Chapter 18
The setting sun threw Hannah’s shadow ahead of her, stretching out desperately as if it were trying to reach MacBain Castle before she did.
I have to warn him. I have to warn him.
The words formed a sort of rhythm in her head, spurring her forward. The path she was following would lead all the way to the castle, where the villagers would soon gather to threaten Aiden.
Perhaps they were already there.
While she walked, Duncan’s words echoed in her head.
“The villagers think ye’ve made yerself a woman of ill repute. They willnae do business with a loose woman, nay matter how good her whiskey is.”
So, that was the end, then. The distillery would flounder and fail.
The orders would dry up. Her delicious whiskey would rot in the casks, untouched.
Or worse, perhaps she’d crack them open herself out of desperation and sample their contents until her nose was as red as a beetroot and she couldn’t talk or walk straight.
She’d seen that happen before to various men and women, to whom life had delivered too powerful a blow for them to get back up again.
They didn’t even try. They lay there in the mud, staring at the sky, clutching a bottle of something in their white-knuckled grip.
Whiskey, gin, wine, ale, something to take the edge off… well, off everything.
Nay, she told herself grimly. I willnae be like that. Whatever life throws at me, I intend to fight. I intend to try.
The path began to slope upwards, leading her toward the castle. The setting sun cast vivid shapes of blood-red and golden pink light over the stern stone walls.
This was the golden hour, a short, blinding period when the world was painted in butter-yellow light and sharp shadows crawled across the ground.
For a handful of moments, the world lit up gloriously. Then, almost between one blink and the next, evening had fallen.
Anybody who traveled often or traversed the woods knew how dangerous this time of day was, on account of how deceptive the light became.
An inexperienced person might think that they had plenty of time before they needed to return home, or to the safety of a well-trodden path.
They might dawdle. They might plunge a little further into the forest. And then, before they knew what was happening, it would be dark. It would be dark, and they were lost.
By the time Hannah reached the castle, the world would be poised to plunge into night. She imagined the road she was traveling now swathed in night, the trees casting darker shadows on the path.
There were worse things to worry about than a twisted ankle when traveling in the dark. Worse things than wild animals, even.
Please let the gates be closed. Please let the mob be outside.
Of course, if the gates were closed, that would leave her locked outside, but at least Aiden would be safe.
Well, safe-ish.
The path grew steeper and stonier. Her breath came hard as she struggled upwards, eyes fixed grimly on the looming castle. More specifically, on the open gates.
People shuffled and moved around the gates, neither coming nor going.
Certainly more people than should be around at this time of day.
As twilight fell, people were either hurrying back to the castle because they lived there or hurrying away because they needed to get home. Nobody loitered in the gateway.
Shouts drifted down on the wind. Did she hear the clash of swords?
A cold spear of dread stabbed through her stomach.
She’d moved far too fast, just about jogging the whole way here, and now there was a stitch in her side, her breath coming hard and rasping in her throat.
Lifting her ragged hem a few inches, she tried to hurry on.
The next breath she dragged into her lungs carried the acrid taste of smoke. Woodsmoke.
Fire, she thought grimly. I’m too late.
At last, she reached the plateau outside the gates, where the path leveled off to form a rough, level sort of courtyard.
People milled around, perhaps thirty or forty or even more, shouting incoherently and waving makeshift weapons.
One man even carried a scythe, which was far too large and clumsy to really use as a weapon.
He held it awkwardly above his head, the blade glinting in the evening light.
Guards gathered, spreading out in front of the gates, their pikes lowered threateningly.
“Stay back!” one of them bellowed, waving his pike menacingly at a group of men. She recognized their faces—they were distillery workers.
“Ye had better step aside if ye ken what’s good for ye!” one of the workers bellowed back.
They pushed forward, dodging the pike blades.
One man grabbed a pike by its wooden shaft and hauled it away with a dangerous strength.
The guard cried out, fingers clutching at empty air.
His hand went to his hip at once, where a sword or at least a dagger would surely hang, but he wasn’t quite fast enough.
The crowd rushed in on him, and he went down under a hail of kicks and punches, shouting and fighting all the way.
Several of the guards hurried to help him, leaving a gap in their thin defences.
