“Damn ye!” Magnus pounded the ground. The shifting rocks laughed at him. He stabbed the torch into the dirt and clawed at the blockage with both hands. It hadn’t been that massive of a landslide. He would find that split boulder and dig a hole wide enough to make it through. Nay, it wasn’t a matter of if he would find the entrance, but when. He’d dig ’til his fingers were bare bones if that’s what it took.
“Arrest the man and relieve him of his toiling. I tire of this game and have no interest whatsoever in watching this Highland badger dig his way back into his den.” The order came from somewhere outside the reach of his light. The voice, a bloody Sassenach, he didn’t recognize.
Before he could draw his short sword, he found himself shoved face-first into the dirt. Rough hands ripped away his weapon and secured his wrists with shackles. Since when had the damned British learned to move with such stealth? He twisted around and head-butted one man, sending the fool cursing to his knees before another kicked him so hard in the gut it left him gasping for air.
“Play this game with care, my friend,” warned a familiar voice close to his head. “I’ll do what I can to see you treated properly, but you make it worse if you fight them.”
“Archie?” Magnus twisted his neck to see. Archibald ‘Archie’ Raithwaite, a rare Sassenach. Good and just. The man had been one of Lord Crestshire’s closest and most trusted men. He had often accompanied the former commander of Fort William on his visits to Tor Ruadh, and the MacCoinnichs trusted him. Magnus thought the soldier had accompanied Crestshire to his new assignment in Barbados.
“You a friend with this traitor, Archie?” accused another soldier as he grabbed Magnus by the back of his léine and yanked him to his feet.
“I dinna have any Sassenach friends,” Magnus said, saving Archie the trouble of lying. If he remembered rightly, the man couldn’t tell an untruth to save his soul. It was one reason all of them trusted him so fully.
“Conversation is unnecessary.” The bored voice that had given the original order gave a light cough and sniffed. “Drag him up to the horses where the lantern boys wait. We can have a good look at him then, just to be sure we have the right man. By the time we reach Fort William, Commander Barricourt will have finished his supper. This Scot can be his dessert.”
“You still want us to send out the runners and give the word to smoke as many caves as we can?” asked another English heathen, who Magnus didn’t recognize.
“Ye would risk yer lives in the caves just to kill a defenseless woman?” Magnus thrashed against the men as they tried to lash a rope around his shackled wrists. “Cowards! Fight me instead, ye soulless bastards!”
“Commander wouldn’t wish us to endanger ourselves over the likes of a worthless whore,” Archie called out as he threw what looked like a hard jab into Magnus’s ribs, but it had the force of a friendly nudge.
Magnus understood and focused his energies on fighting the others, giving Archie more leeway.
“Them caves are wicked treacherous, sir,” Archie continued. “We done lost two men to the pits when we spoiled their supplies. Remember?” He rumbled out a belabored grunt and grazed Magnus’s jaw with his fist. “And without her stag here to lead her out, she’ll save us the trouble and die all on her own. What say you, Lieutenant Cawldrake?”
Playing along with Archie’s plan, Magnus struggled against him just enough for show. If he calmed too fast, the good-hearted soldier’s ruse might fail. But the man’s words about Brenna’s fate made him even more determined to escape. He’d use the rough ground and foggy darkness to his favor.
“Fair point, Raithwaite,” Cawldrake replied, sounding vaguely impressed but still quite finished with the tedious situation. “Very well, then. Let us deliver the prisoner and be done with this sorry business. I tire of it and should like to seek my supper.”
Two of the soldiers yanked at the ropes tied around Magnus’s wrists, dragging him up the mountainside. Determined to frustrate them into a state of carelessness, he dropped to his knees and rolled to his back, slowing their progress. Each time, he yanked the rope as hard as he could, bringing them to the ground with him. Repeatedly, they came to a halt and forced him back to his feet, each time rougher than the next. Magnus nearly laughed out loud. The fools had no idea that he toyed with them.
