by Bess McBride
The plump woman regarded me with shrewd blue eyes.
“I ken ye wish to keep yer secrets, lass, and perhaps that is just as well. Ye have only just met me, and it seems that I am to be yer keeper. Of course ye dinna trust me.”
I chewed on my lower lip.
“Well, let me get ye some food and drink and something for the lad’s wound. If ye were a guest right and true, ye could have yer own room, but it seems as if they wish ye kept together. Andrew is but a lad. He can sleep on the floor or the divan, and ye take the bed. I dinna see any impropriety.”
“It’s probably better than a dungeon,” I murmured.
“We have none such here.”
“I was kind of kidding.”
“I will return wi Igrid, one of the maids. I have to lock the door behind me. If I dinna obey orders, it is my head they will have.”
“I understand.”
She nodded and bustled out of the room. I turned to look at Andrew. The wound on his head looked worse than it probably was. I did remember that head wounds bled more than most. Dried blood caked his forehead just above his right temple. A large bruise had formed in the area. I was concerned though about the amount of time he had been unconscious. That suggested a possible concussion.
“Andrew,” I said, giving his shoulders a gentle shake. “Wake up.”
His eyes fluttered open before closing again.
“Andrew. Wake up. I just need to see that you can wake up.”
With no medical knowledge, I didn’t know what I was doing.
He opened his eyes again and spoke.
“Where are we, mistress?”
“Oh good! You know who I am.”
He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around the room. I followed his eyes for a moment, taking it all in. The harshness of the stone walls was softened by the warm oak furniture—the bedposts, several small tables, a wardrobe and a dresser. The floor was covered by a nondescript tartan carpet in shades of gray and red. Muted red velvet upholstery, curtains and bed hangings suggested someone had lived luxuriously. I wasn’t sure whether that had been the Morrisons or whether Angus Macleod had redecorated upon capturing the castle. Somehow, I doubted the latter.
“We’re in Ardmore Castle. Mrs. Mackay says you grew up here?”
“On the grounds, mistress,” he said, licking his lips as if he was dehydrated. “I have never seen one of the bedrooms, but I have been in the tower afore wi my mother, who was once a maid here under the Morrisons. What has happened since they hit me over the head?”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and updated him.
“I canna stay here. I must warn the others!” Andrew said, pushing himself off the bed.
“Well, I don’t think we have a choice, Andrew. We’re locked in here.”
He stumbled toward the door, leaving me with more concerns about a possible concussion. He jiggled the handle, but it didn’t give.
“It is locked!”
“Yes, I said that. Come back here and sit down. I’m worried about your head.”
“It aches some,” Andrew said, leaning again the door and putting a hand to his head. He eyed the bed and then me.
“Mistress, are we to stay in the same room?”
“It looks like it.”
“Auch, that is no possible.”
“Well, Andrew, I think we’re lucky we have such nice surroundings. Mrs. Mackay is going to bring us food and drink and something for your head, so...it could be worse.”
“I dinna ken how,” he muttered, eyeing the bed again.
“Because you are sleeping on the sofa there,” I said, pointing to the divan, “and I am sleeping in the bed...if I sleep at all.”
“Have ye heard from Torq or the laird or Iskair? Where is the Macleod or that evil Dugald?”
“I have no idea what’s going on, Andrew. I’m sorry. I think that Dugald is readying the castle for an attack, so that suggests that Angus is not here and that he has not brought the hostages back to the castle yet.”
“I must arm myself,” Andrew said fretfully, searching the room for a weapon.
I presumed the Macleods had taken any weapons he had on his person. “I must help fight.”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do right now. We’re locked in here.”
Andrew crossed the room to look out a small aperture, the window.
“Aye, I see the Macleods rushing about heavily armed.” He turned to me, worry ravaging his young face. “I dinna ken how the laird and Torq can retake the castle, mistress. I dinna ken how they can recover the women and bairns, no wi so few men.”
I rose and approached Andrew, wondering if he would let me hug him. I was terrified too, but I wasn’t a young teenager with the weight of an adult on his shoulders.
