Chapter 26 #2
Now, Elsea unlocked the gate as quietly as possible, then slipped toward the wood. Faint moonlight through the clouds reflected off the light layer of snow. She found Freya grazing on whatever grass she could find.
Elsea placed her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself into the saddle.
Though she often used a block for mounting, she didn't need one.
Her legs were strong from all the galloping and physical activity.
She wore her specially designed lined wool trews so she could comfortably ride astride and stay warm.
Her leather gloves kept her hands warm while she held the bridle.
She permitted the horse to walk calmly so that no hoofbeats would echo back to the guard on the ramparts.
After she was out of earshot, she urged the horse into a trot and then a gallop for a short distance. She didn't want to exhaust Freya, but she did want to arrive quickly.
Thankfully, no one was about in this snow and wind. An hour or two later, she approached Glenhaish.
She had ridden past this castle a few times over the years, never knowing who it belonged to. No one had lived there, that she was aware of.
The scent of wood smoke told her someone was in residence now.
She slowed Freya as she neared the sprawling derelict castle. She didn't want guards to hear the hoofbeats. Hopefully, the icy wind that whistled through the pine needles would help cover any sounds.
She was glad she'd worn several layers of her warmest wool.
Near a stand of small trees and bushes, she dismounted and led her horse into the trees.
"Stay here, Freya," she whispered. "I'll be back soon."
Withdrawing her sword, Elsea slipped forward and peered from behind the bushes. All remained dark and still at the closed portcullis. Were any guards posted outside? None were visible.
Trying to stay out of sight, she slipped toward the curtain wall.
In the past, she'd seen that the wall toward the back near the loch was broken down and in shambles.
She crept along the wall, keeping her clothing away from the prickly gorse bushes.
When she emerged below the castle, the loch came into view, dim light from the half-concealed moon reflecting off it.
At the back, she located the gaping hole in the wall and climbed over a section of stone masonry to reach the bailey.
In this cold, no one stood guard outside that she could see. She hid and waited, listening. No sounds except the wind gusting through the tree branches. A flickering torch burned by the entrance to the keep, and another one farther along.
Would the guards notice if she removed one? She would wait until she needed it.
If they had brought the female selkies here, had they imprisoned them in the dungeon or in the upper part of the castle? Good heavens, if they were in the dungeon they might well freeze to death. She must hurry.
Creeping across the snow-covered, slippery cobblestones, she edged past the entrance toward the second torch, then followed steps leading down to a closed door. The torch lit the area well enough for her to see. A large padlock secured the door. Why would they lock this if no one was inside?
She sheathed her sword, then chose her thinnest blade from the sheath beneath her arm, as she had done back at Dunrhyne, and slid the tip into the warded lock. It clicked and scraped faintly as she wriggled and manipulated it.
After a few twists and turns, the lock snapped open. With a surge of triumph, she put the padlock into her pouch so that no one could lock it behind her when she went inside. Heart thudding hard, she inched the door open, praying it wouldn't screech. 'Twas pitch black inside. She needed light.
After retracing her steps, she stood on her toes, reached up and extracted the torch from the metal bracket on the stone wall. She prayed no one would notice its absence. Holding the flame aloft, the heat off it warming her face, she rushed back to the dungeon door and descended the stone steps.
She turned a corner. In the narrow corridor, she peered into the first cell. Naught but darkness.
"Is anyone here?" she whispered.
In the second cell, the light glistened off shiny black hair. The selkie females huddled together in the back corner, peering at her, their wide blue eyes shimmering like watery stars.
"Thank the saints," Elsea hissed. She pulled at the bars, but the cell door was locked. She laid the flaming torch down on the stone floor and pulled out her sgian achlais again.
"I'm here to help. I met several in your tribe," Elsea whispered in Gaelic, hoping they could understand her. "Chief Scarth and Lady Una. Arabella and others. Chief Brodie is... my friend."
Some of the females smiled and whispered excitedly.
After a few moments of manipulating the lock, Elsea had the cell door open. "Shh, remain quiet," she whispered. "Are you well?"
Some of them nodded. One whispered in Old Gaelic and tugged her toward another cell.
"Good heavens. More?" How many? Not taking time to count, she picked the lock and opened the door of iron bars. She checked the other cells, finding no more.
"We must be quiet and slip out carefully," Elsea whispered.
The women nodded their understanding. They wore moth-eaten, cast-off plaids and arisaids, which were wrapped around the body and tied with strings or strips of cloth. Their feet were bare.
"Saints! Your feet will freeze off out there."
A couple of them shook their heads. "Nay. Warm."
"Selkie," another said.
"I ken you're selkies. 'Tis why I'm here. To free you. My name is Elsea, by the way."
A few of them dipped their heads as if nodding their thanks, then whispered her name.
"Let's hurry." Carrying the torch, Elsea unsheathed the foot long dirk from her belt and led the way up the steps. At the top, she returned the torch to the bracket so the men wouldn't suspect anything.
Elsea reached the bailey, the women following her, and the chill wind blew her cowl back. "This way," she kept her voice low.
She snatched the cowl back over her light-colored hair and raced toward the gaping hole in the wall.