The Ghost

by Greyson, Maeve

  The passage grew tighter still, and the ground softened. Her knees and hands sank into the dank loaminess as though the earth could swallow them at any moment. “My name is ‘Brenna,’ ye wicked minx. Ye ken that as well as I do.”

  Cadha cackled. “Aye. I know.” She halted.

  “Why have ye stopped?” Brenna strained to hold the lantern higher, her back and shoulders cramped and burning from the awkward position.

  “Because we have arrived, cow,” the maid whispered. “Hush it now. We dinna ken who might be about nor their mood if they’ve been told of my…I mean ‘yer’ Magnus’s capture. They could verra well kill us before they see who we are—or before they see who ye are. They dinna care about whether I live or die.”

  “That is about to change.” Brenna gave Cadha an impatient nudge. “On wi’ ye now, so we can get Magnus freed and tell Mrs. Fitzgerald ye spoke the truth.” And take a big gulp of fresh air and sunshine, she silently added.

  Upon stepping down from the tunnel, Brenna sloshed into ankle-deep water. “Saints alive!”

  “I told ye it held too much water for a proper cellar. They must ha’ hit a spring when they dug it.” Cadha snagged hold of her sleeve and pulled her toward the wall. “Stay to the edge. It’s nay as deep there.”

  “At least we can almost stand.” She ducked her head the slightest bit as they crossed the cellar.

  When they reached the door, it was hanging by one hinge. Cadha fell back and motioned Brenna forward. “Ye go first and tell’m about me. I’ll hide in here until ye send for me, aye?”

  If not for the wild, haunted look returning to the girl’s eyes, Brenna would suspect a trap. She took hold of Cadha’s hand. “Nay. We go together. Come.”

  The day’s brilliance made her squint as they stepped outside. Brenna stretched and took in a deep breath, turning her face toward the sun peeping over the skirting wall. She didn’t know what day it was, but she knew it was morning. Breaking into a run, she pulled Cadha along beside her until the girl planted both feet and yanked back just as they reached the kitchen door.

  “Nay,” she said. “Not through there. What if old Fitzgerald’s about?”

  “Old Fitzgerald is about.” The stern announcement came from behind them.

  As soon as Brenna turned, Mrs. Fitzgerald’s demeanor immediately changed. “Mistress MacCoinnich! Ye’ve returned a’ready? Did ill befall ye and yer husband?”

  “It has.” Brenna nodded toward Cadha. “Magnus was captured by the English before Cadha here could warn him about Thomas Parlorn’s treachery.” She drew the maid closer and wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders. “She spoke the truth about Alice and Thomas’s disloyalty, Mrs. Fitzgerald. The soldiers destroyed all the stores and caved in some tunnels to set up an ambush that my poor husband walked into whilst trying to find us more water.”

  The corner of one of the housekeeper’s eyes twitched as she gave the maid a steady up and down look. “I see.” With a sudden dip of her chin, the matron bustled around them, her skirts rustling with the quickness of her steps. “Come. The chieftain must hear of this.”

  They rushed through the pantry and kitchens. Servants jumped back out of their path, their mouths ajar and eyes wide with shock. Just as they were about to breach the archway that led into the great hall, Mrs. Fitzgerald halted and blocked the way to keep Brenna and Cadha from passing.

  Brenna looked around the old woman and saw why.

  Alexander sat in the chieftain’s chair on the dais, and in front of him stood two English soldiers. One soldier, the officer, was red-faced and sputtering. The man’s voice grew louder with every word.

  “We know he is here,” the officer declared. “Where else would he go once he escaped us? Upon the arrival of the rest of mine, I shall have this place searched at once!”

  “Ye know verra little about Highlanders, Lieutenant Cawldrake,” Alexander said. “This is the last place the man would come.” He flipped a hand as though shooing away the soldier’s foolishness. “He wouldna endanger his clan, ye ken?”

  Brenna’s heart sang. Magnus had escaped! She didn’t know where he was, but at least he wasn’t rotting in a cell at Fort William. Cadha squeezed her hand, as excited about the news as she was.