I held out my arms, and Andrew drew in a sharp breath. He eyed me stiffly, and I moved forward, wrapping my arms around him. He was a bit taller than me, promising to grow into a big strapping Scot, and I wasn’t sure who comforted whom. He responded to my hug with a brief one of his own before taking a step back. A sniff indicated he had struggled with tears. He took a quick swipe at his eyes, then looked up in alarm as the key sounded in the door.
I turned to see Mrs. Mackay and a young, slender teenage female with mouse-brown hair at the doorway. Mrs. Mackay entered with a tray, and the maid hauled a bucket of water that she carried over to a porcelain pitcher and basin on the dresser.
“Andrew!” Mrs. Mackay crowed. “Ye are awake and on yer feet!”
“Mrs. Mackay,” Andrew said. “It is good to see ye.”
Mrs. Mackay set the tray down on the small table near the window and moved in to hug Andrew without the hesitation I had shown. He submitted to a brief embrace before wriggling out of it.
“Come sit down and let me look at that bump on yer noggin. Will ye sit as well, Mistress Donaldson?”
Andrew, being pushed down into a chair at the table by Mrs. Mackay, paused and glanced at me.
“Mistress Morrison,” he attempted to correct. “She is kin to the laird and Torq. Her brother as well.”
I drew in a sharp breath and turned to watch Igrid pull linen and soap from a drawer in the dresser. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Mackay succeed in getting Andrew seated.
“Is that true?” Mrs. Mackay asked narrowed eyes. “Ye are kin to the laird? And ye have a brother? I could have sworn ye said yer name was Donaldson, mistress, and that ye were no kin to the clan. Where might yer brother be?”
Still hovering near the bed, I swallowed hard and thought fast. “He was taken with the women and children.” I opted to ignore her comment about my name.
“I ken most of the Morrisons. What is his name?”
“Dylan,” I said.
Mrs. Mackay shook her head. She picked up a cloth from the dresser, moistened it and returned to dab at the blood on Andrew’s forehead.
“I have no heard of him. Are ye from the Lewis Morrisons?”
“They come from England,” Andrew said. “Mistress Morrison lived in Constantinople!”
Mrs. Mackay glanced up at me.
“Did ye now?”
I nodded...barely.
“And where might that be?”
Andrew shrugged. “I dinna rightly ken.”
I bit my lip and rubbed my forehead.
“The Ottoman Empire, I believe,” Igrid offered. “Are ye Turkish then?”
All eyes turned on Igrid. Mine certainly did.
Her pale cheeks reddened, and she shrugged. “I read it in a book.”
“Igrid can read,” Mrs. Mackay proudly. “Her mother, once housemaid to a Glasgow family, taught her.”
I nodded in Igrid’s direction.
“Are ye this Turkish then, Mistress...Morrison?” Mrs. Mackay asked.
I shook my head.
“No, I lived there for a time, that’s all.” I had begun to hate that story.
“Sit down at the table and have something to eat. I brought ye some of my carrot soup and oat
bread and some ale.”
Ale. I wasn’t thrilled. I looked at Andrew. I had no doubt he drank ale. I wasn’t in the twenty-first century any longer.
“Is it possible to get some tea?” I asked, as if I were staying at a hotel. “I don’t drink ale as a rule.”
“Aye, Igrid can fetch some tea. Go now, lass.”
Igrid left the room while Mrs. Mackay pulled a small brown jar from underneath her apron and applied some sort of salve to Andrew’s head injury. She straightened and motioned for me to come to the table.
I moved to the table and took the chair opposite Andrew. Mrs. Mackay removed bowls of a lovely looking orange soup from the tray, a basket of oat bread, and a jug of ale with two cups and spoons. She propped the silver tray against the wall on the floor.
“I will let ye eat in peace. Igrid will return in a few moments. Do ye have need of aught else?”
I shook my head. Short of suggesting she not lock the door again, I didn’t know what else I needed. What I really needed was to know what Iskair was doing, how Dylan was, what was happening with Archibald and Sarah. Mrs. Mackay wouldn’t know any of that.
