by Jill Barnett
The cat sat looking back and forth between them.
Glenna picked it up, scratching it under the chin. “Look at you…”
The guard was halfway out the door.
“Wait.” She stepped forward, holding out the cat for him.
He looked at her kindly and said, “You keep her, my lady…for companionship.” He closed the door on her protest.
“But—“ Her voice trailed off as the bolt slid into place. She groaned, then held up the cat and looked into its bright and curious eyes. “You are a problem.”
The cat blinked.
“You see, I have no plans to stay here.”
It’s expression changed to a sloe-eyed look of superiority.
“Such as it is. Whatever you are about, silly puss, you are stuck here in this tower. I, however, will not be.” She set it down, and the cat prowled over toward the table, leapt atop it, and sniffed at the cheese.
“Hungry are you?” Glenna unwrapped the cloth and pinched off a soft cheese piece for the cat, then wrapped up all the food, including the plums and tucked them inside the deep pockets of her trouse.
With her ear pressed to the door, she waited until she was certain no one was outside. She slid the knife in the thin gap between the door and lifted up… The bolt moved free from its slot.
Could her escape be so simple? She pushed the door open, peeking outside through a slim line of vision. One waning candle cast a pale amber light on the landing, which appeared empty. She opened the door far enough to step out and the cat rushed out and stood in the middle of the round room.
“Bugger!” she whispered sharply.
Facing her, the cat sat down, swished its tail, and stared at her, looking half bored and vaguely intrigued.
Glenna leaned out and hissed. “Come puss. Come here…”
The cat did not move.
She needed a bribe. Digging around in her clothes, she pinched off cheese from her stash and squatted down in the door, a cheese morsel in her open palm. “Come sweet cat,” she whispered sweetly. “Come to me…”
The cat eyed the cheese, blinked, and a heartbeat later took off down the dark stairs, leaving Glenna to stare at the empty spot where half of a grey tail had just disappeared. Muttering under her breath, she closed the door behind her.
If the guard saw the cat, she would be a cooked goose.
She edged down the stairs quickly, moving blindly away from the light into the dark depths of the tower stairwell. Her hands ran along the wall, feeling her way down as her feet edged uneasily onto each unfamiliar stair tread.
As she neared the bottom of the tower, there shone a dim spill of light from one of the nearby chambers, but she heard there no voices. Before she passed the open chamber, she moved to the opposite wall, listening sharply for sounds, and when there were none, she hurried past, keeping against the wall
Four more chambers had their doors closed and then she was looking down into the hall, where pallets were scattered and men were sleeping lumps…except for two men talking quietly near the stairs. If there was a way past them, she could not see it.
The cat was back, and it made a plaintive meow. Quickly she stepped back, pressed again the wall, her heart beating in her throat.
Be quiet, cat.
There was a long, empty and quiet pause, then suddenly the beast was making enough noise to awaken the hall. She bent down to grab it and it shot away from her, plopped down and started all over again.
“Meow, meow, meow, meow, meoooooow…” The cat sounded as if it were a Gregorian monk on the feast day of Saint Columba.
Belowstairs someone cursed.
Please let there be a dozen cats in the castle.
“Meow, meow, meow, meow, meoooooow…”
Quickly Glenna searched for some way to escape and prayed the guard who knew the cat was locked in the tower was sleeping soundly.
“Someone drown that cat.” A gruff voice carried up from the hall.
“Here take my sword and cut its throat,” groaned another.
A loud and vicious curse came from inside the nearest chamber, and Glenna quickly ran into a dark corner as the door cracked opened and a boot flew at the cat, who screeched and disappeared down the steps.
Glenna held her breath as the door stayed open, and then slowly began to close. She dared not move until the door closed enough for her to sneak down.
From below came a familiar voice, “The cat’s out! ” cried the guard.
Her heart sank.
There was a roaring shout to find her. “Quick! Up to the tower.”
She closed her eyes and stayed into the corner as the clatter of weapons and running feet carried up the walls. Men came up the stairs and passed by in running shadows.
She had nowhere to go.
From the open room nearest the tower stairs came two men, armed, and followed by three others carrying swords and reed torches. Light flooded out into the darkened halls and the door next to her flew open and her captor came out, barefooted but strapping on his sword belt.
Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears.
“Meow!” The cat was back and moved straight for her. “Meow!”
Huchon de Hay paused, then turned. He was looking right at her. She was staring at his sword blade.
She covered her head with her arms and cowered, whimpering softly. “Do not kill me. I beg you, my lord. The guard did not bolt the door,” she lied and looked up at him from wide eyes filled with tears. “Can you blame me? Would you not have tried to escape, my lord?”
“She is here!” he called out to his men and continued to stare at her from eyes that told her nothing about what he was thinking. He lowered the sword and said to her, “Stand up, woman.”
The horrid guard cat stood near her feet, as men at arms began flanking de Hay.
“Take her back.”
Already her mind was working. How long should she wait before she tried to escape again?
“And this time…” His pause was poignant. “Place a guard at the door.”
Bugger!
* * *
Lyall looked up into the angry eyes of Alastair Gordon.