  “Chieftain MacCoinnich speaks the truth, sir,” said the other redcoat, a much calmer man, who seemed almost content with the news they had just delivered. “Highlanders protect their clans at all costs. Perhaps, we should return and do a more extensive search of where he escaped us.” The soldier gave a nod as though affirming his own words. “You know how he disappeared into the mist. Perhaps, he hides in the caves? We could send in more men there.”

  “You are a fool, Raithwaite!” Cawldrake snapped. “We have already lost six to those godforsaken caves, and the man is still at large.” He pulled at the knot of his neckcloth and worked his head as though struggling for air. “Besides, I sincerely doubt he returned to the caves. What on earth would he do for light to find his way?” With a swipe of his hand across his forehead, he unknowingly shifted his white hairpiece back a notch, revealing his bald head. “If we do not locate that traitor by the end of this day, you will be the one to apprise Commander Barricourt of our failure and suffer the consequences. I dare say, the man shall have both our heads!”

  Alexander sat drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “While I do enjoy hearing that one of our own, a man falsely accused, mind ye, has the lot of ye chasing yer tails and worried about yer heads. I do have other business to attend to gentleman. Perhaps, ye could play out yer wee game elsewhere?”

  Brenna eased through the archway, studying the soldier who had spoken as though he might possess a bit of sense. The man looked like he wanted to smile, and she could’ve sworn she saw him wink at Alexander. Could he possibly be an ally?

  Cawldrake’s face became an even darker shade of red. Brenna fully expected the man to keel over at any moment from an attack of apoplexy. “Arrogant Scots!” he fumed, foaming at the corners of his mouth like a rabid animal. “Were it up to me, I would see every last one of you shipped off to the colonies.” He raised his fist and shook it. “I shall order men placed at this keep to watch for the prisoner, and every nook and cranny of those caves searched by Her Majesty’s finest. We shall cover this mountain, both within and without, if it takes every able-bodied soldier at my disposal. What say you to that, sir?”

  Alexander rose to his full height and stepped down off the dais. He didn’t slow his stride until he stood towering over the man. “I say ye best take care, Sassenach. I dinna take threats lightly.”

  “I would be happy to stand watch outside the gate for a day or so, sir,” Raithwaite volunteered. After a polite bow to Alexander, he continued, “that is, if Chieftain MacCoinnich would find that acceptable? And perhaps but a single unit to search the caves. With the chief’s permission?”

  “Outside the gate. One day. No more. Understood?” Alexander’s scowl darkened. “Three soldiers may search the caves. Only if escorted by MacCoinnich guards.”

  Without a word, Cawldrake spun around and charged out of the hall, sputtering and cursing under his breath. “Bloody Scots. Commander Barricourt shall hear of this!”

  Raithwaite leaned toward Alexander and whispered something Brenna couldn’t hear. Then he rushed from the room.

  As soon as the soldier exited, Brenna hurried to Alexander. “What did that man just tell ye?”

  “He thinks Magnus fell through a sinkhole higher and to the west of us. He couldn’t check on his welfare because of the others.” He gave her a quizzical look. “When did ye return?”

  “That doesna matter,” she said. “Tell me how we find Magnus?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The impact knocked the wind out of him. Flat of his back, he gasped and wheezed, fearing the earth might shift and gulp him down even deeper. Once he could breathe again, he risked opening his eyes. He blinked with a slow, hard squeeze, praying he had not been rendered blind because there was no
difference whether he opened or closed them. The total absence of light was suffocating. Magnus concentrated on pacing his breaths and reining in the panic threatening to take hold. To survive this black hell, he needed calm, clear thinking. He tried not to think about being buried alive.

  With as little shifting of his body as possible, he checked for injuries. While he appeared to have landed on a good-sized bit of stable ground, he could just as easily be perched on the edge of a pit, bottomless or otherwise. The initial fall had felt like it lasted several lifetimes. He preferred not to repeat it. ’Twas a wonder he hadn’t broken his fool neck.

