The room was empty and Megan sighed a breath of relief. Turning, she closed the tunnel door behind her. Walking quickly across the room, she paused at the door to the hallway. With regret, she blew out the candle and set the holder on a nearby table. She would have to make the remainder of her escape without light. It would be too dangerous to do otherwise.
Opening the door a crack, she listened for sounds in the corridor. When she heard nothing, she slipped out of the room, making her way down the back stairs that were used by servants. She had no immediate plan in mind, but decided it was crucial to determine how well the dungeon was being guarded.
There was little choice, really. In order to slip out of the castle with the least chance of being detected, she would have to pass by the dungeon anyway. The long corridor leading to the dungeon also had a back door that led out to the courtyard. From there she would make her way to a part of the castle wall where, in their teens, she and Jamie had carved small footholds in the stone, enabling them to scale over it without a rope.
Summoning her courage, she moved stealthily along the dimly lit corridor, stifling a cry of pain when her shin slammed unexpectedly against the stub of a burnt-out torch someone had left propped against the wall. As the wood fell to the floor with a loud thump, Megan sank back into the shadows, listening for sounds of an alarm. When none came, she exhaled, bending over and taking the wood in her hand.
It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it felt better to hold on to something.
When she reached the corner where the corridor to the dungeon intersected the hallway in which she was standing, she pressed herself against the cold wall. Taking several deep breaths to calm her pounding heart, she peeked around the corner and took a cautious look down the long corridor.
Luck was with her. Only one guard sat in a wooden chair beneath a burning torch. He seemed asleep, although she could not be certain. Clearly, the foolish Englishman felt secure within the confines of the castle walls.
Megan smiled. Och, how little they knew o’ the Scottish.
Pressing back against the wall, she contemplated the possibilities. She knew that as soon as she was discovered missing, Rolf would most likely assign more guards to the other prisoners. Therefore, the probability of her meeting just one guard again was slim, indeed. However, if she proceeded to disarm the guard now, she might be able to free the prisoners and escape with them over the wall before anyone even noticed she was missing. And if the guard really had fallen asleep, she would have the advantage of surprise.
She decided to risk it.
Her decision made, she stepped out from behind the wall and began tiptoeing down the long corridor. The guard did not move and with every step, Megan’s confidence grew. As she drew closer, she assessed his chances for overpowering her. He was a big, burly man with thick arms. She knew that if she did not render him useless before he awoke, he would easily be able to subdue her.
Fortunately his chest continued to rise and fall evenly in the steady rhythm of sleep. She crept closer when he suddenly snapped his eyes open, looking at her in astonishment.
“Wh-what the bloody hell?” His voice thickened with sleep and confusion.
Megan stepped forward, swinging the burnt-out torch with all her might. It connected solidly with the side of his head. With a groan of pain, he slid to the floor and lay motionless.
Leaning over him, she searched for a pulse and breathed a small sigh of relief when she felt it. She had no desire to maim or kill the man, just render him unconscious. A faint noise sounded in the dungeon. As Megan looked up, men clamored about the small barred window of their cell.
She heard Uncle Geddes call out. “Who goes there?”
Megan felt through the guard’s coat pockets until her fingers closed around an iron key ring. Straightening, she hurried over to the door and began trying the keys in the lock. “Hush, Uncle Geddes, ’tis only me, Megan.”
“Megan? My God, lass, how did ye manage to overpower the guard?”
She fumbled with the keys. “Never mind about that. As soon as I find the accursed key that opens this door, ye are to lead the prisoners to the west wall behind the dungeon. Near a thick clump o’ bushes, ye’ll find a series of footholds that’ll permit ye to scale the wall without a rope. In case we are separated, we’ll meet at our campsite from last spring. The English will no’ think to look for us so close to the loch.”
She heard Geddes whispering her instructions among the prisoners. At last, she found the key that fit the lock. With a swift turn and pull, the door swung open. The men came spilling out, some being carried or helped along by the others.
Megan looked about in concern, seeing the numerous injuries. “Blessed saints, did the English torture ye badly?” She slid her arm beneath the shoulders of a young boy, Lachlan MacGee, whose entire middle was wrapped in bandages.
Geddes shook his head. “Nay, ’twas most strange. The English spoke wi’ us but did no’ resort to torture. The wounds ye see are the ones we received during the battle at the camp.” He noticed Megan’s fine gown for the first time and frowned. “How are faring ye, lass? Did the Englishman harm you in any way?”
Megan shook her head, but could not help the color from creeping to her cheeks as she remembered Rolf’s kiss. ’Nay, I swear that I have no’ been harmed, Uncle. But that may change if we do no’ get out o’ here and quickly. Where’s Robbie?”
Geddes grimaced as he limped forward. “He eluded capture thanks to ye, Megan. Your diversion permitted more than a handful o’ the men to escape. I suppose he’s been worried ill about us.”
Megan’s mouth tightened as she looked back over the prisoners. Their faces were drained and weary. Concerned, Megan began to wonder if they could make the climb over the wall at all. In an instant, she made a decision. She handed Lachlan over to Douglas MacLeary, a lifelong friend of her father’s whose eyes were covered with bandages, and drew Uncle Geddes aside.
