by Syme, R. L.
The old lecher would get no satisfaction from her. Anne had no idea to what he was referring and kept her mouth shut.
Thankfully, the jailer kept talking. “This is the biggest dungeon in Scotland, you know. We get all the royal prisoners of Scotland who the King don’t want in London. For whatever reason. Though these days, we mostly got these renegades locked up. One of the Sheriff’s men has been on a mission to round them all up.”
They came out into a giant open room and Anne’s breath stopped in awe. The ceilings were at least twenty feet high. Along the far wall, several sets of chains hung, tethered to the wall and the ceiling both, and each one secured to a wheel. Some of the manacles were empty, but to Anne’s shock, some were full of bones, and some were full of men who were nearly bones. She cautiously looked from face to face, expecting to find Broccin in one of these immobile public prisons. The men who stood in them, who were still alive, had been stretched until no slack remained in the chains. That must have been what the wheel was for. As she got closer, Anne could see that some of them had been stretched so far that their limbs hung limp instead of holding the tension of the weight of their body. Yet they still hung there, looking as though they stood. Gruesome.
In the middle of that wall was a set of shallow stairs and a low door, about the size of a shield, but only reaching as high as Anne’s knees, she imagined.
Both sides of the room had been carved into the stone alcoves that served as cells, with steel bars separating the spaces. All the cells were low as well, not even tall enough for a man to stand fully erect at the farthest end, and nearest the opening, barely tall enough for Anne herself to stand next to the bars at her full height.
There were maybe eight cells in all, and each one looked to be teeming with men. Most had a foot or two of space between the men and the bars, although the farthest cells were so full that she could see men’s shirted backs and their long and short hair sticking out of the tiny spaces between the steel bars.
Andrew had told her their plan was to saturate the dungeon, and it appeared to have worked.
The old jailer continued to walk in front of them, only throwing a glance back every few steps to make sure they followed. As they’d come out of the hallway, there had only been room enough for one to walk, and then they could walk two abreast, but there was a pit carved into the center of the floor. Anne couldn’t tell how deep it went, but she could only imagine what all had been thrown into that pit over the years. Deep enough at least that you couldn’t see the bottom to know it, but she bet that was where most of the stench originated.
“The oubliette is here at the far end of the dungeon,” the old man said. On the far side of the room, a cluster of guards leaned on their spears and watched them. Andrew slowed to allow Anne to walk at his side, though he stayed near to the cells. The first cell they passed, Anne saw a movement out of the corner of her eye.
She could have sworn that she saw Andrew deliver something into a hand that had suddenly extended from the cell as they passed. With a quick glance to the soldiers, she held her breath, waiting for their response. But they either hadn’t seen the gesture or hadn’t seen the object. Either way, they continued to mumble to one another and occasionally glance at other cells.
The next cell, the same action. She didn’t dare to look at Andrew’s face. He hadn’t prepared her for this. Somehow, she’d assumed that the keys would be secretly distributed. Not handed out in front of a retinue of guards.
Anne’s palms itched. She must be sweating. It would only be right, given her nerves. Instead, she tried to engage the jailer, hoping to draw attention away from Andrew.
“Who are all these men?”
Andrew winced as she spoke, and she realized why. Suddenly, all eyes were on her, which meant that they were more attuned to them both. All the guards stared at her as though they’d just seen her. The jailer laughed.
“They’ve been sent to the dungeon, my lady. That makes them criminals.”
Only by English law. She thankfully held her tongue, as she could only imagine the ire that would draw. She realized for the first time that Andrew was probably also dreading the possibility that they would recognize her accent. As she replayed her words in her head, they were much rougher accented than Andrew’s and Finlay’s had been. She wasn’t sure if Lady Rebecca Langston was a real person, and if so, how Scottish she was, really.
“That makes your cousin a criminal, as well.” The jailer chuckled again. “But then, given your actions of the day, I guess we can say that everyone down here is in need of some absolution.”
Anne straightened her back, certain the soldiers had heard his every word. They looked her up and down, leering, which certainly meant they’d heard him. And were undoubtedly imagining just what those actions might have been.
Her skin might have crawled right off her bones if it weren’t attached. Were all men debauched at heart?
Another cell went by and Andrew’s key drop seemed to go unnoticed again. Perhaps it helped this time that they were staring at her, because they were fully engrossed in her. This much direct attention would have normally made her uncomfortable and as it was, she had to resort to praying that she wouldn’t give away the whole ruse.
She wasn’t completely certain of the plan once all the keys had been distributed, so she tried to slow the increased beating of her heart with measured breaths, as she’d always taught Elena. Calm in, fear out. Calm in, fear out.
It worked for her sister.
They reached the small door at the end of the walk and the soldiers were so close, Anne could hear their comments. Their English was very precise, much more the speech of native Northerners than of the Lowland Scots, even those who now spoke English only.
Perhaps they were English soldiers.
She consoled herself with that as the jailer opened the small door in the ground. Below them was apparently another dungeon, although a look down inside told her it wasn’t very large. Deep, for William was standing, but barely wide enough for three men to stand at sides.
