by Dee Davis
Ranald raised a skeptical brow. "And how exactly is it that he told you?"
"Well now, there's the beauty of it. He dinna tell me. His steward did. Ambrose Mackay was friend o' mine. And this night, he was deep in his cups and started bragging about how Col had his ale rolled right into his storage chamber. Couldna wait to show it to me." Fergus laughed at the memory.
"I often came to Tùr nan Clach to visit Ambrose. Ye will no doubt remember him, Iain. He was a great bear o' a man. A good one, too. I never understood how he could stomach throwing his lot in with a man like Col Davidson." He stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Anyway, this particular evening, Col was no' in residence. 'Twas always best to visit when he was away. So we were on our own when Ambrose offered to show me the secret door and I was more than pleased to oblige him. 'Twas years ago, now, and Ambrose is gone, God rest his soul. I'd forgotten all about it until Jeff here started talking about back doors and such."
Jeff leaned eagerly toward the old man. "Can you tell us where it is?"
"I'll do better than that, lad—I'll take you there."
"Hold on." Iain frowned. "We need to decide who will go. Fergus, you'll come, of course. And Ranald, I'll need you—"
"Wait a minute," Jeff interrupted. "If you think I'm staying here, you've got another thing coming. That's my sister in there." He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. The dark cloaked him and he seemed less the twentieth century architect, more the medieval warrior. Iain wondered if it was just a trick of the shadows or something more.
"All right, you can come, but you'll do as I tell you."
"Fine." Jeff jerked his chin up as if to underline his agreement.
Iain smiled in grim satisfaction. It seemed he had a new warrior. Now if only they could rescue Katherine.
*****
The ground around Tùr nan Clach was cloaked in black shadow. Iain was grateful there was no moon. Only a few stars had managed to best the misty clouds. He signaled the others, and merging into the dark, they edged closer and closer to the tower. No light shone from its windows. It stood black on black against the sky, its shape rising up out of the gloom, an evil menacing shadow.
Fergus motioned with a hand, and they followed him as he crept along the base stones. The tower sat at the top of a small rise, its back built into the heavy rocks of a cliff. Fergus paused at a corner where the building disappeared into the slope of the hill. Two trees tangled together, seeming to spring from bare rock. Their roots, too, blended blend together, and between their subterranean arms was a dark hollow. The indentation was slight. From where Iain stood, it looked like no more than a small dip.
Fergus approached the edge of the hollow closest to the base of Tùr nan Clach. He lifted some of the heavy tree limbs out of his way and with a wry grin stepped into the shadow and disappeared.
Iain followed behind him, ducking his head to avoid the low hanging branches, before stepping into the little hollow. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the new darkness. A whisper of movement alerted his senses and he turned toward it, his hand automatically closing around the hilt of his claymore.
"Here, 'tis just where I left it."
Iain relaxed at the sound of Fergus' voice. The old man stood right below him, his shoulders even with Iain's knees. There was a short sloping path leading down into a gaping hole in the side of the tower wall. Because of the angle, the path and entrance were not visible unless a man was standing directly under the canopy of the two trees.
Iain grinned at Fergus and stepped out of the shelter to motion Jeff and Ranald forward. When all four of them were safely under the overhanging branches, Fergus swung his arm toward the dark outline of the hole.
" 'Tis no' exactly an entrance for a king, but it'll serve well for our purposes. There is a short tunnel through the walls and then a passageway leading up a wee bit. Ye should come out into a storage chamber. 'Tis where Col kept his ale. From there you'll be on your own, as I've never been any farther. But I've no doubt ye can find your Katherine easily enough once you're inside."
Iain spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "You'll no' be coming then?"
"Nay, lad, I'd only slow ye down. I'll stay here and keep watch."
