Brenna quickened her pace, determined to reach the cache, and arm herself. Whether their spy was the addled maid or some other foe, they had yet to discover. She refused to meet them with only her dagger and the few throwing stones she had shoved into her pockets.
“Take care, lass.” Magnus caught hold of her and yanked her back a step. He took hold of her hand and pointed the torch downward, flooding its light across a crack in the floor wide enough to swallow a man whole. “This is the beginning of the fissure that guards the entrance to the southern cache. We can step across here, but farther around, it widens too much to do so.”
She held out the torch. “Take this and lead the way. My nerves canna take anymore blind leading where I dinna have a clue I’m headed.”
He hesitated, setting down the pitch bucket with a hard thunk. “’Tis heavy.”
“I can manage it the short distance left. Now, take the torch.” She still didn’t know how Magnus had seen the fissure in the floor, and she hadn’t, but she didn’t care. Her leadership of this expedition was at an end.
“Nay, take the bundle instead. I’ll keep the sparks away from the bucket. I dinna wish ye to lose yer balance.” He swung the bundle off his shoulder as he accepted the torch. Holding it high and to the side, he retrieved the bucket from the floor. “I’ll shine the light down so ye can see to step across, then I’ll follow, aye?”
“Aye.” Mouth dry as tomb dust, she adjusted the bundles on her shoulders. Heart pounding, she hopped across the split, feeling as if a monster could reach up and snatch hold of her and drag her down into the darkness at any moment. “Praise God Almighty,” she uttered once both feet hit solid ground.
“Well done, dear one.” Magnus followed, then shed the light on a crude set of steps created by receding slabs of stone. “At the top is the cache we seek. We’ll catch our breath there, then move on to the room I had in mind and build us a fine fire.”
She followed, staying close to manage the uneven layers of stone as she ascended them. One snagged toe, and she’d tumble down into the abyss. “I canna believe I allowed ye to bring Keigan into this wicked place. Never again, ye hear me? If I had known then what I know now—”
“Lads love a bit of danger in their exploring.” He grinned back at her. “It’s good for them, aye?” Sidling off to one side as they reached the top of the stairs, he tapped the torch along a low hanging beam. “Mind the opening here, or ye’ll knock yerself silly.”
As she ducked and wormed her way through the opening, she locked her jaws to keep from speaking her mind. They should’ve hidden in the Highlands or sought refuge higher up Ben Nevis. But nay—instead, they had burrowed into the earth like a pair of badgers setting up their den.
A squishy sensation under her right foot warned her too late. Thrown off balance by her shifting bundles, she slid across the muck, careened into a pile of broken barrels, then landed on her knees. “Mind the footing!” she shouted, floundering to rise from the heap of split wooden slats, bits of what looked like dried meat, and piles of crushed oatcakes.
“What the hell?” Magnus lit a second torch, holding them both aloft as he cast their light around the room and gingerly picked his way through the mess. “Someone’s fouled every last bit of it.”
“Water?”
“Gone.” Magnus held up a waterskin, flat as could be and dripping. “Every bag split open with a blade.”
Brenna shoved aside a broken barrel, hoping the one behind it might have been spared. Her hopes were for naught. Its bashed top revealed the small cask of flour soaked with enough pitch to light the entire cave system. “How often are the supplies checked to ensure they’re safe and usable?”
“Monthly, at least.” Magnus kicked aside a barrel, slowly leaking out a trail of salt as it rolled across the floor. “Graham assured me this one had just been restocked, and all was well. Said he checked it himself just days ago after the confrontation with Barricourt.”
“I didna bring water nor food. Both Catriona and Alexander said we would find plenty here.” Whoever had made short work of the stores had done their job well. Not a barrel, bag, nor waterskin had been left untouched. “We’ll have to go back,” she said, drying her hands on her skirts.
“We canna go back.” Magnus pushed the keg of flour fouled with pine tar to the center of the space and lit it. He pulled up a pair of crates missing their contents and offered Brenna a seat. “Surely, the keep is crawling with soldiers by now.”