“Bastard! Alastair hissed viciously. “Where is Glenna?”
“Let me cut him, Al.” Elgin Gordon said, holding the knife at his neck. “I want to cut him for what he's done.”
One quick slice of his arm to Elgin Gordon’s knees and Lyall knew the knife would be gone. But he did nothing. Alastair twisted his hair harder and the pain grew in Lyall’s eyes. There was not enough physical pain in the world to match the pain he felt inside.
“The real Baron Montrose came to the island. We know all, you lying bastard! Where is she?”
Lyall swallowed hard and felt the prick of the knife tip. “In the tower.”
There was dim light coming from one of the arrow slits and Lyall wondered why. It was well into the early hours. Did she need a candle lit to sleep there? Was she frightened? When she snapped at him, when she threw his words back or made him feel like a witless goat, when she acted her most prideful, she did so because she was afraid. That he understood so well her whims and moods reminded him of what he’d given up, of his failure and his betrayal.
Alastair cursed and released Lyall’s hair, but a sword tip was now poised at his ribs.
“Step away El.”
“I was not going to give her up,” Lyall admitted. “We were surrounded. I had little choice but to play along.”
“And we are supposed to believe you suddenly speak truths from your lying mouth?” Elgin laughed bitterly. “Please Al…just one good slice so I can watch his life's blood bleed out of him like the stuck pig he is.” He flipped the dagger over in his hand and pointed it at him
Elgin was impulsive, but Alastair Gordon was not. Lyall glanced at the sword he held, an elegant weapon, honed and oiled and perfectly capable of sending him to his place in Hell….for a man who knew how to wield it. But he believed Gordon was no trained warrior. Still his grip
was correct. “Do you know how to use that weapon?”
“He can wield a sword,” Elgin said with pride. “He can slide it into you easily. He was trained by our father. But I want to kill you myself.”
“Killing me will not help you get Glenna out of that tower.”
“Perhaps to you, nay, it would not,” Alastair said unfazed, and the weapon he held so threateningly moved dangerously close to Lyall’s throat. “But seeing you die would give me such great pleasure.”
“I have a way inside,” Lyall told them.
There was a shout, and all three men looked toward it. The loud clank and rattle of heavy chains drawing the castle gate carried out over the water. A dark silhouette of a single rider disappeared inside the castle.
“The messenger,” Elgin said to his brother.
“What messenger?” Lyall asked, and a twig cracked loudly and all three men turned.
“The rider from Argyll,” came another voice.
His belly turned. Lyall knew that voice all too well. Ramsey.
“The rider who led us here to you, son.”
Before him stood his stepfather, armed and tall and none too pleased with him, flanked by a large troop of men, men who knew him and who he knew, their swords drawn, looking as ready to fight as the Gordons.
He looked at the expression on his stepfather’s face, the disappointment and anger coming from him filled the air and was palpable. Lyall could not move. He could not look any of them in the eye, because he was acutely aware at that moment he was living, breathing proof of what everyone believed: that bad blood bred bad blood. He was nothing but his father’s son.
* * *
She hit him with the laver.
The poor guard crumpled to the floor, and the food tray she’d begged for, cried and sobbed for, despite the hour, and because she was ‘so famished,’ crashed next to him. Glenna leapt down from the chair and ran out of the tower, almost flying down the stairs. She moved through the hallway in the dark and started down the main stairs to the great hall, keeping to the wall.
A door flew open below and someone was running into the hall. “De Hay! A messenger!”
Glenna ran back up the stairs and into the hallway, looking for a place to hide. Across the narrow gallery, she hid in a small niche covered with a tapestry. But it only ended at her knees. She stood with her back pressed against the niche and prayed it was dark enough for no one to notice.
“My lord! My lord!” came the call, and she heard two men run up the stairs. Someone pounded on the chamber door of her captor.
De Hay’s gruff voice called out for them to enter.
She stood hidden, her heart beating away time, knowing how little she had left. She had to escape. She would not be the power for her father’s enemies or the tool to bring him down, no matter who or what kind of man he might wed her to.
There was a sudden and loud call to arms.
She mentally groaned. Caught again!
But from here abovestairs, men were running past and down into the great hall. The clank of weapons and boots, excited voices, and calls to get their mounts ready told her this was something other than her escape. The noise below was waning, so she shifted and tried to look out. There was no one about, but the door to de Hay’s chamber was open and she could hear the men talking.
Moving quickly, she headed for the chamber next to his, slipped inside, and sidestepped a large cache of weapons thrown on the floor. She hid behind a clothing rod hung with men’s robes and tunics. Breathing softly, heart beating hard, she slid a robe aside and took a look.
The room was completely empty, except for a long desk and chair and a massive carved wood bed that dominated the center of the room. But no one else was there now, though the bed linens were tossed aside and appeared slept in. She stepped out from behind the clothing, wondering how she could possibly escape.
The clang of weaponry came up from below and male voices filled the hallway.
A sudden sound of running steps from the tower made her freeze.
“She’s escaped!” The guard’s voice came through the hall. “She‘s escaped!”
