The door to the smoke room slammed shut.
She didn’t like the dark.
An icy stream of fear ran down her back. Rigid she searched the black before her. There were no shadows to run from, no sounds to alarm but still, she conjured a million ways to die a horrible death in this place.
These caves were the pride of Glen Toric, a perfect defense against thieves. Ideal for storing foods but dangerous for the uninitiated. Deep crevasses, soft ground, endless tunnels to get lost in, threats enough when one had light.
“Don’t be foolish.” She admonished herself. “There’s naught to fear.” That door would have been weighted to swing shut just as the great door had been. Focused on the only thing she had to do, which was get back to the first chamber, she used the cured meat as a guide.
Despite the self-chastisement, her hand shook as she reached for the first haunch of meat, calmed as she realized the wall was next to it. She followed that, sliding a foot in front to ensure solid ground would meet her step.
Progress was far slower on the return, but at least it was progress and she did reach the doorway. It was long and narrow. It was also lodged firmly into place. Hard as she tried, the latch refused to lift.
Holding panic at bay, despite a dark heavy as pitch, she felt around the rough opening to see which side the hinges were on, whether the door needed a push or pull to open. They were on the other side. It was easier to push at a door than to pull on a lever that was no more than a simple wooden doll.
That great ham, she had once thought an ox, was too close to give her any room to maneuver. Still she tried to push, tried to force the door by slamming her weight against it. If only the ham hadn’t been in the way. She jiggled and cajoled the latch, but it didn’t give. Exhausted she slid down the wall of wood, used her feet to push at the offending meat.
The ham swung right back, knocking her head against the oak planes of the door, nearly breaking her nose with the mass of it. She could swear she heard Ian’s laughter with the ringing of her head.
“It’s not funny!” She snapped.
Aye it’s funny but not so funny as you not seeing what’s in front of you!
Maggie stilled, no longer aware of the darkness, no longer frantic to escape or too exhausted to do anything about it. This time, when she shoved at the huge hunk of meat, she moved out of its way. Certain enough, she felt the air move as it countered the swing, coming back. The door creaked, the hinges rattled.
With no thought but freedom Maggie moved down the line of hams, setting them swinging on their hooks, one after another until she reached the last one. This one she pulled back, held it as high as she could then let it go to ram into the already moving line, forcing them to careen hard against the door.
The first effort echoed a thundering shake of the portal but not enough to break through. Determined, she tried again and again, willing the wood to weaken, to crack, to break the hardware locked in place. To do anything to offer hope. Something she could use to get free of the caves.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
His men were mounted, the horses restless. At the very least, Talorc thought Maggie would see him off. He had expected that much, especially now that she knew what he was about. But something had her running off to the kitchens and he had a good idea what it was.
Talking to Seonaid had seemed right at the time. Would have been if Maggie knew the full situation, but Maggie didn’t. Nobody knew and he couldn’t tell them, even though it had so much to do with what was happening.
He needed Maggie to trust him. If she didn’t, then he would have to live with the consequences. If she didn’t want to be there for his departure, he wouldn’t lower himself to ask where she was.
One more time he would check their supplies and then, Maggie or not, he would be gone.
She still hadn’t come by the time he was astride, too much time wasted. Everyone was ready, waiting on him. He raised his arm in a final wave, opened his mouth to signal their departure when another shout stopped him.
He reared his horse in the effort to turn toward the caller who ran toward him, her clothes askew, her hair a tangle.
“Stop Bold.” She shouted. “You just wait now.”
He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. She was coming to him, all mussed from some adventure, but she was coming and of her own free will.
When she reached his horse she bent over, hands on her knees, heaving for breath. Some kind of dust covered her from top to tail. An aroma of cured meats rose from her.
“What is it lass?” He dismounted, alarmed now that he realized she wasn’t disheveled from play.
“Got myself locked in the meat room.” There was a hiccup of fear in her laughter. Her hand was shaking as she pulled tangled hair from her face. “And I wasn’t afraid of the dark.” She tried to chuckle despite the edge of tears he was certain she fought.
“Who let you out?”
She stilled at that, turning as though searching the crowd gathered. There was no hint of humor left when she looked back at him. “I got myself out, but I’m afraid I’ve broken the door.”
William joined them. “You had to break the door? It’s stout for a lass.”
“I swung the meat. The weight of it pushed the moorings out.”
“Wait,” Talorc held up his hand. “You were locked in the caves? And just how did that happen?”
“A prank, that’s all. But I got out. That’s all that matters.”
He put a finger to her cheek and brushed off the dirt, meat cure. A prank, she’d said. Locking her in the caves, in the dark which she hated. A prank. Fury rose in his throat, capped by William’s hand on his arm and a quiet, “steady now.”
That stopped him from reacting too swiftly, except for pulling Maggie into him. She was safe. That was the most important thing. He bent his head to hers, smelled sulfur in her hair. She was safe.
And William was right. If this was not a prank, Maggie was in danger. It would be better to convince the culprit that they had no worries.
Reluctantly, Talorc let her go holding up a warning finger. “Don’t you move anywhere. Do you hear? You stay right there.”