A despondent weariness set in as she lowered herself to the ramshackle chair beside the fire. They could probably salvage some dried meat and oatcakes. Maybe even enough to last more than a few days. But the lack of water was a definite problem. “I heard water dripping through the tunnels. Can we not collect it?” The more she tried to think of a solution, the thirstier she felt.
“Nay.” Magnus shook his head. “We tried that once, and it gave us all the skitters. Gretna thinks much of the cave water is tainted with bat shite and whatever foulness it breeds as the water stagnates.”
“Then what do we do?” She was at a loss. They couldn’t stay here and survive, nor could they go back. “Is there another exit close so we might go outside and find a burn? Catriona told me about several sources of water that Tor Ruadh uses. Surely, we could find a spring close to the caves.”
“Aye, there’s an exit close, but the way to it isna easy. Few can travel it.”
Brenna didn’t like the look on Magnus’s face, nor the way he studied her. “Ye’re not leaving me here whilst ye go fetch water. Dinna even think about it.” The thought of sitting in the dark, waiting for his return, made her heart pound so hard it rendered her dizzy.
“I wouldna be gone for long,” he said softly, but his tone was laced with the iron of his stubbornness. The man had already made up his mind. She could see it in his eyes.
“Dinna ask this of me,” she pleaded. “I beg ye.”
“We have to survive. For Keigan.”
He would say that. She closed her eyes and sagged forward, holding her head in her hands. Every decision they made affected Keigan, even though her dear lad had remained behind at Tor Ruadh. They had promised to fetch him. Reunite with him as soon as they could. If they didn’t fight to survive, how could they keep the word they had given to her precious lad?
“I didna see any weapons here.” Magnus spared another glance around the carnage. “But ye have yer dagger and yer stones, aye?”
“Aye,” she said, without lifting her head. “One dagger and seven throwing stones. I can fend off everything but the darkness and my fears.”
The warmth of his hand on her back did little to ease her fretting. What if something happened to him? What if the treacherous trail bested him? She feared she would never feel his warmth again. “There has to be another way,” she whispered, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what. “How far is the next cache?”
“Too far to try without food, water, or more pitch and fresh torches.”
“Let me come with ye.” She straightened and looked him in the eyes.
“Nay, m’dearest love. That I canna do.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll not risk losing ye to the treachery of the caves. That route isna for those unused to traveling the bowels of Ben Nevis.”
“But ye would leave me here wondering if I’m a wife or widow?”
“I will return. I have done it before. Many times.”
She threw herself into his arms, clutching him as tightly as Keigan had held to her. “I canna bear it if ye dinna return,” she confessed as she pressed her face against the sweet warmth of his neck. “Please dinna leave me. I would rather return to the keep and fight a thousand Sassenachs than wonder if ye’re dying in the bottom of a dark pit somewhere.”
He cradled her close, gently swaying to and fro, as if she were a colicky bairn. With every stroke of his fingers through her hair, she knew she had lost him. He had made up his mind.
“Please,” she whispered again
.
“I must go, mo ghràdh.” He brushed a kiss across her temple. “Trust me, my dearest one. I promise I will return.” Sliding a finger under her chin, he lifted her face to his. “Wait here and think of names for our bairns, aye? We canna have Keigan lonely, ye ken?”
“If ye dinna come back to me, I’ll hunt ye down and haunt ye through all eternity,” she threatened, meaning every word. “Ye’ve made me love ye. Need ye. Worry after ye. I’ll be damned if ye escape me now.” She reached up and touched his face. “I love ye, m’eudail, more than I ever thought possible. Dinna make me regret opening my heart.”
He answered her threat with a hard kiss of stubborn determination. “Two days,” he said. “In two days, I’ll return to ye with enough water to get us to the next cache. I swear it.”
“I give ye two days.” She grudgingly pushed herself free and put an arm’s length of space between them. “Dinna make me regret placing my trust in ye.” If she didn’t escape his touch, she would surely be reduced to weeping as though he had already been lowered into the grave.