“That door at the end of the corridor leads to the courtyard. From there ye can make your way around the back o’ the dungeon to the part o’ the wall I told ye about. Take all the men who are fit to climb and scale the wall as soon as possible. Wait for us on the other side. I’ll stay back with those who are injured to ensure that everyone makes it safely.”
Geddes gasped, aghast at her proposal. “Nay, Megan. Ye must save yourself.”
Megan drew him aside. “What kind o’ laird would I be if I put my own safety before my men? I’m ordering ye, Uncle, to lead the way to the wall. I want to free as many men as possible. Those who are fit can help the rest o’ us o’er the wall. We will follow ye as quickly as we can. Besides, in this cumbersome gown, I’ll no’ be able to move as quickly as ye. Just get as many o’ the men as ye can to safety.” When Geddes hesitated, she gripped his shoulder. “I am your laird and that is an order, Uncle.”
Seeing the determination in her eyes, Geddes reluctantly nodded. Turning, he gave a sharp command and led the way down the corridor. Those who could keep up with him followed. The rest stayed behind. Megan did a hasty head count. Four men left, plus herself.
“All right.” Megan took Lachlan back from Douglas and wrapped her arm around the young boy’s shoulders. “Let’s go as quickly as we can. The others are getting in position to help us o’er the wall.”
The injured men nodded as they began the slow journey toward the door, Douglas holding Megan’s other arm. They were nearly there when Lachlan begged her to stop.
His face contorted with pain. “G-go on without me. I dinna think I can make it.”
Panting from the exertion of shouldering his weight, Megan leaned him against the wall. Lachlan was thirteen—just a boy, yet far too familiar with the responsibilities of a man.
Megan instructed the other three men. “Go on ahead. Joseph, take Douglas’s hand and lead him out. Lachlan and I will catch our breath a bit
and we’ll be right behind ye.”
Joseph nodded, guiding Douglas’s hand to his shoulder. After a moment the three of them disappeared through the door and out into the courtyard
Lachlan began to cry, tears streaming down his young face. “I’m scared, Megan. I dinna want to hold back the others, but I’m afraid to be alone.”
“Hush. I’m no’ leaving ye and ye’re doing fine. Look, we are almost at the door. We’ll make it.”
“But I’ll never be able to climb the wall. I dinna want to die.”
“No one is going to die. And no matter what happens, I’m no’ going to leave ye. Come on. Let’s try to move a wee bit more.”
At that moment, she heard the sound of thundering footsteps in the corridor. Megan’s heart leapt to her throat in fear. Despite his cry of pain, she grasped Lachlan beneath the arms. She dragged him to the door and pushed it open, pulling him into the courtyard.
Almost immediately, rough hands shot out from the darkness, seizing her by the shoulder and sending her and Lachlan tumbling to the ground. Englishmen charged into the courtyard, shouting and waving torches. Struggling to her feet, Megan saw one of the men swing a fist at Lachlan, who was bravely trying to sit up.
She shrieked as the boy crumpled to the ground in a heap. Horrified, she rushed to his side, cradling his head in her hands. He appeared to be unconscious, but Megan noticed with relief he was breathing. As she reached down to feel his bandages, someone grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her to her feet. Megan cried out both in surprise and pain.
“’Tis the bloody wench who struck me.”
Twisting around, Megan looked into the face of the burly prison guard. Despite a purple bruise swelling near his left temple, he looked amazing healthy and frightfully mad.
“I apologize if I harmed ye. However, ’twas necessary to disarm ye in order to free the prisoners.”
The men standing around guffawed in laughter at her statement. The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Disarm me? ’Tis a laughingstock you’ve made of me.”
“Then I would suggest ye take a more vigilant approach to your duties in the future.”
His backhanded hit snapped her head to the side. “Ye heathen wench. I expect the proper respect from a woman.”
The other men surrounding him murmured in surprise, but none moved forward to stop him.
Megan’s eyes watered from the blow and she could feel her lip beginning to swell. “Och, ye’re a big man now, aren’t ye? Well take this, ye English oaf.” Doubling her fist, she swung with all her strength directly into the man’s midsection. The man gasped in astonishment, one hand clutching his stomach, the other still wound in her hair.
“Ch-christ.” He puffed. “She hit me again.”
Amid the laughing, Megan shut her eyes, bracing herself for another blow. Instead she heard her attacker give a small squeal. She was released so quickly she stumbled backward. Opening her eyes, Megan saw Rolf standing behind the prison guard, twisting his arm back behind the shoulder blades. Rolf was dressed in a dark cloak that swirled around his shoulders in the cool wind. His face was black with controlled fury, the muscles clenched tightly in his jaw.
“If any of you ever touch her again, I’ll see you whipped within an inch of your lives.”
The burly guard trembled, shaken by the sudden appearance of his lord. “M-my lord. The wench struck me while I was guarding the dungeon. I was only punishing her.” He gave another cry of pain as Rolf applied more pressure on his arm.
“How was she able to strike you, Arthur? Were you too weak to stop the blow...or perhaps you were asleep?”
Arthur swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “F-forgive me, my lord. N-never again.”
