Page 77 of Highland Storm

“But not without his men?”

The older woman shrugged again. “There are those who would see the Mormaerdom returned to its rightful state. I would not dare travel alone.” Her eyes fairly gleamed, piercing Lianae with their incredible intensity as she lifted her chin and peered down her nose. If there was aught about her that reminded Lianae of her son, it was that gesture.

“Your gift?” Lianae entreated.

Uhtreda stabbed a finger at the air in the direction of Lianae’s purse. “My charm stones, if you please, then I will tell you what I came to say…”

There were only five remaining, after all.

What good was one without the rest?

Curiosity needling her, Lianae sat back a moment to consider the offer. Only once she realized it was no offer at all—that her curiosity was worth the price of her few remaining stones—she pinched the purse from its clasp and set the purse upon the table. Uhtreda reached for her stones at once, her long lean fingers snatching the silk into her palm.

For an instant, she merely squeezed the purse with a look of quiet contentment on her face, and it was odd, for when Lianae blinked, it seemed that a few of the tired lines receded from her face…

Chapter

Twenty-Six

The guards would have preferred to deny her, Lianae realized. Wielding her chatelaine’s keys before her, she forced her way past two guards, and then lifting one of the pitch torches from its brace upon the wall, she descended into the ancient tunnels below Dunràth. Alone. If by chance they didn’t already know what awaited her there, she wanted no one present to witness what she would find.

Dark and cold, despite the glow from her torch, the scent of salt permeated the dank air. The walls themselves wept, leaving the rock stained and crusted with an age-old scab of white. Icy drafts swept past her legs, but she pinched her cloak together and continued boldly in her descent. Somewhere, beyond the confines of the walls, she could hear the surf pounding furiously against the cliffside. She met another guard along the way, but the instant Lianae met his gaze, the man fled before she could speak a word—because he knew.

She was her father’s daughter, she told herself, a daughter of Moray. She would not cow before usurpers. Whatever it was that awaited her below, she was not afraid.

Brandishing her torch before her once again, Lianae inhaled a breath and continued the drafty descent. A rat scurried past her feet, startling her and she gave a little yelp, but not even a fear of vermin could stop her now. Were she told she might meet Viking marauders at the end of her journey, Lianae would refuse to turn back now.

She heard a crunch beneath her feet and felt the crack of bones. The remnants of another small rodent lay in pieces in her path.

If it were true what Uhtreda had said, all things were subject to change… especially with Lianae’s knowledge of the Destiny Stone.

Despite the woman’s uncanny sense of knowing, not even Uhtreda knew about that lost Stone from Scone. And yet… if Lianae betrayed confidences, if she spoke the words out loud, her life with Keane would be lost with the very next breath. Alas, she must consider the good of Scotland, not simply her own welfare, or that of her babe’s.

Along the midway point, Lianae reached a forked passage, each tunnel descending further into darkness….

Which path to take?

Forward, ever forward, she decided and chose the darker of the two—the one that promised the deepest secrets. Holding her breath against the stale, cold air, she moved past cobwebbed corners and putrid smells.

What would Óengus do?

At last, Lianae came to a recess in the tunnel, wherein they had carved four cells into the stone walls, each barred by heavy iron doors.

Here, even the sound of the ocean was quieted by the thickness of the earth. Inhaling sharply, Lianae thought about Keane and tears stung her eyes. Producing the chatelaine’s keys from her belt, she located the key meant to open the cell doors.

Three of the doors were already unlocked and slightly ajar, the fourth was shut tight against what lay on the other side…

The bars were too high to peek inside, but Lianae understood this would be the one.

She held her breath as she lifted the key to the rusted old lock, turning it quickly, before she could lose her nerve. For a long moment, she stood by the closed door, half expecting that whoever was on the other side would come barreling through at the turn of her key, but they did not. Somehow, Lianae sensed they were holding their breath as did she... Placing a hand to the cold iron, she pushed the door open. And there he stood.

Graeme.

Beaten and half starved, with a gaunt face that was dirtier than a chimney, her eldest brother stood staring at her through bloodshot eyes.

Even the trees wept.

It was a strange winter they were passing, far warmer than any Sorcha could ever recall. It was as though the Mother of Winter herself had somehow abandoned them forevermore.