  Nothing hurt worse than he could endure. But his right knee, the one he had injured once before, burned as though packed in hot coals. Walking would be a chore, if possible at all. Still not moving from where he lay, he stretched out both arms, walking his fingers around himself as far as he could reach. The ledge surrounded him as far as he could touch. He rolled to a sitting position, and a stabbing pain forced a wincing groan from him. His right hip. It felt like a demon had sunk its teeth in deep and refused to let go. Shifting his weight to his left buttock, he shoved away the fist-sized rocks that had chewed his arse when he landed.

  As he gingerly pulled shards out of the cheek of his arse, something bumped the back of his hand. He froze. Could he be so lucky? Sending up a prayer to any entity that might be listening, he twisted and brushed his fingers up his back to his belt. It was still there. The extra torch he had shoved into his belt. The fool British either hadn’t seen it, or good old Archie had somehow concealed it so that it wasn’t stripped from him when they took his weapons. May the gods bless that bloody Sassenach and whatever bit of luck that had kept the torch attached to him during the fall.

  Now, if he could just strike a spark. He patted around until he found his sporran and located the steel and flint that would bring him blessed light. With his kilt hiked out of the way and the torch on the ground between his knees, he held his breath as he struck them together over the pitch-soaked rags. Sparks showered down and erupted into flames.

  “Thank the gods.” The light made breathing so much easier. Magnus lifted the torch and cast its glow all around. No wonder he hadn’t been hurt worse than he had. The sinkhole was a narrow bottleneck that emptied out into a wide stone room. He remembered clawing at the earth on all sides as he had tumbled through the darkness. Pushing up on his uninjured leg, he steadied himself by propping against the low ceiling and leaning back against the wall. He’d be sore pressed to find anything to use as a crutch or a cane, but at least he could move by holding onto the walls.

  He made another slow sweep with the torch, trying to remember if he had ever been in this part of the cave system before. If he couldn’t locate any markers or anything recognizable, he was doomed. A man could wander this maze until the angel of death appeared to lead him out. Lifting the flame, he peered up the narrow passageway that had funneled him into the mountain’s core. Nothing but darkness past the reach of his torch. Perhaps he had fallen for several lifetimes.

  Testing the strength of his throbbing leg proved to be a mistake. It buckled under the slightest bit of weight and sent him back to the floor. Cold sweat peppered across his brow and upper lip. “I will do this,” he growled. After several slow, deep breaths to conquer the pain, he managed to return to a standing position with the help of the wall. He didn’t think the leg was broken, just twisted something fierce. It would be slow going through the tunnels, but that was just as well. Slow also meant careful.

  Stooped over, he hitched his way along the wall, searching for a way to escape the pit. He tried not to think about what would happen if this pocket of space had no exit. He worked out a rhythm, holding to the wall and swinging the torch first high, then low in search of tunnels, cracks, fissures, anywhere he might wiggle through to get to hopefully a better place rather than a worse one. As it was, he was trapped, and no one knew where he was. As far as he was concerned, things could only get better.

  Before he had started this search for an opening, he had taken a stone and scratched a large cross into the wall. Not as a prayer for help. He was too stubborn for that. But to let him know where he had started. If he searched the room and came back to the cross, then he would know there was no exit. He tried not to dwell on that possibility.

  Instinctively, he had started his journey by going to the left. If the void was a circle, he moved in a clockwise direction. His mother would be pleased. Deasil, or clockwise, moving with the sun, raised power and increased the odds of prosperity, while widdershins or counterclockwise banished power. If he needed anything right now, it was power and prosperity.

  His left hand slid along the wall, keeping him upright, while his right hand kept the torch swinging. Just as he swung the light downward to check the floor, he moved his hand and ran out of the wall. “Shite!”

  The curse word echoed all around as he stumbled and hopped like a three-legged dog. He rounded the corner and leaned back against the side of the new tunnel that had opened up to his left. The old teachings had been right. Moving clockwise had led him to a wide passage that was tall enough he could straighten to his full height. He pulled in a deep breath and stretched, renewed hope pumping through him. A tunnel this wide in the cave system had to have been mapped. All he needed was the markings they would’ve left behind. Then he would know his location.