Perhaps not even large enough for William to lie down. What unique torture.
His face was dirtier and bloodier than she remembered, but he still wore the now-stained-and-bloody uniform she’d found for him in the store room. His side, where his wound would still be, was soaked in blood and he leaned back against the rock wall against his other side, as though favoring the wounded one.
In keeping with her character, Anne gasped at the sight of him and knelt in front of the tiny door.
“William, oh, William. Do you recognize me? It’s your cousin Rebecca.” She grasped the sides of her wimple and offered a fake sob. “Oh, William. What have you done to deserve such a punishment?”
Before William could answer, Anne heard Finlay’s voice call out across the giant dungeon. Once everyone had their focus on him, he gestured for them to follow and the soldiers all jumped to attention, fumbling with their spears.
The soldiers clambered along the opposite side of the pit from Finlay and as he waited for them, Anne heard distinctively unique sounds.
Keys turning in locks.
Suddenly, the cell doors along the left side, where they’d just passed, all burst open. Men poured out of them, toward Finlay, and the soldiers on the opposite side all froze. There was no way for them to escape without having to pass through their captives.
The jailer reached for his sword, but Andrew had clapped him on the back of the head before the fighting even began. The captives had no weapons but the chains they’d freed themselves from, and only the healthiest of them stepped forward to fight at first.
Beside her, Andrew produced a rope from inside his sleeve that he lowered to William and then grasped. He must have had it tied around his waist, for the weight of William’s ascent seemed to be anchored at his middle, pulling him and him leaning back against the force of it.
Once they had William out of the oubliette, Andrew cut the rope with his sword and left William with Anne
in order to storm the guards from the other side.
If they could finish this within the next five minutes, according to the plan, the next shift would just be arriving when they dispatched the first of the guards and they could lie in wait for the change of the guard.
Anne smiled at William. “It’s Anne de Cheyne. Do you remember me?”
He groaned and bent at the waist. “My lady.” His acknowledgement came at great pain, it sounded, and she looked around for Andrew or another healthy man to help. She certainly couldn’t carry William in this state. He was much worse than he had been two days previous.
“I can’t carry you, William. Can you walk?”
“I can try.” He leaned heavily against the wall as he made slow progress behind Andrew, who had just killed the last of the guards.
Men with keys hurried around the pit, passing Anne and William, and opened the last of the cells, unlocking chains as men emerged.
A low hum of noise began to echo through the vaulted ceilinged room. Andrew raised his arms wide.
“Quiet, everyone. You all know the plan.”
A constant thrum of whispered conversations continued as men embraced each other, assisted one another into the open, and looked around at their fellow prisoners.
One of the nearby men, obviously a highlander from the tongue of his language, called out to Andrew. “What about the men here who are not with us?”
“They will have a choice, as we discussed.” Andrew’s voice boomed across the expanse. “They may come with us and join us, or go about their way. I expect…” At the escalation of the murmuring, Andrew raised his voice. “I expect… that there will be a cease to their criminal activities. But we will not leave any behind except those who wish to stay.”
Another man yelled. “None of us will wish to stay.”
“Then you can choose to join our cause, or you can be about your own business. But today, you have been given a gift. I expect you to honor it and put it to good use.”
“Assuming we get out of the castle,” said another.
“And past the guards,” yelled another.
“Quiet.” Finlay’s voice boomed. “The guard will be changing soon and once we’ve dispatched this group, we must leave at once in order to fulfill our plans.”
He stepped away from the door and faced the men. “I will take the charge, and Andrew will keep the rear. Any man lagging will be left. We cannot afford to slow our speed.”
“Anne!” came a booming voice from her right. A few men down the line, Anne at last saw the familiar face she’d been hoping to see all these days.
Broccin Sinclair was more of a man than she remembered—she had not seen him since he was seventeen and he had become quite a fine man. Taller than she had guessed, and more handsome, even with his matted beard and dirty face.
One of his arms supported an older man with dark brown hair, flecked with silver. Broccin strained his head to see her, as though he wanted to cross the room, but the man’s presence anchored him. Similarly, Anne could not leave William with no one, and he was fading fast.
Tears slid down her cheeks as relief flooded her. He was alive, he was safe, and she would see him freed.
“I will find you,” she said as Finlay signaled for quiet. The men nearest the entrance had confiscated the dead soldiers’ weapons and other men were stripping those soldiers of their uniforms.
Anne signaled for Andrew, who’d become embroiled in a near conversation about there being an extra regiment on duty today at the gate. He held up his hand to the complaining youth and went straight to Anne’s side.
“What can I do for you, my lady?”
“I’m not certain I can support his entire weight.” Anne grunted under William’s weight and Andrew took his arm from around her shoulders, putting it on his own.
“You shouldn’t be supporting anyone, Lady de Cheyne. Our plan is nearly complete and all I need from you is a promise that you’ll stay by my side until I can return you to your room.”