“No, thank you,” I said.
Mrs. Mackay nodded and left the room. I stared after the closed door, listening to the sound of the key in the lock. I turned to look at Andrew, who was spooning soup into his mouth in obvious appreciation. I picked up a piece of bread and studied him. The wound on his head looked much better since it had been cleaned up. He had an appetite, had shown he could stand for a bit and that he was cognizant in reminding me of my Constantinople tale. I had no idea if he had a concussion, but he seemed all right.
I rose with my tasty oat bread and walked over to the window to look out. The courtyard was indeed busy. Torches darted about with the people carrying them. I leaned out to hear loud voices as they called out to each other. I had no idea what it took to defend a castle from an outside attack. Whatever preparations they were making weren’t done in silence, but with a lot of commotion. The men running around appeared distracted, harried, focused on the gate and the parapets above a two-story building that looked like a stable. I saw a horse being led inside the ground floor.
I turned to look at the door again, then toward Andrew. With a pounding heart, I returned to the table and dropped into the chair.
“Andrew,” I began.
“Aye, mistress?”
“How far are you prepared to go to get out of here? To get us out of here?”
Andrew stopped eating and leaned forward.
“I would do anything, mistress, to help my family.”
I looked over my shoulder and turned back, taking a deep breath.
“Would you be willing to grab Igrid when she comes back with the tea and unlocks the door? We could tie her up in here and try to find a way out of the castle.”
I bit my lip at the shocked look on Andrew’s face.
“Well, if it’s too much for you, then we won’t do it. Besides, I can’t really figure out how to get out of the castle itself or the grounds. There are a lot of men near the gate.”
“Nay, ye misunderstand my expression, mistress. I ken it is a brilliant idea. I also ken a way out of the castle other than the main gate.”
“You do? How? Where?”
He was just about to answer when the key sounded in the lock. I jumped up hastily and stared at the door. Andrew rose, and I shook my head, warning him back. I wasn’t ready! I just wasn’t ready.
Igrid pushed the door open with her foot while carrying in another tray holding a tea service. She kicked the door shut behind her and crossed the room to the table where we had been eating. She set the tray on the table and began unloading cups, pot, sugar and milk.
I looked over her bent head at Andrew and shook my head again. I just wasn’t ready for the harebrained scheme I’d dreamed up. But Andrew was.
Taller than the tiny Igrid, he grabbed her by the waist and wrapped a hand around her mouth. I recognized the movement, having experienced something similar several times in the past few days. I hated that for Igrid.
She struggled in Andrew’s arms. I reached for her apron to untie it, with a plan to use the cloth to tie her hands and feet up.
“Igrid, I’m so sorry. Andrew and I have to get out of the castle! I’m so sorry. He’s not going to hurt you.”
It was Andrew who let out a yelp, not Igrid, as she bit his hand. He pulled his hand back, and she struggled free of his grasp. I grabbed for her as she backed away.
“Stop! Dinna lay a hand on me! What do ye ken ye are doing?”
“We have to get out of here,” I pleaded. “I don’t know what your allegiances are, but we have to warn the Morrisons that the castle is prepared for an attack.”
“Well, my ‘allegiances’ as ye call them are wi the Morrisons. I am a Morrison. I dinna care if ye run from the castle, but ye are taking me wi ye!”
Chapter Fifteen
“What? You?” I squeaked.
“Mistress, we canna drag a wee lass about wi us,” Andrew said. “We have no time for such!”
“Ye’re taking me, or I am screaming as loud as I can,” Igrid said mulishly, maneuvering her way toward the door despite that Andrew and I were trying to herd her into a corner.
I looked at Andrew. “We can just take her with us.”
“Auch, mistress! Ye are too soft for this century.”
“What does that mean?” Igrid snapped, looking from one of us to the other.
We had never discussed it, but Andrew clearly knew about the time traveling. He hadn’t quite figured out that I had never lived in Constantinople though or that I wasn’t a Morrison.
“I guess,” I said. “If we take you with us, Igrid, where do you expect to go?”
