Page 128 of Bride of Mist
With the lass to guide them, they passed through the gates without incident, mingling with the clan folk, and crossed the courtyard. But when they entered the great hall, they caught the eye of a pair of nobles drinking by the hearth.
Gellir watched the men from the shadows of his hood. They finished off their cups and made their way toward the lass. The skinny one had a swollen nose. The one with piggish eyes was limping.
“Who’s this?” the pig-man snorted, giving Adam and Gellir a derisory glance.
“Rat-catchers,” the lass said. “I’m takin’ them to the buttery.”
The skinny one grimaced and spit on the floor. “Rats.”
“When ye’re finished,” the pig said to the lass, licking his greasy lips, “come up to the laird’s chamber. We mean to thank ye properly for your good deed today.”
The maid gulped, but managed a feeble smile. “There’s no need to thank me.”
“Nonsense,” the skinny one said with a smirk. “We insist.”
Gellir’s stomach churned. What this pair of brutes meant to thank the maid for, he didn’t know. But there was little doubt what they intended. And little doubt that the lass didn’t want any part of it.
What he knew about swiving would fit in a thimble. But he’d been taught early on about consent. And he had no intention of leaving the lass to these wolves.
“We’ll be waitin’,” the pig said.
When they’d gone, Adam whispered, “What was that about?”
The maid was quick to dismiss him. “Naught. Come. This way.”
The buttery was cool, dark, and deserted. The lass took a torch from the wall and led them to the back of the deep chamber. What appeared to be a wall cleverly concealed a set of stone steps.
“’Tis a secret passageway,” she explained. “It leads from the castle down through the cliff wall to the seashore below.”
“Brilliant,” Adam breathed.
“And from the seashore up to the castle,” Gellir realized.
“Right,” she said.
Gellir’s mind raced ahead. If there was a secret way into the castle, the army of Rivenloch could attack from inside the keep. The only problem was, judging by the size of the steps, they’d have to enter in a single line. It would be hard to launch an offensive when they could be picked off by enemy soldiers as they entered.
“Does Gaufrid know about this?” Gellir asked.
“Nay. Dougal said he’s ne’er used it.”
Lighting the way with her torch, the maidservant led them down stairs carved into solid rock. A few hundred steps later, they landed on sandy ground.
A diagonal crack in the rock let in a lance of sunlight that bisected a small cave. Shielding his eyes with his arm, Gellir blinked against the brightness of the setting sun as he moved toward the opening.
“’Tis a tight passage,” Adam said.
“’Twill be tricky,” Gellir agreed. A broad-shouldered warrior would have to turn sideways and lie back against one surface to pass through rock that was two yards thick. “But it can be done.” Still they’d be reduced to squeezing through one at a time, hardly the ideal model for a surprise attack.
“How will they get to the beach unseen?” Adam asked.
“There’s a landin’ to the north, around the point,” the lass said. “The ground there slopes to the shore. When the tide is low, ye can pass around the end o’ the point to the beach below the castle.”
Gellir grumbled. This plan was beginning to sound complicated.
Unlike Adam and his sister, Gellir wasn’t fond of clandestine schemes and clever disguises. True, it had been useful to don the crown of royalty for the convenience of free lodging. And feigning to be rat-catchers had earned them passage into Castle Darragh. But sneaking an entire army into an enemy castle seemed impossible.
“What if they’re spotted on the shore?” he wondered. “What if they’re trapped at high tide? Where will they assemble? And how will they attack?”