Iain gave a terse nod and motioned for Ranald and Jeff to follow him into the pitch-black darkness of the tunnel. He moved forward cautiously, his hands skimming the walls to guide himself through the tunnel. He stopped suddenly as the sound of falling rocks echoed throughout the tunnel, the acoustics making it impossible for Iain to judge which direction it came from.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump. " 'Twas only Jeff. All's well." Ranald's voice was pitched low and soft.
Slowly, Iain began to edge forward again. The floor began to slope upward slightly and he had to duck to keep from scraping his head on the rock-hewn ceiling. They rounded a corner and Iain stopped. A few feet ahead a faint line of light cut through the darkness. The storage chamber door.
Moving quickly, he approached it, his hands searching the rough surface of the timber for a handle, his fingers finally closing on a rusty ring. Holding his breath, he pulled slowly, not knowing what would be waiting for them on the other side.
He squinted as the flicker of torchlight momentarily blinded him. He took a careful step backward into the shadow of the passageway and whispered quietly into the dark behind him.
"There's torchlight ahead. It seems we were right to assume that the tower was no' as empty as it seemed. We must go carefully now."
Stepping through the opening, his dirk drawn, he flattened himself against the wall of what did indeed appear to be a storage chamber. He quickly inspected the room for signs of life, and once he was satisfied that there was no one in the chamber, he motioned to the others, sheathing the blade.
"What next?" Jeff's voice was pitched low, but even so, Iain was afraid they would be overheard. Putting a finger to his lips, he shook his head and gestured to a small door set in the opposite wall. Jeff moved noiselessly across the chamber and slowly pulled the door open. Poking his head out, he lifted an arm in signal and slipped into the passageway.
Iain followed Ranald into the dank passageway, pulling the storage room door shut behind him. The passage was narrow and darker than the storage chamber had been, stretching off to Iain's left. At the far end, he could see the spill of light from a doorway. Closer to them, on the opposite side, he could just make out the archway of a second door.
He signaled Ranald and Jeff to wait, then pressing himself against the wall, crept down the passageway, stopping just short of the door. The light streamed through a small round window in the door, casting a beam of color across the passageway. Dropping to his knees, Iain crawled along the floor until he was under the window. Easing himself upward, he peeked through it into the chamber.
It was larger than the one they had just left, a spiral stairway in the corner curling upward. Along one wall, a shallow fireplace held the source of the chamber's light. Three men sat in front of the fire around a crude table. They were deeply occupied with a game of dice, pausing every now and then to drink deeply from wooden cups. A fourth man stood off to the side, sipping from his cup, watching the antics of the others.
Keeping down, Iain retraced his steps back down the passageway. "There're four of them, deep in their in cups, I think." He pitched his voice as low as he could.
"What about the second door?" Even as a whisper, Iain could hear the anxiety in Jeff's voice.
"We'll check it now."
"I'll guard your backs." Ranald growled, already moving low and fast up the corridor, stopping just beyond the entrance to the guard's chamber.
Jeff went next, pausing outside the other door. Iain met his gaze, nodding once, and Jeff carefully pushed the door open. Iain crossed the passageway to join him.
They stepped cautiously into the chamber. It was dimly lit by two sconces set into the opposite wall. The room was long and narrow, with each end shrouded in shadow. At first glance, the
chamber appeared empty. Iain released the breath he'd been holding, hope fading, but Jeff shook his head, then pointed to the far end of the chamber. Iain squinted, staring into the shadows where Jeff pointed, and was rewarded with a glimpse of a small wooden door.
The top of the door was only slightly higher than his belt. Heart racing, he reached to help Jeff remove the heavy bar that held the door closed. Swinging it outward, he pushed past Jeff to duck through the low, narrow opening. A single candle burned brightly in the center of the small chamber, effectively casting the rest of the room in shadow.
"Katherine?" Iain's voice was hoarse with emotion. A small sound came from a corner of the room. He grabbed the candle, holding it high.
"Not Katherine." The voice was strained and cracked, but the words were clear. Iain felt his heart plummet into his belly, the ache that had been with him since hearing of Katherine's kidnapping reasserting itself in full.