Lazy bastards. They should have attempted to knock him out by now and carried him to wherever they were headed. Whoever this Cawldrake was, the man obviously had no idea how to capture a Scot or what to do with one once he had him. And how the hell had these men learned so much about Tor Ruadh’s cave system?
As far as Magnus knew, before this invasion, nary a single Sassenach had ever accessed the caves. Who had betrayed the MacCoinnich’s? Who had given up enough information to make the English’s ambush such a bloody success? He would sort that out later. None of that mattered now. He had to escape them. Brenna had to be saved from a slow death in the darkness.
He dove to the ground again and rolled hard toward Archie, knocking the man’s feet out from under him. Before they dragged him away, he made as though he intended to bite the man’s ear but whispered harsh and low, “Give me a key to these feckin’ shackles!”
After a subtle dip of his pudgy chin, Archie acted as though he slammed his fist into Magnus’s jaw but actually shoved the key into his mouth instead. “Get off me, you bloody Scot!”
Magnus bit down on the key and covered it with his lips as a yank of the rope dragged him away. He waited for the soldiers to force him to his feet, but they let him lie. He craned his neck to peer up over a small rise lit by the strange lights he had seen before. The small plateau shelved into the side of the mountain held several saddled horses. Lads with lanterns suspended from sticks surrounded them.
“We’ll put him on the mare,” Archie said. “Drape him across her. Never sit a Scot in a saddle,” he warned. “She’s sturdy enough to carry him and too slow to escape should he coax her into running.”
It took Archie and three of the soldiers to accomplish the task. Magnus wasn’t about to make anything easy for these bumbling fools. Blood pounded in his ears as he hung across the saddle. He stared at the ground and clenched the key between his teeth, waiting for the perfect moment. If he untied his feet from his hands and threw himself off the horse, he would make quick work of the shackles thanks to Archie. By his reckoning, they were on the west side of the mountain, so Fort William wasn’t that far away. Whatever he planned to do, he needed to figure it out and get on with it. He had been inside the garrison several times when visiting Lord Crestshire. The layout of the place seemed simple enough, but he had no idea what the cells of the dungeons might be like, nor did he wish to find out.
“Forward on,” Archie called out.
The small, docile horse ambled along, seeming like a child’s toy compared to the warhorses of Tor Ruadh. The farther they moved away from the entrance to the caves, the more he tensed for his dear, sweet love, back in the darkness, waiting for his return. God forgive him for leading her into that hellish place. This was madness. He had to make his move now.
Thanks again to Archie’s help, Magnus undid the loosely knotted rope from around his ankles but not from the chains binding his wrists. No matter. He would make this work. Rolling off the horse’s back, he hit the ground running and jogged alongside the plodding beast. As soldiers galloped forward, he used the mare as leverage to launch his body upward and land well-placed kicks into the men. He and the MacCoinnichs had often played this game as lads, and he had been the best. Knocked from their saddles, the English bounced down the steep slope, cursing as they rolled off into the darkness.
“Get out of the way and hold the lanterns high! I’ll shoot the bastard.” The order came from the only soldier left other than Archie, Lieutenant Cawldrake, and the unarmed lads with the lanterns suspended on poles. All the rest had tumbled down the mountainside.
“Hold fire!” Archie countered as he headed off the mare and blocked her path. “Commander Barri
court specifically ordered the Scot to be brought in alive. You heard him, sir.”
“Raithwaite is correct,” Cawldrake agreed. “Do not shoot him—yet. Lash him tight enough, so he does not escape again. I weary of this heathen and am sorely tempted to accept a reprimand for bringing him in dead rather than alive.”
Archie and the remaining soldier flanked Magnus.
He pulled the rough length of rope between his hands and brandished it like a heavy cat-o’-nine-tails, whipping the men with it each time they drew close. He didn’t wish to hurt Archie, but if the man impeded his escape, he wouldn’t hesitate to take him down as well. As they inched toward him, he sidled off the path and edged down the mountainside. Nearby, scrabbling in the darkness, warned him the soldiers he had kicked from their mounts were climbing their way back up to the path.
