by Baker, Katy
Ramsay froze, fingers a mere inch from the cobweb covered wood. “What?”
“That’s the witch’s door,” Archibald said. “It’s cursed! Anyone who touches it dies.”
Ronald snorted. “Now who’s the fool? And I supposed the pixies come and dance in front of it on the full moon too?”
“It’s true I tell ye!” Archibald snapped. “The old laird’s mother—Benneit’s grandmother—was a witch. Wielded terrible powers by all accounts and she used this door to leave the castle in the dead of night so nobody would see her. She’d go up onto the moors to work her magic. God struck her down for her evil and she disappeared without a trace. The witch’s door has been cursed ever since!”
“Shut yer mouth!” snapped one of the other lads, looking around warily. “Ye think the laird will take kindly to having his grandmother spoken about like that? Ye dinna know when to keep yer mouth shut, Archie!”
Ramsay said nothing. From the uneasy glances and sudden tension among the guardsmen, it was obvious they believed the story. He picked up the dice and tossed them back to Ronald. The dice game started again, but it was more subdued than before.
An hour later, just as dark was falling, another group of guards came to relieve them. Ramsay breathed a sigh of relief and hurried back to camp. He threaded through the tents impatiently until he found the one he shared with Jess and ducked inside.
It was empty.
With a frown, he ducked outside and turned in a circle, scanning the area. There was no sign of her. His heart began to race. Where was she? And why, curse it all, hadn’t she stayed where he’d told her?
Then he spotted her walking towards him in the company of a dark-haired woman. They were carrying an armload of washing each and were chatting as amiably as if they’d been friends for years. Jess looked up, spotted Ramsay, and handed her washing over to the dark-haired woman. With a word of farewell to the woman, she hurried towards Ramsay. To his mind, she seemed mighty pleased with herself.
“Where have ye been?” he demanded. “Lord above, woman! Dinna ye realize the danger ye could have put yerself in?” It was not the reunion he’d been imagining all afternoon but he couldn’t stop the words.
She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow in that way of hers that suggested extreme annoyance. “I went down to the lake with the other women, that’s all. We did some washing. A very dangerous task, I’m sure.”
“Ye said ye would stay with the tent.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry but I was going stir-crazy in there and I thought I’d take the opportunity to chat to the women—see what I could discover. And it was lucky I did.”
Ramsay drew her closer to the tent, away from any listening ears. “What did ye find out?”
Leaning close, she told him a tale of Artair riding out in the night searching for something on MacGregor lands.
“So,” she finished. “There’s a pretty good bet he’ll be riding out at some point tonight. If we could follow him, we could see what he’s up to. Only problem is, we don’t know what time he’s leaving the castle or how he’s going to exit. He doesn’t leave by the main gate. This place is pretty big. We can’t watch all of it.”
“We dinna have to,” Ramsay replied with a grin. “Because I know exactly where to start.”
Chapter 10
JESS’S HANDS AND FEET had gone numb. She and Ramsay had been hunkered down in this small copse on the eastward side of the castle for what seemed like hours.
She glanced at Ramsay. He was crouched by her side, peering through the screen of leaves towards a small door set into the castle wall. His expression was fixed, his green eyes catching the moonlight enough to make them gleam in the darkness. He was like a wolf that had scented its prey, all focussed determination and contained power.
“Anything?” she whispered.
Ramsay’s eyes were keener than hers. “Nothing.”
Jess shifted, reaching her arms over her head to stretch out the aches and pains in her neck and shoulders. They were not far from camp but a turn of the castle’s wall hid it from view and here the night was dark and silent but for the occasional hoot of an owl or the bark of a fox. The moon had risen about half an hour ago and now the plain that surrounded Dun Halas was bathed in a silver glow.
Ramsay tensed suddenly. His breath came out in a hiss.
Jess was instantly alert, straining her eyes to see through the darkness. The door in the castle wall slowly swung open. A group of men walked out, leading horses. She counted ten and in the moonlight she saw the glint of weapons and armor. There was a brief discussion between a tall man and a stockier one and then the men mounted up and began riding straight towards the copse where Jess and Ramsay had taken cover. The sally port swung closed behind them.
