Chapter 20
Leaving Molly was oneof the hardest things Conall had ever had to do. Tearing himself away from the warmth of her skin, the softness of the bed, the sated contentment that filled every muscle in his body, felt like slow torture.
But he had no choice. His mission still ate at him, and if he was going to speak to his father like he’d promised Molly, then time was of the essence. So he reluctantly climbed off the bed and dressed, then gave her a long, lingering kiss before forcing himself to leave.
Outside, in the corridor, he paused for a minute. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. Then he strode purposely towards the heart of the keep.
It was late and the servants had lit the torches fixed in brackets along the walls. The passages and halls were filled with flickering torchlight as he made his way towards his father’s private study. Unless the old man had changed the habits of a lifetime, he knew this was where he would find his father at this time of night.
His thoughts raced as he walked. Could Molly be right? Could he have been misjudging both his father and stepmother for all these years? Could it be possible that he was wrong about what his father was involved in, what he’d seen at the warehouse?
Anything was possible, of course. His years serving with the Order of the Osprey had taught him that. But this? Just a few short weeks ago if anyone had suggested such a thing, he would have laughed, and yet here he was. Because of Molly. She challenged him in ways he’d never experienced, made him think differently, feel differently.
He reached the door to his father’s study and knocked. There was no answer although he could see candlelight spilling under the door. He knocked again. Still no answer. He turned and spotted a serving man coming down the passage carrying fresh linen in both arms.
“Have ye seen Earl Sinclair?” he said to the man. “Do ye know where I might find him? He doesnae seem to be in his study.”
“He was there a few moments ago,” the man replied. “I took him a warm dram of whisky like I do every night. Perhaps he’s just gone to the privy. I’m sure he’ll be back soon and I’m sure he wouldnae mind if ye waited inside, my lord.”
Oh, yes he would. There was nothing more likely to annoy his father than to find Conall sitting in his study.
“That’s all right,” Conall replied. “I’ll wait here.”
The serving man nodded and walked off, leaving Conall standing in the corridor outside his father’s door like some supplicant. He paced up and down, waiting, but his father did not appear. He ground his teeth, his patience slipping. This was ridiculous. He should come back another time.
He took a step to return to his room—and to Molly—when he heard voices coming from the end of the passage, past the door to his father’s study. He walked in that direction, thinking it must be his father returning. But when he reached the end of the passage, there was nobody in sight, just a door that stood slightly ajar.
He started in surprise. When he was a child, this door had always been locked. As far as he knew, the only key was kept in his father’s pocket. He pulled the door open and stuck his head through. Beyond, he found a narrow stairwell that spiraled down into gloom. Voices echoed up the stairwell from below. They were too low for him to make out words but he thought he recognized his father’s voice.
He hesitated, then stole down the steps silently, his soft boots making no sound on the worn stone. The steps circled tightly downwards, with other landings and doors at intervals to give access to other parts of the keep. The staircase was clearly intended for the earl’s private use, allowing him to come and go about the castle without being seen.
The voices grew steadily louder the further he went. Yes, that was definitely his father’s voice and now he could hear his stepmother too.
He slowed as he neared the bottom. The staircase abruptly came to an end and gave out onto a flagstone floor that was rough with age and use. Conall hunkered down several steps up from the end of the staircase, where the turn of the shaft would keep him in the shadows, and surveyed the scene below him.
He could make out a wide, low-ceilinged chamber help up by vaulted columns of thick stone. Through the middle of the chamber, cutting through the cobblestone floor, was a deep channel filled with water, like a canal. The channel was closed at either end by stout wooden doors crusted with seaweed and barnacles.
The water gate! He was inside the water gate beneath the castle!
Even though he’d grown up in this castle, this was a part of it he’d never seen. He’d lost count of how many times he and his friends had tried to sneak in here, either through the water gate itself or else finding a way down from the castle, but they’d never managed it. His father’s guards had always politely but firmly turned him away.
But now here he was. He could see his father and stepmother standing by the canal, staring anxiously at the water gate. His stepmother’s expression was drawn and a little haggard, his father’s face was contorted in an ugly frown of determination. It looked as though they were waiting for something.
