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Cal glanced up when he heard footsteps walk across the floorboards above his head. All had been quiet for some time, and he’d thought Sean MacDonald and anyone else in the house had gone to bed. But now someone was up again.
Low voices murmured, and Cal sat. The lamp in the cellar had burned low, but he didn’t think it was yet morning. He strained to hear, wondering if someone new had arrived or something had gone wrong.
Footsteps thudded overhead again and then he heard the door upstairs open and close. They’d left him?
Cal shoved up and moved toward the cellar stairs. He climbed the stairs and pressed his ear to the door. He heard nothing. He tried the latch and found it didn’t move, proving the padlock had indeed been replaced and he was truly locked in. He listened again, but all was silent. And then he thought he might have heard the smallest creak.
A cat? A person? Yes, definitely a person, as whoever it was moved the padlock. He heard the metal scrape against the wood of the door. Cal moved back slightly, preparing to return to his cot when the door opened, but he didn’t hear a key being inserted into the metal.
Whoever stood there set the lock back down, and Cal heard it thump softly against the door again. Cal listened hard, but all was silence. The person on the other side of the door must have gone. Cal started back down the steps but froze when he heard the floorboards creak again and a shuffling sound. Someone was moving items in the parlor around. Were they looking for a key? Looking for a weapon? Cal slunk down the steps, lifted one of the mostly empty bottles of wine and started back. Then, on a whim, he ripped the map of England down from the wall and stuffed it into his coat. He carried the bottle by the neck up the stairs and back to the landing. If the man on the other side opened the door, he would knock him over the head and run. If he was pursued, he wasn’t sure he could make it back to Bridget before Sean MacDonald’s men, but he had to take that chance.
He heard the scrape of the lock on the wooden door again and pressed his back against the wall. This time the key rattled against the metal and there was a soft pop when the padlock opened. Cal raised the bottle, ready to strike. He’d have one chance. If he missed or the blow was deflected, he was at a disadvantage. One misstep and he’d lose his balance and tumble down the stairs.
The sound of the padlock being removed sounded loud in the silence broken only by Cal’s breathing. The door latch lifted and opened out. Cal swung the bottle, swore, and altered his swing just in time to avoid hitting Bridget.
She let out a squeak and closed her eyes, but Cal managed to bring the bottle down just in front of her nose. “Bridget!” His whisper was half relief, half curse. “What are you doing here, lass?”
She opened her eyes. “Saving you.”
“Christ Jaysus.” He didn’t ask questions, merely took her hand and moved into the parlor. “Let’s go.” He started for the front door, but she dug her heels in.
“Not that way. Sean MacDonald is that way. I pushed half the empty wooden crates off a cart just at the corner, and the men went out to investigate. They’ll return any moment.”
“Clever lass. The window then?”
“The kitchen door.” And she pulled him toward the kitchen and then out the back into a small garden. She released his hand and ran to the gate in the stone wall surrounding the garden. Pushing it open, she peered out. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Let’s go then.”
They darted out, she closing the gate behind them. Cal took her hand and the lead, wanting to put some distance between MacDonald’s house and the two of them. Finally, when they’d run about a half mile and he was all but lost among dark, unfamiliar streets, he leaned back against a building and wiped his brow. She leaned beside him, catching her breath.
“Sure and you could have been killed,” he muttered. “I told you to go to the docks.”
“You’re not my superior,” she said, forgetting her Irish accent and notching her chin up. “And I felt it was my duty to save you.”
“And what if I didn’t need saving?”
She arched a brow. Cal blew out a breath. “Where’s Aoife?” he asked.
“Tied up on the floor of our chamber.”
Now his brows shot up with admiration. He shouldn’t have been surprised. From the start, she’d shown she was wily and foolhardy. “Once MacDonald realizes I’m gone, it won’t be long before they find her.”
“I should have closed that door and locked the padlock again.”
“It might have given us a few more minutes, but we didn’t have any to spare. Now we need to find our way to a ship and then back to England.”
She shook her head. “We can’t board a ship. We don’t have any papers. I forgot to take them.”
Cal gave her a half smile. “Leave that to me.” He took her hand again. “Ready? I have to find a main street and get me bearings. We’ll need to move quickly once we’re out in the open.”
“I’m ready.”
And she was. He walked rapidly, but she stayed at his side, showing no signs of fatigue. Finally, they reached the docks, but instead of heading toward the wharves, he turned toward the row of taverns.
“Callahan,” she hissed. “We can’t go there. We’ll be killed.”
“Give me a bit more credit, lass. We need false papers, and that’s where we’ll find the man who can make them.” His gaze swept down her dress. “What are you wearing under that coat?”