Jess’s heart thumped as the group approached and she fought the instinct to back away. As they neared, Jess was finally able to make out the men’s features. The stocky man appeared to be the leader. He wore rich garments and a thick, fur-lined cloak of MacGregor plaid and rode at the head of the group with the taller man beside him. She examined the taller man and her stomach tightened.
It was Artair Campbell.
His dark eyes scanned the landscape, sweeping across the spot where she and Ramsay crouched. Jess held her breath, certain he’d spotted them, but his gaze swept on by. The road skirted the copse, bringing the group close enough for Jess to hear their conversation.
“This better be worth it,” the stocky man—who she guessed must be Laird MacGregor—growled. “I should be abed with a lass to warm me, not riding through the blasted countryside!”
“It will be worth it, my laird,” Artair replied smoothly. “Trust me. I’ve spent all day examining the maps yer grandmother penned. I’m sure we’ll find it tonight.”
Laird McGregor snorted. The group carried on past Jess and Ramsay’s hiding place then swung southeast.
Ramsay waited until they were out of earshot before turning to Jess. “Come on.”
Together they rose and hurried back into the trees where they’d tethered Bluebell. The mare’s head was hanging down as she drowsed but she came alert as Ramsay and Jess approached. They mounted quickly and Ramsay steered the horse out of the copse and onto the path Artair and his group were following.
Ramsay had wrapped the horse’s hooves in cloth so they would make no sound but the moonlight was both a blessing and a curse. It meant it was easy to follow Artair’s trail but also meant that if one of Artair’s group happened to look back, they might spot Jess and Ramsay following. They had to hope that Artair and Laird MacGregor were so set on whatever it was they were searching for that they didn’t bother to check the road behind.
They rode in tense silence. Jess clung on to the saddle horn but now and then she found her hand moving to the hilt of the dagger Ramsay had given her, although what she hoped to do with it she had no idea.
The laird’s group soon left the road and cut across open country but they did not move quickly. They kept their horses to a walk and stopped often whilst Artair peered at a parchment by the light of a candle.
It was a slow, torturous journey that had Jess jumping at the slightest sound. A feeling was creeping up on her, a sense of dread that she couldn’t explain. It grew steadily worse as they moved away from Dun Halas and into wilder country. Here the ground was broken into a series of dips and hollows, thick with grass and small, wiry trees whose branches were stark against the sky like grasping fingers.
From up ahead, came a shout of triumph. Ramsay pulled up the horse. The laird’s group had stopped at the bottom of a shallow valley, like a bowl cut out of the hills. A thicket of thorny bushes obscured them from Jess’s sight but more lamplight flared, and she spotted the men’s shapes moving through the screen of black branches.
The sensation of dread deepened, sending her thoughts scattering with fear. She looked around, trying to figure out what had her so spooked, but could make out nothing in the darkened landscape. She just
sensed...something.
“We should get out of here,” she muttered. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Ramsay replied. “But we’ve come this far. We need to see it through to the end.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ramsay swung to the ground, the saddle creaking as his weight shifted, and helped Jess down. He tethered the horse to a tree.
“Wait here if ye dinna wish to go further, “he said. “I dinna ask ye to come with me.”
“I know you don’t,” Jess replied. “But I’m coming anyway.”
He nodded tightly. Keeping low, they crept through the bushes, moving as quietly as possible. The light grew brighter as they neared and Jess realized that MacGregor’s men had fixed a ring of burning torches into the ground. Inside the ring, light blazed, chasing away the darkness.
They hunkered down and peered through the branches. Jess squinted, trying to see what lay within the clearing. She gasped. In the dell two huge standing stones reared out of the earth. A crooked capstone lay atop them, forming a lopsided arch. There was no round depression for the keystone on this archway but four oddly shaped slots marched across the lintel like key holes. Runes covered the stones’ surfaces, gleaming silver in the moonlight.
