Earl Sinclair’s face darkened as he regarded Conall. “Ye willnae defy me, boy. Not in my own house. I willnae let ye interfere with my plans. There is too much at stake.” He turned to his guards and barked an order. “Take them away! Confine them until I have time to deal with them!”
Molly gasped as two of Earl Sinclair’s guards grabbed her roughly by the arms. Four of them grabbed Conall and he fought like a wildcat.
“Take yer hands off her!” he bellowed. “Father! I told ye she is innocent! Punish me, but not her!”
“Innocent, is she?” Earl Sinclair replied. “Strange then that my foreman described her exactly and said she was caught snooping around whilst ye tried to distract my guards.”
“Damn ye!” Conall snarled as he fought his captors. “Let her go!”
Earl Sinclair only watched as she and Conall were dragged from the room. Molly glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Earl Sinclair’s for one brief moment. The expression on the lord’s face was one of white-faced anger, but there was something else there as well. It looked like...regret.
Then she was being dragged in one direction, Conall in the other, and all her struggles and yelling made no difference. Her captors had her firmly in their grasp, and she could only watch helplessly as Conall disappeared into the darkness.
***
CONALL SAT WITH HISback against the rough stones of the cell wall, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He stared straight ahead, through the bars that made up the door opposite, and at the guard sitting outside.
He didn’t know the man, but that was hardly surprising. He didn’t really know anything about his childhood home anymore. The guard was fat and unkempt, with a bushy beard and eyebrows to match, but Conall knew a fighter when he saw one. This man was a brawler, probably a street-tough that his father had hired to fill out the ranks of his men—men who would soon be put into the service of Leif Snarlsson.
Right now, the guard was sitting on a three-legged stool outside the cell, peeling an apple with his belt-knife and paying Conall no attention whatsoever. After all, what threat did Conall pose now he’d been thrown into this dank little room right at the bottom of the Pinnacle? Only the water gate lay below it and as a result, the cell was dark, damp, and smelt of rot.
He would have laughed if he could find the humor. What would his sword-brothers think of him now? He’d cocked up his mission in the most spectacular way possible. Not only had he alerted his father and his allies that the Order of the Osprey was onto them and thereby eliminated any chance they had of taking them by surprise, he’d gotten Molly into this mess along with him. Aye, he’d cocked it up all right, and guilt gnawed at his gut like a hungry rodent.
Ye are a pompous, arrogant fool,he chided himself.Always think ye know best, eh? Always so sure ye are right. And what has it brought ye? A cell in yer father’s keep for ye and god-alone-knows what for Molly.
His gut twisted at the thought. He had promised Molly he would fix this and fix it he would. Somehow. He no longer cared what happened to him, but he would be dead before he would let harm come to her. But there was little he could do to keep that promise while he was stuck down here in this hole.
Thrown into jail by his own father! He would have laughed if it wasn’t so pitiable.
So he sat in silence, watching the guard as he’d been doing for the past several hours. He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed since he’d been tossed in here but the guard had changed at least once and he’d been watching them diligently, studying their habits, as he’d been trained to do by the Order of the Osprey. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d been in a jail cell.
He cocked his head, listening as a distant sound caught his ears. Footsteps, and right on cue. His guard looked up too, chewing slowly on a slice of apple.
Conall heard a key in a lock and the creak of a door opening and knew the guard’s replacement had come to relieve him. To the right of Conall’s cell, slightly further along the dank corridor was a small guardroom that he’d been marched through on his way here. It was a place for the guards to take a bit of refreshment and to hang their cloaks and other equipment when they came on duty.
“Has he given ye any trouble?” a voice called from the guardroom.
“Nah,” the fat man replied, heaving his prodigious bulk up from the three-legged stool. “Quiet as a lamb. I dinna reckon Order fighters are as dangerous as they reckon.”
“Aye, well, I dinna think we want to find out,” came the reply. “Ye want some ale? I’ve brought enough for two.”
The fat man grinned. “Do ye really need to ask?”
He walked off down the corridor, out of Conall’s line of sight. For the first time since he’d been thrown in here, he was alone, and he wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. He scooted across the floor until he was sitting in front of the barred door. He could hear the two guards talking in the room next door, but couldn’t see them. Good. That meant they couldn’t see him either.
Grabbing the sleeve of his linen shirt with his left hand, he tore the stitching along the cuff, revealing the tiny, secret pocket that was sown there. Shaking his arm, several small metal implements fell out. Lock picks.
He inserted a pick into the lock and began to work it, feeling the tumblers shift inside the mechanism. He had done this countless times before, but never in his father’s keep. Conall had never thought he would have to use them in his own home.
After a few deft twists and turns, the lock clicked free. He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, careful to close it behind him quietly. He crept down the hallway, moving silently. Reaching the guardroom, he paused outside and listened. The guards were still laughing and chatting, and he could hear the sound of clinking mugs and sloshing liquid.
Conall pushed open the door, and the two guards inside jumped to their feet, reaching for their weapons. But before they could react, Conall was on them, his fists flying in a blur of motion. He knocked the fat guard down with a swift punch to the jaw and kicked the other in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain. Grabbing the second guard by the hair, he slammed his head onto the table, knocking him out cold.
As the fat man staggered to his knees, Conall grabbed him by the shirt and hauled his face close.
“Where is Molly?” he demanded.
The man spat in his face. “I’ll never tell ye!”
