Chapter 28
Callum rested his head against the bars cold as they were gray. His eyes locked on the crack upon the granite stone on the dungeon’s floor outside his cell. A crack. That! That will be Keithen’s neck once he got his hands wrapped around the bastard’s throat.
He blinked. The raw fearful expression on her face showed anew when the bastard grabbed her. And what? What was the effort on his part to save her? Yelling and kicking same as a wee bairn. Hell!
Opening his gaze, he spied a water drip from the ceiling into a tiny puddle, like tears, same as the tears in her eyes when she had been led away. Shite! If only his fury could have given him the strength of ten giants he would have snapped all their necks!
How? How was he going to get her out of here? For damn sure they would not be staying long.
“Sir Callum,” Holger called out from his cell next-door, “your lady knew I was being hunted at Lady Alaina’s keep the eve of the feast by hearing the discussion in the passageway outside the great hall?”
“Aye.”
He gave a low whistle. “She has a prowess any court would envy.” Keep your mitts off, Northman; the lady is spoken for. “I also may have been rash in declaring your lady would be a weakness for you if present.” You think?
Holger paused then finished. “My younger sister, who is betrothed to Sir James, was not even in the same castle, yet I still froze at a threat unleashed toward her.”
“Well,” Callum retorted darkly, “think about how you would care to repay Sir James for his deceit toward her as you will hold the chance in your grasp soon.”
“How?”
“You are a gestr?”
“For certain.”
“Does everything always go according to your plans or consideration?”
“No.”
“There is your answer,” Callum replied somberly.
“Something shall present. When it does, be ready to grip with both hands. As we are going to burn all of Lord Keithen ‘the kingmaker’ MacMardan’s plans into the ground same as he has done to innocents in the name of Northmen with my beloved’s dowry.
” He glanced up at Sir Brayden in the cell across the tunnel. “What say you, Sir Brayden?”
“Simply tell me where to place the roasting spit,” Brayden replied earnestly.
Slam! All fell silent when the doorway at the tunnel’s end burst wide.
“The final cell beside Sir Brayden,” a guard called out from the unseen entry.
“Throw him in there. Keep the lad’s hammer close.
The other complacent smiths will be in the stables to rest like always.
I shall be but a moment for the second task.
” Through the torch shadows appeared the same smith he and Nella had spied from afar when entering the bailey earlier.
Young. The lad was even younger up close.
It was the stout full frame which must have made him appear older earlier. Maybe a score and six years old.
“You best never try another bold tactic like that again, Kameron, lest the butcher take your hands,” the pig-nosed guard threatened, shoving the lad into the cell beside Sir Brayden and locking the door.
The lad ran his hand through his copper hair while he spit at the guard’s feet through the bars. “False threats,” Kameron retorted. “My work is twice the pace of the other two together and the quality of my blades are superior, you pile of horse shite.”
A low hiss sounded from the guard while he stepped toward the cell, lifting the keys, preparing to unlock it. He was going to beat the piss out of the lad.
“Leave him be!” Callum called out. “He is simply a lad. You bruise a lad, it only shows poorly upon your merit as a warrior. We would not wish for you to appear the dimwit you are, now, would we?”
The guard paused while glaring at him. “Sir Callum, make certain your tongue stays sharp, as it will be the only weapon in your grasp. I shall return in but a moment.” The guard took a step then glanced back at Callum.
“Do not venture anywhere.” A cruel laugh aired from him at his own dry jest while he disappeared. Arsehole.
The lad’s chin raised. “The effort is appreciated, but I do not need a nursemaid, old knight.”
“Old?” Callum’s brow raised. “Pray tell, what is your year count?”
“Ten and six. You?”
“A score and four.”
“Aye, old.”
“He would never hold the title of gestr,” Holger mumbled under his breath. “Arrogant ‘wee’ shit.”
“’Tis better than my face lookin’ like red shite, friend.”
“Cares for the word ‘shite’, does he not?” Brayden leapt into the conversation.
Callum looked at the youth and grinned.
“What are you smilin’ at, old knight?”
“Fire,” Callum replied. “You have an anger hot as the forge you work upon. This is a brilliant find for the purpose which lay ahead.”
“The only ‘purpose’ which lay ahead is me findin’ my way out of this shite keep and helpin’ my kin.”
“What is your clan?” Callum questioned.
“MacKurryn.” As suspected, one of the missing smiths.
“You are the lad of a croft tenant who is a sheep herder far north of here?”
The green eyes narrowed. “Aye, the shite, Lord MacMardan stole me from my kin. I tried to escape a fortnight past but got caught and was told he burnt my kin’s croft buildings to the ground as punishment for my behavior. I do not know if my kin are still alive.”
“They live,” Callum assured.
The lad gripped the bars. “You know of this how?”
“My betrothed saved them; your sire, mother, and wee brother are safe when I last saw them.”
The tense shoulders lowered. “I am Kameron MacKurryn, finest smith’s apprentice in all the Highlands and fiercest with a hammer – any hammer.”
“Hammer? Well, perhaps he would make a gestr yet, Lord Kolson,” Brayden quipped.
“You are Sir Callum?” Kameron questioned.
“I am.”
“There is a knight who is the royal guard’s captain of the same title.” Kameron leaned forward.