Jeff came to stand beside him, disappointment evident on his face. The mound in the comer shifted, trying to rise. A flash of pale gold caught Iain's eye.
"Ailis?" Passing the candle to Jeff, he rushed to her side. He heard Jeff's intake of breath as the candlelight hit upon her ravished face and she shrank away as if the light hurt her eyes. A dark purple bruise spread along one delicate cheekbone and an angry red gash marred the smoothness of her forehead. Her lower lip was swollen and crusted with dried blood.
Holding her gently by the shoulders, Iain spoke slowly and soothingly. "Ailis, 'tis Iain Mackintosh." She looked at him blankly. "Listen to me: Ranald's just outside and we're going to get you away from this place." At the sound of Ranald's name, her eyes focused and recognition dawned.
"Ranald ... is ... here?"
"Aye, I'll take you to him. But first you must tell me where Katherine is."
She went absolutely still, as if looking deep within herself, then with obvious effort tried to speak. "Not... here ... Alasdair ... has her." She shook her head emphatically, her voice growing stronger. "Not... here ... so sorry."
" 'Tis all right, lass. This is no' your doing. Come, let me get you out of here." He started to pick her up, but Jeff intercepted him, handing over the candle before gathering Ailis into his arms.
"Better you have your arms free. Your sword hand is a hell of a lot more useful than mine."
"Be careful then, 'tis precious cargo you carry." He ducked and stepped out of the tiny cell. Crossing the room, he cautiously poked his head around the doorframe, peering into the corridor. Ranald was holding someone by the throat, his dirk pressed into the fat folds of the man's skin. With an apologetic shrug in Iain's direction, he twisted his knife and let the man slide silently to the floor.
Iain motioned for Jeff to hurry, knowing that it wouldn't be long before the dead man's companions decided to check on him. Jeff swung into the passageway, carrying his burden. Ranald paused by Iain's ear to whisper, "Katherine?"
Iain shook his head. "Ailis."
Ranald's eyes darkened with emotion. "Is she alive?"
"Aye. Come, man, we've no time now for talk."
The two of them hurried after Jeff, Iain still holding the candle using it to lead them through the tunnel. They emerged under the branches of the trees just in time to hear the echo of a shout from within the tower. With a quick word to Fergus, they ran quickly for cover, melting into the rocks and trees, becoming indistinguishable from the shadows of the night.
*****
"How is she?" Iain looked up as his cousin moved to find a seat by the fire.
"She'll recover. What will happen to her now?"
"I've talked with Fergus and he's going to send her back to Duncreag at first light. Ewan will escort her."
"At least she'll be safe there." Ranald stared moodily into the fire. "How can a man do something like that to his own sister?"
Jeff spread some cheese on an oatcake. "I don't know, Ranald, but if he could do that to Ailis, I shudder to think about what might be happening to Kitty."
Iain growled, tossing his half-eaten oatcake into the fire.
"We'll find her," Ranald assured him.
Iain frowned at his cousin. "And just how do you propose we go about doing that?"
"Did Ailis have any information at all?" Jeff's expression held cautious hope.
"Nay, no' much," Ranald admitted. "She's still no' thinking verra clearly. She knows that Alasdair has Katherine, but doesna know where he's keeping her. Only that he laughed and said it was right under Iain's nose. Then she babbled something about mists. 'Coire á Cheathaich,' I think she said. What about Katherine's letter? Is there something else there perhaps?"
Jeff screwed up his face in concentration. "I've told you most of it. She didn't know much of anything about her captivity. Hell, she thought she was being held by the Macphersons and that Alasdair rescued her from the ruin where they had her imprisoned."
Iain's head snapped up. "What did you say?"
"I said that Davidson lied about rescuing Katherine."
"Nay, I mean about the place she was held."
