Page 12 of Tair

Seumas nodded, but it was obvious from his expression that he didn’t understand her. “’Twas a wise and kindly thing he did, I’ll wager. You should bid him serve as your man.”

“He’s a pensioner now.” It made her smile to think of James, who had retired five years ago to a rural town in Scotland, where he had a small cottage and a garden she had designed for him. If she ever got back to her world, she’d have to tell him about her adventures here in this weird place. The sound of the latch giving made her tug on the bars, and the door swung open. “Blimey, that worked.”

The boy shook his head as she walked over to his cell. “Dinnae release me, Mistress, I beg you. I dinnae wish a beating for avoiding my punishment.”

“If that’s what you want, mate.” Lucy inspected the interior of his cell with a few glances. At the back was a panel painted to look like the wall stones, which she’d bet was a door. “Do they thrash all the children here?”

“Aye, if we displease the laird.” He looked down at his dirty feet. “You shouldnae linger. At the top of the stairs go to the hall at the left, and follow it to a great door at the end. ’Twill lead you to the dock outside the walls. There you may take a skiff to the shore.”

Everything he’d told her again sounded very rehearsed, as if it were a speech he’d often given. Now Lucy was convinced she was being fleeced.

“Thanks for letting me know how to get away.” She walked toward the stairs, stopped and then looked back at Seumas, who had his face pressed to his cell bars so he could watch her go. “Sure you don’t want to come with me, lad?”

He shook his head. “I darenae, Mistress. Fare you well.”

“Cheers.” Lucy walked up the stairs and into an empty corridor. To the left was one hall, and to the right were two others. She then glanced at the door immediately to her right and reached out to tug on the latch. As it opened the boy from the dungeon yelped and fell at her feet. “Hi again, Seumas. You should have mentioned this. Would have saved me a hair clip.”

He groaned and buried his head in his arms. “Now I shall get a thrashing in truth.”

Lucy heard footsteps as she helped him up, and pushed him inside the space on the other side of the door before joining him and closing it. That was when she noticed the hole in the door, which was large enough for her to watch two very large men stride past, both armed with swords and carrying torches. They kept going, and when she couldn’t see them anymore she turned to look at the little man.

“You need to start telling me the truth,” Lucy said. “I know you’re a grown man. Who sent you down there to pretend to be a prisoner and tell me all this, then?”

“’Tis my duty when strangers come to Gealladh. I’m to help them escape.” He gave her a hopeful look. “’Tis a skiff waiting in truth at the dock. None shall prevent you from leaving the island.”

“Right, because they don’t want me coming back, do they?” When he only looked puzzled she added, “Why do they want to get rid of me so badly?”

“None wish to remain among the MacRune, Mistress Lucy. They’re merciless thieving killers.” When she didn’t react he cringed a little. “I cannae tell you more. Please, leave while you can.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Lucy said, taking the notebook out of her back pocket. “Let’s go back down where there’s some light. Do you know what a floor plan is? No, okay, how about a map?”

On the way back to the dungeon cells she asked him where the laird would be now, and the best way to reach him without running into the chieftain. Seumas gave her only very brief answers, with hardly any details.

“Look, mate, I just want to go and talk to the laird about all this,” she finally said. “Can you help me out?”

“’Tis a secret I mustnae tell,” he said as he pushed out the faux stone panel, making the scraping sound she’d heard earlier. “After you, Mistress.”

Lucy stepped forward, and then something hit her on the back of the head, sending her pitching forward into darkness.

“Forgive me, Seneschal,” Seumas said to Sgathan MacRune as he grimaced at the blonde outsider’s still body. “She’s far cleverer than any of the others come here. I reckon she saw through my ruse from the beginning.”

Had she realized that the spit-boy was in truth a grown man? Sgathan wondered as he bent to pick her up from the floor. “You still did well, as ever.”

“I only deceived her when I stayed in the shadows,” the dwarf admitted. “Once she saw me clearly she realized I’m no’ a lad.”

In Sgathan’s arms the woman seemed to weigh little more than a bundle of willow twigs, and yet did not appear starved. Even in the torchlight he could see the healthy bloom on her flawless light gold skin. The paleness of her hair shone as clean and bright as it smelled, inviting a man’s touch. The spit-boy had hit her just hard enough to render her senseless, he was glad to discover. Her breathing remained even, and aside from a small lump on her head she had no other injuries.

“Return to your duties in the kitchens, lad,” he told Seumas.

“Aye, Seneschal.” The young man bowed and trotted off.

Sgathan carried her across to the cell in which his twin brother, Dorchad, had imprisoned her, and tossed his own tartan on the filthy straw before lowering her on it. He was not supposed to show any kindness to outsiders, but this wench had such clean, perfect skin he could do this much for her. She had dressed in a short coat, leine and trews made of strange shades of indigo, green and white so dazzling it resembled snow. Her trews fit her long legs as if they’d been painted on, and all her garments had finely-worked seams. Her black boots likewise appeared superbly made, from leather so well finished it gleamed. Webbed cording crisscrossed the front of them, doubtless to secure them to her calves. She smelled as lovely as she appeared.

Could she be the daughter of a noble from another land? Had her sire dressed her as a lad to keep her safe?

Sgathan wanted to rouse her and ask her those and a thousand more questions, but that was not how the clan dealt with strangers in the stronghold. He locked her in the cell, and took with him the odd clip she’d used to unlatch the door so she could not release herself again. When she awoke Dorchad would send down yet another vassal to play a guard or patroller to help her to escape as a show of sympathy. They had never been forced to use three different ruses, but if the second failed doubtless his twin would think of a third.

Unless he decides to create a special torment for her. That unlikely prospect made him grow sympathetic toward her, for his twin had always despised females. Perhaps I should take her under my protection. Women always liked him; they compared him to his brothers and called him gentler and kinder. Aye, and how long should it take before this pretty stranger learns of what you hide from all?