by Carey Corp
Gideon had managed to have the magical shield removed from my bed, and replaced by an ankle cuff. When he’d suggested to Adelaide that the only other option was a nappy, the witch had readily agreed to give me more mobility. The chain, attached to a support beam, only allowed me to reach the loo and the bed. I couldn’t even glance out the window. And as far as I knew, Adelaide possessed the only key.
Life with the thing that spoke like Adelaide and looked like Veronica had become unbearable. Every visit, her voice, her touch, her face assaulted my sense of reality, defiling my memories. Even worse than when Sean broke my bones and starved me. At least then I could escape inside my head to my safe place—to Veronica. The witch had stripped me of that comfort. Every time she entered the room, my soul lifted at the sight of Vee’s beloved face, and then crumpled like a dry leaf in the witch’s fist as she opened her mouth. If I didn’t get away from her soon, my sanity would break.
Crack.
“Blasted saints of Midar’s army!” I slammed the splintered stick onto the coverlet.
After permitting myself a moment of anger, I stood and gathered the slivers of wood, then dropped to my hands and knees. Peering under the bed, I tucked the fragments between the mattress and bedrail with the rest of my failed lock-picking attempts. But as I reached under to dig out another sliver, I paused. Sturdy wooden slats, as wide as my palm, were nailed at even intervals beneath the mattress. I lowered to my back, the stone icy-cold through the thin cotton of my shirt, and wiggled into the tight space underneath the bed.
The middle slat bowed with the weight of the bedding, the nails worked partially out. I gave the board three good whacks with my palm and the right side came free with a shattering pop. Dust and bits of straw rained down, settling in my throat. I coughed as I gripped the other end of the plank and broke it loose.
Yanking one of the nails from the board, I pushed it into the keyhole on my manacle, but it was too large to fit through the narrow opening.
Nail-studded slat in hand, I crawled back out and dusted myself off. Then I tucked back under the covers, hiding my makeshift weapon at my side. The next time the Addie-Vee thing entered my room, I would do whatever it took to escape.
Just as I drifted off to sleep, footsteps sounded outside my door. The witch had already made her evening visit, and although she didn’t make a habit of returning in the dead of night, I clutched my makeshift weapon tight. I thought about jumping up to hide behind the privy door, but there was no sense in it when the chain on my ankle would ruin the element of surprise. Brute force it was.
The door swung inward and my muscles tensed as a shadowed figure entered the room. Tall and lank. Movements careful and stilted.
Not the witch.
I let out a relieved breath. “Gideon?”
“Aye, my prince. We must hurry. Ye have a small window durin’ the change o’ the guard.”
The beautiful sound of jangling keys filled the room as I threw back the blankets. Gideon’s brows rose at the sight of the nail-studded plank in my fist. “Plannin’ an attack, I see.”
“Aye, I’m bloody well finished bein’ that witch’s plaything.” My voice came out in a deep growl.
Gideon leaned over and unlocked my shackle. The moment the metal released my foot, I sprang from the bed and rolled my neck, getting the circulation flowing into my limbs in preparation for battle. “Did ye bring me a weapon?”
“Nay, ye’ll need ta take the board. The keys were all I could manage, and I’ll have ta return these ta Adelaide’s chamber before she rises.” He lifted the ring of iron keys and then dropped them into his sporran.
I leveled my gaze on the old man. “Ye’re no’ comin’ with me.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m o’ better use ta ye here, eh?”
The captain knew the nooks and crannies of Doon better than just about anyone, but I couldn’t deny that having a spy close to the witch could prove invaluable. “If ye have information, we’ll need to establish a drop-off point and a signal.”
“Aye.”
“Could ye manage to reach the royal cemetery without detection?”
“I could use the catacomb entrance.”
“Right. If ye need to communicate, tie a strip of plaid in the oak next to my mother’s stone. I’ll send a scout every day at dawn. But only use it for vital information. If the witch catches you . . .”
He gave a tight nod.
“I canna guarantee I’ll return for ye before the battle begins.”
