by Clare Wilson
‘Thank you, Hamish,’ she said, smiling. ‘That would be very helpful. If you can find somewhere safe to keep him, we will need to gather again tomorrow night. I will contact you tomorrow with more details. I think we need to do something to lure Torean out of the Shadows. I will go home and consult my texts. There must be an enchantment to lure him here.’
‘Of course, my Lady,’ the Provost said, bowing his head. ‘I am honoured that you have trusted me with such a task.’ He turned towards Tom with an extremely evil look upon his face. He was going to enjoy playing with this little wretch. She needed him alive, but that still left him some room for a little fun.
The group slowly dispersed from the clearing. The Minister and another man were carrying the Sheriff’s body away while the Provost grabbed Tom by his scruff and dragged him away.
After they had all gone Lizzy, Aneirin and the Laird emerged from their hiding place. They were all absolutely petrified.
‘We can’t leave him with that man,’ Aneirin exclaimed, looking like he wanted to follow them there and then.
‘Aneirin, my lad,’ said the Laird. ‘I don’t like the Provost either. However it would be extremely dangerous for us to try to rescue him tonight.’
‘We can’t just leave him.’ Lizzy whispered, feeling sick.
‘We don’t have any choice for now. I suggest that we go home and try to get some rest. We should then head off to Wilson’s farm as soon as possible tomorrow morning. We are going to need to come up with a plan to get young Tom. I also have come across something among my books which we need to discuss.’
‘What?’ Lizzy cut in hopefully.
‘Not tonight, dear,’ the Laird replied wearily. ‘I think we’ve seen enough tonight. I don’t have the stomach to discuss these matters further.’
‘Where will I go?’ Aneirin asked looking around him.
‘Come back with us,’ the Laird said, putting an arm around him. ‘I know it’s not ideal, but I think you can sleep in the outhouse in the garden. Naithara won’t know you’re there, and it means that Lizzy and I can fetch you on our way through the gardens tomorrow morning. You would be safer at Wilson’s house than you would be here in the centre of town.’
‘Thank you,’ said Aneirin gratefully.
‘Not at all, my boy,’ replied the Laird. ‘Now come, let us get some sleep if we can. We are going to have a very busy day tomorrow.’
With that the group headed back towards the Laird’s house. They had given Naithara a fifteen minute head start which meant that she should be safe inside the house by the time they entered.
Meanwhile Tom was being dragged up a dirt path towards a dark house on the outskirts of the village. The place suited the Provost. It had a definite dark air of evil.
The Provost pushed him through a door into a large kitchen and Tom fell to the floor.
‘Be quiet, you little fool!’ he whispered loudly. ‘If anyone hears you bumbling about, you will regret it.’ The man then walked towards the sideboard and lit a lamp which sat upon it. He dragged Tom to his feet and led him towards a door at the far end of the room. When the door opened it revealed a narrow staircase spiralling downwards. He pushed Tom down the stairs in front of him and Tom struggled to keep his balance with his hands bound.
As they entered the cellar Tom noticed there were many bottles of wine arranged in an intricate rack which stretched the length of the ten foot room.
The Provost threw him to the floor and sat the lamp on a small table in the corner of the room. ‘I think we’re going to have some fun now,’ he grinned at Tom and touched his meticulously groomed moustache. ‘Do you think I should have a glass while we work? Hmm? It would make it so much more enjoyable. Something spicy I think.’ He walked towards a rack and took out a dusty bottle, considering its label carefully.
He sat the bottle down and approached Tom slowly. He pushed him onto a small chair in the corner of the room and stood over him, smiling. Tom was terrified. He didn’t want to imagine what this man would do to him. The Provost disappeared in the shadows and reappeared holding a long slim knife. He moved the knife in his hand, letting the light catch the blade. Tom watched in fear as the man then approached him and stroked the blade against his face. He didn’t like how much this creature enjoyed what he was doing.