Panicking, she dropped to the floor and crawled under the large bed, and was immediately assailed with the strong odor of urine. Wincing, she pushed the pisspot away from her head. A man came inside the room and she watched his feet. He stopped at the clothes rod and he began to dress quickly.
Glenna held her breath, afraid he would hear. She dared not move.
A loud curse came from the next chamber and de Hay bellowed, “Can you idiots not keep one woman locked inside that tower?”
“She hit me in the head with a laver!”
“Find her! Now!” There was a pause, then he shouted, “Frasyr!”
“Aye? In here!” the man in room called out, and de Hay came inside.
“Your cousin has sent for aid. They have been attacked. I must ride, and ride hard, yet I cannot leave until I know she is secured,” de Hay said angrily and he began to pace. “How can one feeble woman cause so much trouble?”
I am not feeble, she thought. You witless oaf.
“I would guess she is not the meek, slow-witted lamb she appeared to be,” Frasyr said.
She smiled.
“Of course she is not.” De Hay stopped pacing. “You will have to stay to keep her safe. I cannot risk taking her outside this stronghold. Your defenses here are strong. I trust you can keep her secure without my troops.”
“No siege could take Kinnesswood.,” Frasyr boasted.
“Aye, she is safest here…as long as we can manage to keep her locked up,” de Hay said dryly. “You might want to shackle her to the bed.”
“Spread-eagle,” Frasyr said, laughing.
“You forget yourself, “ de Hay said without humor. “She is still the daughter of a king, whether or not we support his right to rule. No harm must come to her.”
“I was jesting. I am well aware of her price.”
“I expect her to remain unharmed…and untouched. You do understand?”
“Aye,” Frasyr said with quiet seriousness. “She will be safe here. I give you my word.”
They spoke of Frasyr’s cousin, the king of Argyll, but she stopped listening when four grey furry feet padded into the room. The feet stopped beside the bed. The guard cat was back. The beast went down on its haunches and stared at her. “Meow…”
Bugger! Glenna wiggled away, back toward the head of the bed.
“Meow, meow, meow, meow….”
There was long, telling break of silence, and she had nowhere else to run, then both men were on either side of the bed looking at her from narrowed, angry eyes.
Never had she been intimidated by male anger. She didn’t give in, but scooted all the back against the wall. They grasped for her but she moved out of reach, so they split up to each side of the bed, moving closer and grabbing for an arm or leg.
She scampered back and forth, until they were half under the bed with her and she shimmied down for the foot of the bed, but one of them got a leg, and another, an arm. They tried to drag her out, but she fought madly, kicking and biting, clinging madly to the support ropes on the bed, as more men came and they each pulled and yanked until her poor body felt stretched to the breaking point and her strength waned. Her arm slipped from the ropes, burning her skin as she was dragged out, still kicking and flailing.
At the last moment she grabbed the pisspot and threw it on the man who pulled out by her ankles.
Sir Coll Frasyr dropped her and cursed so loudly his voice echoed overhead. She swung her feet up and kicked the other man hard in the jaw, scurried up, pulled her knife and faced eight men, while more men came running in the room. Frasyr was dripping in yellow piss and his face was almost blue he was so angry. She looked from one man to another. Where was de Hay?
She shifted, her weight on the balls of her feet, searching the crowd of male faces, the knife poised to strike. “Any one of you tries to touch me and you’ll find yourself gelded.”
She felt a sword tip at her back. “Drop the knife,” de Hay said.
“You will not harm me. I am worth too much to you.”
“What you do not understand is I can, and will, wound you enough to make you drop the knife. You are caught. There is no escape. Look around you. A wise woman would do as I ask. And I do not believe you are without wits.” He pressed the sword into her back, deeper. She did not budge. He pushed it deeper, and deeper. She stood unflinchingly strong.
And he pushed harder. The sword cut into her. She cried out at the pain, but reacted instinctively and gripped the knife even tighter, pulled back, felt the sword tip pop free, and she spun and threw the knife at him.
De Hay sidestepped and the knife flew past him to stick with a loud thud in the wall. “Take her!” he ordered through a tight jaw and slammed his sword into the floor.
The first man who grabbed her she bit, hanging onto his skin with her jaw clamped tight and she heard him hiss in pain, and then yell when she bit even deeper. The second she kicked in the groin, the ribs, and the jaw, then there were more men pulling at her, strong hands and arms everywhere. She twisted and scratched and pounded with her fists, and kicked hard with her feet, but too soon her strength was gone and futile against so many.
She had the will and the determination. But she did not have enough hands and feet to fight them all.
* * *
The sun was rising when the gates opened again and a large troop of men rode out of the castle and began crossing the lake in large numbers, on three ferry barges, one after another.
“Huchon de Hay,” Ramsey said under his breath as if the name was profanity, but he made no motion to arm or give chase as the men rode onto shore and gathered, ready to ride.
“You will not go after them?”
Ramsey shook his head. “My duty is to claim and safeguard the king’s eldest daughter.” To Lyall he turned and said, “You say you have a way inside. The position of the keep is near impossible to lay siege. Since you are the reason she is not safely tucked away at Rossie, I will hear your plan.”
