Chapter 12 #2
“So, then, why should a free slave druid desire to ingratiate himself with our females?” As he snorted the chief frowned. “I ken you dinnae care for the healer, but thanks to the cluet she’s ours—and your brother’s.”
“She’s more trouble than that druid lad.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and quickly added, “These females ever demand special attention, and distract us from our mission.”
“Lady Lucy’s mostly kept our lord calm, and the skies clear,” Lochran reminded him. “As for the healer, she shall prove invaluable keeping our vassals healthy.”
That annoyed him, probably because it was the truth. “They dinnae belong in our time. We need discover the manner with which we may send them back to their future.”
The chief eyed him. “Much luck with convincing the laird and your twin of that. Fair night, Seneschal.”
“And you, Night Watch.” He continued on his way as if to circle behind the stronghold, but once Lochran disappeared from view he changed direction and went directly to an old side gate that had been blocked off years ago.
Much planning and careful work on Sgathan’s part had gone into creating a way in and out of the stronghold that only he knew.
At first he’d had to create blinds to cover his efforts from the watchers on the walls and passing patrollers before he could begin removing the stone and wood that had been used to fill in the old gatehouse opening once the portcullis had been relocated.
He’d then installed doors of wood with the removed rubble attached to the outside to disguise the open gate.
He’d then dug out tunnels from the disguised gate leading into the forest and under the inner wall, with entrances hidden by a thick layer of brush on one side and the floor of the granary on the other.
Finally, to secure the new gate against trespassers, he’d added some spell stones on both sides enchanted to permit only him to pass through the hidden opening.
If anyone or anything else attempted to cross the threshold the intruder would be hurled back into the forest. Making the secret gate went against everything he’d sworn as a member of the clan, of course, and flaunted the laird’s authority over him.
Sgathan knew it was wrong, and if ever discovered, he would have to leave Gealladh rather than reveal the reason.
As blood kin Tair and his brothers deserved better from him, as did Dorchad.
Yet despite his affection and ties to them, he could never tell them the truth.
They should slay me at once, and despite all, I yet wish to live.
Passing through the gate without notice took a few minutes of waiting, timed to the circuit of the patrols and the shifting of the wall watchers so he could approach the concealed door above the tunnels.
Sgathan had enjoyed the ability to move in complete silence since he could walk, and often employed it during the nights when he couldn’t bear to spend another moment trapped in the stronghold.
It took all his self-discipline to return and take up his role as seneschal, for he despised it and all he had to do to rule over the household.
Yet it gave him a ready excuse not to leave the island.
Here at least I’ve a chance to live with my secret.
Once he’d walked through the narrow tunnel under the inner wall, he emerged into the granary, and picked up a sack of oats before stepping outside.
The watchers could not see that side of the out building, and anyone spotting him from the stronghold would believe he’d just fetched some grain for Ronan.
He would claim the same if asked. The many, carefully constructed lies he told often sickened him, for he grew weary of never speaking with truth. Yet what choice did he have?
Once inside the stronghold he carried the oats to the dry pantry, and added it to the large pile of grain sacks already there. The nerves along his spine suddenly prickled, and he drew his dagger as he turned around to face the hulking figure coming up behind him.
“Seneschal.” Beinn MacRune, his giant body encased in furs, bowed his head.
“I thought you Cook. I didnae eat enough at the evening meal, so I reckoned…” He darted a look on either side of the passage before he whispered, “I reckoned I’d nibble on the last of the apple tarts. Do you ken where Ronan hid them?”
Aware that the big man had a notorious sweet tooth, he pointed toward the other end of the hall. “In the larder, behind the milk bins.” As Beinn grinned he added, “Dinnae eat them all, for you ken how too much fruit sends you to spend the night in the privy.”
“Aye, Seneschal.” The guard skipped off like a happy lad.