Chapter 18
The plan to get into the dungeon did not sit well with Drake. Not at all. Especially the bit about telling the men to have their way with Greer once she was in the cell.
These men thought he was there to aid them, not deceive them. Not harm them.
He bound the rope loosely about Greer’s wrists, enough that it would appear secure, but she could easily slip free.
“I dinna want to do this,” he said again.
“We dinna have a choice.” Her eyes filled with such desperation, he could not help but hold her close one final time, as though that might somehow keep her safe.
There was another aspect to their scheme they had not discussed. Failure. That if they were caught, they both could be put to death the following morning with Mac.
Though Drake did not wish to say it out loud, he could not stop his mind from probing at the possibility. With battle came the risk of death.
And they were preparing to walk into a great battle.
Greer looked up at him when he released her. “Ye’re the only person I’ve ever trusted in this way,” she said softly. “I…ye…I’ve no’ ever felt this way…” She shook her head, offering a mirthless laugh instead of the completion of her statement. “We need to go, aye?”
But what she was afraid to say, Drake was not. He had never told Anice how he felt when he believed he had lost his heart to her. Now he realized that the tenderness he had experienced then was nothing in comparison to how Greer made his chest squeeze with emotion.
If this were the only time that he could ever tell her, he would do so with his whole heart while he still had it to give. He cradled her face between his hands, caressing the smoothness of her skin. “I love ye, Greer.”
She sucked in a breath, but he didn’t allow her a chance to protest his words or offer a self-deprecating remark. Instead, he gently pulled her toward the door to the laundry, leading her toward the dungeon—and hoped to God her plan would work.
This time, he lit the sconce before he descended the stairs and made considerable noise so the guards would know of his arrival.
“Oy!” someone called. “Who goes there?”
Drake glanced one last time beside him at Greer, where she was tethered to him by the rope. Her expression was filled with all the love she had not confessed to him, as he had done to her. Not that an admission was necessary between them when it was so very apparent.
He would do anything for this woman. And he was about to prove it.
“’Tis Drake,” he called out as he strode through the open area at the bottom of the stairs.
Greer’s expression slid from love to hate as she fell into her role. “Let go of me, ye cur.” Her lip curled in disgust.
Drake envied her ability to change her skin so easily, to glide so effortlessly into a role. He’d always been honest to a fault, sometimes losing jobs and friends because of it.
Much like what Bean was experiencing.
“I found her prowling through the castle.” Drake nodded to Greer. It wasn’t a lie—he had found her prowling around the castle—and so it was said without guilt.
The guard unlocked the door and let it groan open but did not step back to allow them passage. “Hand her over.”
“I can bring her in,” Drake offered.
“’Tis no’ necessary,” the guard replied.
Drake was not so readily put off. “I’ve no’ seen this part of the castle yet. Now is as good a time as any, eh?”
The man folded his arms over his chest.
“Am I no’ here to train ye?” Drake asked, his ire rising alongside his desperation. “Out of my way, man.”
The guard shook his head. “Ye’re not to come into the dungeon, on the earl’s orders.”
“The king sent me at the earl’s request,” Drake said, lacing his voice with authority.
The man hesitated.
Greer tugged at the ropes. “Let me go. I’ve no’ done anything wrong.”
Her pleading came across as too genuine, the pitch to her voice indicative of real fear. Drake turned to look at her.
“Please,” she said.
It was so easy to recall when she’d last whispered that word to him—when they lay in bed with one another, their bodies alight with desire.
“Let me go.” Her eyes were wide, and she pulled at the ropes.
Drake had tied them loose to help her free herself later. Apparently, they were too loose, and easily fell off from her hands with the slight tug.
There was a single moment where everyone froze as the rope fell soundlessly to the ground. Greer was the first to recover, not running from the dungeon but toward it, charging at the guard like an enraged bull.
It was an unexpected turn of events, but one Drake would not leave her to fight on her own. He raced forward, grabbed the iron door and shoved it hard into the man.
The guard’s head hit the wall as he was shoved backward, and he slumped to the ground.
Perfect.
Drake would avoid causing any permanent harm to the Lochmaben guards if possible.
