A Bridge Through The Mist

by Denise A. Agnew

  Half way down the stairs she heard another scream, and this time it wasn’t a whimper of despair, but an agonized call for relief. The desperation of someone under torture. Galvanized, she rushed down the stairs. Almost at the bottom, she slipped on the damp stairs and fell forward. Involuntarily she cried out and cursed, dropping the candle as she threw out her hands to break the fall.

  Alenna gasped in pain as her elbow hit a step. Reaching out for a handhold, she tried to slow her descent. Each blow as her body hit the steps caused her teeth to jar together. Pain raced through her as her head hit something hard. Pinpoints of light danced behind her closed eyes.

  When she came to she was resting on the cold third floor landing. Her head hurt, as well as her elbow and her hip, and for a moment she wondered if she’d done serious damage. All because she’d been stupidly impetuous in her dash down the stairs.

  The door next to her opened, and she felt the rush of cold air and saw the light through her closed lids. "Good God."

  The baron.

  Behind him she heard Caithleen sobbing. Caithleen’s welfare impelled her to forget her own aches and pains, and she pulled herself into sitting position. Pain crashed through her head.

  "What has happened here?" The baron asked sharply, kneeling next to her.

  Alenna put her hand to her forehead and attempted a weak smile. She couldn’t let him know she’d heard Caithleen, or he might do something drastic. "I’m sorry, my lord. I’m afraid I slipped."

  Light fell on his face from the open door. "What were you doing here at this time of night?"

  She had to have an explanation. "I heard strange noises in the hall. I thought there might be an intruder in the donjon."

  "Bah! Nonsense. The guards assure no one enters who does not belong here. You were dreaming."

  Slowly she pushed herself into standing position, feeling every bruise and ache. "Of course. If you’ll excuse me—" He grabbed her arm, and the sudden movement made her head swim. "What types of noises did you hear?"

  Think quickly, Alenna.

  "It was as I said. I heard strange noises. Perhaps it was the wind."

  He released her arm. She tried to read the expression in his eyes, and saw cold, dark suspicion.

  "The wind."

  "No doubt, my lord. If you will excuse me, I would like to nurse my bumps and bruises."

  Looking unconvinced but not worried, he nodded and backed away. With a full sweep, he took in her mode of dress. His gaze centered on her breasts through the fine linen of her nightdress, and without thinking she crossed her arms over her chest. Another whimper came from behind him. The sound hit her heart full force. How could she stand here and pretend indifference?

  "Is Caithleen well, my lord?"

  "Aye."

  "But I hear her crying."

  He stepped forward again, and she backed herself against the wall. She smelled his breath and repressed a shudder.

  "What you hear coming from my room is none of your concern, Alenna."

  Alenna stiffened, wishing he would back away. Half tempted to kick him in the nuts and run, she quelled the urge.

  "Is she ill?"

  Mistrust danced in his eyes. "She is only distressed because she’s learned of her brathair’s plight."

  Fear shot through her belly. "Clandon? What has happened?"

  "I’m afraid he tried to steal food from my kitchens."

  "Stealing? But he would not—"

  "He was stealing from me. This is a serious offense. I have had him thrown in the dungeon."

  Fury climbed into her throat but she held back words that she knew she’d regret later. Alenna recalled the horrifying feelings she’d encountered while visiting the dungeons. She had to get Clandon out of there.

  "When did this happen?" she asked.

  "Only a few hours ago. After our evening meal."

  "He is only a boy, my lord. Maybe the scare you’ve put into him is sufficient. When will you release him?"

  The baron’s lips curled in a cruel smile. "A thief is a thief. He shall remain there until I have thought of a more suitable punishment."

  God, he didn’t mean to execute the boy?

  "Suitable punishment?"

  "A few lashes might do, or if I see fit, something far worse."

  "What do you mean by worse?"

  He made an exasperated sound deep in his throat. "‘Tis not for you to ask. Do you think I need your approval of such things? Surely you do not condone thievery?"