‘She needs you alive tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean she needs you to be in perfect condition.’ He was grinning at Tom hungrily.
With a swift move he kissed the blade against Tom’s skin and the boy felt a searing pain across his cheek. Hot blood trickled down his face and onto his neck. It took everything he had not to scream from the pain, but he didn’t want to give the Provost the satisfaction.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice came from upstairs in the kitchen. ‘Hamish? Is that you?’
‘Damn,’ cursed the man.
‘Are you in the cellar?’ she continued. ‘What are you doing down there?’
‘You,’ he whispered to Tom. ‘Stay quiet. If you do not, I will cut off every one of your little fingers. You don’t need them to help to lure the old man in.’
Tom said nothing, he was petrified. He simply hoped the woman would distract the man from what he had been going to do to him.
‘Coming, darling,’ the Provost said in a sickly sweet voice. He sat down the bloody knife and ran up the stairs with the lamp, closing the cellar door behind him.
Tom, who was now in complete darkness, heard a key turn in the lock as the door closed. He could still hear their voices in the kitchen although the sound was muffled.
‘What were you doing down there at this hour?’ the woman asked.
‘Just checking something about one of my vintages,’ he replied convincingly. ‘The Minister didn’t believe that we had a Chateau Ausone. I was looking it out so I can show it to him next time he visits.’
The woman shook her head and tutted at him. ‘You and your wine, are you coming to bed now?’
‘Of course, my sweet,’ he replied, putting an arm around her.
Tom heard the footsteps die away as the pair left the kitchen and looked around him. He couldn’t see a single thing. The boy had never been in such darkness. Leaning back against one of the racks he closed his eyes and tried to feel grateful for the fact that the Provost had not been able to carry on with his torture session. In spite of this he suddenly felt a great despair wash over him. How would his friends know where he was? Aneirin might try to return to the Sheriff’s office to free him, and he wouldn’t be there. The Sheriff; he couldn’t exactly say that he felt pity for the man, but it was the first time Tom had seen a man killed in front of him. He was completely alone. If only he had kept his staff he would have felt as if there was a part of his grandfather with him. He lay in the dark, cold and afraid, with nothing to do but wait and despair.
Chapter Seventeen
The Long Journey Home
Torean and Adaira woke early in the morning in order to start their journey back down the hillside towards the village. They had little to say to one another as they packed up their bedding and saddled Onero. They could feel the boys’ absence hanging over them, and knew that it would still be some time yet before they would have any news of what was happening to them.
‘When do you think we’ll reach Old Wilson’s farm?’ Adaira asked. She was feeling impatient before they had even begun their journey.
‘Well, my dear,’ said Torean, ‘it must be just before seven judging by the sun. So I think we could be there by around lunchtime.’ He could feel her growing impatient. ‘The quicker we get going, the quicker we’ll get there, lassie.’
She smiled in spite of herself. It felt strange to smile when her only son was in such peril. It felt almost as though she was committing a sin. Should one be able to smile or laugh? Surely it would be impossible to be permanently afraid, she was exhausted by it. Since this whole thing had begun she felt she had aged. She had never felt so drained, this somehow felt even worse than when she had lost her husband. She had been
ignorant then of what had actually happened. The one thing that this whole situation had done was to explain what had really happened to him. When he had died, the whole thing had felt so pointless. He had gone, and it had happened for no reason. At least now she knew that he had died fighting for a worthy cause. She would use all the strength she had left to ensure that her boy did not die in the same way.
‘Come, my old friend,’ Torean said quietly, untying Onero’s reins from the tree where he was tethered. The horse whinnied expectantly. The old man looked at the horse in awe. It was, as Tom had said, very aware of its surroundings. It was easy for Torean to forget this because of how used to Onero he was. He wondered what it would be like having to deal with an ordinary horse.
Without wasting any further time, the two left the camp and it somehow felt strange. They were both desperate to head out after the boys, but somehow leaving the hillside and heading back to the village felt like they were leaving safety. They were heading back into the wolves’ den. It was a mixture of desperation and apprehension.
