Chapter 4 #2
“The tide may turn before we return.”
“There is nae kenning whether the inner door remains passable.”
“Then ye may remain here and debate until Cormac appoints himself King of Scotland,” she offered, folding her arms across her chest.
A MacIver warrior coughed into his fist, clearly hiding what could be amusement.
Beathan flushed. Donaldina looked to Roy.
He remained silent, his gray eyes fixed on her with that same intense stare from earlier in the hall, as if he was not just hearing her words but the certainty beneath them. “How far?” he asked.
She pointed along the coast. “Less than half a mile.”
“How narrow is the passage?”
“At points, scarcely wide enough for one man.”
“Where does it open?”
“Behind the grain stores, unless the inner wall has been altered.”
Roy nodded once. “We go that way.”
Beathan stared at him. “Ye would trust a childhood memory with the lives of every man here?”
Roy did not look away from Donaldina. “Aye.”
The answer came without hesitation. It struck her with peculiar force.
All morning, men had spoken of her as though grief had made her witless, as though her blood gave them the right to decide her future but not to hear her judgment.
Cormac dragged her from her brother’s funeral because he believed resistance proved she required force.
Roy MacIver, who scarcely knew her, believed her after one sentence.
Donaldina looked away first. “Then we must move before the tide turns.”
They left the road and descended toward the shore. The path was steep, little more than a goat track worn into the cliffside. Rain turned the earth to mud. Donaldina gathered her skirts in one hand and used the other to steady herself against the rock.
Roy stayed close behind her. She was keenly aware of him with every step. When the ground gave way beneath her boot, his hand rushed to her waist before she could fall. It stayed only long enough to restore her balance, yet warmth lingered through her gown after he withdrew it.
The air changed as they reached the shore. It tasted of salt and iron, and the waves struck close enough to throw cold spray against her cheeks. The rocks were black and shining, crowded with limpets and ribbons of dark weed.
Behind them, the men descended in a broken line. Dun Ard towered above, its walls rising directly from the cliff. From this angle, the stronghold appeared impregnable. Donaldina understood the councilors’ doubt.
“This way.”
She led them across the exposed shelf. The sea had not withdrawn as far as she hoped. Water rushed around their boots, filling the hollows between the rocks. At the far end of the shelf, the cliff curved inward.
There.
A tumble of stone and weed concealed a narrow black opening scarcely distinguishable from shadow.
Donaldina stopped before it. For an instant, memory and the present overlaid one another.
She saw Lachlan at seventeen, too broad for the passage even then, grinning as he held a lantern aloft and warned her not to tell their father.
She heard herself swear secrecy with the solemnity only a child could grant to disobedience.
Grief rose so sharply that she pressed her lips together.
Roy came beside her. “Is this it?”
She nodded. One of the men lit a lantern, shielding the flame beneath his cloak.
Donaldina took it before anyone could object and crouched beneath the rock.
Cold darkness closed around her. The passage smelled of wet earth, salt and old stone.
Water ran in thin streams beneath her boots.
The ceiling lowered almost at once, forcing her to bend, while the walls pressed close enough to catch at her sleeves.
The others followed one at a time, their boots scraping rock, their armor making small metallic sounds that seemed unnaturally loud beneath the earth.
Donaldina lifted the lantern, revealing the tunnel. Roots had penetrated parts of the ceiling, and fallen stones made the path narrower, but the old route continued upward beneath Dun Ard.
At one tight turn, the passage constricted until her shoulders nearly brushed both sides. The flame trembled. Donaldina lifted the lantern higher. Ahead, a wooden door stood embedded in the stone.
Her heart struck hard against her ribs. She hurried the final steps and pressed her palm against it. The wood resisted. For one dreadful instant, she thought it had been barred from within. Then Roy came beside her. In the narrow passage, his shoulder touched hers.
“Together,” he said.
They pushed. The door groaned. Dust fell from the lintel. Somewhere beyond it, something scraped across the floor.
Donaldina set her feet and pushed harder. With a sudden crack, the door opened inward. Cool, grain-scented air rushed toward them. Beyond lay the lower stores of Dun Ard, dim and silent, with sacks piled beneath the rafters and no guard in sight.
Donaldina crossed the threshold, finally inside. A wave of relief overwhelmed her, almost making her laugh. Instead, she looked toward Roy as he came out of the passage. He looked at the storeroom, then at her.
“Ye remembered correctly,” he said.
Donaldina raised the lantern between them. “I generally dae.”
“A useful quality.”
“Particularly when surrounded by men who doubt it.”
His gaze shifted toward the councilors climbing from the tunnel behind him.
“Aye,” he said. “I imagine they may learn.”
The words were simple, but something warm and dangerous unfolded beneath her ribs. Donaldina turned away before he could see it.
Above them, faint through beams and stone, came the sound of boots moving through the corridors of her home. Cormac believed her shut outside. He believed Dun Ard belonged to those willing to defend it.
Donaldina tightened her hand around the lantern.
At last, they agreed upon something.