“There is.” Callum nodded.
“You be him?” Kameron’s eyes doubled.
“Aye.”
Whoop! Kameron yelped. “My lass is never goin’ to believe I was near such a fancy knight as you! Is this one with the red shite face a knight in King Alexander’s court as well?”
“No, ‘wee’ shit,” Holger retorted. “I am Lord Holger ‘the hammer’ Kolson, a gestr for the King of Norway.”
“Jester?”
Brayden’s low chuckle aired before he bit his lip. “Gestr,” Holger snarled. “It means one who gathers information on enemies for the slay. Same as my Viking ancestors.” The lad blanched slightly even in the dim torchlight.
“The Scotsman in the cell beside you is Sir Brayden.” Callum raised his hand through the bars toward the friend.
“Pleasure,” Brayden said.
“You a knight in King Alexander’s court too?”
“Aye.”
Kameron extended his hand through the bars for a shake with Sir Brayden.
Squeak! The rats ran when the entry doorway re-opened, throwing more light on the grizzled surroundings.
“Be mindful of him!” a voice warned from the far. “Naw, hold a moment. Let me gather the others, then we take it.” Take what?
His fingers ran over the chainmail tunic.
This. This was the opportunity. How to best proceed?
Hmm. Try to take all the guards who appear?
The silhouettes from seven bodies darkened the floor by the torchlight from behind them in the entry.
Seven against one? Nope. Yet, there was the guard again who had two daggers on his scabbard. A dark inward grin took root.
“Sir Callum,” Double Dagger summoned, “remove the tunic then place it through the bars.”
“Seven.”
“Seven?”
“Aye,” Callum taunted, “seven armed warriors against one unarmed knight. You are either weak, dimwitted, or envious.”
“Try mean, ruthless, or menacing,” Double Dagger countered. “Give me the tunic. If I have to step into that cell you will not care for the consequence.”
Callum raised his voice, imitating the guard. “You will not care for the consequence. Hell, you sound the same as my sire when I was caught sneaking an extra cup of ale. I challenge your consequence and raise you… Let me see.” Callum tapped his chin. “Nae tunic, arsehole.”
The guard cussed something in Gaelic under his breath. He looked at those behind him. “Hold the line.”
“Aye, warriors,” Callum ordered in a deep tone, “hold the line! Do not let one unarmed knight pass your seven swords. I really must say, if this is the finest steel coin may purchase, the quality truly is dirt.” Double Dagger’s face was a crimson shade. Perfect!
The key shoved into the lock before the door swung wide with the guard ripping him forward by his mantle into the passageway. Two sets of hands tore the tunic over his head. A solid fist hit his ribs. Shite, that hurt! He began doubling over before… Was that a knee? Ah, hell, right in the gut!
“Truly honor bound!” Sir Brayden yelled at the guards.
“Piles of swine shite!” There was the wee lad.
“Cowards, the lot of you!” Holger roared like a Viking horn.
Cough. Cough. Double Dagger grabbed Callum’s shoulder as the captain of the royal guard slumped over the guard’s torso.
Where? Where was the damn dagger? His fingers ran like a wisp in a breeze over the guard’s scabbard.
There. Take it! Removing the blade with a touch same as a phantom, Callum tucked the blade near his waist like he was clutching his stomach from pain.
Well, it did hurt same as if a dragon lashed him in the gut with its tail.
Slam! The door secured, Double Dagger taunted. “Captain of the Royal Guards? Ha!” The seven chuckled with their voices growing more distant before silence and rats scurrying stole the surroundings.
“’Twas a noble effort to keep the tunic. Broken rib?” Holger inquired.
“Possibly.” Callum spat the word out with blood on the floor. “Sir Brayden?”
“Aye, my captain?” Brayden only called him this when he respected him most.
“Sir Brayden, you recall at Stirling, the very first task I demand to all the men-at-arms who stand on guard duty at the tunnel?” Callum rose up, staring at the fellow knight across.
Brayden grinned. “Check that your weapons are present before you take your leave.”
Callum raised the dagger he’d lifted off the guard who dragged him into this cell. “You were being a shite on purpose!” Kameron gasped.
“Aye.” Callum’s nodded. “I needed to anger the guard, create a distraction, then hang on to the guard who dragged me in here for the ruse to work.”
Holger snorted. “Impressive; however, one dagger against a full guard who will be armed and alert upon their return? Slim chance at success.”
Callum shook his head. “Who stated there would be either forthwith?”
Holger looked at him, puzzled. “Then do tell, Scotsman.”
“Well, Northman, before I declare all, I must question you.” Holger lifted the brow above his good eye. “Will you seek any means for the treaty’s success? A time of peace between our two kingdoms?”
“For certain. King Magnus is the Kingdom of Norway’s future; he shall create a fresh dawn for my countrymen. One which I do not seek muddied by Lord MacMardan’s greedy choice for a new king. Nor Sir – pardon, ‘King’ James of the Isles as a new monarch to release further chaos for my countrymen.”
“Then take heart.” Callum nodded at Brayden before the dagger sailed across the passageway, landing with a clank into Brayden’s cell. “Sir Brayden is a master at picking locks, and we are about to unleash fury upon the warriors in this keep.”