  "Certainly not. But he has very little. And as a boy he might not understand the seriousness of such an offense. Perhaps he was hungry—"

  His hand came up and clamped around her throat.

  She’d gone too far.

  "Enough! ‘Tis not your place to meddle in such matters."

  "Wait," she rasped.

  His hand pressed, and she gasped for air.

  Panic struck her and she kicked out, landing a blow to his knee. He added his other hand to the pressure on her throat. If she didn’t do something, she might die right here, right now.

  She didn’t want to die, damn it.

  Not in this God forsaken time. Not in this way.

  As her lungs ached for air and tiny black dots danced across her vision, she thought of Tynan.

  The thought of him gave her strength, and she twisted in the baron’s grip, kicking out again. As he jerked back with a curse, Alenna plastered herself against the wall and pulled deep breaths into her deprived lungs. She lunged up two stairs and then her knees collapsed. Pain slammed through her as she fell against the steps.

  "I suggest you get back to your room and stay there," the baron said harshly from behind her. "No matter what you hear, for your own safety, you will not creep the halls at night. You had a mild accident this evening. Who knows what could happen if you don’t mind your own counsel?"

  Alenna turned and looked at him. He gazed at her balefully. Tingles of dread raced along her skin. The man was evil. Pure, unadulterated depravity.

  "Do not defy me again, Alenna," he said quietly as if he were making casual conversation.

  The baron went into his chamber without a backward glance, leaving her in the darkness. On trembling legs she ascended the stairs, relying on her sense of touch.

  Anger and shock gripped her, and by the time she reached her room and slammed the door, she ached in every muscle. She quickly lit as many candles as she could. Her limbs trembled with cold as she climbed into bed. Huddling under her bedcovers, she tried to absorb what she had learned about Clandon and the baron’s violence. Down deep, Alenna knew the baron had no intention of releasing the boy.

  Did he intend to manipulate Caithleen into doing what he wanted by threatening Clandon? Could the baron have another reason for his cruelty? No. The man was colder than a corpse and had a sadistic streak a mile wide. He didn’t need any reason for his actions.

  He’d almost snuffed out her life tonight. Yet he’d stopped.

  Playing with fire could get her killed, but so might doing nothing.

  A relentless throb pounded at her skull and her throat ached. She touched the rising bump on her forehead.

  She had to do something about Clandon. Images of the boy, frightened and huddled in one corner of a damp, freezing cell, caused a swell of panic to rise into her bruised throat.

  "No," she said, taking a shuddering breath to calm down the insistent fear. She couldn’t allow fear to rule her. Clandon’s safety came first and foremost. With a semblance of calm and determination, Alenna dressed immediately.

  * * *

  Alenna knocked on the door of the Black Tower and waited for a response. When she got no answer, she rapped on the door a little harder. Abruptly the door swung open. Silhouetted by the dim light behind him, Tynan stood shirtless, his hair dripping wet.

  "Alenna," Tynan said, looking surprised to see her. "What brings ye here so late? ‘Tis dangerous—"

  "I’ve got—" She swallowed, her mouth dry and her throat throbbing. "I�
�ve got to speak to you. May I come in?"

  He let her in and closed the door.

  "Did you know that Clandon has been thrown in the dungeon?" she asked. "The baron claims he stole food from the kitchens."

  Tynan glowered. "Eh? Where did you hear this?"

  "The baron told me, tonight. We’ve got to do something to free Clandon."

  Instead of answering, he brushed her hair back from her forehead. "Good God, what happened to ye?" He touched her throat and she winced. "There is a bruise on yer head and more on your neck!"

  "It’s nothing." Her experience with the baron threatened to catch up with her. Tears created a logjam in her throat as she realized how easily the baron might have ended her life.

  "Dinna tell me ‘tis nothin’," he whispered huskily, his eyes filled with concern. "Did the baron do this to ye?"

  "Yes." Alenna explained how she fell down the stairs after hearing the noises.

  "Fell down the stairs?" he said a bit louder. "Ye could have been killed."

  "Well I wasn’t. What would you have me do? Lie there in bed and listen to him hurt her?"

