by Ruth Kaufman
With a laugh, Ronan sprinted from the shadow, startling both of them, and hit the wall walk at a dead run. “Bloody codswallop!” he shouted.
Aidan screeched in fury, breaking away from the clansman and lunging after Ronan.
Ronan scrambled from the wall walk, vaulting an insane path of stone buttresses, using carved decorations for handholds and cracks in the mortar that only few would see to aid his rapid descent down the walls. Actions that would stricken his mother if she saw him, he knew from experience.
Aidan slowed his pursuit, falling two paces behind Ronan. Ronan knew he was faster than his brother on the walls, but he dare not grow complacent. Aidan would be on him in an instant if he checked his pace. He reached the stairs descending into the bailey and ran.
Just as his foot touched the dirt of the bailey, a young maid, her basket filled with eggs, inadvertently stepped into his path. Ronan lunged to the side at the same moment his brother shrieked. Ronan braced himself, dreading what was coming. Sure enough, his brother made a wild leap from the stairs and plowed into him. Ronan, in turn, plowed into the young maid. She cried out in fear and the basket flew from her hands.
In a heartbeat, Ronan regained his feet, but instead of dodging his brother, he grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him away. The basket of eggs lay smashed and oozing on the ground.
“Sorry!” Ronan shouted to the maid as she struggled to pick herself up.
“Ye bloody daft lads!” she cried. “When will ye learn?”
Ronan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, although he knew he needed to move even faster. It would be only moments before their da arrived to put a stop to the mayhem.
Ronan dragged his brother along the bailey wall where it butted up against the stone keep. Water runoff had caused a hole to form in the corner, and those charged with maintaining the keep had not yet filled it in. Ronan had spotted it earlier and had been curious. It seemed the hole opened to something much larger and deeper.
“Da’s comin’,” Aidan wheezed.
“Aye,” Ronan said and shoved him toward the hole. “Look.”
“I’ll be buggered,” Aidan said.
Ronan slid to a stop and flopped on his belly, pushing the loose dirt away. The hole widened easily and he stuck his head inside. He gaped at it a moment—it was huge, much larger than he originally suspected. He pulled his head back and shifted around then kicked and widened the opening with his feet.
“Ronan!” his da bellowed. “Aidan!”
“Hurry!” Aidan said. “He’ll thrash us both.”
Ronan gave one last kick then slid into the void, his brother following so quickly he landed on top of Ronan.
“Get off, ye lout,” Ronan growled.
“Shhhh!” Aidan leaned against the dirt wall and looked up at the opening.
“Where are they?” their da asked.
Ronan heard the maid’s voice but could not make out her reply. Aidan grimaced. Ronan shook his head—his brother’s hearing was amazing. He could listen to voices behind closed doors then relate the entire conversation exactly.
“He’s coming this way,” Aidan whispered harshly.
As good as Aidan was at overhearing conversations, so was Ronan at finding hidden escape routes and secret holes such as the one they were in.
He looked around, still surprised this one was so large. On his left, he saw the foundation of the stone wall in the bedrock. On his right, he saw the foundation of the keep. The cavity continued between the two, descending deeper, and the blackness was complete.
“Light,” Ronan murmured.
“Here,” Aidan said, handing him a stubby candle and a fire-striker. Ronan grinned at him and lit the candle. With their antics and constant discoveries, Ronan wouldn’t be surprised if Aidan had a rope wrapped around his waist and hidden under his tunic.
Ronan lifted the candle and stared into the crevice.
Their da bellowed again.
“Damnation, Ronan,” Aidan growled. “Move. If he finds us now, it willna be pleasant.”
“Worse than a thrashing?”
“Much worse.”
Ronan shivered and stepped forward. His jaw went slack at what the weak light of the candle revealed. The dark gray stone stopped at the bedrock, but the line was intermixed with reddish clay. It only took Ronan a moment to realize it too was man-made. The red clay formed bricks that were far different than anything the Scots used in building.