He took William’s arm as they moved aside, where no one could overhear their lowered voices.
“No, Bold,” Maggie argued, and reached out to stop him.
“I’m not leaving you Maggie. Just give us a moment.”
“No,” she shook her head, a bit frantic. She looked more frightened now than when she’d spoken of the dark. “Here,” she thrust something at him. Startled he took it as she said. “You have to go. It’s who you are, what you are. But I’m wishing you a safe return.
She adjusted her skewed kirtle. “I just want to make sure you know what you go for.”
That’s when he looked down and realized what she had placed in his hand. “For the land, for the name, and for the wild glory of both.” It was a hoarse whisper. He knew how much this little square of plaid meant to her. He had seen the tears in her eyes when her people gave it to her. He saw how she pulled it out and rubbed it when she fretted over something.
By the time he gathered himself together, to give her thanks, she was running to the keep, away from him.
Would he ever understand this woman?
“Bold,” William pulled him aside. “We’ve no’ much time, but no one locks anyone in the caves.”
“Where was the guard?”
William shook his head. Not yet, but they would.
Maggie had been alone when she had come to him. Where were the friends she had made? Where was Deidre?
William continued. “You need to put a guard on her. Put extra patrols on the comings and goings of the keep.”
It was worse than that. Talorc rubbed at his side, the injury that had only just healed. “It’s not someone from the outside William. Do you not get that? It has to be someone who’s close to us, calls the keep their home. It’s a friend, William, it’s family.”
Bruce joined th
em. “Bold, there’s something you should know. This morning, when she looked for Eba, your handfasted tripped on the stairs from the castle.”
“The outer stairs?”
“Aye, only now I believe her, where before I couldn’t. It didn’t seem possible, but she didn’t trip, she was pushed.”
CHAPTER 8 – A LAIRD’S WIFE
The dark loomed, the fireplace banked to barely a glow and Brutus, that great beast of a dog, made the most horrid of sounds. Maggie was not frightened. She had her two protectors, Gerta and Caitrina. The whisky man’s wife and daughter who had come to the keep for safety. They had arrived as Talorc and his men were setting out.
She wished he hadn’t, but Talorc explained to the mother and daughter that Maggie did not like the night. Not only had they insisted on sleeping with her, they made sure she had the middle. Talorc would owe her for this, having her squashed between an old woman who made noises Brutus could be proud of, and her daughter, who continuously puffed the covers with hot wind.
There would be no cabbage in tomorrow's dinner. Not that it wasn't too late already. The bed would never be the same.
Maggie scowled and rolled to face Gerta only to be poked by straw coming through the mattress. She shifted, fidgeted and tried to focus on something other than her sleeping companions.
There certainly was enough on her mind for, thanks to the Bold’s belief in her, she had found her calling. What she hadn’t known, though she realized now her mother had always known, she had been prepared for this moment from the day she had been born.
Maggie knew how to organize, dictate and turn ideas into reality and she was doing just that with all but one plan. Not that she had time to do any more then had already been set in motion, but her one scheme was essential to the clan’s benefit. It was a gift she could give to The Bold.
Unfortunately, he banned anyone from leaving the castle and set a guard on Maggie herself; so, her most important task would have to wait.
In the meantime, she had an army of MacKays to accomplish an almost overwhelming load of work. In that case, Talorc’s ban worked in her favor. Just as he forbade anyone to leave the castle, he had ordered crofters to move inside the grounds. There were some who would have preferred the risk of attack rather than face Maggie’s demands.
The first project, inspired when she found huge sacks of fleece confiscated in the last raids.
“Whisky isn’t the only thing you can trade.” Maggie told the women, “But you’ll need more spun wool than you can produce with hand spindles.”
She rounded up the woodworkers and a few young lads to help and set them to building spinning wheels to be followed by enough looms to fill the long shed behind the castle. “If you do several of each piece, as you go, then you don’t have to stop and change tools as often.” She explained and left them with the promise that the Bold would be well pleased if they had accomplished their work before his return.
If he returned. The fear haunted but it was a familiar fear. She knew how to live with the nag of it.
While the men were busy with sawing and sanding, she set the women to work in the weaving sheds. Those best at spinning spent their days there. The dyers worked in another out building, coloring the wool as quickly as those who had an eye for design could come up with patterns, for they didn’t care to have others wear the MacKay plaid.
She’d set a batch of women to string what looms were available. Everyone took turns between everyday chores and working in the weaving, spinning and dying sheds while the older children kept an eye on the younger babes.
The castle bustled with happy excitement and purpose. But it was not enough.
Talorc had warned her that his household had been without a personal care for too long. He had spoken true. One snap of a tapestry corner, produced a cloud that had her coughing for the rest of the day.
Fair enough, the women were busy so she went to the men, surprising their wives and mothers in her ability to get men to clear the floor of thrushes, gather more, remove the tapestries from the walls. “Far too high for a lass, one man explained. And used their might to swat the dirt from them “Sturdy lasses as we have in the MacKay’s they’ve no arm for this.”