About ten of the mob pushed through the gap, all armed.
The rest of the people hung back uneasily. Hannah eyed them, trying to get their measure.
They want excitement. They want blood, they want drama, they want revenge, but they daenae want to get their hands dirty. They daenae want to tear a person apart limb by limb, but they wouldnae object to it happening in front of them.
One of the men looked back, his eyes as flat and cold as a snake’s. Hannah shivered and hurried forward, slipping through the gates and into the courtyard.
“Where is he?” shouted the tallest man in the mob.
She recognized him as the one who’d wrestled the pike from the guard’s hand and stepped back to let the mob take him. He was one of the distillery workers, and with an effort, she remembered his name.
“Angus!”
He blinked, flinching, perhaps surprised to hear his name. Or perhaps surprised to hear his name being called by a woman, in such circumstances. He turned, and Hannah hurried toward him, trying to ignore the long stares shot her way.
More guards were coming. She could hear distant shouts and drumming feet, the clanking of swords and armor.
“Angus, what are ye doing?” she breathed, grabbing at his arm.
He yanked his arm away, lip curling. Slowly, deliberately, he dusted off his sleeve, as if she might have left dirt on it.
“Ah, the whiskey whore,” he murmured.
She flinched. “I’m nay whore. I am yer employer.”
“Nae anymore. We’re here to demand that the Laird stand down from his position. If he willnae agree, then we’ll have to force him. We came to fight, so he’d better be ready.”
Forget the fact that he called ye a whore. Now isnae about ye.
She lifted her chin and did her best to ignore the contemptuous look he gave her.
“Angus, it’s thanks to Laird MacBain that our people arenae dying anymore.
He wanted to help us! He is still helping us.
Do ye want me to stand here and list all the good things he’s done?
If he steps down as Laird, who’ll replace him? ”
Angus’s eyes glazed over. “There’s a man we have in mind.”
Alarm bells shrilled warningly in her head.
What man?
“Did that man encourage ye to come here today?” she asked, frowning.
Angus ignored her question. Instead, he glowered at her, then spat deliberately onto the cobblestones. “Cease yer questions, woman,” he snarled. “This is men’s business.”
Turning his back, he marched across the courtyard toward the large, arched entrance to the keep. His weapon, she noticed for the first time, was a long cudgel, slightly bent from use, dented and angry-looking. The sort of weapon that could crack a person’s head in two in one good swing.
And Angus can swing it well.
She hurried ahead of the advancing mob, which was led by Angus, and turned to face them. Angus came to a halt only a few feet in front of her.
“We’ve nay quarrel with ye, even though ye are a scheming whore,” he said, slowly and evenly. “Move aside.”
“Aye, move aside!” yelled several men from the crowd behind him.
She noted briefly that there were no women in the crowd or in the courtyard. More guards poured out of various entrances and exits, and a few brave manservants had armed themselves and stood guard, but there were no women. Nobody except her.
She shivered.
A lone woman in front of an all-male mob? I must be beyond foolish.
“Ye say that this isnae women’s business,” she stated, loud enough to make her voice carry.
“But nor is the whiskey business. And mine has thrived, has it nae? None of ye can deny that I managed that business well, even if ye have all chosen to turn yer back on me. I’m ken to be a sensible, level-headed woman, nae a fool, nae gullible, and nae a lover of authority.
So why will ye nae listen to me now when I say that Laird MacBain is here to help us? ”
A brief silence ensued. Her words echoed through the quiet courtyard, bouncing back toward her. Breathing deeply, Hannah forced herself to wait, squaring her shoulders and staring down the mob.
Listen to me, she willed them. Just listen!
Then a voice came from behind, deep and almost amused. “Ye are wasting yer time, lass. They willnae pay attention to ye.”
A tingle ran down her spine at Aiden’s voice.
She turned slowly, and sure enough, there he was, standing at the top of the stone steps.
The entrance to the keep yawned behind him.
A handful of grim-faced guards flanked him, and a couple of councilmen and other important men hovered nervously in the background, Theodore and his cousin among them.
Their red hair seemed to glow in the fading sunlight.
They scanned the mob with impassive faces, and she imagined that they were calculating risks and gauging just how likely this particular herd of cattle-like humans was to charge.