Highlander's Sword (30 page)

   MacLaren followed Graham back to his solar. Within the inner ward was a churning sea of people, mostly burghers from the town, trying to figure out what to do. Men shouted, children cried, dogs barked, chickens squawked; it was quite a din. In the center of it all, Pitcairn stood, trying to organize the mob. MacLaren did not envy him his responsi bilities. Pitcairn had been most distressed to learn Aila, Dundaff's chatelaine, would not be here to help him sort out this mess.

   It was a waiting game now. The French would decide how and when to attack the castle. If luck was on their side, tomorrow might bring word of the Campbells joining their cause. They did have one thing in their favor when it came to a siege—a way out.

   "Laird Graham," said MacLaren when they were back alone in his solar. "About the passage we spoke of, the one Aila has used to get in and out o' the castle."

   "Aye, I ken what yer thinking. I checked the passage myself. The entrance was concealed by a false door, and the iron gate in the passage was locked."

   "We still dinna ken who has betrayed us, and now it seems we are locked in Dundaff along wi' the traitor. Is it possible anyone else knows o' that passage? If our enemy learns o' it…"

   "I ken yer meaning—'twould be a massacre. As far as I ken, Aila is now the only one who knows about the passage. It has been a secret handed down from father to son for several generations. 'Twas built as a defense against siege and then blocked in my father's time when a siege seemed unlikely. I told my son o' it. I ne'er expected him to clear it and use it, though we may be indebted to him now."

   "What o' this other lad, the one Aila said her brother used to ride wi'? Might he have told anyone?"

   "Pitcairn's son? A rumor o' a secret passage would be hard to hold. If it was shared, I'd have heard o' it by now."

   MacLaren nodded.

   "Still, I've sent guards to the stables and told them

keep an eye on the horses and anything else that looks suspicious."

   "Stables? Is that where the passage leads? Is that no' where someone tried to kill the stable master?"

   "I still say Fergus's fall was an accident."

   "But what if Aila was right and someone attempted to murder him? Maybe the stable master had seen too much."

   "I'll send more guards," said Graham quietly.

It was dark, and Aila had lost her escort by the time she made it back to the Braes of Balquidder. Chaumont, Lady Patrick, and her son had built a fire and were waiting for Aila at the top of the peak. Hasty introduc tions were made, and Aila was grateful to take a rest from riding. Chaumont was overjoyed to see her and learn her news that the Campbells would be joining the fight. Part of his exuberance may have been due to his reprieve from having to face MacLaren's wrath.

   After a brief rest, the group mounted again. Mary rode behind Chaumont, and Aila took up Gavin. Chaumont led them down the path by the light of the moon, arriving at the convent late at night. Aila was exhausted. All she wanted was to rest. A soft feather bed would be nice. A pallet would be acceptable. The hard ground would do.

   An elderly nun bid them welcome and offered hospitality. The bedraggled little group stood in the courtyard to say goodbye to Chaumont, who would continue on to Dundaff. Assuming McNab's forces would have the castle surrounded, Aila explained to Chaumont how to find the secret passage and gain entrance to the fortress. It was well hidden, so she tried to be careful in her description. A clear night and a bright moon would aid him in his task. She handed Chaumont the key to the iron gate and gave him the unnecessary reminder to make sure it was kept locked.

   Though she was half asleep, Aila could not help but notice the looks Chaumont and Mary were giving each other. They hardly looked at anything else. Aila decided to take the very tired Gavin to find accommo dations and give her two new friends a chance to talk.

   "Thank you for leaving your land," Chaumont said quietly to Mary when they were alone with only the stars to bear witness. "I understand how difficult that must be for you. I promise, as soon as we deal with McNab and the Golden Knight, I will personally rebuild your barn and put a roof back on the house."

   Mary looked up at him in the moonlight. "I've been stubborn about no' leaving. Ye were right to bring us here."

   "A Scot stubborn? Never!" Chaumont smiled, and Mary laughed. Somehow they were drawing near to each other again. Chaumont reached out to take her hands.

   "I must go," he said without moving.

   "Aye."

   "'Tis most urgent I return."

   "Aye," Mary said again. Still, neither moved. Mary was bathed in the silvery moonlight. He could look upon that face forever. What he could not do was get his legs to move.

"Do be careful," Mary whispered.

   Chaumont said nothing but leaned closer until his lips almost touched hers.

   "I'll light a candle for ye," Mary said, turning her face away.

   Chaumont straightened, rasping out a feeble, "Thank you."

   Mary took a step toward the main building, then turned back, and, reaching up to hold his face with both hands, kissed him square on the mouth. "For luck," she explained breathlessly.

   He gathered her close in his arms, kissing one cheek and then the other. "'Tis a dangerous task before me. I'm going to need a lot of luck." He kissed her gently. Then he kissed her thoroughly. When finally their lips broke, he felt a little dazed. He drew her close and stroked her hair, experiencing strange feelings for the first time. He had kissed many a pretty mademoiselle, but he had never felt anything like the way he felt when he was with her. She was special.

   She
was
special. She was MacLaren's cousin by marriage. What did he think he was doing? The cold night air crept through the chinks in his armor and chilled him to the bone. He was naught but a landless knight, a bastard by birth. He had nothing to give her, not even a name. MacLaren would kill him for trifling with his kinswoman. Chaumont dropped his arms from her. Her smile faded, looking into his troubled face.

   "I apologize. I forget myself, my lady."

   Mary swallowed. Silence gripped them, and they stood awkwardly in the courtyard.

   "I must away," Chaumont spoke. He felt some thing heavy in his chest.

   Mary nodded. "
Bonne chance
," she whispered. She turned and walked into the convent without looking back.