“Never, my love.” He slowly stood and reached for her. She weakly resisted then gave in, allowing him to gather her close once again. “Never will I make ye regret trusting me,” he promised, then sealed his oath with a kiss.
Chapter Fifteen
“Dammit to Hell and back.”
Magnus gritted his teeth as he cast the torchlight up and down the heap of jagged rubble blocking his way. All that remained of the narrow passage was an opening at the top of the pile, barely large enough for a man to shimmy through—and it would have to be a small man at that. He contemplated attempting it, but common sense stopped him. It would be deadly to try such a thing with no one to help should aught go awry.
He and the MacCoinnichs had explored and mapped out most of these caves. While the maze served as a layer of extra protection for the clan, the hidden hallways of the mighty Ben Nevis were a dangerous place. They deserved the same respect and wariness given to a fearsome beast, a beast that a man never battled alone.
He lifted the light again, scanning where the jagged rocks had broken free from the wall. Landslides inside the mountain weren’t all that common. New fissures often cracked across the cave floor, but the passage walls rarely collapsed. Then he spotted it. A shining mark scraped across the rock—a mark made by a chisel. An evildoer had brought on this collapse.
After one last hard look at the barrier, he decided. There was naught to do but backtrack almost eight furlongs or so and head down the only other trail that opened out close to the same area on the mountainside he hoped to access. Whoever fouled this passage might have closed off the other way, too, but he doubted it. Experience and pure gut instinct warned him this treachery held all the makings of a crude trap. Thank goodness Brenna was back at the supply cache, where it was safer. At least, he hoped she was safe. An uneasy urgency increased the speed of his stride.
He had two fresh torches ready and shoved in the back of his belt, along with the three waterskins they had mended as best they could. With his light held high, he retraced his steps. A worrisome foreboding growing stronger with every step. No way in hell could a lass as small as Cadha have triggered that landslide. He had barely reached those chisel marks when stretched to his full height. But if not Cadha that had caused the cave-in, then who? He quickened his pace. The faster he made it outside and found water, the quicker he returned to Brenna. Then they would attempt to make it to the safety of the next cache.
More worries reared their ugly heads, filling his mind with disturbing possibilities. If they had fouled one cache, how could he be certain the others remained intact? The next stockpile he had intended to seek lay deep within the mountain’s core. If they reached it and discovered it, too, had been destroyed, then the trek back out, without food, water, or more torches, would be damn nigh impossible.
He came to the split in the corridors. If he remembered correctly, the new direction narrowed so fiercely a man could scarce draw a full breath as he squeezed through parts of it. At one point, he would need to belly crawl for quite a way. It didn’t matter. He had to get that water and get back to Brenna. She had looked so hopeful when she had helped him lash the mended waterskins to his belt. Three water skins.
He came to a halt and bowed his head. To get all three of the filled waterskins delivered back to her might be an impossible task. The alternate route couldn’t be managed with the bulging skins thrown over his shoulders as he had planned. Tossing the thought aside with a shake of his head, he continued on. He would do what he could and then figure out the rest once reunited with his lady love. Fretting about it now did nothing but make his journey more dangerous with the distractions.
“I refuse to be bested!” He fought the cave, forging onward as quickly as he dared. When the torchlight flickered and danced as though trying to jump from the pitch-soaked rags, it made him smile. Moving air. The exit was near. He held the torch behind him and eased forward, lifting his nose and sniffing. Aye, there it was. Cool, clean air hardly tainted with the cavern’s damp earthiness.
A pale glow teased its way through the darkness, like the softness of dawn peeping through curtains. He thought it might already be nightfall, considering the time it had taken them to cover the first leg of their journey. But it wasn’t full-on dark yet, just well into the gloaming.
He crawled out through a narrow space between the jagged halves of a large boulder, then stretched to his full height and filled his lungs. He would tolerate the cramped confines of the caves when necessary, but that didn’t mean he liked them. A gentle breeze brushed across him like a lover’s caress, bidding him stay awhile and enjoy the balmy weather. But the image of Brenna huddled close to the fire, her face taut with fear, exhaustion, and barely controlled panic urged him onward.