They didn’t scrub the floors, but once Maggie was down on her knees, bucket and scrub brush in hand, women came to join her. With the help of dozens of children, on a lone adventure beyond the walls of the castle, Maggie managed to gather of fresh flooring.
She took account of the furniture, noted what needed fixing and made a list of new pieces to be made. Once the woodworkers were done with the spinning wheels and looms, they would get to that.
It seemed as though the men were gone forever as there was even time to brush out the fireplaces and free the chimneys of soot. Outbuilding roofs where checked for leaks and a passel of boys were hard at work mending what they could. It was too late in the season to thatch but they would be prepared for spring.
But what, of the numerous tasks, should she attack next? Clearing out the kitchen storage? She was determined to return to those caves except Talorc had them closed off. No one could enter without a guarded escort. Not that the area was quiet. She had seen soldiers going in with torches. Searching, she figured, looking to see if an attack could come from there.
Bringing the crofters inside these walls, searching for any weak points, he was preparing for full attack. So far, other than the attack in the woods, the enemy had used stealth. They had known how quick a highlander was to avenge and so, they had set the clans against each other. It was time to meet with the Gunns, to put aside their differences, for she truly believed the Gunns were not at fault.
Maggie hated to admit it but if Anabal hadn’t died, all the losses, all the battles could have been averted
Anabal?
Talorc’s late wife, God rest her soul. Maggie hadn’t thought about her in days. Now her name conjured images. Fragile and fair, that's what she had been. Maggie knew this because she had asked. Beathag thrilled to talk about 'her,' Anabal, the perfect lady, who never dirtied herself with chores.
Not like Maggie did.
Anabal had been beautiful, winsome, and petite. Gerta snorted that she was no more than another useless Gunn but then Gerta was proving to be fiercely loyal to Maggie. The question rising was whether Talorc had adored the woman, loved her? Their relations had been fruit-full, produced a bairn. Bless his soul and all.
Anabal.
Talorc would have kissed her, wrapped her in his arms, pressed their bodies together.
Maggie froze. Couldn't breathe.
He would have mated with the other woman. . . . in . . . . this . . . . bed!
Maggie muffled a screamed, kicked her way from under the covers and scurried out and down the mattress.
"What . . . huh?" Both Gerta and Caitrina looked at Maggie who had leapt off the end of the bed, to land right next to Brutus' head. The dog jumped and barked, the hair on the back of his neck bristling at the unknown danger. The door flew open and a sleepy eyed guard ran into the room, his dagger out and ready to defend.
A guard at all times was a nuisance. Especially now. She blinked. Thankful she wore a shift to bed.
She cleared her throat. Everyone stared at her. "I . . . I just couldna’ sleep."
"Me either," Gerta hefted a hearty sigh, "It's worrying about our men folk."
It was Maggie's turn to stare. Gray hair disheveled, lines from the pillow creased Gerta’s cheek, her eyes heavy with sleep.
"It's near enough to dawn." Caitrina offered. "We might as well get up now."
"Aye," Maggie lied, "that's all I was doing. Rising for the day." The guard nodded, yawned broadly and backed out of the room as Maggie added, "I have a task for us to work on today."
Caitrina sighed, "As you always do."
"Of course," Maggie frowned, "There's much to do to run a keep."
"Then I'll stick to my crofter's cottage, thank you very much." Gerta snorted. "What is it this time?"
”T
he beds.” She rushed out. "We need to freshen up the beds before winter." The kitchen could wait.
The women looked at each other.
Maggie moved up and ripped the covers from the mattress. "Empty the mattresses toss the old filling and scrub the ticking. The beds will smell sweet with new fill. We can wash the blankets as well. If it's as sunny today as it was yesterday, they'll dry in no time."
"There are plenty of beds and pallets in this keep."
"Aye, and my guess is they haven't been cleaned and aired since Talorc's mother was alive."
Gerta humphed. "You would probably be right in that. They've probably just put more straw and heather in, without changing what was there."
"Ooohhhh!" Caitrina scooted away from the bed. "There must be a thousand bugs in that thing!" she started to scratch, as if the mention of the critters caused the bite.
"Aye," Gerta agreed.
"We'll start with this one." Maggie didn't wait for their help before she stripped the mattress from the frame.
CHAPTER 9 – DECISIONS MADE
The Bold was back.
Unnerved by his presence in the chamber, Maggie pulled a cover about her and rose to open the shutters and look at the courtyard below. A feathery carpet covered the ground that would soon turn to slush, melt in the warmth of an autumn day. Harmless in itself, it signaled heavier snows to come.
Her chance of leaving was slipping away and she so desperately needed to go, to see her family, to follow a plan she was determined to see through.
Talorc returned last night with a swooping kiss for Maggie, a dizzying spin in his arms, and a tale that had kept the whole of the clan mesmerized. There had been a battle, the sorrow of a man lost, but they had freed the whisky maker and the tools of his trade, at least those that hadn’t been destroyed.
And he'd returned with two of her brothers.
James and Douglas, the two who had no wife or family to leave behind, had come to see how Maggie fared. They said her mother fretted for news. But, of course, the fight had to come first.
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