Jeff raised his eyebrows, his face communicating his confusion. "I said that he rescued her from a ruin. Katherine said the only thing she knew for sure about her prison was that it was a ruin of some kind. My guess is an old castle or tower or something. Why are you asking?"
Iain felt excitement surge within him. "Because there is an old ruin no' far from here, just on the border between Tùr nan Clach and Duncreag. 'Tis said to be haunted so most people avoid it. I'd forgotten all about it." Iain looked up at the two men, hope burgeoning. " 'Tis located in the misty hollow. Coire á Cheathaich."
Chapter 22
THE COLD WENT bone-deep. It seeped into her skin and radiated inward to her very soul. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. With her hands tied behind her back and little to protect her from the stones that littered the floor, there was probably no such thing, but still Katherine tried. She had no idea how much time had passed. Hours? Days? There was a numbing sameness to it all. Now and then one of the guards came to loosen her bonds and let her eat and use the chamber pot.
She was amazed at how adept she was becoming at using the chamber pot while retaining some decorum. She was never allowed movement without an armed, leering audience. She wondered a bit hysterically if she could add this new expertise to her resume, picturing in her mind how it would read: spring 1467—imprisoned in medieval Scotland; mastered the art of using a chamber pot.
She felt tears threatening again, and marveled that she had any left to shed. She rolled to a sitting position and tried to tell from the small patch of sky visible through the hole what time it was. It was gray with rain and not forthcoming with a clue. She sighed. What she wouldn't give for a clock. Even better, a clock radio. Anything to help pass the time.
She tried to stretch her legs, pointing her toes, then bending her knees. Her wrists were numb, but her ankles stung where the ropes cut into her flesh. She winced, almost regretting the kick that had been the reason for the new bonds. Despite her discomfort, she smiled a little with the memory. She had caught the son of a bitch right in the groin. Of course, it had accomplished nothing, but there was still a certain satisfaction in knowing he would be speaking with a higher voice for the next few days.
She scootched her way over to the wall and leaned wearily against it. There had been no other visitors. Her captors referred often to a "him," but never mentioned a name. Katherine couldn't decide if she wanted to see him or not, whoever he was. She sometimes thought it couldn't get much worse than it already was, but then she'd think of her lecherous rape-happy guards and feel lucky for a reprieve, however uncomfortable it might be.
She closed her eyes, tired just from sitting. She tried to think of a song to sing. She'd read somewhere that people in captivity often sang to keep from going crazy. With her voice, Katherine figured she'd drive her captors insane instead. It was worth a try. Taking a deep breath, she launched into a rousingly bad rendition of Elton John's B
enny and the Jets, only to stop suddenly at the sound of the bar rattling on the door.
The guard's voice filtered in from the corridor. "I dinna know how I wound up watching o'er the likes of her. And now I've got another one to see to. All I can say is he'd better make it well worth all the effort."
There was a low grunt, as if someone was in pain and then the scrape of the door as it began to open. From Katherine's position against the wall, she could see the edge of what looked like a skirt. She released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Not him—a woman.
The door swung all the way open and the guard stuck his head around the edge. "It seems the Laird has sent someone to keep ye company. Perhaps"—he grimaced as he spoke—"that'll keep ye from yer singing." With that, he shoved the woman into the room and slammed the door.
Katherine opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut with an audible click when she recognized the person standing in front of her.
She tried again, but only managed to squeak out a name. "Sorcha."
Sorcha looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot. "Aye, 'tis me. And well I know you're wishing I were someone else. But for now, child, it seems I'm all you've got."
"But how did you get here? Did they capture you too?"
Sorcha ducked her head, a bit of red staining her weathered cheeks. "Aye. I'm afraid I've made a real mess o'things."
"Mess of things? Sorcha, I don't understand. Where's Iain? Is he hurt?" Katherine looked at Sorcha, every ounce of her being pleading for good news.
"He's fine."
Katherine felt relief flood through her. "Is he coming?"