Jess wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. This place, this...thing was the source of her dread. Her gaze was drawn to the runes. She sensed a pattern to them. The runes were a language, one that would spill its secrets if she could only piece the pattern together. Her eyes roved over the markings, taking in their form, their angle. In her mind’s eye a pattern began to take shape, to take meaning, forming themselves into words.
“It’s a doorway,” she breathed. “And the runes tell how to unlock it.”
Ramsay looked at her sharply. “How do ye know that?”
Not many left now with the power to see the inner world.
“I...I...don’t know,” she stammered. “I just do.”
Darkness filled the space beneath the arch. It was so thick and all-consuming that it seemed like a hole cut out of the world, a void of nothingness.
“A doorway to what?” Ramsay asked.
Jess didn’t reply.
“This is it?” Laird MacGregor said to Artair, curling his lip in disdain. “This is what ye claim will bring my victory?” He did not seem impressed but his men gazed around warily. Many of them muttered under their breath and made the sign of the cross on their breast.
“Aye,” Artair replied. “This is what my sister and I have been searching for. Adaira will be so angry she isnae here to see it!”
He walked towards the arch, reached out a hand as though to touch the runes, but then thought better of it and let his hand drop to his side. “But if I’m right, I’ll soon be able to bring her here to see this for herself.”
Benneit MacGregor crossed his arms and glowered. “Ye better start making sense. Why have ye dragged me from my bed to examine a few old stones? When I agreed to our bargain, it was because ye said ye could bring me the power to conquer the Highlands. Ye led me to believe ye meant that new weapon of yers and the secret of how to make more. Now ye tell me it is this thing? Yer explanation better be good!”
Artair glared at Benneit. “I’ve heard it said that ye were mighty close to yer grandmother, Benneit MacGregor, that ye were her favorite, despite being her son’s bastard.”
Benneit’s glower deepened. “Aye. What of it?”
“Did she never tell ye what she was? Who she served?”
Benneit’s lips flattened and anger flashed in his eyes. “I suggest ye tread very carefully, my friend.”
Artair nodded to acknowledge the warning. “Let’s just say then that yer grandmother had knowledge of things most people have forgotten. Like this gateway. In my time it has been destroyed. It took a long time before my sister and I discovered it had been demolished to make way for a road. But here? My sister was right! Here it is whole and untouched, forgotten by all but a few.” His gaze sharpened as he looked at Benneit. “Ye think it is guns that will give ye dominion over the Highlands? Nay, my friend. It is something much stronger than that, so strong that naught can withstand it.” He grinned suddenly. “It is the power of the Fae.”
MacGregor’s men shifted uneasily, muttering and glancing around. They looked as if they wanted to flee but their laird’s command held them. Benneit MacGregor, though, didn’t move. He stared at Artair, his dark eyes assessing, and then looked up at the doorway. At last he rubbed his stubbly chin.
“Most men would laugh at such outrageous claims. But I am not most men. My grandmother talked of such things. She told me of a great struggle, a never-ending struggle to keep the balance of the world. She talked of the power of the Fae and that it can be harnessed through striking a bargain with them.” He glanced up at the standing stones again. “What does this structure have to do with them?”
The moonlight flashed in Artair’s eyes as he grinned. “It is a door to the Unseelie Court.”
Jess drew in a quick, sharp breath. The Unseelie Court. The name was like an icy breath against the back of her neck. Glancing at Ramsay, she saw that all the color had drained from his face.
“The way has been shut for a very long time,” Artair continued. “But I know a way to open it. The power of the Unseelie Court is unstoppable. Nobody will be able to stand against us—against ye, I mean. The Highlands will be yers.”
Benneit MacGregor didn’t answer but Jess could see the gleam of greed in his eyes. He’d been offered power beyond imagining and she could tell that he was the kind of man who could not resist such a thing, no matter how perilous it might be.
He nodded. “Then do it. Open the door.”
Artair shook his head. “I canna do it yet, my laird.” He pointed at the sky where the moon rode high amidst scattered clouds, bathing the land in its eerie light. “There is only one night when the door to the Unseelie Court can be opened. The dark of the moon. We must wait, guard the gateway, and prepare. The dark of the moon is in nine days.”