A memory from his Latin tutor stirred. He remembered the old priest saying many of the keeps today were built on old Roman or Saxon fortifications. Ronan wondered if this was what he was staring at.
“What is it?” Aidan asked.
“A piece of history,” Ronan murmured reverently.
Aidan pushed on his shoulder. “Which is what we’ll be if Da finds us. We’ve got tae get out.”
Ronan nodded and quickly descended deeper into the hole.
The tiny candle did little to push back the darkness, but Ronan continued angling toward the keep. They were below the foundation now, moving deeper. He looked up and saw gray flagstones above his head.
“Aidan, look,” he said and pointed.
Aidan’s eyes narrowed. “Methinks that is the floor tae the kitchen.”
“Aye.”
“Give me a boost. If I can push one of the flagstones away, we can escape, and Da willna find us.”
Ronan placed the candle on a ledge in the dirt and bent, lacing his fingers together. Aidan stepped into his hand and Ronan heaved him upward. Aidan’s fingers grabbed dirt and Ronan quickly moved so that Aidan stood on his shoulders. He gritted his teeth.
“Holy hell, Aidan, what have ye been eatin’?”
His brother grinned down at him. “The same as ye, which is why I didna volunteer tae give ye the boost up.”
Ronan bit back his curses. His brother dug at the flagstone, sending dirt into Ronan’s face. Ronan coughed, averting his gaze and trying to blink the dirt from his eyes. Aidan muttered to himself while he tried to free the flagstone. Ronan’s shoulders screamed at him.
“Hurry up, ye—”
“Got it,” Aidan whispered harshly. “Be silent.”
Ronan again clamped his jaw shut. Without warning, Aidan heaved himself up and through the opening. Ronan extinguished the candle and shoved it in his belt pouch. Aidan stuck his head back in and reached a hand down. Ronan took a step back then lunged forward. His foot hit the dirt ledge and he pushed off and up. The other foot hit the opposite dirt ledge and he levered upward again, catching his brother’s hand. Aidan hauled with all his might, and Ronan forced himself through the hole, gritting his teeth as he scraped his shoulders and then his ribs.
He looked around and discovered they were in a dark corner of the kitchen. A scullery maid worked on the other side of the room with her back to them. Ronan quickly crawled out of the way, and his brother replaced the flagstone.
Ronan eyed the path to the door. That was the only place where they would have to step into the light and be in full view, but it would only be for an instant. Ronan tapped Aidan’s shoulder and pointed. Aidan nodded.
Ronan sucked in a deep breath and skittered through the shadows along the wall. He grabbed the door and hauled it open, just as another maid bearing an armload of dirty roundels and trenchers walked in.
The door’s abrupt opening along with the appearance of Ronan and his brother, dirty and disheveled, caused her to scream and drop the roundels and trenchers with a resounding clatter and crack of shattered wood. The second maid in the kitchen also screamed.
Ronan bit back a curse. He grabbed his brother and towed him through the door. They disappeared into the shadows at the back of the great hall.
Aidan’s breath rattled in Ronan’s ear. “The entire keep heard the noise. We need tae move now.”
Ronan eyed the path they needed to take to the stairs. It crossed in front of the door to the keep. They had to sprint across before their father entered. He drew another deep
breath and prepared to move. But just as he gave his body the command, his ears buzzed and a strange euphoria settled over him. Bloody hell, nay! Not now! It had been so long since the last one he had begun to hope he was free of these accursed attacks. He fought it with all his might, trying to force his limbs to move, but they grew leaden, locking him in place. He barely felt his brother gripping his arm. Aidan’s voice calling his name only merged with the din roaring in his ears. His vision blurred even more, and the last thing Ronan recalled was his own soundless scream.
“Ronan,” Aidan whispered harshly.
Ronan battled to pull his wits back together. Where was he? He still couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Damnation, how long had the blackout lasted this time?
“Da is in the great hall,” Aidan said. “We need tae move.”
Finally, Ronan’s vision started to pull itself together and his muscles gradually unlocked. He drew in a ragged breath, blinking rapidly, and looked at his brother.