“Get a move on, ye selfish bastard,” he scolded under his breath as he scrabbled sideways across the steep slope. He paused, squinting through the evening mist settling across the mountain like a blanket. Both nightfall and the thickening fog laughed at his torch’s pitiful attempt to cast light any farther than a narrow arc. If he strayed too far from where he exited the caves, he would be hard-pressed to find the opening again until sunrise. The gurgling sound of water dancing across rocks gave him hope. The burn he had in mind didn’t sound that far away. Thank the gods he remembered it from last summer.
The rough ground, washed out and littered with loose pebbles, larger stones, and thick clumps of sedge, slowed his progress. With little help from the torch, he tripped and stumbled like a drunkard. By the time he reached the precious spring, the treacherous landscape had scraped his knees and hands raw. He didn’t care. All that mattered was getting water for Brenna.
After slaking his thirst, he filled the skins and held them aloft, squinting at the mended seams. Without beeswax to seal the stitchery, they had used pine tar residue scraped from the inner sides of the pitch bucket. So far, only a few drops of seepage beaded up through the dark stitches. With any luck, he’d have enough water to sate Brenna’s thirst by the time he made it back. But then they would have to return to the keep for proper supplies and an alternative plan. He wouldn’t risk going any deeper into the mountain with these waterskins. With the one cache fouled and possibly others as well, these caves were no longer a haven. A choice between outwitting the British or the mountain was easy. He would choose the British every time. No one outwitted Ben Nevis.
He lashed the bags together and slung them over his shoulder. The challenge of the narrow passage would be a puzzle he’d figure out when he came to it. So far, the only plan that came to mind was to wrap the skins in his lèine and either push them in front of him or drag them behind as he crawled through the tight spots. After lighting a fresh torch, he tossed the spent one to the ground and kicked dirt over the smoldering end.
Rocks crunched and shifted higher up the mountainside. Magnus dropped into a crouch and strained to see through the soft fogginess of the night. He hoped the so
unds were nothing more than a beast searching for its supper. His blazing torch was a dangerous beacon, but if he extinguished it, he’d have but one left dry to make it through the caves. Hopefully, whatever made the noise couldn’t see him any easier than he saw it. He held his breath and kept the fire low to the ground. Off in the distance, a fox yipped, probably a vixen teaching her kits to hunt. A powerful gust of wind drowned out all other sounds, blowing hard for a short while, then dying down, until all he heard was the gurgling spring beside him.
Still watchful, Magnus straightened to his full height and stood there, soaking in his surroundings. He might not see a bloody thing in the foggy darkness, but he could listen. Turning slowly, he caught a faint glimmering of light farther up the mountainside. What the hell was that? Too steady a glow for a torch, it separated and became three, then four, then more. They bobbed along like oversized glowworms or will-o’-the-wisps. The eerie sight sent a tingling through the hairs on the back of his neck.
A loud rumble echoed through the night. He recognized the sound of shifting ground chased by falling rocks. It came from the direction of the cave’s entrance and sounded like a good chunk of the mountain had broken loose and given way. He stumbled and cursed across the godforsaken stretch of savage landscape made even more impassable by the darkness, charging back toward the entrance. Usually, he would run from a landslide, but not this time. He couldn’t afford to lose that doorway back into the caves. The earth’s loud heaving dwindled down into silence.
He sank ankle-deep into what moments ago had been solid ground. Floundering forward, he half-crawled up the pile of loose debris, digging aside stones and clumps of earth. Near as he could tell, this was where he had exited the tunnels. He had to find the boulder, the split in two, and reopen the space between the halves. If he didn’t, it would take him a solid day, maybe more, to reach Tor Ruadh on foot and then hours more that he couldn’t spare to get back to Brenna. The thought of her stranded so long threw him into a digging frenzy. Damn it all to hell and back. Apparently, his newfound contentment and happiness had angered the gods, spurring them to torture him.
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