Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
O nce Aileen was clear of the solar, the door closed firmly behind her, she allowed herself to breathe again. Although she’d been right about Sutherland’s game, she felt no sense of triumph, only something akin to a horror that turned her flesh to ice. Now there was no possibility of doubt. The plan was set. She simply had to set it in motion.
She hastened back to her chamber and changed from the hated damask gown into a sturdy pair of breeches and laced-front shirt. She pulled on a knitted wool tabard in a colorful Fair Isle pattern she’d purchased years ago in Jura and over this she placed a fur-lined tunic. She rolled on a pair of thick woolen stockings and slung her feet into a pair of leather boots, laced to the knee.
Once she was dressed for travel her plan felt all the more real.
She hunted around and found a piece of parchment in one of her drawers. She tore it in half, hoping it would seem that she’d clutched it in haste. She took out her quill and lightly dipped it into the ink bottle. Again, hoping the scratchy, faint writing would mimic the appearance of a writer under duress. She scribbled the letter as her father had suggested with a scrawled signature at the bottom. Remembering her father’s other clever suggestion, she used her dirk and pierced her finger tip. As the blood welled up, she allowed a drop to fall on the parchment.
She regarded the note with satisfaction. It looked exactly as she’d hoped, as if it were written in haste by someone who could well have a dirk at their throat. She could only pray it would be enough to convince Sutherland that she was leaving against her will and he would spare the life of Barclay MacAlpin.
After that, she went in search of Finn. She found her sharing an ale with Séamus.
They looked up as she slipped into his chamber.
“I’m leaving,” she said, sounding way more confident than she felt. “I’m doing what ye both urged. I’ll be gone from here with MacNeil this night. Ye must say ye kent nothing of me plans.”
She spied the trusty ebony truncheon on the table, the very weapon that had knocked Maxwell senseless.
“Séamus, lad. I cannae help but think I’ve a greater need fer yer rod that yerself.”
With a rueful grin he reached over for the weapon and hoisted it up. “Alas, Captain. I believe it will have more use in yer company than resting here wi’ me.” He handed over the heavy timber baton.
Aileen swung it, testing the weight. “Aye, this will crack a few heads I daresay.”
“Have ye a decent sword?” Seamus was already passing her a solid wooden box. She opened it and nestled there was a fine claymore, it’s metal handle embellished with a French design. Beside it was a bone-handled knife.
“I can vouch for their sharpness. He has honed them both to the sharpest of blades.”
Aileen looked at the immaculate weapons. “Aye, I could dae wi’ these. Mayhap MacNeil can wield the claymore wi’ a little more speed than I can, but I’d match him any day with the shorter blade. But, Séamus, these are yer pride. I cannae take them.”
He shook his head. “Ye’ll thank me before ye’ve travelled far on yer journey.”
She nodded and reluctantly clasped the box. “In exchange fer these, I leave ye in charge of me birlinn and me crew. I ken ye’ll keep all safe. If ye can escape also, it will bring me great joy tae see ye again.”
They both got to their feet and hugged her tightly.
“Aye. Go safely Captain. We’ll meet again before long.”
Finn flicked a tear from her eye. “What he said. Once ye’ve gone, there’ll be naught tae keep us here. We’ll nae be far behind ye. Go with God lass, safe journey.”
Never one for goodbyes, Aileen turned and was gone before the sob welling in her chest had a chance to break free.
Then she made her silent way to Maxwell’s bedchamber clutching the ebony baton in her right hand and the long, timber box under her arm.
Approaching the corridor leading to his chamber, she slowed. If was likely the guards were at his door and she had no wish to announce her presence. She crept forward in the dimly lit passage. Rounding a corner, she spied two guards outside a door halfway along that she guessed must lead to Maxwell’s chamber.
She breathed a soft sigh of relief knowing that the guards on duty there meant Sutherland’s soldiers had not yet come to escort Maxwell to the dungeon.
No doubt the guards anticipated that any threat to them would come from their prisoner inside the bedchamber and not from the passage outside, lending her the element of surprise.
