by Shana Ab
Keir did not have a dungeon—she had told Arion the truth, what seemed like years ago now, when she had toyed with the idea of keeping him hostage. But it did have quarters where hostages used to be kept, before both kings had outlawed kidnapping between the two families.
The quarters were in a wing of Keir that was not quite separated from the rest of it, yet not completely a part of it, either. Since castle space was always short, it had been decided that the rooms would be best turned into living chambers, and such effort had gone into making them comfortable that eventually they had become one of the most desirable parts of the castle to live in.
So naturally it was here that the clan had decided to place the laird of the Murdochs, and his personal guard. And it was here that Lauren was held, in the rooms that used to house English prisoners, far from the main section of the keep, from her family, and their aid.
Would they listen to his madman's rhetoric? Would they give in to hatred and prejudice, and attack the very people who had saved them not a week before?
No. Surely not. Quinn would not listen. The council was not that unwise.
But the thumping of Lauren's heart told her something different. The panic screamed for action—to escape, to warn Arion, to save him.
She ran to the lone window of the room, thankfully enlarged from the narrow slit it had been in the days of prisoners. The wooden frame was firmly secured. She pushed against the hinges, throwing glances over her shoulder at the door. How long would it take Murdoch to find a drug for her? She wasn't certain. She had to hurry.
The window opened with a shudder and she pushed harder, straining. At last it eased open enough for her to fit her head through, and then her shoulders, twisting sideways, looking down at the ground, two floors below her.
Well, she had no choice. She would cling to the stone as long as she could, and if she fell, at least she knew how to roll with it. Who knew that her rough-and-tumble childhood could have prepared her for this?
But she wasn't prepared, and when she was dangling by her fingertips from the edge of the windowsill, she realized there were no grooves in the stone deep enough to provide a hold for her feet or hands. If she stayed as she was, it was only a matter of time before she was discovered.
Lauren let go.
She fell with the fluttering of her tartan and landed hard on her back, instinct taking over to curl up into herself, protecting her head.
Pain slammed through her, blackness filled her vision, all the old wounds of the past few weeks screaming to life again. It was a long while before she could rise to her elbows, gasping in the air.
Nothing broken, as far as she could tell, a precious bit of luck. Lauren rose slowly to her feet, looking around her.
She was out of the keep, but not beyond the castle walls. Worse, she had no cloak, nothing to help disguise herself. At least this side of the keep was cast in shadow. Even at this distance from the main gate, she could hear the chorus of voices from the people milling about in the bailey. Clan members from the outer villages were arriving at Keir for the wedding tomorrow, and the celebration tonight would go on until nearly dawn, she knew.
The weaving room was nearest to her, and blessedly deserted. Lauren quickly crept in and shut the door behind her, feeling her way around in the gloom. She didn't think anyone had noticed her. Her gown was dark, her tartan the same as everyone else's, and no one had cried out to her in recognition.
There was a line of hooks on the wall near the door, meant to hang wet cloaks and tartans, close to the lone hearth in the room. Usually extra cloaks could be found there, forgotten by their owners in the rush to go somewhere else, to make it to the buttery in time for a meal, to the nursery to greet the children….
Yes, fate was smiling on her, at least as far as this. Her hands encountered a mass of material where the cloaks should be, and she pulled down the one nearest to her and felt her way around it until she was certain she had it on correctly. It was slightly too large for her; when she stepped back out into the bailey the hood fell low across her eyes. Perfect.
Lauren hunched her shoulders, moving toward the gatehouse, trying desperately to think of a way to exit the castle walls. It was not time for the sheep to be brought in or led out, and all the shepherds would be gone by now. She could only pray for a hunting party, or a group arriving from the villages. Or perhaps the gate would remain open tonight, in anticipation of late arrivals….
But it wasn't. When she was nearer to the gatehouse Lauren saw that the portcullis had been lowered to the ground, although the massive wooden gate itself was down. She would not be able to leave unless they raised the staked grid of the portcullis as well, however.
She stood still amid the bustling crowd around her, people calling out and greeting one another in hearty tones, MacRaes and a scattering of Murdoch's men, standing in clusters of threes and fours and watching the crowds.
One of them looked over to her and Lauren turned away, head lowered, heart pounding. She began an aimless walk toward a group of her clan, as if she meant to join in their conversation, and then hesitated just outside of them.
People were not really dispersing, only moving about, back to the stables, to the keep and out again, holding mugs and flasks of ale and wine and whiskey. Someone bumped into her and apologized. Lauren only nodded in response, again moving away.
She risked a look at the portcullis, still lowered. Another person stepped into her, this time managing to grab her elbow before she fell; a man reeking of whiskey, who asked if she was hurt and laughed good-naturedly when she shook her head no.
“Have a care, now,” exclaimed the man.“You need a drink, lass. It's a celebration, you know.”
Lauren replied,“I know,” in a husky voice, and walked away as fast as she dared.
She had to get out of here. She was afraid she might be attracting attention, a lone woman amid all these clusters of revelers, but she couldn't very well go up to anyone and join in a conversation. Chances were excellent that some member of her clan would recognize her, and then her game would be finished.