“Another one?” Aidan asked softly.
Ronan nodded miserably and hung his head. Holy hell, why couldn’t he control this? It had happened a few times when he was younger, but he still had not been able to master it.
His muscles had completely frozen, and at least he remained standing. The blackout had not toppled him, but his body was slow to function again. He took a slight step forward, but his legs felt thick and heavy.
“Ronan, we have tae move before Da sees ye.”
“Too late,” his da said and stepped into the shadow.
Ronan swallowed hard as his giant father loomed over him, the normally handsome planes of his face now harsh with anger. His blue eyes glittered dangerously in the weak light. His black hair, streaked with touches of gray, tumbled loose around his face.
Surprisingly, his father’s anger faded as he gazed at his eldest son. “Yer mum saw ye two on the walls again,” he growled. “Why must ye give her such a fright?”
Ronan lowered his head, staring at the floor. He had thought her too busy to notice their foolery.
“Ronan, look at me.”
He swallowed hard and looked up. His father studied him a long moment. “Ye had another blackout again, didn’t ye? That’s why ye werena able tae run away.”
Ronan nodded.
His father sighed heavily. “At least they seem tae be rare occurrences the older ye get.”
He nodded again. “Over a year since the last one,” he said softly, although his words sounded slightly slurred.
His father continued to study him. “Yer mum will ken the moment she lays eyes on ye that ye had another one, and that will only worry her more.” His mouth tightened in disapproval. “Off with ye, laddie. Take yer brother, and by the saints, I dinna want tae see either of ye again tonight. If I do, I will thrash ye as ye scoundrels deserve.”
Aidan grabbed Ronan’s arm and hauled him to the stairs, glancing over his shoulder to make certain their father hadn’t followed them.
“Ronan, are ye all right?”
Ronan nodded and determination rose within him. He would defeat this strange affliction. He wasn’t sure how, but he was certain he would find a way.
“Well, from the look in Da’s eyes, we need tae give him another two days and his anger at us will only be a distant memory.” He paused and winked at Ronan. “Then we can return tae that hole and explore it properly.”
Ronan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Aye, brother. But you’re still a bloody codswallop.”
Aidan spun, punched him in the gut, then sprinted up the stairs.
Ronan gasped for air twice before his lungs finally filled themselves. “Bloody codswallop!” he yelled and charged after Aidan.
Chapter One
August 1303
Near Doune Township
Scottish Lowlands
Pain radiated through Ronan MacGrigor’s body, tearing at the core of his being. His head throbbed in time to the beating of his heart. He could not see for the blood streaming into his eyes. The long chains locked around his wrists and bolted to the wall seemed to grow heavier, but Ronan again lifted his hands over his head as he knelt on the ground and smashed the manacles against the stone floor of his prison. Blinding pain radiated up his arms and he bit back an agonized cry. But he couldn’t allow the pain to stop him. He had to free himself. The shackles around his wrists were not well made. He could break them. He had no choice.
Although time had blurred for Ronan as he suffered the torture of his English captors, he thought it had been about three days since his horse had been slain out from under him in the midst of battle. Ronan could only remember flashes; the images in his mind clouded with blood. Ronan had led the cavalry to flank the English and turned the tide of the battle. But his horse had collapsed and blinding pain had rocked through his skull. He remembered fighting to free his leg from under his dead horse before everything went black. He had awakened to discover himself chained in this cell. That’s when the nightmare of torment and blood had started. Where was Aidan? Had he survived? Had he too been captured? Or was he searching for his eldest brother and laird?
He had to be alive. Ronan couldn’t bear to think of his brother dead. Not now. He had to keep his wits and escape. They had been on opposite sides of the battlefield, Ronan leading the cavalry, his brother the infantry. The gash on the back of Ronan’s skull still bled and throbbed, blurring his vision. That wound was the only reason the English had been able to take him alive.