“Draw and fire!” Cawldrake sounded awake and interested for the first time since the debacle had started. “Wing that man or shoot him in the leg. They can carry the fool Scot to the gallows on a litter for all I care! I am done with this foolishness!”
Magnus felt sure they would not shoot him. The more distance he put between himself and the lantern boys, the harder it was for any of them to see anything.
“Take that man or suffer the consequences!” Cawldrake’s voice hit a higher pitch.
Magnus chuckled. The fool redcoat sounded like he had his bollocks in a bind. Whipping the rope in an arc around himself, he shuffled down the mountainside, stinging every soldier who dared come too close. He daren’t pause long enough to rid himself of the shackles. If he did, they’d fall upon him. He’d rid himself of the heavy chains later.
His heel caught the edge of a large rock and threw off his balance. He lost control of the swinging rope, the end of it popping him in the face and burning like a hot coal. Hitting the ground hard, he tucked and rolled to survive whatever punishment the slope gave. A boulder brought him to a rib-cracking stop. He scrambled around it, tucked in tight, and held his breath. Without torch or lantern to beat back the darkness this far down the incline, they would be hard-pressed to find him. All he need do was wait them out.
“I do not tolerate failure!” Cawldrake screamed. “Find that man. Find him now, I say!”
“We can’t see a bloody thing, sir,” one man said. “Send down the lanterns or wait ’til daybreak.”
“Daybreak be better, sir,” another called out. “No way will he light anything to see and give hisself away, and we got but five lantern boys left since we lost two in the caves. Them Scots are wily bastards, you know.”
“I refuse to return to Fort William empty-handed,” Cawldrake informed them. “You! Lantern boys. Spread out and walk down the mountainside.”
Magnus risked a glance around the boulder. He had tumbled quite a way before hitting the rock, bouncing hard every bit of the way. Never did he think he’d be thankful for an extended beating from the mountainside, but when he didn’t catch sight of the lights, he was. It would take the soldiers a good while to work their way down to him.
He spit the key to the shackles into his hand, along with several pieces of a broken tooth. At least he hadn’t lost the thing while tumbling down the slope. The key was worth a tooth or two. Catching up the chains and holding them tight to prevent their rattling, he unlocked the irons and slid them off. Then he withdrew his trusty sgian dhu out of his boot, thankful that the soldiers had missed it. The wee dagger might not be much, but it would be effective when needed. He felt better with some sort of weapon in hand.
Inching his way up the side of the boulder, he propped his arms on top and scanned the surroundings. Ben Nevis’s mistiness didn’t seem as dense here, but the night was cloudy, making visibility just as poor at this level. With no help from the stars, he didn’t know where he was or how far to go to make it back to where he had exited the mountain and dig his way back inside.
Eventually, he would have to move. While there was still no sign of lantern light, the troop of soldiers sounded like a herd of Highland cows stampeding down the mountain toward him. He pushed off the rock and rolled his shoulders against the ache from the land’s punishment. That pain was nothing compared to his worry for Brenna.
By his best calculations, they had ridden west but a short way before he had made his escape. Near as he could tell, he had rolled straight down but wasn’t sure. He would head east for a few furlongs, then climb back up the mountain as soon as it was safe to do so. No way in hell would he suffer the English to capture him again. If he could find the stream as he moved east, that would help him decipher his whereabouts and continue on.
Rocks tumbled, and a soldier growled out a curse. That hadn’t been all that far away—time to move.
He took a step toward what he hoped was eastward, then the ground disappeared out from under his feet, and the mountain swallowed him.
Chapter Sixteen
Brenna made another pass around the vast storage cavern, searching for more broken barrel staves or whatever else might burn to keep the precious fire going. Sweat beaded on her forehead, even more trickled down her spine. She paid it no mind. Heat hotter than damnation was better than total darkness.
She had discovered some useable supplies and collected them to one side of the circle of firelight. The meager pile was comprised of a pair of ropes, one a bit short but still useable. The destructive marauders had somehow overlooked a double handful of oatcakes and a small sack of dried meats and fruits. Ruined supplies, she had shoved off into the shadows. Those that would burn were stacked beside the fire for fuel.