She heard the command for the portcullis to rise. Lauren turned toward it along with the rest of the crowd, everyone eager to see who was arriving now.
It was a party of about fifty people, men and women both, most on foot but a few mounted, and they poured through the gate to the delighted calls of everyone around her. Lauren moved with the group nearest her toward the newcomers, intent on escape.
She brushed by one of the horses just as a woman dismounted, aided by two men. Their shoulders almost clipped but Lauren managed to duck in time, hearing the other woman speak in a soft, happy voice.
“Isn't it grand?” asked the woman, and Lauren was horrified to recognize her cousin Kenna's tones.“I can't wait for Lauren to see the baby.”
“Aye, love,” replied a man, and they began to walk away.
In spite of herself she turned to watch them, this time not feeling anything like panic but rather something more like pain, remorse. Their heads were close together, Kenna's arms wrapped securely around what Lauren realized was her new child. Lauren hadn't known the babe had come. She didn't even know if Kenna had gotten the daughter she had wanted.
And now, most likely, she would not find out. Not under the joyous circumstances that she had expected.
It hurt. It hurt with a kind of bright intensity, and here, in this perilous moment, she truly understood what it was she was leaving behind her—the goodwill of her clan. Their hopes for her, and for their own future.
She turned back to the gate and began to nudge her way through the people still coming in, all on foot, as if she were looking for someone who had not yet arrived. It was more difficult than she had imagined. She was fighting the flow of people intent upon the keep, and the warmth and hospitality offered there. When a cloaked man knocked into her she was pushed back, hard, and felt annoyance rise through her. The man did not look at her, nor did he offer any sort of apology, not even a nod. He
moved on, limping just slightly, leaving Lauren to stare at his shrouded back, a hood masking his hair.
That limp. She knew it. Indeed, she had it burned into her memory, her very last sight of him, fading off into the night across the meadow.
No, no, she thought, disbelieving. It can't be him. It can't be.
She had no time for this. She had no time to turn around, away from the gatehouse, where the last of the people were straggling in. She had no time to chase after this stranger, to risk locking herself into Keir and possibly losing all that she was gambling for just to see the face of a man with a limp. It was insane.
The gate, still open, beckoned to her.
The man, still limping, was traveling slowly through the crowd, as if he were not quite certain of where to go.
Cursing herself, Lauren turned away from her freedom, began a hurried walk through the throng of people, trying to keep the man in sight while at the same time hiding her face from the others.
Stupid, she berated herself. Fool! You're going to miss it, the gate will close, all because you think you see him everywhere. He would never be crazed enough to come to Keir, not now, not ever. He knows he'd be killed. Turn around! Get out of here!
But she didn't. She lost him for a moment, an eddy of men stumbling in front of her, ale sloshing from their mugs as they broke into laughter, and when she looked around he was nowhere to be seen.
She took a calming breath and stood motionless on the stones, searching, her hand clenched tight around the hood, holding it close to her face.
There! He was over there, near the entrance to the castle, stopped, looking around. His hood was also low, but when he turned his head she had a glimpse of his jaw—square, firm—and lips set to a tight line.
Lauren went to him as quickly as she could manage, cold fear tingling through her hands, leaving her numb and shaken. Just before she reached him he came to the main doors of the keep, waiting for a group of women to pass though before going in.
Lauren ended up running the last few steps to him. If he went into the great hall, she would be recognized in an instant.
She managed to grab a fold of his cloak just as he began to enter, tugging him back, causing him instinctively to look behind him to see what stayed him.
Lauren moved her hand from her hood, revealing her face to him.
Arion stared down at her, disbelieving.
His eyes widened; a frown appeared, incredulity.
She pulled at him again, wordless, back toward the gatehouse, and she knew her worry must be apparent on her face because he turned at once, taking her arm, leading them back the way they had come. Both had their hoods lowered in place, both walked a little too quickly compared to the rest of the people, but there was no time to be more subtle. The last of the incoming party was entering the gate, and soon there would be no chance to leave. There was no way to tell when or if another party might arrive.
Lauren heard the gatekeeper yell out a command, and the heavy portcullis began to lower, the chain unrolling from its giant spool in metallic clicks that sent a winter touch down her spine.
They were not going to make it. They were about to be trapped in the bailey, the two of them with almost every member of her clan, and Murdoch's men besides. Lauren knew it would be just a matter of time before she was reported missing, even if Payton Murdoch had not truly planned to send her a sleeping draught. Someone from her family—Hannah, if no one else— would insist upon seeing her, and then the ruse would be over. She could think of no plausible reason to offer for trying to steal out of Keir with the Earl of Morgan at her side.
Lauren and Arion stopped together, watching the crisscrossed wood and metal of the portcullis slowly descend to the ground, preventing anyone from traveling in or out of the castle.