Artair had him. Jess could see it in the way Benneit MacGregor nodded, lapping up every word. “Nine days. We must wait that long?”
“Aye. Gather yer armies, prepare for war, my laird. Set a guard on this place. At least fifty in a perimeter around this site at all times. Nobody gets in or out without my permission.”
“Fifty men?” MacGregor snorted. “Who would attack this site? Nobody even knows it’s here!”
Artair scowled at him. “There are those who track me. They canna be allowed to find this place.”
One of MacGregor’s men suddenly howled in pain. He collapsed to the ground and writhed, a knife sticking out of his leg. A heartbeat later a second man fell to his knees screaming, a dagger protruding from his shoulder blade.
Pandemonium broke out.
“We’re under attack!” MacGregor shouted. “Form up!”
Jess’s heart leapt into her mouth as Ramsay stepped out of the darkness into the circle of torchlight. When had he left her side? She hadn’t even heard him move.
He stood facing his enemies, feet shoulder-width apart, hands hanging loosely at his sides. His emerald gaze was fixed on Artair Campbell.
“So that’s it,” he growled. “That’s what ye’ve been after all along. Ye are a fool! Do ye have any idea of what ye are messing with?”
Artair peered around warily as if expecting Ramsay’s allies to burst from their hiding places any minute. When they didn’t, he relaxed.
“Where is the bitch who came back with ye?” he asked.
Ramsay lifted his chin, anger flaring in his eyes. “Jessica Maxwell returned through the arch. She’s gone.”
Artair stared at him. Then he grinned. “Ye are lying. Is she here with ye? Have ye somehow convinced her to join ye? Did ye paint yerself as some honorable hero who would save her from the big bad wolf?” He laughed cruelly. “Ha! I can see from yer expression that I’ve guessed right! I bet she doesnae know the truth about ye does she? Ab
out what ye really are?”
He spread his arms wide and shouted into the night, “Jessica Maxwell! Are ye out there? Are ye watching all this? Come out and hear the truth! Ye think ye can trust this man? Ye canna. He’s a liar and a traitor! Ye canna believe a word he says!”
“Shut yer mouth!” Ramsay stepped forward, drawing his sword with a metallic ring.
Benneit MacGregor hadn’t taken his eyes off Ramsay. “Who are ye?” he snarled. Then to Artair, “How do ye know this man?”
“Laird MacGregor,” Artair said. “I’d like to introduce ye to Ramsay MacAuley. He and I are old friends.”
“Ramsay MacAuley,” MacGregor said, eyes narrowing. “The son of Logan MacAuley? He’s dead. Murdered by his brother if the rumors are to be believed.”
Jess stiffened. What the hell? Had she just heard that right?
“Ye shouldnae believe everything ye hear,” Artair said. “Isnae that right, Ramsay?”
“Step away from the arch,” Ramsay growled. “Give this up, Artair. This isnae yer place. This isnae yer time. Ye dinna belong here.”
“I belong anywhere I choose!” Artair snapped. “And when I open this door, any time I choose!”
“I’ve had enough of this. Grab this idiot!” MacGregor bellowed.
MacGregor’s men ran at Ramsay. He turned to meet them, moving so fast that Jess struggled to keep track of him in the flickering torchlight. He spun away from the downward swing of one man, hamstrung another, and then head-butted a third. In moments three MacGregor men lay groaning on the ground.
She was so engrossed in the fight that she heard the twig snap behind her too late. She glanced up just as an arm went around her throat, cutting off her cry of alarm.
Benneit MacGregor snarled by her ear. “I knew I heard something over here. Fight me and ye will regret it, woman.”
He dragged Jess into the ring of torchlight. She struggled, desperately trying to break his grip, but the man was as strong as an ox.
“Let me go!” she gasped. “Get your hands off me!”
“Look what I’ve found!” MacGregor called. “Yer woman! And unless ye want me to slit her throat, I suggest ye drop yer weapon.”
