"

  "I'd say around eighty maybe a wee bit more. But there are Camerons there as well. Torcall always leaves some of his men to keep watch."

  "Not exactly what I wanted to hear."

  "Aye, and it only gets worse. There are also women and children in there." She bit her lip, nervously and then drew in a sharp breath. "Look, over there." She pointed to the northwest side of the tower.

  Cameron squinted against the sun, trying to see what had captured her attention.

  She placed a hand on his arm. "There, near the edge o' the loch"

  His eyes widened. A second group of men was approaching the tower, but unlike the others, they were dismounted, leading their horses. Their movements, even from this distance, looked suspicious.

  "Well, well, that accounts for the missing men. I'd say there's about ten of them." They watched intently as the small group crept along the shore. "What could they possibly hope to gain by splitting up?"

  "I've no idea, unless the first group is meant as a decoy."

  "Possibly." Cameron ran a hand through his hair. What he wouldn't give for a pair of binoculars right now. "But what good does it do them to approach the walls? They're impregnable aren't they?"

  "Aye." She frowned suddenly. "Except for the Tinker's gate."

  "The what?"

  "'Tis a gate in the west wall. It leads to a narrow causeway along the northern wall. The wee road ends in a passageway leading under the battlements, directly into a storage room near the kitchen. My father had it built along with the passage from the kitchen to the great hall."

  "So why is it called the Tinker's gate?"

  "Because that's where Father would send the traveling tinkers when they came. Sometimes they'd camp on the wee bit o' ground between the wall and the loch, but we haven't used it since he died."

  "How would Torcall know about it?"

  "He wouldn't. Unless someone at Crannag Mhór told him."

  "Well it looks as if someone did." He frowned, his gaze still on the scene below him. The men to the north disappeared from view, obscured by a small rise, but he could still see the others. They had reached the gate tower and were clustered around the entrance, waiting to be admitted. "Will they be allowed in?"

  "They shouldna. With Fingal injured and me out of the tower, I left word that no one was to be admitted without my leave. But as I said, there are Camerons inside the tower—" Marjory grasped his arm suddenly, her fingers digging into his skin.

  The men to the north appeared again, still inching their way toward the tower. This time without their horses. It was hard to see them against the dark green of the meadow and the blue-black of the lake, but every once in a while the sun would glint off of the metal of a blade. If he shaded his eyes from the glare, he could just make out their movements.

  "Damn. It looks like you called it. They're heading for the passageway. While your men are busy with the army at the gate, Torcall and son will waltz right into the tower."

  Marjory's eyes widened and her grip on his arm increased. "We've got to stop them."

  "If we just go roaring in there without a thought, we won't do anyone any good." She released her death grip on his arm. "The only thing we have on our side right now is surprise. Torcall has no idea we're seeing this."

  She nodded grimly, but he could feel her body against his, her muscles knotted with tension.

  "Look, I can't imagine Torcall making a move before he's certain all of his men are in place." He reached over to brush her hair back. "I'd say that buys us a little time."

  "All right." He felt her relax and heard the whisper of a resigned sigh. "What do we do?"

  "Well, the way I see it, there's no way we can go through the front gate. The minute someone sees us, we've tipped Torcall off and any advantage we have is gone. So that leaves the Tinker's gate. Unless there's a third way into the tower that you haven't told me about."

  "Nay, there's no' another."

  "Okay, then our first step is to figure out how to get there without anyone noticing us."

  "Well, the shortest route would be to cut across the meadow. But they'd see us the minute we cleared the trees." She frowned in concentration. "Which leaves us with two other options. We can go a bit farther north until we reach one of the crofter's huts. There should be a curach there. We could paddle out to the causeway."

  "No thanks," he shook his head, "I've had enough adventure with Scottish boats. Besides we can't afford to lose the time it would take. What's the third option?"

  "'Tis a bit more risky, but it might work. See the trees by the edge o' the water?"

  He glanced to the north. The forest thinned considerably, but there were indeed scattered clumps of birch reaching all the way to the lake.

  "It will take us longer, but the trees will provide more cover than if we try to cross the meadow directly. After that, we can follow the shoreline of the loch. 'Twill take us straight to the Tinker's gate. We'll be out in the open for a wee bit, but the loch should provide protection."

  "It might work. At any rate it's our best shot. We'll head for the edge of the woods and then wait for Torcall to make his move. Agreed?"

  She nodded. "Cameron?"

  He kept his eyes on the group of men outside the tower. "Hmmm?"

  "What are we going to do once we reach the Tinker's gate?"

  He leaned over, brushing his lips lightly against hers. "Don't worry, Marjory mine. We'll think of something."

  *****

  The huge gate stood firmly in place, its iron hinges rusted in place. It was impassable. "Well, I don't think they came in this way."

  Marjory nodded, her eyes narrowed in thought. "The gate hasna been used since my father's death. I'm surprised it hasna fallen into worse disrepair."

  "Is there another way in?"

  "No' that I remember."

