Despite his promise to Sorcha, the thought of leaving for France while she grew large with his child in prison made him want to vomit up his guts. It was the secure and sensible thing to do, but his heart protested.
She needed his protection now more than ever, and no matter what she said, he knew he had failed her. Even if he could come up with a plan to break her from the prison, he could not do both that and make it to France in time.
If he left for France and returned, she would be too heavy with child to be able to escape, and he couldn’t risk her and the child. If he could come up with a way to save her, the time and expense would keep him from reaching France in time to pay the taxes. Either way he lost, which was why drink made the most sense at the moment.
His eyes were bleary, as he stared down into his ale, but he could make out the emerald swirl of a lady’s skirt at the base of his table and smell the unmistakable heavy scent of roses.
Ian looked up to find Mary staring back at him. He blinked, sure the drink was addling his brain.
"What are you doing here?" he growled.
She glanced about the place and wrinkled her pert nose in disgust.
"Really, Ian, you should choose your drinking establishments with a little more care."
"What do you want?"
Mary flipped back the edges of her velvet mantle, exposing the swell of her bosom above the tight golden bodice, fitted with green velvet sleeves.
"I came because Malcolm told me of your wife. Pity she’s not what you thought. I thought you might like a little comfort, and I’ve come to give you news. But if you’re not interested..."
"I’m not interested." He lifted his mug and took a long draught of ale and stared blankly across the room.
Her mouth formed a piqued moue and she moved into his line of vision.
"‘Tis a pity. I thought you would have had more interest in Chaumiere de Heureux."
Ian set the mug down with a thump on the table and leaned forward, glaring at her.
"What about it?"
Mary arched a brow and lifted her chin.
"I thought you weren’t— "
Ian grabbed her hard about the arm and yanked her forward.
"Do not play your games with me, Mary. Tell me."
She smiled, even as her slender fingers pried at his iron hold.
"I’ll tell you for a kiss. That’s all I want in return, a kiss. Then we’ll see if you can tell me you still don’t want me."
Inside Ian fumed. Anger made him want to fling her away from him and stalk out, but his need to know kept him in his seat. He pulled an empty chair from the next table over and pushed her into the seat.
"Tell me first." He released her.
Mary picked at her sleeve. "You’ve ruined my gown. Look, the velvet is crushed."
Ian’s jaw ached as he gnashed his teeth.
"I’ll crush more than your dress, if you don’t tell me."
She swallowed, straightening in the chair, then, looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"Malcolm has paid the taxes on Chaumiere de Heureux. The French magistrate turned the deed over to him two weeks ago."
"Damn!" Ian bellowed, his arm sweeping the table clean, sending the mug to clatter across the stone floor. All of his time working, saving, planning. All for nothing.
Mary tipped her head and lowered her lashes.
"I’ve brought it with me. I’ve a proposition for you."
Ian froze and his eyes narrowed.
"You have the deed with you?"
She nodded.
"Let me see it."
She slipped her fingers between her creamy breasts into her bodice, then pulled out the folded parchment and opened it, still not handing it to him.
"See. I have it. We can go, Ian. Just you and me. With this deed and me beside you, no one will question that you are not the owner once Malcolm is gone. You can take his place and Chaumiere de Heureux, all Malcolm owns will be yours—and mine. What say you?"
He glanced up at her face, seeing through the pretty exterior to the ugly, manipulative soul beneath. For the first time, he realized his pain and suffering for Mary had been a waste.
How could he have ever desired her so intensely? She was all smoke and mirrors. A pretty, expensive illusion, covering a worthless package. For a moment, he felt a twinge of remorse for his brother, but it was quickly replaced by his longing for Sorcha. His bonnie, darkling wife.
"Well, am I to get my kiss?" She leaned forward, tossing her flame colored curls, her hand slithering up his chest. "Haven’t I brought you what you’ve always desired?"
He pulled her close, cupping her head with his hand, his lips mere inches away. Mary slid her hands around his neck, her lips parted, in anticipation.
"I don’t want you anymore," he whispered softly, then pulled her arms from around his neck. Ian sat back in his chair.
She gaped for a moment, an expression he had never seen on her face before.
"You bastard!" she hissed, balling her delicate hands into hard, white knots. "You’ll regret this."
Ian cracked a satisfied grin.
"Not as much as my brother will, I’m sure."
She stood up, yanking her mantle back in place, snatched up the parchment and stalked out of the tavern.
For a moment, Ian felt the glow of triumph warm him, but it was short-lived. In the next instant, his longing for Sorcha grew so acute that it became physical pain. Not only had he failed her, he’d lost Chaumiere de Heureux for their child. He was a failure, plain and simple, and even besting Mary had not erased that taint from him.
With no reason to set off for France, he flagged down the barmaid for another ale, then settled into drinking in earnest. He passed out sometime during the night and woke the next morning with an ache in his head and a fur pelt lining his mouth. A barmaid glanced over when she saw him stir and made her way to the table.
"Do you need something for the headache, love?"
"Aye. More ale."
She shrugged and fetched him another pint. The liquid hit his blood with a rush, leaving him pleasantly numb.
