* * *
IMIGHTHAVEbeen descending into hell itself. The darkness was thick and total. I could see nothing, not even my own hands as I clutched the damp rungs of the wooden ladder, my feet feeling clumsily along the narrow, slippery surface for the next step. It was a long way down.
I thought of Kade. Alone. In pain. In the dark. Was his life draining away as he dreamed of the gentle hillsof his home, wishing he had never seen me or met me or sacrificed himself as he had?
There were shuffling footsteps below me and a sudden, vibrant light. Jamie and Caleb had reached the bottom and had lit a small torch that illuminated an orange circle of brightness. They waited for me to climb down the last rungs of the ladder. “This way,” said Jamie, leading us into a narrow dirt tunnel.
I listened for sounds, of groans or calls for help. But there was nothing but our almost-silent footsteps.
We didn’t have far to travel. The tunnel soon opened up into a large, open chamber. Along one side of the corridor was a row of prison cells, carved into the dirt and clad with thick iron bars. We passed one, and another. Empty. And a third. Could it be that Campbell had taken my husband somewhere else? That he had tricked us into thinking that Kade would be kept here when, in fact, he’d hidden him somewhere else, somewhere we would never be able to find? Or had he killed him already and buried him in an unmarked grave? The thought caused me to choke back a sob. What had I done?
But my fears were, in part, allayed. There, in front of us, at the end of the oval room, lay a large, inclined slab. And a figure. A man, clad only in the shreds of his kilt.
Kade.
He lay so still. Too still.
It took me a moment to make out in the dim light that he had been laid on a bed of nails. As we drew closer, I could see that his wrists and ankles were bloodied by the chains that bound him. And he was being stretched,his arms pulled above his head, his legs pulled tight. His bare chest was cut and bruised, covered with dirt and stripes of dried blood.
Was he alive?
At that moment his head turned. His eyes were glazed and dull. He squinted against the small blaze and flinched at the sight of us. Hatred radiated from his beaten body and shone from his narrowed eyes, returning some life to him, at least. I realized he couldn’t see who we were. He might have thought it was Campbell and his men, returning to beat him again, to tighten his bindings another notch.
“Release him,” I said to Caleb. “Unlock the chains.”
Caleb was already there, and Jamie moved with him, holding the light near Kade’s ankles so Caleb could see.
I went to Kade, standing close to him, looking into his eyes. He recognized me, I could see that, but there was no joy in him at the realization. Behind the haze of his pain and delirium, the hatred lingered, a thread of fear, a brief glimmer of hope and, most of all, fury. I wanted to touch him, to somehow relieve him, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to hurt him, or anger him further, and the look in his eyes unnerved me.
His gaze swerved to Caleb and Jamie, then back to me. He was clearly unsure of our agenda, of our loyalty, and I could read the doubts as they flickered across his face.Have they been sent by Campbell? Or are they here of their own accord?
“’Tis me, husband,” I said. “We’ve come to free you. You’re safe now. Your brother’s army is on its way.”
I was glad I had thought to tell him this, because it was the mention of his brother and his clan that speared through his fugue. His eyes became clearer and focused, just as Caleb unbound the last of his chains.
In one fluid, unexpectedly quick movement, Kade jumped off his torturous pyre and stood before us. He looked big, spooked, battered, yet entirely lethal. And it was a good thing, too, I thought. Because at that very moment, a second torch illuminated the night, emerging from the far tunnel that must have led to the entrance. A lone soldier, instantly recognizable.
In his other hand, Campbell held his sword.
* * *
INANINSTINCTUALmovement—and I could identify a small surge of pride at my newfound tendencies—I drew Kade’s enormous sword from its scabbard, still slung across my shoulder, with some difficulty. I could barely lift it. Somehow I found the strength. I held it up. “Kade,” I said.
If there was doubt in him, and if he questioned my motives in that moment, he didn’t show it. He turned instantly, and seeing his salvation on offer, he walked over and grabbed it from my hands. His body, though beaten and bloodied, had lost none of its animal grace; he moved with an arrogant, fluent confidence that I could only hope and pray would see him through.
Kade was at a disadvantage, aye, since his strength had been depleted by agony and injury. But he had Jamie, who, although young and inexperienced, was at least armed. I handed Caleb the second of Kade’sweapons I carried: the large bone-handled knife. Caleb contemplated me with a brief look of incredulity, but he took the knife. It looked awkward in his hands; he was as untrained in the art of warfare as I was, but something was better than nothing. And I had my small knife. Small, but still capable of killing a man: this I knew to be true. In fact, it was still carrying the blood of proof.
But my silent celebrations at our odds were decidedly short-lived. Hugh appeared in the arched doorway, menacing, armed and very much awake.
The battle was on.
Campbell struck at Kade first, a mighty blow that carried all the weight of his intention. And Kade answered the blow as his equal. My husband, bloodied or not, came to life with a sword in his hands, as though energized and healed by its familiar solidity, as though he absorbed strength from its steel. They circled each other, and I backed away, taking refuge behind the bed of nails, crawling under it, readying myself to lash out at Campbell’s feet and legs if the opportunity arose.
Hugh went for Jamie, knocking his sword from his hands in a single swipe. Hugh was a seasoned warrior and outweighed Jamie by a considerable amount. But Jamie retrieved his sword and answered his charge, holding his own, but barely. Caleb could do little to help his brother. He held up the knife and clung to the periphery, desperately out of his depths. But he was here, and at the ready, and offering whatever assistance he could, and I was glad of it.
Campbell and Kade’s fight was at fever pitch, blowafter blow, the echoing clang of metal against metal filling the room like brash, violent music. Kade was tiring, I could see; the torture and blood loss had taken their toll. I was desperate to intervene, and crept closer.
A howl punctuated the darkness. Jamie was hit. I couldn’t see where. His leg, I thought. There was blood, and lots of it. And they were wrestling now, with Hugh pinning Jamie down. Caleb leaped on to him, stabbing with his knife. And Jamie’s sword found purchase from below. Hugh growled in pain.
