“’Tis darker round the far side where the opening has been fixed.”
Possibly. Or a stout band of guards could be waiting there to fall upon them.
Ardahl thought he heard Cathair whisper, “Madness.”
Aye, so it was, and Ardahl supposed Cathair wanted to live, just as he did.
Granan walked off, taking his time with it. As Ardahl watched him, his skin crawled. If it was a trap, they would let Granan through. The next man to go—
Dornach swept both him and Cathair with a glance. Touched Ardahl on the shoulder. “Ye next.”
His stomach tightened and nearly heaved. He’d long since ceased being this frightened when he entered battle. This was no ordinary battle.
He drew his sword, had it in his hand, hidden beneath his cloak, when he stepped out from cover.
The light washed over him. A torch flared somewhere close by. There must be a warriors’ meeting place not far off—he could hear the men laughing and joking. Was that why the lad’s prison had been set here?
Around the side of the hut, it was indeed darker. Granan waited for him there and already had a section of the wattle wall set aside.
“In,” he told Ardahl. “In.”
Ardahl had to get down on all fours and crawl, a poor position to be in if enemy warriors, rather than a young prisoner, waited beyond.
Dim light greeted him—surely no more than a rush light. He sprang to his feet to find a slim youth staring at him with wide eyes.
Dressed only in a kilt and tunic with bare feet, he had fair hair and looked twice as frightened as Ardahl felt.
Just the lad. No sign of any guard, though Ardahl knew very well they must be stationed outside the door that he could see behind the boy.
“Donen?” Granan came through the wall behind Ardahl. “’Tis a rescue. Come. Hush!”
The lad’s lips parted. No sound came. Granan leaped forward and dragged him to the wall.
Ardahl turned back, his sword at the ready. No sound from outside the door.
But he could hear Donen whispering a question, and Dornach’s voice. Making too much noise. Any guards out front would hear.
A scraping at the outside of the door told Ardahl the bar had been lifted. He dove for the hole in the wattle, scrambled to his feet even as Cathair pulled the lad away and Granan replaced the section of wall.
“Go.Go!”
Men poured around both sides of the hut. Armed men.
The group of five ran, Cathair and his charge in the lead followed by Dornach, who, at his age, did not run so well, then Granan, and Ardahl bringing up the rear. Even as the thought occurred to Ardahl that he should stop and fight, Granan turned and ran at the guards, howling.
It gave the rest of them time to reach the trees. And convinced Ardahl that, aye, Granan’s heart had been true.
He heard Dacha’s guards cut Granan down, though he could not spare a glance for it. His group reached the trees and paused.
“Ye go on,” Ardahl said to his companions. “Get the lad away. I will hold back as many as I can.”Before I die.
Aye, so, he was to die here after all. Here with Conall’s sword in his hand.
Liadan, I will find ye. If no’ in this life, then in the next.
Chapter Forty-Eight
When morning cameand Ardahl did not return from guard duty, Liadan had to begin making excuses. She had several ready—that Ardahl must have gone to another meeting with Fearghal. That he’d been waylaid by Dornach.