Gideon lifted his chin, his watery eyes searching mine, the corner of his left pulled down by red, puckered tissue. His battle scars. “Jamie, I’ve served ye since you were a lad. Dinna ye know by now tha’ I would die for ye?”
My chest tightened as I met his determined gaze. The thought of leaving him behind in this living perdition was too much. “Gideon, come with me. We’ll find a way to defeat her.”
“Nay, m’Laird.” He bent at the waist in a low bow, and when he straightened his demeanor changed to the gruff tone I was accustomed to hearing from him. “We’re out o’ time. The first level o’ the castle is surrounded by a deadly curse. Ye’ll need ta leave by the east. There’s a balcony above the kitchen entrance wi’ an overgrown yew nearby. If ye’re lucky ye can jump to it.”
Realizing I had no shoes or cloak to guard against the wintery chill, I grabbed my makeshift weapon and let him guide me to the door. Would my father have left his trusted captain of the guard behind for the sake of the kingdom? Without a doubt. Doon always came first. But this price hit me right in the gut.
Gideon peeked out into the corridor and then turned back. “One more thing. I heard whispers tha’ the witch is sendin’ a contingent o’ magically enhanced guards ta the mountains in the mornin’. A spy returned with information that a large group o’ Doonians is campin’ in the caverns to the west of the Muir Lea. They move every few days, so Adelaide is hopin’ to catch them before they disappear again.”
There were hundreds of caves scattered throughout the mountains. It was a smart strategy. “Is Veronica with them?”
“No reports o’ the queen’s location. Now go. Ye dinna have much time.”
I glanced up and down the corridor. It appeared empty. I stepped outside of my prison and turned back to Gideon as he locked the door behind us. Transferring the bed slat to my left hand, I lowered the end against the slate floor, stiffened my spine, and snapped a salute. “Gratiam et fortitudine, Captain. May the Protector be with you.”
Eyes glistening, Gideon stood at attention and lifted his hand to return the salute. “And with you, my prince.” He snapped his heels, lowered his arm, and then rushed away.
The hallway I’d walked at least a thousand times loomed dark and menacing as I plunged into the shadows. Up ahead, a recessed alcove contained an oil painting of a summer pasture, helping me orient myself. The third floor of the south turret consisted of servants’ quarters; the floor below me, guest rooms and a secret passage tucked behind a tapestry that led straight to the east wing above the kitchens. I cocked an ear, and when I didn’t hear anything, I quickened my pace to a jog.
None of the torches were lit, but my foreboding stemmed from more than the darkness—the bright, joyful castle I’d lived in my entire life hung heavy with malevolence, like a corporeal presence. If I turned quickly, I could almost see the magic slithering down the walls, and gliding above my head. I ran faster.
My pulse ratcheted into my ears as I reached out to open the staircase door. The witch’s sentinels could be anywhere; a single touch to an object covered in her spell could alert her to my presence. I couldn’t overthink every move I made or I wouldn’t survive. Setting my jaw, I grasped the handle and slipped into the pitch black stairwell. Chills raced over my skin as I pressed against the damp stone wall, my bare feet aching with cold. After several moments of silent prayer, my heartbeat regulated and I felt my way down the winding corridor, one step at a time.
At the door, I stopped to listen and re
view my path. A short jog down the hall, past the fairy pool tapestry, and through the passage. I was as good as free.
The door swung open, bringing me face-to-face with two men dressed in royal guard blues and greens; two men I’d sparred with in the lists, two men I’d trusted with Veronica’s life—before they took a knee and pledged to serve evil. They were no longer the men I knew.
“Hello, gentlemen.”
Guard one’s empty eyes blinked and then flared just before I smacked the bed plank into the side of his head. He toppled, out cold. Guard two grasped for his sword. But before it was unsheathed, I slammed my fist into his throat, dropping him to the ground. He clutched his neck with both hands, gurgling and choking for air. I shook my head. “I taught you better than that.”
Releasing the board, I dragged the unconscious guard into the stairwell and then returned for the second, who had slumped to his bum, his face turning blue. I’d likely damaged his larynx, but he’d live. I pulled his sword and leveled the tip against his chest. “Get up, or so help me, I’ll run ye through.”