  Tynan put his hands on his hips. "Nay. I know ye too well. That doesna explain the bruises on yer throat."

  When she explained about her conversation with the baron and how he had throttled her, Tynan’s faced flushed with rage.

  "God knows what the baron did to Caithleen. Either she was terrified because of what he’d said he’d do to Clandon, or … or he was hurting her," Alenna said.

  With a disgusted sound, Tynan grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair and yanked it over his head. "Damn the filthy swine!"

  "That’s too good a word for him."

  He grasped her shoulders gently. "I’d like to yell at ye until yer ears ring for puttin’ yerself in the baron’s path, but ye wadna listen."

  Alenna gave him the barest of smiles. "No, I wouldn’t."

  He pushed the hair away from her forehead again and looked closely at the lump. His gaze traced her entire face, as if searching for another wound. His lips tightened. It wouldn’t surprise her if he went in search of the baron and beat the man to a pulp.

  "Are ye hurt anywhere else?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "By God … if he touched ye …" He sucked in a breath. "Did he try—"

  "No."

  He muttered something that she guessed might be a curse and closed his eyes for a moment.

  Impatient, she asked, "What are we going to do about Clandon?"

  He prowled the floor in thought, raking his hands through his hair several times in an agitated movement.

  "I thought of at least going to the dungeons to see how he is being treated," she said. He stopped pacing and faced her. Before he could speak she continued. "Don’t even think of telling me not to go."

  "Ye’ll no go there alone."

  "I hadn’t planned on it, unless you refused to come with me."

  A grim smile curved his mouth. "Do ye think I could let ye go in that wretched place alone?"

  "I wondered how you might react. Remember, I refused the cloak."

  "Ye are wearin’ it now."

  She touched the warm wool. "I didn’t thank you properly. It really was a nice thing to—"

  "Thank me later." He turned and reached for his own cloak. "When and if we get Clandon out of this mess."

  * * *

  As Alenna descended the steps leading into the dungeon, the first prickling of panic roamed along her skin like a thousand ants. Like a monster in a horror story, the dungeon lay before her. Waiting. Waiting to swallow her up.

  Tendrils of cold created goose bumps on her arms as she looked into the dimness below. While torches threw flickering light onto the damp walls, they barely penetrated the murky hell.

  A place of nightmares.

  The feeling of dread grabbed her throat like a vise and she gasped for a breath. A putrid stench rolled up from the bowels of this abode of the damned, and the sounds of moaning came heavy to her ears.

  God, please don’t let one of those moans be coming from Clandon.

  In her haste to get to the boy, she had dismissed her earlier fear of the dungeon. Now it came back to claim her with a vengeance.

  Alenna stopped her descent as if she’d walked into a brick wall.

  Tynan turned to look back up at her. "What is it?"

  "Nothing," she said on a strangled breath. She took another step, but her apprehension leapt another notch, pounding in her chest and ears like an overeager heartbeat.

  "It canna be nothin’." He took the stairs two at a time until he reached her. Clasping her arm, he started up the stairs again.

  "No," she said. "I’m going to see Clandon."

  "Aye, I ken that ye are. But ye dinna look well, and like as not ye will scare the boy."

  "Thank you very much."

  "Upstairs, sweet. The stench below makes the strongest of men feel a mite sick. If ye are goin’ to go down there, ye need yer wits about ye."

  When she reached the outside, she drank in breaths of fresh air reducing the trembling in her limbs. Tynan watched but said nothing as she tried to compose herself.

  "I’m sorry," she said.

  "Is this the panic attack, as ye call it?"

  "Not exactly. A panic attack isn’t always traceable to a certain cause. The dungeon … it … it just frightens me. When I was visiting the dungeon in my own time, I had a similar reaction."

  "They dinna keep people in there anymore, do they? In your time, I mean."

  Alenna shook her head vigorously. "No. People visit to see how prisoners were kept at the castle hundreds of years ago."

  "‘Tis hard for me to imagine."

  Throwing him a feeble smile she said, " We need to get Clandon out." She clasped his forearm lightly. "I can’t leave him in there."