Within an hour he was into his fifth pint when Argyll pulled up the discarded chair and sat down beside him. At first, Ian thought to chase him off. He was not yet drunk enough to soak out the misery.
"Go back home, my lord. There’s nothing more we can do for her," he slurred.
Argyll gripped his arm, stopping the mug from reaching his mouth.
"I have a plan to break her out of prison."
His words jolted Ian to sobriety.
"You what?"
Argyll kept his voice low, making sure no one else could hear them.
"We can do it. There is a little known entrance to the dungeons through a set of hidden stairs in the tower. It was placed there to provide access to the outside during siege."
Ian snorted.
"And if you know of it, how many others do too?"
"Not as many as you think. My father often brought me along as a child when he visited court. I was left to my own devices and explored. This tunnel won me a lot of bets with the older boys who didn’t believe I could make it out of the tower before them. It’s too small to be used as easy access for supplies and the like, and mostly forgotten. We would need to wait for the right opportunity. We can’t wait. She’ll grow too large with child and we won’t be able to move her. ‘Tis best if we do it while she remains in the cell while the others are being burned. They will serve as the best distraction we could hope for."
Ian nodded in agreement.
"But what of the guards? Will they not see us in daylight?"
"Aye. That ‘tis why we must enter under the cover of night and then wait for our opportunity within the castle."
"When?"
"As soon as you can walk straight enough to follow me."
* * *
That night clouds scudded over the crescent moon, their dark mass hiding the delicate white sliver now and then. Ian stepped into the carria
ge and nearly sat on the slumped person laid out over the seat opposite Argyll.
"Who the hell is this?" The carriage lurched into motion.
"‘Tis not important. What is important is that we now have a decoy for Sorcha."
Ian settled uncomfortably on the seat next to Argyll.
"I don’t like it."
"Would you like it any better if I told you that this is the woman responsible for Sorcha’s conviction?"
"Henna?"
Archibald nodded.
Ian clenched his jaw. Had it been a man, he wouldn’t have flinched. But a woman. This wasn’t right.
"What did you do to her?"
"Sleeping draft. Bought it off a local midwife who assured me she won’t wake until about noon tomorrow. Having a limp body in the cell will stem their suspicions that Sorcha is gone until we have her safely away. If you have a better plan, say so."
"There’s no way we’ll be able to get her into the castle."
He ground his teeth and bit back a retort. He did not trust Argyll, but he had to take this chance to get Sorcha and his child out, and he needed Argyll’s knowledge of the castle’s hidden entrance to do so.
The carriage came to a slow stop at the edge of the city where the dark jutting rock hillside was capped with the imposing castle. They left the carriage and headed straight for the shadows thrown by the wall of rock and small buildings that perched on the edge of the castle grounds. Ian carried the old woman in his arms, his sword strapped to his hip. He waited for Argyll’s signal before moving from the cover of the building.
The lad’s hand flicked forward. They moved in stealth along the shadows of the buildings, using vegetation whenever they could when the moon would reappear.
"If for any reason we are discovered, I’ll take Sorcha out of here while you use your sword to protect our escape," Argyll whispered as they rested behind a large clump of bushes close to the outer walls of the castle.
"Aye. But if we are separated, where will we meet?"
"I’ll bring her to the Triple Crown in disguise two days from now." Argyll glanced up at the guards flanking the wall. "We must head for that small outcropping of rocks," he said, pointing to a spot about two hundred feet away where the rocks pushed through a grassy knoll in full view of the castle.
As the clouds again passed over the moon, they made haste. Archibald felt along the stones and bracken, searching for the hidden opening.
"I’ve found it," he hissed.
"Make haste!"
Archibald held back the branches and slipped inside the narrow opening between the boulders, disappearing just as the clouds pulled away from the moon. Ian handed Henna through, while Archibald pulled her into the opening. When her feet disappeared from view, he pressed himself flat against the lee side of the rock.
"Hoy, you there!" A guard shouted from the Tower’s edge. His voiced echoed in the cold night, chilling Ian to the bone. He stopped breathing, hoping they might think his appearance a trick of the moonlight.
The scuffle of feet against the bridge alerted Ian that men had been dispatched to investigate. He dove into the bushes to locate the entrance. He slipped half of himself inside, but became wedged in the opening at his chest. It was too narrow for him.
Panic seized him. The guards were approaching. He pushed out his breath, then squeezed as hard as he could. He slipped through the opening, then flattened himself, face down, in the dirt of the passage as the bushes outside began to rustle.
"Matherson is addled. There’s no one out here."
"Aye. I think maybe he was angry we were playing cards without him."
The other chuckled. "Or he got a chill and shriveled his root out on the wall." The laughter increased, then faded as they moved away.
Ian rose to his knees and sat back, spitting the dirt out of his mouth and sucking in air to his burning lungs.
He heard footsteps in the passage. Argyll appeared.
"What took you so long?"
"You didn’t tell me that opening was so narrow."
"It’s slim, but passable."
"For you, not for me. We’ll never be able to get Sorcha through there."