He scrambled to his feet and I directed him into the stairwell. Before the door had shut behind us, I conked the sword hilt against his forehead and he crumpled beside his mate. Making a quick assessment, I tugged the boots off the first man and slipped them onto my feet. A bit snug, but they would do.
After stripping the broader guard of his green coat and the sgian dubh blade from his stocking, I crept back into the main hallway. I jogged to the tapestry, ducked behind it, and opened the panel. Wind moaned through the passageway, the cobwebs so thick I had to use my sword to clear a path. The webs were a good sign that the passage had remained secret.
I paused at the exit. Footsteps sounded on the other side, moving fast. Two sets, by the sound of them. Were they searching for me? Had the castle itself betrayed me to Adelaide, as I’d feared?
It was a risk I’d have to take. Armed, I could easily take two more guards and make my way to the east terrace. I eased through the opening and shut the panel softly behind me. Voices echoed down the hall and I followed their urgent whispers. One male. One female.
Keeping to the shadows, I drew closer. The female voice held a familiar cadence, and by her tone, she was clearly the one in charge. Even if she were a Doonian, someone I’d known, she’d chosen to pledge to darkness. I would need to take her out first.
I slipped into the alcove as their backs were turned. They leaned over the balcony rail, searching for something, or someone—probably me. The woman straightened and my heart galloped into my ears. The grace with which she moved, the solid set of her narrow shoulders . . . Vee, but not Vee. The witch. And with only one guard.
The Vee-Addie thing turned, and I crossed the room in two long strides. Blood-red rage ripped through me, and then turned ice cold, stealing all thought but one—kill her. I smashed the hilt of my claymore into the guard’s head, he dropped and I whirled, grabbing the thing by her throat. She gasped my name, her eyes wide aqua pools in the starlight, the perfect mix of shock and wonder swirling in their depths.
Not Vee. She’s not Vee.
I squeezed, crushing the delicate cords of her neck. “Ye will no’ fool me this time, witch!” I drew back my sword. Not even Adelaide Blackmore Cadell could survive a blade through the heart.
CHAPTER 17
Mackenna
Du-dut-da-dut-dut-dut . . . Again!
Advance step, thrust, step, kick, thrust . . . Again!
Advance step, thrust, step, kick, thrust . . . Right!
That connects with . . .
Retreat step, parry, step, retreat, duck.
Turn, turn, forward, back, jump, step.
Got it? Going on . . . And—
“Mackenna!”
The blunt edge of Duncan’s sword smacked me across the back and I stumbled forward. Somehow, I managed to turn the momentum of my impending face-plant into a roll. Springing back to my feet, I swung around to face my boyfriend with my sword at the ready.
“Good. That was a brilliant recovery.” Despite the positivity of his words, he continued to scrutinize me with narrowed eyes. Since taking on the role of my personal drill sergeant, he’d lost all sense of humor, and although I’d sworn not to complain, I missed his “Chuckles the Ogre” side.
He tipped his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “What do ye say to takin’ the rest of the night off? I think you’ve earned it. If ye hurry, you can make it to the hall ’fore supper is through.”
I wasn’t the type of girl who needed to be asked twice. Before he finished the sentence, I was shucking off my weapons belts and protective padding, which flopped onto the dewy grass like a slug. Although I’d been given a reprieve from Duncan’s rigorous training, I still had to clean my sword and return everything to the armory, aka Mabel’s barn. That would take at least another half hour.
Sighing, I reached over to gather my things, but Duncan’s soft voice stopped me. “Leave them be, woman. I’ll take care of your gear for ye.”
“Oh.” I’d assumed he would come to dinner. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a meal together. “I’ll wait.”
“Tha’s all right. I have much to do here.” His eyes skimmed over me and continued on to the tree line. “Then I planned to check the progress of the bridge. They were beginning the apex of the arch this morn.”
I followed his gaze, wondering when we’d stopped looking at each other. “I could—uh—go with you.”
“Nay, lass. As you Yanks say, go blow off some steam. I heard that some o’ the lads have planned a proper gathering after the meal—dancing and everything. Enjoy yourself.”
