Page 33 of Marin’s Promise

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Marin was at the head of the procession, leading her men. After all, this was her folly to repair.

The task of getting the soldiers from their cells had been quick and easy, and the guards who had been in hiding replaced the reivers without incident. As Marin had anticipated, the reivers were not familiar enough with one another to question the men who replaced them.

Now the group of liberated soldiers moved as silently through the castle as was possible. Many of the men were without their chainmail, as only a few were able to procure a full suit for their escape. The minimal armor helped make them somewhat quieter. Weapons had been snuck out of the armory earlier by brave servants, so at least nearly all were armed.

Bran’s men had imbibed heavily on the Highland whisky they’d found in the castle’s stores. The men had been all too eager to partake and now most lay splayed on the ground in a spirit-induced slumber.

Marin’s wooden patens had been left off, so her leather clad feet padded soundlessly over the stone.

A shadow caught her attention at the end of the hall. A guard? Aye, it was, one lone man who did not appear to have drunk as much as the others.

Her heart slid to her stomach. She hadn't wanted to kill these men. Yet she'd been given no choice. Her people’s freedom for a life. She readied her dagger and reminded herself this man and the other reivers had stolen her home, eaten her food. They posed a dangerous threat.

The guard lifted a cup to his mouth, drank and casually strolled in the opposite direction. His pace was slow, his relaxed shoulders indicating he had not seen them.

Marin waited with her breath locked in her chest for several moments after he was out of sight.

Sir Richard nodded to her and waved them all across, taking the lead with Anice, Ella, Catriona and Leila in the middle of the small band of Werrick’s remaining troops. Fortunately, there were no more reivers on their way to the larder where the trap door lay beneath heavy casks of fine wine.

“You took a fine bit of time getting here, my lady,” Nan admonished. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on the cook’s brow.

Marin leveled her own gaze at the old cook. “We didn't want to start a battle on our way out.”

Nan nodded. “’Tis a smart thing to do.”

“You’re so brave to help us, Nan.” Cat wrapped her skinny arms around the cook. “Will you not come with us?”

An affectionate smile spread over Nan’s face and she wrapped an arm around Cat. “Nay, lass. I’ll see your tracks covered.”

“Will you be safe?” Ella asked as Sir Richard and several of the men tugged the casks of wine off the trap door.

“Men love their food.” Nan chuckled and pulled Leila toward her in an embrace similar to the one she held Cat in. “Old Nan will be fine. I want to ensure my girls are safe.”

“You could always poison them,” Ella offered.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nan winked.

Once the casks were cleared and the rushes brushed aside, Sir Richard tugged at the door’s latch. It opened with a creaking groan as the musty odor of disuse and wet earth emerged from the gaping black pit.

“I'll go first,” Sir Richard offered. He took a torch from the wall and held it over the pit. The darkness within seemed to swallow the light so only blackness showed beyond the feeble flames.

Regardless, brave Sir Richard leapt without fear into the entrance to the tunnel. He landed with a solid thud of feet on dirt. The light cast around him showing walls of tightly packed soil around him.

Marin’s heart pounded with what she knew she'd have to do. For though she would make a show of going with her sisters, she would not be escaping with them. Not yet. She had her own battle to wage.

The rest of the Werrick soldiers made their way into the awaiting tunnel.

“We shall be back soon, dear Nan.” Marin embraced the plump cook and whispered into her ear. “Leave the wine casks off the door once it’s closed.”

Nan asked no questions, but simply nodded slowly to the request.

Marin lowered herself into the pit among Werrick’s soldiers. The walls pressed a chill into her bones. All around her was the scent of wet earth and stale air. Their footsteps ground against the gritty floor, the sound absorbed into the thickness of the walls.

Once Marin’s sisters had either leapt or been lowered into the entrance, along with Anice’s dog, Piquette, the lot of them set off through the maze of tunnels. Marin’s heart thundered in her chest, the sound filling her ears. She had to do it now, while she still had the fortitude to do so. For if she did not, the castle and its people would be lost to her forever.

Aye, Baron Carlyle would undoubtedly help them, but she knew how impenetrable the keep’s walls were. Bran had demonstrated he was not without a streak of violence with his threat against poor William. What would he do to the servants if he was under attack?