She lowered the box to the floor and hefted the black weapon, gauging its weight and strength in her hand, smiling as she did so. The guards would not ken what had hit them.
The two men were slouched against the door, looking for all the world as if standing guard here was the most uninteresting thing in the world. Aileen would be so kind as to enliven their night with a few quick blows to the head.
It was over in seconds. The first man went down without even a moan and the second, who looked around in alarm as his companion crumpled to the floor quickly met a similar fate.
She looked at the two men lying at her feet, one of whom had a large ring of keys attached to his belt. It took some time to find a key that turned the lock on Maxwell’s door but eventually she found it and the door swung open.
Maxwell was standing by the door, his face tight with tension, the iron poker from the fire in his hand.
“Holy saints, lass I am pleased tae see ye.” He glanced at the two men, still silent and unmoving on the passage. He flung aside the poker and seized one man’s legs and dragged him into the chamber. Aileen seized the other and together they quickly removed him from the passage and concealed him within the room.
Maxwell looked at her with a wry grin. “Hearing the rattling of keys I thought it must be Sutherland’s soldiers come for me and I was ready to take a few of them out before they dragged me away. Ye were fortunate I didnae come at ye with the poker.”
She giggled softly. “’Twould have been yer poker against me truncheon.” She displayed the ebony rod before concealing it beneath her cloak.
He rubbed his head. “Ye’d win that bout I suspect.”
“Now, before these men return to the land of the living, let’s begone. We’ve nae time tae waste.”
“I’m ready, lass.” He grabbed his cloak and slung it around his shoulders. I’ve naught tae take wi’ me.”
“Here.” She shoved the long timber box into his hands. “Ye might find this of use.”
Opening the box his eyes widened. He removed the claymore and tucked it and the dirk into his belt. “I believe I may find a use for these wicked instruments before much time has passed.”
With that, the two of them hurried down the passageway, Aileen taking the lead. They progressed as quietly as they could to another passage and down a narrow flight of stairs.
“I made it me business to ken every passage and find all the ways out this place when I was here. This staircase will take us to the side of the castle. From there, there’s a rocky path that will lead us to the place where the ships are moored.”
“And is this rough pathway one that the guards patrol.”
She shook her head. “They’ll nae patrol the path but they’ll be guarding the landing. We may well have to fight our way to one of the smaller boats.”
Maxwell paused. “Are ye coming wi’ me?”
She nodded, placing a finger at his lips to hush the words of surprise she imagined were hovering on his tongue.
He kept his voice low and soft. “I didnae think ye would ever leave yer faither. Is he nae under threat from Sutherland, tae pay fer yer disobedience?”
“Aye. I wouldnae, but I spoke wi’ him and he urged me tae leave. He spelled out a ruse fer me tae use that may spare him.”
“I pray that is so, lass and I thank ye from the bottom of me heart.” He felt for her hand and took it in his, pressing it against his chest so that she felt the steady beating of his heart.
“Sutherland wouldnae have spared ye. I couldnae stand by and see ye tortured and mayhap lose yer life when it had been me doing that ye were captured in the first place.”
He grunted, laughing softly. “Aye. I have ye tae thank fer me captivity.”
“Hush. Say nae more. We can speak again once we’re safely away from this cursed place.”
They continued down the stairs, treading lightly, saying nothing. Eventually they reached an iron-studded timber door, fastened with two enormous metal latches preventing entry from outside, but providing no obstacle to anyone inside wishing to leave the castle.
Maxwell reached up and wrenched the latches aside and the well-oiled door swung open on its giant hinges. After stepping through a stone archway, they found themselves on the path.
All at once there was the sound of voices ahead of them along the path and noisy footsteps approaching.
They ducked back into the cover of the archway, huddling together in an effort to appear invisible. Aileen held her breath striving to steady her shaking hands, her pulse racing. If they were discovered now, it could be a disaster. They were still too close to the castle.
Maxwell’s strong, reassuring, arm encircled her as the voices and footsteps faded. She allowed herself to breathe again as they set off down the winding, rocky path toward the shore.
