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“God speed to ye, and may the cause of the Jacobites be with ye,” he called out, charging off along the road in a great cloud of dust, the other horsemen following behind.
Murdina and Kin were left alone, and Murdina sighed, shaking her head as she turned towards the castle which lay in the distance, shrouded in the shadows of the late afternoon.
“Tis’ what we feared then,” she said, and Kin nodded.
“Yes, but better to know than to fear the unknown,” he replied.
“My father has been consumed by his ambitions, manipulated by those men for their own wicked designs. They will betray him as a traitor in the Hanoverian’s name, and then…” she said, her words trailing off.
“Which is why we must get there as soon as possible and put a stop to this wickedness,” Kin said.
“But are ye sure ye want to? This is nae yer fight. Ye have done yer work, ye have exposed the spies in our midst, ye…” she began, but Kin turned and took her by the shoulders, looking straight into her eyes with a defiant gaze.
“It is these same men who are responsible for my own family’s death. I will not stand by and see them bring misery to you, too,” he replied.
At that moment, Murdina could feel only gratitude towards Kin. They had endured so much together, and that endurance had brought them closer by the day. She loved him, and he had also shown his love for her. He was right. This was a task which bound them both, united in a common goal of revenge and retribution.
“Then we shall face it together,” she said, as the two of them now marched purposefully towards the castle, their destiny awaiting them.
* * *
It was growing dark as Murdina and Kin approached the castle. Flaming torches burned on either side of the gates, and the silhouette of sentries could be seen on the battlements above. The two of them had kept in close to the trees, hidden on the approach, and now they made their way, not towards the gates, but to the kirk, hoping to hide until an opportunity presented itself.
“We cannot just march up to the gates and demand entry,” Kin whispered.
“We can sneak inside at an early hour. The door to the gardens is always left open–the one we escaped through,” she said, pointing along the side wall to where the door lay hidden behind a mass of creepers and brambles.
They made their way over the heathers towards the kirk, and Murdina paused at the mound of her sister’s burial site, kneeling to touch the earth, and asking her sister’s blessing on what they were about to do.
“I wish I had known her,” Kin said, coming to kneel at Murdina’s side.
“She was… a remarkable woman and a further reason why I must dae what I am about to dae. It was the love of a man that killed her, and if I stand by, then I shall lose both my sisters to the wicked contrivances of men,” she replied.
They ate a little of the food which Cillian had given them, but Murdina’s thoughts were on what was to come, her stomach churning with fear and anticipation. But her one consolation was to have Kin at her side, and she knew she could face whatever dangers lay ahead if only he would remain so.
“I only hope we are not too late,” Kin said, as they prepared to make their way into the castle, the hour having now grown late, and the castle bell having just tolled the second hour.
“Ye must nae think like that,” she replied, but he shook his head and sighed.
“I was too late to save my own family; God help me if I am too late now,” he replied.
Murdina rose to her feet, glancing down at her sister’s grave. A tear ran down her cheek. She knew just how Kin felt. He had been too late to save his family, and she had been powerless to save her sister. But things would be different now, and tightening her sword belt, she marched off towards the castle, her fear overcome by a singular determination to succeed.
* * *
“The door is open,” she whispered, turning the handle of the garden door, the hinges creaking softly as she pushed it open.
They had approached the walls from the ditch below, climbing up through brambles and briars so as not to be seen by the sentries above. The door was well hidden, a last point of escape in the wake of disaster, and a convenient entrance for their purposes. It opened into the rose garden, planted by Murdina’s grandmother, and as she closed the door behind her, Murdina breathed a sigh of relief.
“What now?” Kin asked.
“Tis’ better to be a spy than to fight. We must slip into the keep and up to Freya’s chambers. If we can get her away from here, then we can hide her,” Murdina replied.
Her plan was simple. She knew she could not hope to fight against her father–he would take the side of Murdoch and Iver, convinced they were for the cause, and he would blame Kin for abducting her, throwing him into the dungeons as a traitor. Instead, Murdina had resolved to spirit her sisters away and only later to expose Murdoch and Iver from afar.
“Then you must lead the way. You know the castle better than anyone. It is a bold plan, but one which I am sure can work,” he replied.
His hand was on his sword hilt, as was Murdina’s on hers, as they crept through the gardens. The door to the kitchens stood beyond them up a flight of steps but would require them to run across an exposed part of the garden, the moonlight casting a silvery glow across the grass.