  Fortified by his find, he inched along at a faster pace. The air even seemed fresher here. Could he be so lucky, or was it merely his senses feeding him false hope? Whatever the case, he would take it and use it to his advantage. Hobbling along, he noted the levelness of the passage floor, almost as if the mythical dwarves of ancient legend had chiseled his way out. He hopped along faster, tasting freedom.

  Then all hope left him. A solid slab of stone ended what had turned out to not be a tunnel at all but merely an offshoot of the sinkhole. He pressed his forehead against the stone and hammered the wall with his fist, raging against the mountain’s cruel jest. So much time and energy had been wasted by going down this passage. His torch wouldn’t last forever. He had to find a way out before it was spent.

  “Naught to be done but keep moving.” For some odd reason, the act of speaking out loud soothed him. First sign of madness, perhaps? “Nay, I merely appreciate a wise voice of reason,” he assured himself as he swung around and backtracked to the opening of the fickle tunnel.

  Back to where he had veered to the left, he started out again, humming a tune as he swung the torch and hopped along. “Show me yer secrets, Ben Nevis. I’ve always treated ye well and respected yer name.” His request echoed through the void, then faded into the darkness. It was followed by the skittering sound of something scrambling across the space. The noise of a startled varmint. A rat maybe?

  Still steadying himself with the wall, Magnus attempted to work his way toward the sound. For an animal to be heard at this level, he couldn’t be that far from an opening to the outside. He hoped it was a good-sized opening and not some crack in the earth, barely large enough for a wee mousie.

  He came to another tunnel, much like the one that had cruelly made him believe he had found the way out. Should he try it or no? Staring at the new direction’s darkness didn’t tell him a damn thing. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered as he forged ahead. Then he heard voices. Or did he? Could be cave madness setting in. He’d heard tell of that happening to others.

  Moving as quietly as possible, he strained to hear more, then his heart leapt so high he smiled. At least if he was doomed to imagine voices, he couldn’t think of a better one than Brenna’s. “Brenna!” he called out, hoping against hope it really was her and not his own wishful thinking.

  “Magnus!”

  More joy and relief than he had ever known surged through him. “Stay put! I’ll come to ye. These pathways are too treacherous for ye to travel alone.

  “What makes ye think she’s alone?” A hearty laugh that Magnus had heard many times before followed. Ale
xander had found Brenna, and the two of them had taken it upon themselves to find him. But why? How had they known?

  Perplexed, Magnus came to a halt. What had caused Alexander to search Brenna out to save her?

  “Magnus?” Alexander’s voice sounded closer. “Call out again. We’ve come to the pit of five tunnels. We canna tell which one holds ye.”

  The pit of five tunnels? That told Magnus exactly where they were within the maze. “Stay put!” he shouted. “I’ll come to ye.” The ledge surrounding the pit was a fickle thing, treacherously narrow and crumbling in spots. He knew Brenna. She wouldn’t see fit to stay put and let Alexander traverse the way. “Keep Brenna off that ledge.”

  “Dinna talk about me as though I’m not here,” she scolded. “Are ye hurt? We were told ye fell prey to a sinkhole.”

  “A mite banged up, my love,” he said, feeling better with every painful hop forward. “I’m finer than fine now that I’m but a moment away from having ye back in my arms.” He hitched along the path, hurrying into a swinging gait. Lights flickered up ahead. Three. Maybe more. He didn’t care how many as long as one of them belonged to Brenna.

  Just as he reached where the tunnel opened into the cavernous concourse with the pit surrounded by the other passageways, the stone beneath his feet crumbled away.

  “Magnus!” Brenna’s scream shattered the darkness.

  His torch spun down into the darkness until it disappeared. Fingers clamped on a thin lip of stone. Body flattened against the rock face. He scrambled for a toe hold. Excruciating pain shot through his right leg as he hooked the toe of his boot onto a whisper of a ledge. Aches and pains could just be damned. He had not come this close to reuniting with his lady love to fail now. With his left boot toe wedged in a vertical crack, he couldn’t climb upward, but at least he couldn’t fall farther, either.

  “He’s gone.” Brenna’s sobs filled the space. “My heart…my soul…he’s gone.” Her keening wail tore through the tunnels like a wraith rising from the grave.