There was no more than a glimmer of moonlight, hardly enough to guide them, yet Aileen was familiar with the path, having trodden it many times before. She was able to guide them unerringly down to the tiny inlet, where several of the smaller ships were tied.
At the sight of the distant, dark shapes of a three-man patrol further along the landing, they hunkered down behind a low stone wall.
Maxwell drew the claymore from the loop in his belt, wielding the mighty sword in his two hands. Aileen kept the truncheon clenched in her hand, ready to use it if she needed to.
“There are only three lads. I can deal with them while ye make a run fer it. Find us a neat little craft that will take us away from here with all speed.”
As the men drew abreast of their hiding place, he nudged Aileen “Go” he mouthed. She leaped to her feet and took off, running with all speed toward the moorings. The men turned as if to make chase but Maxwell, rising to his feet, brought them to a halt.
“Hold,” he bellowed. In an instant two of the men were upon him, while the third man dashed in pursuit of Aileen’s fleeing figure.
The two men proved to be able fighters, but they were no match for Maxwell’s hardened, battlefield skill. As one guard came at him, sword arm raised to strike, Maxwell ducked, evading the blow but bringing up his sword, lightning fast, piercing deep into the man’s torso.
With a grunt, the man slipped to the ground, mortally wounded.
The second man came at him from behind but again Maxwell ducked, turning swiftly to bring his sword down on the arm holding a small, round shield. With a scream the man dropped the shield and clutched his arm, his sword clattering to the cobbles. arm. “Ye swine,” he yelled. “The laird will roast ye alive fer this.”
Maxwell kicked the ground from under the lad’s feet and he went down. “He’ll need to catch me before he can light the fire.”
With that, leaving the man, his arm all but severed, breathing his last as his lifeblood flowed over the cobbles, Maxwell raced after the third member of the patrol.
The man had already reached Aileen and was swinging his sword, attempting to evade the deadly ebony rod she swung at him.
The guard’s attention momentarily distracted by Maxwell, Aileen seized the opportunity to leap forward and inflict a hearty blow, catching the man’s shoulder with a loud crack.
He cried out but continued gamely, attempting to swing his sword. Aileen put a swift end to that with a single blow of the rod to the man’s crown, dispatching him without any further noise from him. Now no one would be able to tell she’d left willingly.
Catching her breath, she grabbed Maxwell’s arm. “There.” Further along, a small birlinn was bobbing, tethered to the end of the dock, and they scrambled along the stone jetty to reach it. Aileen stepped on board and began hauling on the single sail while Maxwell untied the mooring rope.
He stepped onto the vessel just as the wind began to catch in the furling sail and the boat moved quickly away from the dock. Grabbing an oar, he steered the tiny craft into the open water and, with Aileen claiming the second oar they rowed with every ounce of strength remaining in their tired bodies, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the dock, now fading into the distance.
“We must go south, keeping as close to shore in the shallow waters as we can., Aileen gritted her teeth, the icy wind, although it was filling their sail, bit hard. “Sutherland will mayhap send one of his bigger, faster birlinns on our tail, but they’ll stay further out, avoiding the rocky shoals along the coast. We’re in luck, the tide is high and we’ll pass through safely.”
She rested the oar for a moment with a tiny grunt of pain.
“Are ye hurt, lass?”
“’Tis naught. The man caught me with his blade.”
Buffeted by the wind, Maxwell gripped his oar with one hand and examined her shoulder where her cloak and tabard had been slashed and a small cut was visible. “Ye’re bleeding lass, I’ll need tae tie it fer ye tae stop the blood.”
“Nay, I can manage. We’ve nay time tae spare.”
He shook his head. “Ye’re a brave one. When we reach shelter, I’ll see tae it. For now, I’ll take yer oar, ye tend the sail.”
The little craft skimmed over the waves and it was not long before the ghostly lights of the castle had faded into the distance. They both breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, scarcely able to believe their success in escaping Dunrobin.
“We’ve done it.” Aileen was jubilant.
“Aye lass. We’ve made it this far. But dinnae forget ‘tis a long journey that lies ahead of us tae the Isle of Barra.”