  "Well, they've got to have found some way, because they're certainly not here." He made his way to the edge of the lake. The wall extended about fifty feet into the cold, dark water, a jagged stain of green marring the stones. The line of algae was considerably higher than the water lapping placidly at the base of the wall. "Does the wall continue around the corner?" He glanced up at Marjory, who had followed him to the water's edge.

  "Nay. Father always thought the loch was enough of a deterrent. The north wall runs along the inside o' the causeway starting at the far side o' the gate. This part of the wall is merely an extension, meant to keep invaders off the wee strip o' land."

  "How deep is the lake here?"

  "I dinna know. 'Tis impossible to tell without getting in. The water is too murky to ever see the bottom."

  Squatting down, he began to methodically search the ground at the water's edge. Finally, almost hidden by large rock he found what he was looking for. The soft mud between the boulder and the water should have been unmarred, washed smooth by the lake. Instead, the ground was pock marked, as though a very bad golfer had swung and missed over and over again. Or, more appropriate to the times, as though Torcall's men had walked around the rock and entered the lake, intent of making their way around the wall.

  "Why do you ask?" Marjory knelt beside him, a puzzled expression on her face.

  "Well, we know they didn't use the Tinker's gate and I doubt that they headed for the main gate. So, as I see it, that would only leave one option."

  Marjory's eyes widened. "You think they went into the loch?"

  "I do."

  "But if it's deep, how would they manage? They're heavily armed and claymores a
re no' something I'd want to be swimming with." She shuddered and Cameron wondered if she was thinking about her own close call with drowning.

  "I don't think they had to swim."

  "I dinna follow."

  "Here, look at the water mark." He pointed to the algae. Her brows drew together as she tried to follow his train of thought. "It's considerably higher than the actual water. That tells me that the lake is low right now. Coupled with this," he said, pointing at the mud, "I'd say they went around the wall via the lake."

  Marjory looked at the black water and then at the little stretch of mud. "So you're thinking we should follow."

  "Quite honestly, I don't see an alternative."

  Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Marjory squared her shoulders and met his gaze. "All right then. We'd best get to it. If Torcall and his men did go around the wall, they'll be inside Crannag Mhór by now. There's no time to lose."

  As if to underscore the importance of her words, a blood curdling battle cry rang out from behind the main walls of the tower. Cameron felt the hairs on his neck rise as the sound crescendoed and then died. Marjory was pulling up her skirts, tucking the hem in the belt at her waist. With a nod, they stepped into the lake. The battle had begun.

  *****

  The water wasn't just cold, it was frigid. Marjory felt her teeth clacking together, as she moved cautiously along the wall. The water came up to her breasts, but appeared to have reached its deepest point. Looking up, she realized the slimy line of algae was far above her head. Suddenly, she was grateful for low water, she'd had enough swimming for a lifetime. Cameron tugged on her hand, and she realized they'd almost reached the end of the wall.

  "We're almost around it. Hang in there," Cameron whispered, squeezing her hand as he gently pulled her forward.

  Just a little bit more and they'd clear the end. Of course there was still the walk back to shore on the other side, but somehow that didn't seem so bad. Every step would take them closer to land, not away from it.

  Cameron stopped suddenly, putting a finger to his lips. Marjory almost crashed into his back. Motioning her to stay put, he flattened himself against the stones and slid forward until he could peer around the edge. She held her breath, waiting for some sort of outburst from the other side of the barrier.

  Everything was quiet. Cameron stepped around the wall, disappearing from view. She waited for a few moments and then took a few cautious steps forward, her heart beating staccato against her ribs.

  "The coast is clear." Cameron's voice was barely a whisper, but he might as well have screamed.

  Startled, she jumped back and would have fallen if he hadn't reached for her, his strong arm wrapping securely around her waist. She gasped for breath, feeling chagrinned.

  "Are you all right?" His eyes were filled with concern.

  "Aye, you just startled me a wee bit. I'm fine." She shook off his arm and rounded the end of the wall.

  The shore was nearer on this side, the strip of land marking the causeway widening a bit. She scanned the area, looking for any signs of activity, but the causeway was empty. Assured that, for the moment at least, they were safe, she began to make her way toward the shore, leaving Cameron to bring up the rear.

  Stepping out of the frigid water, she stood for a moment, simply enjoying the feel of solid ground beneath her feet. Another cry rang out from behind the tower walls, this one a scream. Marjory turned around, searching for Cameron, panic rising. He was just behind her, struggling to shore, shaking water off his body.

  "We must hurry." Her voice sounded strained and she forced herself to take deep calming breaths. It wouldn't help anyone if she lost her head now.

  Cameron squeezed her shoulder, reassuringly. "Show me where the passageway is."

  She nodded, grateful for something concrete to do. The causeway was short. The far end, like the gate side, was bounded by a stone wall jutting out from the tower's northern ramparts. It too, extended out into the water, protecting the little strip of land from the loch side.

  Reaching the corner, Cameron released a frustrated sigh. There appeared to be nothing but grass and stone. "It's a dead end." He turned to look at her, his expression bordering on mutinous. "Hell, this was just a waste of time."