The road was hard, and with every step Torean saw the vision he had witnessed through the little bird’s eyes of his grandson and Tom being dragged downhill.
They walked down the hillside towards the village, with the little bird that had stayed with them in the clearing overnight following them from above.
Somehow the little feathered creature felt like his part in this story was not over yet. He didn’t want to miss out on the adventure.
When they stopped for a brief rest half-way through the journey the little bird landed on Onero’s head. The horse neighed softly to let him know he realised he was there. In response the bird hopped up and down on his head chirping loudly. It was almost like the two were laughing with one another.
The situation made Torean and Adaira laugh. It was nice to have something which distracted them from what was happening.
Torean felt himself becoming rather attached to the little creature. He had started as a link between his family and the people hunting them, and had become the only connection he had with his grandson who was in great danger.
After a light meal they continued down the hillside and after a couple of hours had reached the bottom of the hillside at the edge of the village. They then turned and headed through the fields towards Wilson’s farm. They knew that their route would take them close to where their own farm stood.
As they passed by they could see the rubble of what had once been their home. They couldn’t help but stop for a few moments and just hold one another. ‘Well, girl,’ Torean commented, pointing towards the farm, ‘the barn is still standing. At least I won’t have to completely rebuild it.’
Adaira tried to smile at Torean’s words. To her this didn’t seem like any great comfort. Until she knew that her son was safe she couldn’t imagine being able to envisage them rebuilding their home.
‘I know it doesn’t seem like much, lassie,’ he said, seeing the pain in her eyes. ‘We have to try our best to look to the future. This doesn’t have long to play out, and before you know it, Aneirin and I will be arguing about how best to fix the place.
She smiled at him, hoping he was right. His words helped her to see the three of them back together and working to rebuild their home. This gave her some hope.
After one last, longing look at their home they headed off towards Wilson’s farm hoping he would be able to give them some news about what had been happening since Lady Naithara had led Aneirin and Tom away from their camp. For now they had to hope, it was all they had.
Chapter Eighteen
The Gathering
It was early in the morning, just before seven, when Lizzy knocked the Laird’s door to bring him some tea. Little did she know that at the same time Torean and Adaira were setting out down the hillside towards the town.
She entered the dark room, sat the tray next to the Laird’s bed and went to open one of the curtains to let in a little light.
As the curtains opened the old man grumbled and rolled over away from the light.
She moved back towards the bed and spoke to him gently. ‘My Lord, it’s time to wake.’
‘I know, Lizzy dear,’ he said, heaving himself to sit upright in the bed. ‘I’m just an old man. I expected to be able to relax in my sunset years. Alas, there is always one more adventure.’ He smiled and took his cup from her. ‘When would you like to leave, my dear?’
‘I think we should head off as quickly as possible,’ she said, looking anxiously towards the door. ‘I’m going to pop out into the garden before it gets much later and give Aneirin a cup of tea. He must be freezing stuck out there.’
‘Yes,’ said the Laird thoughtfully. ‘Just ensure you’re not seen. We cannot afford for my niece to see you sneaking out there. She would love to get Aneirin back.’
She nodded and quickly left the room.
Rushing down the stairs, she poured Aneirin a cup of tea into the mug used by the gardener and headed outside. She knocked the door and entered the outhouse. As she entered it was hard to see anything through the gloom. ‘Aneirin, are you there?’
Aneirin stepped out of the shadows, ‘I’m here, Lizzy. Sorry for hiding, but when the door opened I didn’t know whether it would be you.’
‘You did the right thing,’ she said, passing him the cup of tea. ‘I thought you might be a bit cold.’
‘Cold? Not me,’ Aneirin said sarcastically. He winked at her and took the cup gratefully. ‘When do we head off?’