Apparently, while I wasn’t the type of girl who needed to be asked twice, I was the type who needed to be told twice. Duncan wanted me to get lost . . . and not in the good way that involved his deep brown eyes.
“Well,” I drawled, as a sinking feeling settled in my chest. “See you tomorrow, then.”
In a daze, I headed toward the dining hall. On the short walk across the meadow, the sweat cooled on my skin. And although I started to feel the evening chill, it was nothing compared to the blizzard in my heart. Something had happened between Duncan and me—a shift too subtle and vague to give a name to, but too substantial to dismiss. Ever since he took over my training, it had felt like he was disappointed in me; like he’d lost interest because I wasn’t a good enough pupil. And he still wouldn’t talk about why he hadn’t wanted to train me in the first place.
As I stepped into the ginormous barn, the sounds of pipers and fiddlers reverberated from stalls across the room as they began to tune their instruments. Our converted dining hall, which consisted of a primitive kitchen at one end and long tables and benches filling the length of the space, had been decked for festivities. Boughs of purple-and-green heather wrapped artfully around the walls, interspersed with flickering golden candles, transported me to a certain Scottish kingdom in a galaxy far, far away.
Dressed in store-bought plaids, the newcomers easily outnumbered the tartan-clad Doonian refugees. Nearly everyone who had crossed the bridge from somewhere in the modern world seemed to be in their late teens or early twenties. Yet despite all their differences, the two groups intermingled like they’d know one another forever.
At a table on the opposite end of the room, I spotted Ezekiel and Jerimiah in animated conversation with a group of guys. From his gestures, I surmised that quiet little Jerimiah was telling a story—a good one from the looks of it. Both of the boys were laughing, their carefree smiles radiating across the hall.
Experiencing a touch of high school cafeteria déjà vu, I shuffled into the dinner line wondering if, after I got my food, I should insert myself into an existing group, or just go for the first open spot and eat alone. If this had been school, I’d be eating with my bestie, which I’d done from kindergarten through junior year. My friendship with Vee had, among other things, saved me from a decade of lunches eaten in a bathroom stall.
“Beaut
iful evening, dinna ye think so?”
I blinked out of my glory days reverie and into the smiling face of Fiona’s mom as she handed me a plate heaped with stew, bread, and some sort of greens. Since I’d started training with Duncan, I’d taken most of my meals at Dunbrae Cottage, so the change in dining wear caught me off-guard. The plate was one of those fancy disposable, three-section deals that I remembered from picnics. “Paper plates?”
Caledonia Fairshaw made a sound of correction that was uniquely Scottish. “Not paper, lass. Recycled sugar cane. They’re biodegradable and a mite easier on the cleanup than traditional plates. They just go in that tub and then at the end o’ the evening we put ’em on the composting heap. Flatware too—on Prince MacCrae’s recommendation. Such a time saver.”
For a millisecond I thought she meant Duncan, until Alasdair’s face appeared over her right shoulder. Of course, he was the Prince MacCrae she was referring to—I’d have to get used to there being two of them around the camp. “I’ve been introducin’ the good ladies ta the conveniences o’ the modern world. No sense in not enjoyin’ them while we’re on this side o’ the bridge, right, Missus Fairshaw?”
“Oh, m’Laird,” she chided, spearing him with a sidelong glance as she batted her eyelashes. “How many times must I insist ye call me Caledonia?”
Leaning in so that his bulbous nose practically grazed her neck, Alasdair replied in a low voice, “I’ll call ye Caledonia, Missus Fairshaw, when ye start callin’ me by my God-given name. Alasdair . . . Say it just once in that temptress voice o’ yours.”
Fiona’s mom ducked her head in an effort to hide the blush that was spreading across her face. Without meeting my eyes, she said, “Enjoy your meal, Mackenna. And please forgive Alasdair. I’m afeared all this modern livin’ has made him far too cheeky for his own good.”
Thoroughly creeped out, I hurried away from—whatever that was. Scanning the room, I spied Fiona sitting with Cheska, Greta, and a few others. As I approached, Greta and Cheska slid apart, making room directly across from Fiona.