She thanked God Almighty that whoever had fouled the storage area and slashed the water bags had either been careless or in a hurry. The slab of stone beneath the waterskins’ rack was covered in holes and dips that had preserved several puddles of drinkable water. At first, she had hesitated to drop on all fours and lap at the leavings like a thirsty dog. But after a careful sniff and a taste, her parched state had won out. Unfortunately, the minimal amount of water wouldn’t last long.
Tired of pacing but too agitated to sit, she stood by the fire, staring down at the flames until her eyes stung with the need to blink. How long had Magnus been gone? Was he safe? Had he found water? Had the mended skins held? So many questions that wouldn’t be answered until he returned—and once he did, none of those answers mattered. All she needed was her dear one back at her side. Even if fate decreed she die in this bleak darkness, she could face it, as long as her sweet love held her in his arms one more time. At least Keigan was safe with Catriona and Alexander. That bit of comfort brought her a sad smile.
“Diabhal gabh e!”
Dagger drawn, Brenna whirled about, searching for the source of the shout. Who had shouted, ‘devil take it’ in the old tongue? A woman for certain. Was it Cadha? The cursing had come from the right of the storage plateau where Magnus had said the fissure widened too much to cross.
Brenna went to the rim of the rock shelf and held the sputtering flames of a makeshift torch over the edge. The blackness of the void laughed at her efforts, making the light as insignificant as a spark. Another glimmer glowed several lengths down below, but it was so faint, it barely illuminated the form huddled beside it. “Cadha? Is that ye?”
“Well, who else would it be, ye stupid cow?” The lass lifted the lamp as she scowled upward, her grimy face ghostly and pale.
Brenna had half a mind to leave the sharp-tongued wench where she sat. In fact, the girl needed to think about that. “Forgive me for bothering ye, yer highness. I’ll leave ye to yer privacy. After all, I’m far too stupid to pull yer sorry arse up from that ledge.” She stepped back and swept the torchlight away from the void to make Cadha think she meant it.
“No! Wait!” A shuffling echoed up from the fissure, accompanied by a meek, “Hello? Are ye still up there, mistress?”
After a long enough pause to make the girl a bit more respectful, Brenna cast her light back down into the hole. “I am here. Are ye hurt?”
“I think me
arm’s broke, and my lamp burnt me leg when it fell down beside me.” She snuffled, sounding as though she had just wiped her face on her arm. “Least it landed on the shelf and stayed put. Thought I could make the jump. Did it afore. But this time, I came up short. Held on to the edge for a bit but couldn’t pull m’self out. Lucky for me, I dropped to the ledge.”
“Let me get one of the ropes ye missed ruining when ye destroyed the stores.” Brenna’s conscience wouldn’t allow her to leave the girl to die, but it didn’t demand she be nice to her.
Cadha didn’t comment. Brenna took that as a confession that the maid had been the one to sully the cache. She scooped up one rope, then stopped. The distance down to the rock shelf looked to be quite a stretch, and Cadha would have to wrap the rope around her slight body. Just to be sure she had enough, Brenna brought along the other rope as well.
After securing her torch in a crack in the wall, she knotted the rope, satisfied with how the loop closed up with just a tug. She lowered it over the edge. “Step into this and hitch it up under yer arms. It’ll go tight as I pull ye up, but shouldna pinch ye too much since ye’re just a wee thing.”
Cadha did as instructed. “I canna hold the rope if’n I bring my lantern up, too,” she called out. “I had it hooked to me belt, but the latch broke when I hit the wall, and it willna hold it now.”
Brenna hated the thought of abandoning any source of light. “If I lower the other rope, too, can ye tie it to the lamp somehow?” With an arm broken, one of Cadha’s hands might very well be useless.
“I think I can. Send it down, and I’ll try.”
“I’ve knotted a loop in this one, too.” Brenna tossed it to the girl’s outstretched hand. “Tie it wherever ye think it’ll hold and not catch fire, then yank tight and tell me when.”
The Ghost Page 22