The depth of Rolf’s bridled anger pierced the air as he faced the other men. “Why do you tarry here while our quarry escapes? Find me the prisoners now!”
The men dispersed, fearful of their lord’s wrath.
Left alone with Rolf and Megan, Arthur whimpered. “Please, my lord, it hurts.”
With a grunt of disgust, Rolf released the man, pushing him away. Arthur stumbled forward, clutching his arm in pain.
“You will report to Peter in one hour.” Rolf’s voice was cold, clipped. “You’ll be given a mount, some food and the coin that you are due. Your presence here is no longer required.”
“But, my lord,” Arthur whined. “The girl came upon me—”
“Enough,” Rolf thundered, causing even Megan to take a step backward in fear. He raised one hand, pointing at the door. “Get out.”
Arthur took one look at the harsh lines etched on Rolf’s face and scurried through the door toward the dungeon. The door slammed shut with a loud final thump.
Megan stood shivering in the cold as Rolf turned his attention back to her. He stared at her with angry eyes. After a moment, she broke the gaze, kneeling beside Lachlan and resting her hand against his cheek. He moaned and Megan bent over him, whispering soothing words.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused her to look up as a shadowed figure emerged from the darkness. “We captured two more of the prisoners, my lord, but the rest escaped into the forest on foot. Shall we pursue them?”
Rolf nodded. “Yes, Andrew. Make a thorough sweep of the surrounding area but do not venture past the river. It’s too dark and they could lead us into an ambush. We can resume the search at dawn. The prisoners are weary and wounded. I doubt they can go far.”
“Aye, my lord.”
As his footsteps faded across cobblestones, Megan faced Rolf. “The lad is gravely injured. If we don’t treat him immediately, he is going to die.”
Rolf’s eyes flickered over the boy. Without another word, he walked over and knelt by his side.
With ease, he reached down and lifted Lachlan into his arms. He spoke to Megan. “Follow me. We’ll talk later.”
He led her across the courtyard and past the stone arch entrance. In the distance Megan could hear shouts and see the flickering light of torches bobbing among the trees. She said a silent prayer hoping that Uncle Geddes had not waited for her and had instead successfully led the rest of the men to safety.
Without breaking his stride, Rolf walked up the gravel path that led to the entry hall of the castle. He ordered one of the servants to bring fresh blankets, water and linen bandages to the tower room. After instructing Megan to take a torch, they climbed the narrow stone staircase to the tower.
Megan had been here many times as a child. Back then the chamber had been something of a playroom with thick wool rugs and warm tapestries adorning the wall. Now, the room was cold and sparsely furnished. A small cot with a straw pallet had been pushed up against the wall. The hearth had been swept clean and several peat squares had been stacked neatly to one side. A thin woven rug lay on the floor and a single wooden chair had been placed near the fireplace.
Rolf laid the injured boy on the cot. “The chamber will be warm once I have lit a fire.” He arranged kindling and several peat squares on the grate, igniting them with flames from the torch.
Megan knelt by Lachlan’s side, smoothing the hair back from his face. He had not regained consciousness, but moaned from the pain. As the fire began to lick at the peat, servants rushed into the room with quilts, water and bandages. Rolf lifted Lachlan from the bed while the servants laid down the bedcovers. When they were finished, Rolf returned Lachlan to the cot. Megan immediately began removing the soiled bandages from his body. When the boy’s wounds lay bare, she looked up at Rolf with anxious eyes.
“Have ye any healing herbs to make a poultice? His wounds have festered.”
“You really do have healing skills.”
“As I told ye before. A person learns a great many things after being forced into the hills to survive.”
Waving a hand, Rolf instructed one of the hovering serv
ants to bring some herbs and salve. The servant disappeared to do his bidding.
“What about the others. May I be allowed to treat them as well?”
Rolf’s eyes darkened, his mouth pressing into a tight line. “I find you to be a most interesting woman, Megan. First you lead my men and me on a merry chase through the trees, and then you try to skewer me with your blade. You manage to escape a locked chamber, beat and disarm one of my guards and free several of the prisoners. Now you ask for my favor?”
Megan swallowed. “I know ye are angry and ye have every right to be. Punish me as ye see fit. But don’t harm the wounded men because o’ my actions. I alone am responsible.”
He crossed his arms against his chest, leaning back against the mantle. “Are you? How did you get out of that chamber?”
Megan sighed, realizing it was only a matter of time before he discovered her route of escape. “There is a secret passageway behind the fireplace leading to the library.”
Interest flickered in Rolf’s eyes. “And just how did you know about that passageway?”
She lifted her head quickly. “I...I used to play with the laird’s bairns here in the castle. They showed it to me once.”
“Ah, yes, the laird’s children. Let me see, there was a son and a daughter, if I remember correctly. The son was killed, or at least that is what I’ve been told. Farrington shot him during a raid on his cattle. The daughter, I heard, was sent away for safekeeping to Ireland. How well did you know them, Megan?”
“Well enough. They were...my friends.”
“Interesting friends, indeed. Was it hard for them to look the other way while their father took on his children’s playmate as his mistress?”
The Thorn & the Thistle Page 8