She nodded and Andrew signaled for two nearby young men to help with William. Once free of the heft of his weight, Andrew took Anne’s elbow again, as he had before.
“We must stay in the rear to see everyone to safety and keep you away from the fighting.” Andrew motioned to Broccin to join them and Broc began to make his way through the crowd with the weak man at his side.
“Brother.” Andrew embraced Broccin, each with one free arm, and Broc’s deep brown eyes shimmered with tears.
“Brother.” Broc held his friend’s gaze for a long time. They were more than friends, of course, Anne knew. Broc had nearly died for Andrew in the Battle of Carslile. That made men brothers.
“Broccin,” she whispered. Finlay, across the room, was calling for quiet again. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“And I you, Miss Anne.”
“Please.” She waved him off. “No need for those formalities. When you’ve been engaged most of your life, I think even titles can be done away with.”
“As you wish.” The smile he gave her was distant, melancholic. The man at his side appeared to be nearly as far gone as William. There were many men around the room who were being carried or supported by their more strapping counterparts.
This was going to be a miracle.
Finlay’s hand was in the air and the guards suddenly appeared inside the entryway. Once they saw the back of the room, they began to run in the opposite direction. Finlay and several of the men followed, and then the true escape began.
Men ran into the tiny hallway, only able to fit one across, and so awaiting the progress of the men in front of them. Anne worried they would trample each other, but the fighting in the lead must have stopped the quick escape.
The movement of the crowd toward the exit was slower and more methodical than some of the men seemed to want. But as soon as they began to push at their companions, Andrew would call them out. None of them would survive if they didn’t allow each man his turn to escape.
The slow progress eventually led them around and formed the end. But just as they were about to enter the hallway, the line stopped. Andrew called forward for a status report.
Broccin leaned down to Anne. “How did you come to be here? When we saw William come down two days ago, we thought the plan had been ruined. It wasn’t until we saw the jailer bring you back that we knew it would continue as planned. Those days of waiting.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “When we have so much to return to, a day of waiting can be a lifetime.”
“My mother brought me here.” To wed the fat pig of a Sheriff who tried to make me his wife already. She paused. No. “I have so much to tell you, but it can wait. When I heard you were here. I had to help you.”
Broc’s smile still carried the sad note, even as the line began to move again. “I am grateful, Anne.”
They moved through the long, narrow hallway with excruciating slowness. Broccin had to turn to the side to bring his compatriot and Anne took the man’s other arm and helped Broccin navigate the passage.
When they got to the end, all of the men had piled into the respectively small guard room and spilled through the open doorway out into the vestibule.
Andrew hushed the men again. “We are all out, Finlay. We must proceed with extreme haste. From here on out, you must all follow the plan. And do not fall behind.”
“What is the plan?” Anne whispered to Broc.
“They were going to secure wagons to take us out of the city.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
“Ahhh, but we will be with the crowd from mass. Andrew is confident we won’t be stopped. Not with soldiers driving the wagons.”
That was a lot of trust in some very stupid men at the city’s wall gate. They had been stopped on their way into the city. But that may have been partly because her mother had been so agitated during a fight with Anne that she rocked the carriage with her ranting.
Still, Anne wasn’t sure the plan was a good one. She’d hate to
see them go to months of work to secure inside men and coordinate an escape only to be stopped at the gate.
Andrew took her arm from Broccin. “I’m sorry, brother, but I’m afraid I must take her from here. I will meet you at the gate.”
Broccin kissed the top of Anne’s head and embraced her with his one available arm. “I must stay with Lachlan. I will see you at the gate, or at the rendezvous point.”
They all made their way as silently as possible through the corridor and up the stairs into the castle. Once they reached the landing on the main floor, Andrew took two of the men dressed as guards and ran for the stairs with Anne.
She ran over and over in her mind what she was going to say to Elena. How she would get her sister to accompany her without telling her about how Simon Alcock had treated her. Or what he undoubtedly planned to do with her once she was fully his. If nothing else had confirmed his sickness, it had been the state of his dungeon. The corpses, the static torture, the oubliette, the sheer size of it. This man was far too interested in pain.
And he had most certainly was the kind of man who could have killed his previous wife.
She had to get away from him.
The men pulled at Andrew once they were at her door and the three of them took off the way they came, with Andrew calling after her, “Bring your sister to the gate. We will have room for you. But you must hurry.”
Anne turned into her doorway and ran for her changing screen. She had to be ready by the time Elena returned. Pray she would be alone. And hope that Andrew de Moray was more a man of his word than all other men seemed to be.
Chapter Seven
Anne changed and waited for Elena, her hands nervous as an expectant mother. But after the bells had sounded to end the service and her sister still didn’t appear, worry began to crowd out the anticipation. Anne’s stomach couldn’t promise any more patience. She rustled in the back of her closet for the bundles and secured them together with one of Elena’s hair ribbons.
She’d donned her green woolen riding dress that could have been mistaken for a day dress. Initially, the plan had been to have Elena change out of her chapel clothes and into riding clothes, and then secret her away with the guards Andrew promised would be his own men.