“I want to fight! I want to fight these Macleods. Ye dinna ken how much I despise these people.”
I reared back at the anger in the little thing’s voice. Her brown eyes spit fire.
“But what about Mrs. Mackay?”
“She will be fine. She stays to protect the castle. I have had no way to leave, nowhere to go, no one to go to. I am going wi ye. How are we to do this then?”
I looked to Andrew.
“I ken a way out of the castle. I am surprised ye dinna.”
“Ye dinna mean through the latrine, do ye? Are ye daft?”
“Nay, I am no daft! It is no such a drop. I did it once myself when I was a wee lad.”
“Wait! What? Do you mean through a latrine? A toilet?”
“Aye, mistress. The latrine has a chute that goes out the south wall of the tower. It is on this floor and no a great drop to the ground.”
It wouldn’t be the first time I had found myself digging through human waste, although the stench had long dissipated from any of the archaeological sites I had worked.
“Let’s go!”
“Ye are no serious, mistress?” Igrid said.
“I am. Are you coming? Or do we tie you up?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I ken it can be no worse than emptying the chamber pots into the latrine. Let us go then! I will lock the door behind us so they will have to break the door down to discover that ye are gone. I ken we would be soon discovered if Angus and most of his men were no away at the moment and Dugald no distracted.”
Igrid, our unexpected ally, picked up one of the candles and led the way out into the hallway, dimly lit by a single torch. She put a finger to her lips and locked the door behind us. We turned, not for the stairwell but to retreat farther down the hallway. We passed several doors before reaching one on what I thought was the south wall of the castle. I wasn’t sure, disoriented as I was.
Igrid opened the door, and we stepped into a foul-smelling stone-walled chamber with a raised half wall covered by a thick slab of wood with two cutouts. I believed the cutouts were used directly as toilets, but Igrid said she also used them to empty the chamber pots.
“The holes are too small for us to climb through,” Andrew said. “We must lift
the seat.”
Wishing I had gloves, I joined the Andrew and Igrid as they pulled up the wooden slab. I held my breath and looked down into the chute. The debris coating the chute appeared fresh, and despite not breathing, I gagged. I had never realized until my arrival in the sixteenth century how weak my stomach was, a euphemism, for everything nauseated me.
I pulled back and hugged the opposite wall of the small room.
“The chute is really high up, Andrew! You think we can survive that fall intact?”
“Aye, mistress, I do. The ground is soft enough, ye ken.”
I shuddered.
“I ken it will be.”
“I warned ye that this idea was foolish...and most foul,” Igrid said. “But I am willing if ye are.”
“Who’s going first?” I asked. “I can, but if I break a leg, you’ll have to carry me.”
“I will go first, mistress. Then Igrid should go...in case she canna be trusted to run away and warn the others. Then yerself.”
“I dinna like ye, Andrew Morrison!” Igrid spat out.
“Nor I ye,” he retorted.
“Okay, enough bickering! That’s what we’ll do!”
Andrew nodded and climbed up onto the platform. He lowered himself down into the chute, and I ran to watch as he let go and dropped into the darkness.
“Andrew?” I whispered. “Are you all right?”
“Aye, mistress. I canna speak loudly. The ground is soft enough. Come quickly!”
Igrid expressed her distaste but climbed up onto the platform and lowered herself into the chute. I held up the candle to watch her let go with a small shriek. I heard a grunt and a curse, and listened.
“Ye could have waited until I was away!” Andrew hissed.
“Well, ye said to drop. How did I ken ye were still in the way?”
“So you guys are okay, right? No broken legs?”
“Nay, mistress. The drop is no far at all,” Igrid whispered.
“Okay, I’m coming!” I set the candle down, hitched up my skirts and slithered into the chute. Still terrified of the drop, I didn’t throw myself into the abyss immediately, but clung to the edge by my fingers. The stench was unbearable, and I let go, remembering that Dugald’s stench was even worse.
I landed on my backside in a mass of arms and legs and bodies as both Andrew and Igrid cursed and grunted. The three of us disentangled ourselves and rolled apart.