Greer immediately knelt at the man’s side and slipped the key ring from his belt. “Now we find Mac.”
But before they could push deeper into the dark hall of cells, the sound of rushing footsteps and rattling chainmail told Drake their initial attack had been noticed.
He put himself in front of Greer. “Stay behind me, aye?”
She nodded. He slid free his sword and squared his body in front of the woman he loved, striding toward the men as they rushed at him.
He kept his steps quick so Greer could inspect as many of the cells as possible.
If Mac was in there, Drake needed only to cause a distraction for a short time while she freed him.
But as the men raced at him with apparent determination to fight, unease shifted inside him. He did not want to fight them, to harm, or possible kill them. These were to be his brothers in arms, many of them scarcely even old enough to be called men.
“Stop,” Drake bellowed at them.
Much to his surprise, they stopped, their confusion evident at whether to follow the man sent by the king or the orders of their earl.
“There’s a wee lad locked in this dungeon,” Drake said, implementing the opportunity for honesty in an effort to appeal to their morality. “He’s been unjustly accused and shouldna ever have been thrown down here. If we dinna free him now, he will be hanged tomorrow.”
A guilty look crossed some men’s faces. They knew.
And Drake would appeal to that.
“Today, this lad is a stranger to ye,” Drake said. “But in the future, mayhap it will be someone ye know. A nephew, a brother, a son.”
A sharp gasp sounded behind him, followed by a choked cry. He glanced to his right, through a barred window where a boy was curled in the corner of a cell, looking more dead than alive.
At once, Drake’s heart flinched at the state of the lad, even as victory surged through his veins.
They had found Mac.
The pile of filthy rags huddled in the corner didn’t look human. Except Greer could see the skinny arms curled around the bent knees, far too small to be that of a man.
Mac.
A cry erupted from her, the pain within her chest too exquisite to bear.
She fumbled with the keys. Her nerves, which had always been steady at the most crucial times, were now tremulous with the knowledge of what she might lose if she did not get the key in the lock.
Pulse racing, she jabbed at the hole with the bit of metal, missing three times before the shank clattered inside and the mechanism within gave with a click.
“I dinna want to fight ye,” Drake said behind her to the soldiers.
She didn’t bother to throw a glance over her shoulder, not when all her focus had to remain on Mac. There was a damp, earthy scent throughout the dungeon, with an underlying fetid odor permeating the cells.
“Mac,” she said softly.
The pile groaned.
“My sweet boy.” Her voice caught as she went to him and pulled him into her arms.
He’d lost weight, and his cheeks had gone hollow in a face that was once full of good health. His warm brown eyes found hers and filled with tears.
“Ye’re no’ real,” he whispered as a tear slid down his cheek, washing a trail of grime from his skin.
“I am,” Greer said in a cracked voice.
“I canna believe ye’re real,” he said. “For if ye’re no’, it will break my heart.”
“I’m real,” Greer said in a firm voice and pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead. With that, she stood up, bringing him with her. “We’re taking ye away from here. To safety. Can ye walk?”
Mac’s scant weight leaned against her, but he remained standing as they strode forward together. “Aye, I can walk.” His feet were bare atop the gray rushes, his skin smeared with dirt.
Anger pushed up in Greer, but she had to swallow it down. Now was not the time for allowing her emotions to overwhelm her. She needed to focus on removing him to safety, where he could never be hurt like this again.
“I’m stronger than ye,” Drake said outside the cell. The guards watched him warily and maintained an arm’s length distance between them.
“I’m faster than ye,” Drake continued as he took a step closer to them.
They all took a step back. “And I’m better trained.
What is being done here is wrong. This lad is still a bairn.
He shouldna ever have been here from the start, and each of ye knows that.
I dinna want to hurt ye as I’m doing what is right, but I will if needs must.”
Greer led Mac from the dungeon cell and down the corridor to where the barred door stood open. The man that had been knocked unconscious was now missing. Mayhap nearby.
It was hard not to run when her muscles were firing with unnatural energy. But already, Mac wheezed with the effort.
She winced at the pathetic sound. Mac had always been a child of limitless energy, running fast as a deer through the meadow, leaping like a rabbit over fallen trees and other objects. Now he seemed an old man with joints gone stiff with age.
