Edmund looked around, mystified.
Tormod was shaking his head. “I ken the place the lad is talking of. There’s a tunnel, its entrance is halfway down the stairs tae the bailey, behind the stables. They must have taken her there.”
Without another second, Edmund and Lionel set off down the stairs from the keep at a run, heading in the direction of the stables. Two guards raced behind them.
Once they arrived at the stairs leading to the bailey they started down. They’d gone halfway, where ivy grew thickly up the wall, and located the place Tormod had spoken of.
The ivy had been ripped from the wall, exposing a rusted metal gate set into the rocks beside the stairs. Where it had once been held secure by a large chain, the timber surrounds had been prized apart and the chain holding the gate had fallen to the ground.
Edmund forced open the gate, which squeaked mightily as he did so, making him wonder how whoever had come this way had not raised the devil as they went.
Inside, all was darkness.
Tormod came panting up, holding a torch aloft.
Peering into the void Edmund could now make out stone wall, a low vaulted ceiling and steps leading down to the beginning of a tunnel. He paused a moment, straining his ears for any sound, but all was silent.
“Where daes this lead, Tormod?”
“It leads under the bailey, continuing fer some great distance until it emerges above the shore, nae far from the place where the birlinns are moored.”
Edmund groaned. “I recall that place from the day we sailed here.” His mind flew over the rocky terrain they’d first clambered over after they’d berthed, before they made their way up the much smoother track to the castle.
“If they took her this way, how long would it take them tae reach the shore?”
“It would be slow-going on foot. Mayhap an hour or more, the tunnel is serpentine, making a stepped gradient. It was used both as an escape route and a place where smuggled wine barrels were carried up from birlinns sailing from France.”
For the first time since he’d discovered the empty bedchamber, Edmund’s heart stuttered with hope. He’d ridden past the cove several times; it was only minutes away on horseback. While the descent was steep, on the backs of sure-footed Highland ponies he and his men could be at the berth in a matter of minutes after leaving the castle.
The grooms were already saddling the animals, and the guards and squires were scrambling into their hauberks when Edmund and Lionel arrived at the stables, ready for the coming battle.
Preparations were taking far too long for Edmund’s liking, yet it was scarcely more than an hour since he’d first discovered Annora’s abduction.
By the time Edmund’s group of himself and Lionel and another eight warriors, galloped through the castle gate, the sun was painting the horizon with streaks of gold and crimson. Heprayed silently that they would not be too late, that the birlinn waiting to take her beyond their reach would still be at its mooring.
The ponies, sure-footed as they were, seemed to be making too slow a descent. “Can ye nae go faster?” he growled at his sturdy pony, who was taking his time with each step.
“Curb yer temper, Edmund,” Lionel muttered. “Ye’ll nae be any help tae Annora if yer pony breaks a leg in a rabbit hole or rolls over the edge into the sea.”
Edmund huffed, biting down his impatience.
After what seemed like forever, they came in sight of two birlinns below them in the mooring.
As they came closer, he caught a flurry of activity around the second birlinn and registered the Munro colors of red, green, and dark blue, flying from its tall mast.
Two men were rough-handing a bound Annora along the wharf to where an older, heavyset man with grey hair and beard––who he took to be Graham Munro––stood waiting. By his side, Edmund spied the distinctive, tall, fair-haired figure of Harris MacDonald.
With a roar, Edmund recklessly urged his pony forward, descending the last section of the path at breakneck speed, Lionel following close behind him.
He leapt from the pony, brandishing his longsword, and dashed along the wharf. The men escorting Annora released her arms and turned to meet this newcomer with their swords drawn. A number of men jumped from the birlinn and ran toward them, brandishing their weapons. Behind him, the MacNeacail men surged forward.
As he closed in on the two men, he glimpsed Annora’s father roughly seize her and drag her toward the gangplank.
The two men came at him fiercely, one on either side, swords drawn, shoulders hunched, but they were no match for Edmund’s fury or his warrior’s skill.
As one attacked, Edmund parried the sword thrust, and whirled before the other man could land his blow. With one swift move he undercut the man’s raised arm, bringing the point of his sword to his ribcage and thrust forward with the full power of his mighty arm.
The man fell at his feet without a sound, blood pouring from the mortal blow.