  "Appearances are deceiving." With a faint smile she moved forward. "There are actually two walls here." She demonstrated the fact by walking to an outcropping of brush, which at first glance it appeared to be growing out of the wall. In actuality, the brush was behind a shorter wall whose masonry was designed to blend into the taller battlement behind it. The foliage added to the illusion, making it look, at least to the casual observer, like one solid, impenetrable wall.

  Marjory walked around the shorter wall, relieved to see that the narrow stairs descending into the rocky ground were still intact. If the passageway was in a similar condition, they'd soon be safe inside the tower. She started to walk down the steps, but stopped short when Cameron closed a hand around her arm and pulled her back around the wall.

  She glared at him, jerking her arm away. "What are you doing? We've no time to waste."

  "I know, but we can't just go charging down there. We don't know what we're going to find. For all we know, Torcall's men are still in the passageway." He reached for her hand again. This time she let him take it. "I know you're worried, but we have to move cautiously."

  She nodded, biting her lip. "You're right. I wasna thinking."

  He gave her hand a squeeze and she wondered why it was that this man's touch affected her so dramatically. Even under conditions as dire as these, she felt her body respond. Gritting her teeth, she shook off the distraction. "How do you want to proceed?"

  "I'll go first." She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand to silence her. "I've got the claymore, remember? Wouldn't you rather it be leading the way if we run into any of Torcall's thugs?"

  She didn't recognize the word he used, but she gathered it was not a complimentary term. She rather liked the sound of it. "Fine, I'll leave the handling of thugs to you."

  CHAPTER 27

  The passageway was dank and dark, but fortunately it wasn't long. There was a faint light at the end, its pale glow at least partially illuminating the path. Cameron made his way forward, claymore drawn.

  Marjory followed just behind him, her hand resting against the small of his back. A shadow flickered across the patch of light. Cameron stopped abruptly, pushing Marjory back against the earthen wall. "I think I saw someone." He peered at the open doorway. It was actually slightly above them, the path slanting steeply upward towards the storage room. Nothing moved except the faint waver of light.

  "'Twas naught but the torch light."

  Cameron shook his head. "It was more than that." As if to substantiate his words, the shadow moved across the opening again, and this time they were close enough to make out its distinctly human form. "Looks like Torcall left a guard. Stay here."

  Cameron waited until the shadow disappeared again and started inching forward, his sword gripped tightly in his hand. He wondered, briefly, how he had managed to get himself into this position, but the memory of Grania's battered body immediately reminded him and he clenched his jaw in determination. He would not let her death go unpunished.

  Reaching the entrance to the tower, he was relieved to find the doorway empty. He crouched low in the corner of the passage, holding his breath, waiting. A slight movement in the still air surrounding him warned him he was not alone. "I told you to stay put."

  "I thought you might have need for me."

  He sighed with resignation. She was a willful woman. "Well, at least stay here until I dispatch Torcall's henchman."

  "The thug."

  Cameron could detect the smile in her voice. She was actually enjoying this. Or whistling in the dark. He turned back to the light, as the man stepped into the doorway, his back to them. It was one of Torcall's soldiers; Cameron recognized the plaid. With one swift movement, he swung upward, claymore flashing i
n the torch light.

  The Scotsman died with a look of astonishment on his face. His lips moved, as though he were trying to say something, but instead, he crumpled to the floor of the storage room, his mouth open, his eyes lifeless.

  One down.

  Cameron grimly stepped over the body, eyes scanning for other intruders. The room was a replica of the solars on the two floors above, except that it had only tiny slits for windows.

  "He's dead." Marjory announced matter-of-factly, stepping gingerly into the room.

  Cameron was already in place against the wall abutting the door leading into the kitchen. Holding a finger to his lips, he motioned her to the opposite wall. They waited in silence, Cameron straining to hear noise.

  The kitchen, usually a busy place, full of people, was ominously quiet. Keeping his claymore ready, he swung into the room. Releasing a breath, he relaxed his sword arm. The kitchen was empty.

  A fire burned at the hearth, licking at the bottom of a large iron pot. The smell of stewing meat filled the room. Marjory edged around the transom behind him. "Where is everyone?"

  "Hiding, I assume. I think it's a good sign that there aren't any bodies." Cameron heard her sharp intake of breath. "Let's check the other rooms." The sleeping quarters adjacent to the kitchen were empty, no sign of any occupants, living or dead. The same was true of the pantry. It was as deserted as the kitchen. Abandoned trenchers were lined up on a table ready to be filled with food.

  The thick stone walls and ceiling insulated the ground floor from the rooms above. It was impossible to tell what might be happening upstairs. "Where next?"

  Marjory pointed to a connecting door between the pantry and another room. "The buttery, and there's another storage room."

  They cautiously stepped into the buttery. Like the other rooms, there were signs of recent activity, an open keg of ale and several pitchers clustered around it, but the room was silent and empty. A door at the end of the buttery was closed, a heavy bar in place across its wooden door.

  "Is that the storage room?"