"We’ll leave by another route. Pick her up and follow me. This tunnel continues up the hill toward the base of the tower. We’ll be able to gain access to the dungeons through a corridor near the tower. We’ll have to walk for a bit in the dark before we can chance lighting the rush."
If there was another route, then why had the lad chosen this one to get in? Ian gently lifted Henna to his shoulder and felt his way along in the pitch blackness, listening for Argyll’s breath and footfalls as they climbed upward in the bowels of the hill. About a half hour later he stopped.
Ian heard him fumbling with the small pack they had brought. The scrape and spark of flint stone lit the rush, and light blazed to life in the tunnel. Ian squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. They walked along with the flicker of the rush light illuminating only a few feet in front of them.
"We’re getting close to the end of it now."
Ian could only see blackness before them, and his skin tightened at the churning uneasy feeling in his gut. In any other situation, he would have heeded his instincts, but saving Sorcha and the child were all that mattered now.
"You’re certain of this?"
"Aye. Just a few steps more, and we should be at the door."
In short order, a wooden door materialized out of the darkness. Ian could feel the rush of air from beneath it.
"Beyond here we’ll be inside a hidden corridor in the castle itself. We can move along it and wait at the end, but we will not be able to talk above a whisper." The door made only a faint scraping as Argyll pushed it open.
They emerged into a dark passage pricked with points of light at regular intervals. It was a forgotten spy tunnel used to eavesdrop and observe various rooms within the castle. Argyll smothered the rush light. The stone floor felt smooth to Ian’s feet after the uneven base of the previous tunnel. He followed Argyll closely as they crept along. The passage wound about, following the edge of the tower, then took a sharp bend inward.
Argyll looked back at him and whispered. "We’re getting close to the dungeons. We should stop for a while. There will be no point in going to fetch her until after they come for the other prisoners."
Ian nodded and was grateful to set Henna down. The woman weighed at least ten stone when she was asleep, and was breathing deeply. His back and arms ached from carrying her, but the fight in his blood was stronger and thicker than the pain.
While they sat and ate a small serving of dried meat, cheese and bread, Ian listened. He could hear the movements within the castle increase as dawn broke. The light in the tunnel increased as well, the pinpoint openings making strange circles of light where dust motes swirled.
For a time Ian slept as they waited. The noises within the dungeon awoke him. He jerked up and peered out of one of the peepholes. It was not long before a group of guards, dragging the sentenced women from the North Berwick witch trial one by one, passed by on their way to the burning stakes outside along the northeast corner of the Esplanade.
He tapped Argyll on the shoulder and pointed to the door, then motioned for him to keep quiet. His shoulders tensed.
When the last of the escort and the prisoners had disappeared from the hall, Ian nodded to the earl. They opened the sliding door out of the passage and found themselves near the entrance to the dungeons.
"They’re likely holding her in a larger cell towards the back," Argyll whispered.
"How many guards?"
"Only two, but they’ve probably gone with the others to take the prisoners up for the burning. No one wants to miss out on the spectacle."
They moved with caution toward the hidden door that opened from the passage to the dungeons. Ian put his ear against it, hoping to hear if a guard waited in the room beyond.
He motioned Argyll forward and propped Henna against the wall. Together they pushe
d the door open. Ian gently picked up the woman, and they slipped through. Finding no guard, they hurried to Sorcha’s cell.
"How did you plan to undo the lock?"
Argyll lifted up an iron key. "Donated to our cause by a worthy lord who lost badly at gaming and then conveniently passed out drunk."
When they reached her, she was curled up against the wall crying. Her sobs broke Ian’s heart. She jerked up when she heard the scrape of the lock. Even in the half-light he could see her face was swollen from her tears. He laid Henna down just inside the cell.
"Ian! Archibald!" She ran to the open door and launched herself at Ian.
He hugged her tight, lifting her from the floor.
"But you promised me you would leave for France."
"Aye, but I never promised to leave without you." He kissed her soundly, then set her down and reached out to lay a hand on the small swell of her stomach. "Are you well?"
She nodded and then began to weep once more.
"Is there something wrong with the babe?"
"Nay." She touched his cheek with a shaking hand. "I never thought I would see you again."
Archibald hissed. "The guards!"
Ian grabbed her hand and pulled her aside so Archibald could pull Henna into the cell.
"We must make haste," Ian said.
"Who is that?"
"It matters not. Go!" Archibald muttered as he dragged Henna further into the cell to the dark corner where Sorcha had sat.
They ran from the dungeons and into the hall. They rounded the corner, making a straight path for the hidden door.
A score of guards blocked their route of escape. Blood pounded hot and thick in his veins, as his heart hammered with fear for his wife and child.
"Take them!" yelled the guards.
Ian whipped around to see Argyll double back and disappear around the corner pulling Sorcha with him. Their only chance was for him to engage the guards and give them time to escape. Ian faced the closing guards. He pulled his sword.
His defense was sharp and quick. The blows felled three of the guards in short order, but there were too many of them. He swung, blocking an attack from the side, but they crowded in. Ian gave the attack everything he had, lunging and hewing at the guards, but their numbers seemed to only swell.
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