  "We have to leave him for a time. The guards aren’t goin’ to let him free without the baron’s pardon."

  "Then we’re wasting time. Let’s get back down there." She started toward the entrance back into the dungeon.

  Tynan grabbed her arm. "I’ll go first."

  As they descended again, Alenna reminded herself she had to be strong, for Clandon. After what seemed like eons, they reached the depths of the dungeon.

  The vault had changed little in six hundred years. Everything within her revolted and jumped, anxious to make her visit to Clandon and then get out.

  After she took the last step down, Alenna glanced around. She jolted with fright when something swung close to her, a creak of metal echoing like a small, scraping scream in the shadows. A man hung in the iron maiden swinging from the ceiling. He’d been dead for several days, by the look and smell of him. She stifled a gasp and covered her mouth as she backed away.

  Tynan put his arm around her and brought her close. Grateful for his support and the warm life of his body, she allowed him to lead her further into the abyss. Thankfully, for all the large size of the dungeon, few prisoners resided here.

  "Ah, so who is this lovely creature, Tynan of MacBrahin?" a voice hissed from the shadows. "Did ye bring her for me? She’s a mighty pretty morsel."

  Tynan turned with her toward the voice, keeping his arm tight around her shoulders. Two men, chained to the wall, glared at them with glassy eyes. The one who had spoken was filthy, his clothes hanging in rags on his body, his rotten teeth giving his grin a jack o’lantern appearance. Bruises and dried blood covered his face. Alenna realized these must be the two thugs that had attacked her and Tynan.

  Tynan muttered a string of what Alenna suspected were Gaelic curses. "Keep yer mouth shut. I dinna give a halfpenny about yer bletherin’. And if ye say another word to her, I’ll make sure ye never walk out of here alive. Would that I had killed ye the first time I lay eyes on yer filthy hide."

  "Like as not I willna live long anyway," the man said. He spat on the floor.

  She felt the tension rise in Tynan’s shoulders, and she put her arm about his waist to caution him against making too much noise.


  "Have ye ever seen a man loose a limb?" Tynan asked the man in a deadly soft voice.

  The thug shook his head, his eyes narrowing.

  "I have," Tynan said. "‘Tis no a pretty sight. And I can tell ye that if ye dinna keep yer foul mouth shut, I will make sure to come down here and remove yer limbs one by one with me claymore. And I’ll do it in such a way that ye will be alive for the whole time."

  His cold words were sharp as a razor, and Alenna saw the man’s face pale a couple of shades under all the filth. Tynan moved her away.

  There was a muffled exclamation as they approached the last cell. "Sir! Mistress!"

  Clandon grabbed the bars in front of him and grinned happily. Alenna moved out of Tynan’s grip and went to the cell, placing her hands over the boy’s.

  "Are you all right, Clandon?" she asked.

  "Aye. I am well." He didn’t look as if he’d been abused or beaten. Yet. "I am happy to see ye both."

  "What happened Clandon?" she asked.

  "Did ye steal the bread, boy?" Tynan asked.

  "Nay, sir! I remembered what ye told me, sir. I dinna need to steal anythin’, since Caithleen’s been given’ me coins and ye have been givin’ me coins, sir."

  The boy rattled on about how he’d been snatched and thrown into the dungeon without a by-your-leave. A guard would only tell him the baron had accused him of stealing bread from the kitchens.

  "I swear on me own father’s grave, I dinna steal. Ye ha’ got to believe me." His wide eyes pleaded, pathetic in his small face. "Ye do believe me, mistress?"

  "I believe you," Alenna said, pressing his little, cold hands. She looked at the inside of his cell, thankful at least he hadn’t been thrown into the oubliette.

  The small hole in the ground, situated to their far left, would have been the death knell for the boy. Approximately seven feet deep, it allowed little room for movement. Those that were thrown in were not fed or given water … they were forgotten. Oubliettes filled with spikes seemed the most merciful. Though the death might be horrible it would be swift. Here the forsaken would die slowly and painfully.