The English called Ronan the Scottish Demon for his abilities on the battlefield, and ever since they had captured him, they made him pay for all the grief he had caused them. Wounds from the whip and brand marred his chest and back, bleeding heavily. He wasn’t certain, but it felt as if his ribs had been cracked on one side. Ronan forced down his thoughts and lifted his hands again. He slammed them down with all of his strength, a groan of agony escaping him. But one manacle popped open.
Scarcely daring to believe his eyes, he stared at his wrist, a bloody mess of torn flesh. But he had one hand free. He set the other wrist against the stone and brought his fist down with all of his might. His vision blurred black at the pain that cut through him from the manacle biting into his flesh. But it too popped open. Praise the saints!
Ronan staggered to his feet. He wore only his trews, now torn to shreds. His right leg threatened to rebel completely. He didn’t think it was broken, but it screamed at him. He lurched to the door of his cell. Because he had been chained to the wall, his captors hadn’t bothered to lock the door. Their mistake. He pitched through and caught himself against the far wall, fighting with everything in him not to slide down it to the floor.
He had to find a way out. He could not fight his way free, not in his weakened state. But he heard water trickling . . . falling steadily. The keep that was his prison was not well maintained. Longshanks’s war against Scotland had cost the king’s treasury. This keep was not of strategic importance, which is why it was now his prison, and Ronan prayed that its poor maintenance would give him an opportunity for freedom.
Ronan made his way toward the sound of the water, forced to use the walls to maintain his balance. He could smell it, and even though he knew the water would be as foul as the bracken in a dead swamp, it smelled wonderful to him.
He staggered around a corner and saw the runoff. The stream of water was far larger than he expected, running from the dungeon into a crack in the floor. He almost crowed his delight. That crack was large enough for him to escape through. It would be a tight squeeze, no doubt, but he remembered his antics with his brother in his youth, finding cracks just like this one and exploring them.
A noise sounded behind him and Ronan turned. Baron Hugh le March, a lord serving the Earl of Pembroke under Longshanks’s command, and Ronan’s captor, the man who had tortured and humiliated him, stood before him, his eyes wide with shock.
Rage cut through Ronan, chasing away his agony. He rose to his full height, towering over le March. Unlike
the baron before him, Ronan was pure muscle, a warrior to the bone. Le March took a breath to call to the guards and Ronan reacted instinctively. He seized a torch from the wall stanchion and leapt forward. The flame left a strange trail of light in Ronan’s vision. Le March retreated, reaching for a weapon. On the table, Ronan saw the various implements of torture they had used on him and his rage strengthened. For an instant the memory of a dull knife ripping open his flesh assailed him. The small dagger on the table that le March grabbed was nothing against the torch Ronan wielded.
The torch slammed into le March’s face, sizzling. Flame exploded, searing his skin, catching his hair on fire. Le March screamed as his skin bubbled and melted, the flame covering the entire left side of his face. Ronan again stepped forward, snarling, knowing this was his opportunity. He would slay le March for what he had done, for the agony he had brought upon him.
“You will never be free,” le March’s voice echoed in Ronan’s memory, and he could feel the hot iron searing his flesh again. Ronan bellowed in agony. His soul cried out in torment, begging for the pain to stop, but he knew it had only begun.
Voices shouted in the corridor and Ronan instantly came back to the present, dropping the torch. Le March’s cry had alerted the guards. If he stayed, they would put him in chains again. Growling curses, he forced down the overwhelming desire to snap the bastard’s neck and instead lunged for the crack in the floor.
Pain roared through his body. The gap was smaller than he had thought. Only because of the muck and slime was he able to force his way through. The stench caused the bile to rise in his throat. But Ronan forced himself forward, deeper into the crack and farther down into the earth. He landed in ankle-deep water. The crack widened a bit and Ronan pushed forward. Pain blurred his vision as he fought to breathe. His head wound pounded, dizziness threatening to bring him to his knees, but he doggedly put one foot in front of the other. He refused to die in this black hole, just as he refused to die in that cell.
If his life was to end, it would be with the sun on his face and as a free man.