‘The Laird’s just waking up,’ she said, motioning towards the house. ‘I think we should get going as soon as possible. I don’t like the thought of you stuck in here risking being caught.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Lizzy,’ he said, touching her hand. ‘You go back in and get ready to leave. I’ll finish this tea and head off. I’ll meet you both a little bit further out among the trees. I don’t think it would be safe for Naithara to catch you both poking around in here, I don’t suppose you often decide to weed the vegetable patch, do you?’
She smiled, it felt so good to have Aneirin close, to know that he was safe. Without speaking she kissed him on the cheek and left the outhouse.
As he watched her leave, Aneirin couldn’t help but feel the same way she did. It had been hard being separated from her. He gulped down his tea and put the cup behind a plant pot so it wouldn’t look conspicuous should someone enter the outhouse. He quietly opened the door, being careful to ensure that no-one was up at any of the windows and crept deeper into the garden. Making his way for the gate which was situated in the back wall, he wanted to find somewhere just outside the garden to sit in wait for Lizzy and the Laird.
Meanwhile, back in the house Lizzy had fetched her cloak and was waiting on the Laird appearing so they could get on their way.
By the time the old man entered the kitchen it was nearly eight o’clock. She was beginning to get impatient and didn’t want Naithara to wake and find them on their way out. She had been very careful to prepare a cold breakfast for Naithara and leave it on her nightstand with a note explaining that the Laird had sent her to the next village to buy him fresh parchment and ink. It was a plausible excuse as the Laird was often running out of his supplies when he got engrossed in his work.
The Laird entered the room and motioned for her to remain silent. They both quietly exited through the back door and made their way to the back of the garden. Neither spoke, even when they were outside. They were both nervous at the prospect of being caught.
As they closed the gate behind them Lizzy looked around for Aneirin. ‘Aneirin,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘Are you here?’
The Laird was looking around at the bushes for the boy.
Aneirin stepped out from behind a large shrub and motioned for them to follow him.
They walked on in relative silence until they had gone a good way from the house.
‘Did you sleep okay, boy?’ the Laird asked.
‘As well as can be expected,’ Aneirin repl
ied. ‘While we’ve been living rough for some time, I couldn’t stop thinking about Tom, I detest the Provost. I only hope he’s not done something to him.’
‘I know what you mean,’ the Laird said. ‘He doesn’t have a good reputation. However, we must hope for the best. Hopefully, once we have a good chat with Wilson we’ll have devised a plan to free him.’
‘I wish we could contact my granda,’ Aneirin said, looking at the staff he carried.
‘I almost forgot about that,’ the Laird said, now also looking at the gnarled cane. ‘Do you know how to use it?’
Aneirin looked sheepish. ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘In truth this one belongs to Tom. I’ve practised with it, but I’m not accomplished. If my grandfather was with us he would know what to do.’
‘I wouldn’t worry on that account,’ Lizzy said, looking over at him. ‘Torean won’t sit idly by once he knows what’s happened to you. I’m sure we’ll see him sooner than you think.’
Aneirin smiled. ‘I hope you’re right,’ he mused. ‘We need him now more than ever. You know, although I felt no love for the man who kept Tom and I in a cell, I feel greatly affected by the Sheriff’s death.’
‘Unfortunately, death never gets easier,’ the Laird retorted. ‘I was never a great fan of Michael McDonald. He was nowhere near the man his father had been. Nevertheless, to see him snuffed out in such a way was greatly distressing. For me, it’s helped to hammer home what we’re really fighting here. We cannot any of us be careless or it could cost us our lives.’
Lizzy was now feeling disturbed by the men’s words. She had lain in bed the night before unable to see anything but the blank stare which had been in the Sheriff’s eyes.
Suddenly Aneirin stopped in his tracks. He was staring into the distance in silence.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Lizzy. She stopped herself from saying anything more when she realised what Aneirin was looking at. They were now able to see the burned remains of the farm in the distance. She walked towards him and took his hand in hers.