Then they looked at each other. She saw the resignation in his face, the mystery of his green eyes revealed to her: intelligence, determination. He began to look around them, hand still firm on her elbow, searching for some alternative. A rowdy group of soldiers was coming toward them, more ale and whiskey being shared all around, and in desperation she pulled him by the hand toward the wall of the keep, to a spot that held the corner of a shadow from a turret above. They cut through the thinning crowd and stayed there, watching as bit by bit the mixture of people in the bailey headed into the castle.
Payton Murdoch walked out of the keep. He strode with an air of confidence, headed exactly for them, to the group of his clansmen who were standing idle in a circle just beyond Lauren and Arion. He had to pass close by to get to his men. He would, without a doubt, see the couple lingering by the wall.
Lauren turned to Arion and pulled his head down to hers with both hands, holding him there for her kiss, and after a moment of startled hesitation, he put his arms around her, bringing her closer, their faces together, their hoods touching.
He was heat and languid goodness to her, he was strength and comfort. She found herself relaxing against him despite the moment, surrendering some of the outside troubles for this second of stolen joy, for his lips, his touch, so welcome.
He made some soft sound between them, his hands broad across her back, holding her even nearer, and she felt the stinging passion he brought go spiraling through her, lazy and fine, the opposite of what she should be feeling and doing right now, but oh, it didn't matter….
Arion lifted his mouth from hers and murmured,“Was it he?”
She nodded, lowering her head, still wrapped in his embrace, then allowed herself the slightest look down and to her left, to where Murdoch's men had stood.
They were gone. They must have moved off after their laird had come to them, all of them off to some evil business, Lauren was sure. She raised her head a little more, still not seeing them, then turned the other way, scanning the other side of the bailey.
Almost everyone had left for the keep, and Murdoch and his men were nowhere in sight. Pockets of tipsy celebration could still be seen here and there: men and women over by the stables, laughing long and hard. Soldiers by the gate, discussing something in cheerful, loud tones. A few more people walking back and forth, each with a destination, in couples and foursomes.
From inside the keep music could now be heard, more laughter, the din of conversation booming.
The portcullis remained securely lowered.
Lauren gazed back up at Arion, trying hard to think of something clever to save them both, at the very least to get him out of here before they caught her.
“Listen,” she began, the barest whisper.“We're going to have to separate. But I have to tell you something before I go—”
He stopped her with another kiss, this one harder, more demanding. Lauren tried to pull away, to finish her sentence, but he was insistent. She gave up her halfhearted struggle and responded to him instead, leaning into him, causing his grip to soften, become closer to a caress through her clothing.
“We're not separating,” Arion said after a while, very quietly.“Tell me what you're doing out here.”
“Will you listen to me?” Lauren hissed back.“You're in danger! Yo u can't be found near me!”
Three men exited the keep, stood for a moment near the entrance, then began to walk toward Lauren and Arion. He quickly leaned down and kissed her again. She heard the men pass by them, rumbling tones that did not sound pleased, words too low to catch. Then they were out of range.
“You must get back to Elguire.” Lauren stood on her toes to bring her lips to his ear, smiling coyly for the sake of the men, who might be watching them.“Mur-doch plans an attack on you. You must be ready.”
Arion pulled back, his face harsh.“Are you certain?”
She nodded again, her smile fading away to sober-ness.“I was coming to tell you.”
He took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes, showing her the strain and fatigue on him that she had not the time to notice before.
“They'll know I'm missing soon,” Lauren continued, speaking fast. “You need to be far
away from me. They won't suspect you're here.”
His eyes opened, ocean deep and beautiful, and she felt a wrenching sorrow fill her, that this would be the end of them after all, that she had come so far and made so many daring choices—only to be caught again. At least she could gain some solace in that she had been able to warn him.
Another set of men came out of the keep, and another, and another. All were soldiers, MacRaes and Murdochs mixed, and they walked with short, impatient steps, coming together in groups and parting again, the mumble of their conversations sounding ominously grim.
Sweet heavens, perhaps it had happened already— Murdoch had gone back to see her and found her vanished. They would be searching for her, forming parties to cover the castle and its grounds with swift effi-ciency. They would try not to alarm the guests at first— Murdoch would not want a scene from her, not with his wicked plan to pursue—but when she was not easily found they would grow more aggressive in their hunt, and soon all of Keir would join in.
She had to get Arion out of here. She had to find a safe place for him. They were beginning to attract notice again.
The gatekeeper called out a command. Lauren felt her body freeze in hope, in a rush of prayer. And the portcullis began to rise, the clinking of the chain now the most welcome sound she had ever heard. A new party had arrived.
She began to pull Arion toward it but he was already at her side, his hood once again concealing him, her own so far down over her face that she could see only the stones of the ground in front of her. Escape was the only thing she could think of in this moment, the only thing she could feel, taste in her mouth, sharp and bright. The newcomers jostled into them, greeting others in loud tones, and from the sound of it quite a few people were spilling from the keep, flowing around the soldiers of before, laughing and drinking. Arion guided her past them all, his limp growing more and more pronounced.
Lauren watched her feet cross the deep indentations in the stone bridgeway where the spikes of the portcullis would rest. She watched herself take the first few steps out of Keir, past the arched gateway to the road beyond, people and horses still out there, waiting to enter.