   Chaumont knew he had hurt her, but what else could he do? He would never be good enough for her. MacLaren would never allow their marriage.

   
Marriage?

   He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. What was he thinking? He needed to get back to the siege. He had never tried to sneak
into
a besieged castle. With any luck, he would find an opportunity to die bravely and thus end this painful feeling that gripped him. With a flash of insight, he remembered MacLaren's heartbreak in France and regretted his mockery… well, some of it at least. Saints above, but this hurt.

GRAHAM LAY ON HIS BED, FAR FROM SLEEP. HE wrestled with the question of who had betrayed him. He knew now his betrayer was one of the men who had accompanied MacLaren to retrieve Aila. But who? All seemed loyal. A few days ago, he would have bet his life all these men, his men, were true. Come to think of it, he had bet his life. Now he was trapped in this castle along with the traitor. Was this all part of the plan, or had events surprised the traitor as well? He had to stay one move ahead, but felt he was playing in the dark. They had tried to take McNab by stealth, but that had not gone according to plan. Why were all those Frenchies outside his gates, and why did they want MacLaren dead?

   Many questions. No answers. He had hoped the traitor would make a mistake, revealing his identity, but so far, Graham knew no more than the day before, except now he was under siege. The situation was not heading in a good direction. Graham growled in the dark, going over all the pieces of information again. With soldiers camped at his doorstep, it was imperative the existence and location of the secret tunnel remain a secret. Graham remembered MacLaren's words. Was it possible the stable master was attacked because of what he saw?

   Before he knew what he was doing, Graham was tugging on his trews, tunic, and boots. He had guards at the stables, but he could not shake the feeling some thing was amiss. He was the laird; he was responsible for the lives of everyone within his walls. He limped to the door, paused a moment, and returned for his sword, slinging the heavy claymore over his shoulder.

   Graham frowned when he reached the main entrance to the stables. The two guards were not there. Graham looked around, but all was quiet. His men on the wall walk were double posted and keeping watch, their gaze mostly outside at the camping soldiers around them. Graham walked into the stables and was somewhat relieved to hear men's voices down the corridor. He could not hear exactly what was being said, but the sound was of amiable chatter. Graham relaxed. The soldiers were probably doing rounds, checking the inside of the stable. He followed the voices inside, limping in the direction of the faint glow of lamplight.

   As he approached, the friendly banter suddenly stopped. There were several muffled sounds, a few thuds, and then silence. Graham drew his claymore and hurried forward as fast as his injured leg would allow. He was at the end of stable, before the stall holding the secret to the outside passage. Graham tripped over something. It was the body of one of the guards. Inside the false stall was the other. The back of the stall was open. A man stood within the cave silhouetted in the light of a lantern, attempting to open the lock. Graham's heart pounded. If that gate was opened, the castle would be taken, its occupants murdered in their sleep.

   He tried to creep softly over the sandy floor of the cave, but he was a big man, and the days of being light on his feet were long past. The man suddenly turned from his work, sword in hand. With a battle cry loud enough to wake his ancestors, Graham ran forward. His blade clashed against the steel of his opponent— Pitcairn the steward.

   "Pitcairn?" Graham gasped, drawing back a step but holding his sword at the ready. "Ye whoreson! Ye would betray yer own clan to the enemy?"

   Pitcairn glared at Graham coolly. Though Pitcairn had never been renowned as a fighter, he had the advantage of being able-bodied and dressed in elegant armor. He held his sword at the ready, the blood of the guards still on the blade.

   "I would do anything to get what I want," Pitcairn replied without emotion.

   "And what is that?" Graham growled.

   "Why to be Laird of Dundaff o' course."

   "Ye? Laird o' Dundaff? Ye be nothing but a merchant's son. After all I've given to ye, ye would betray me?"

   Pitcairn circled Graham, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The old laird struggled to keep his opponent in front of him. "Ye ne'er gave me a thing—I took it. Ye think the previous steward's death was truly an accident?" Pitcairn sneered in cold disdain.

   Graham's eyes went wide with shock, and Pitcairn used the opportunity, swinging his blade low at Graham's uninjured leg. The slash caused another roar from Graham, who struck back, his mighty blade glancing off the mail at Pitcairn's shoulder. Pitcairn fell back but regained his feet with speed. The traitor smiled. Graham now, quite literally, had no good leg to stand on.

   "Why?" asked Graham between heavy breaths of exertion and pain. "Why would ye do this to yer own clan? Think on the lives ye will destroy. Have ye no honor?"

   "I am acting the way ye've taught me. Take what ye want. Is that no' how ye have always acted? Have ye e'er stopped to be concerned o' who ye hurt when ye found something ye wanted? Ye've taken from me, and now I'm going to take it back."

   "When have I e'er taken anything that was yers? I've done naught but give."

   "Selfish bastard, ye've done naught but take yer whole life." Pitcairn's face twisted into a sneer. "Moira should have been mine. She would have been mine. Do ye ken how hard I worked to gain enough coin to secure her betrothal? Do ye care?" Pitcairn screamed.

   "It was ye who she was betrothed to?"

   "Aye, 'til ye came down from on high to steal her from me. Just like ye took my boy."

   "Duncan's death was an accident. He died at the lists."

   "In service to ye. He died because o' ye."

   "Ye're mad," said Graham, more an observation than an insult.

   "Ye have taken everything from me," Pitcairn cried, attacking again, forcing Graham back. Both of his legs injured, Graham dropped to his knees.

   Pitcairn panted with exertion. "This is how I've always dreamed it should be. Me the master whilst ye beg for mercy. Go on now, beg, if no' for yerself then for yer daughter." Pitcairn charged again, Graham deflecting the attack valiantly from his knees.

   "What has Aila to do wi' this?" roared Graham.