As they neared the open door, he began to pick up speed, and Greer matched his pace.
A glance behind her confirmed Drake remained with the guards, speaking to them.
She couldn’t hear him over the huff of Mac’s labored breathing, but there was a ring of authority to his voice. Whatever he said held the men at bay.
A moment of unease flickered through her. Had Drake meant to follow them or stay behind? She could figure out where to flee to and what to do to keep Mac safe, of course. But she hadn’t bid farewell to Drake.
I love ye, Greer.
Pain laced through her.
He was saying farewell then. She knew that now.
Mac stumbled slightly, and Greer caught him, managing to hold his slight body upright. His skin was burning as hot as the sun beneath her hands. No wonder he was so weak and tired. He was terribly ill.
“We have to go up these stairs.” As she said it, Greer noted Mac’s gaze swept up the steep stone staircase with a fearful look.
But Mac did not protest. His stick-thin legs pumped their way upward. Never once did he slow, even as his breathing became a panting wheeze.
They were almost to the landing when a figure appeared behind them, too silent for Greer to have heard in their approach. Too fast. She spun about in surprise, but she knew she would be too late to protect Mac.
Except no protection was needed. Drake gave her a nod and scooped her brother into his arms. Below them, one of the guards closed the gate once more and locked it. With the exception of the man Drake had struck by the gate, no one had been hurt.
Incredible.
Drake had managed to appeal to the morality of the men despite Greer thinking the only way could be through deception. Not that there was time to think on that now. Already he was rushing out into the hall, turning his head from side to side to ensure all was clear before darting out.
Greer caught up with him, shadowing his every move as they rushed into the entryway of the castle. So close to freedom.
“Where do ye think ye’re going?” A knife flew through the air and sparked off the stone wall a mere inch in front of Drake’s face.
He stopped abruptly and spun around to face Lord Calver, who stood in a loose tunic, his hair wild from sleep.
A guard stood at his side, one whose offended rub at the back of his head indicated he was the one Drake had struck in the dungeon.
No doubt he’d fled to notify Lord Calver.
Drake rounded on the old earl, his face hard with rage. “Ye’ve kept this lad under lock and key for no justified reason—”
“Arrest him,” the earl shouted, his face florid.
The guard hesitated.
Drake gently set Mac to his feet and nudged him in Greer’s direction. She ran to her little brother before he could get to her and wrapped her arms protectively around him, drawing him back.
“I’ve been sent here by order of the king,” Drake said with full confidence. “If ye arrest me, ye are defying his orders.”
“He wanted ye to train my men,” Lord Calver gave a derisive snort and shot a vicious glare to the guard who had not acted on his command.
“To train these inept guards. How is arresting ye for releasing my prisoner defying his orders? It will take but a word from me. How ye turned on me, and I had no choice but to toss ye in the dungeon.”
Mac shivered in Greer’s arms. She could not see the castle entrance from where she stood to determine if more guards were lying in wait there, nor what awaited her beyond.
The earl could have had the portcullis thrown down, trapping them in the castle, making them run like rabbits until they were finally caught.
“That isna why I’m here.” Drake lifted his chin. “I’m here to bring Lady Eileen’s killer to justice.”
Lord Calver’s hands clenched at his sides.
“Her neck wasna broken from a fall,” Drake said. “And I have a witness to prove it.”
“The woman in the field,” Mac whispered. “’Twas him,” he said, his voice stronger. “’Twas the earl who did it.”
The earl’s face went from red to white.
“Arrest him,” he sputtered.
The guard at his side did not move.
“They were fighting.” Mac withdrew from Greer’s arms and stood on his own, even as she tried to pull him back.
But Mac pushed away from her, his tone unwavering as he pointed to the earl, as though the story of a woman’s unjust death and his incarceration sent energy pumping through his veins. “The lady said he was stealing money from the king.”
“Silence,” Lord Calver bellowed.
But Mac would not be silenced and continued, his voice ringing off the stonework, “She said she’d tell, and he lunged at her, attacking her before shoving her down the hill.”
“I should have killed ye when I had the chance,” the earl cried in outrage as he grabbed a sword and dagger from the guard at his side and raced toward Mac.