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“I am gettin’ ye out o’ here!” Greta said grimly. “Ye should no’ have tae take food out like that. Look at ye! Ye will be skin an’ bone soon.”
“How?” Finn laughed. “This place has iron bars an’ guards, Greta! Ye cannot just walk in an’ spirit me away!”
“I will find a way,” she said grimly, and marched away.
* * *
Whenever Greta wanted to give Finn an extra treat, she would slip downstairs to the dungeon and give it to the guard she had dealt with the first time, whose name was Angus Boag. She had not been allowed to go to his cell again, but the guard would pass messages to him from her, and Greta thought he was developing a little fondness for her, even though he was a married man. She decided to use it to her advantage.
One day she brought Finn a scone with butter and whipped cream on it from the kitchen.
“I brought one for ye too, Angus,” she said as she gave it to him, smiling. The man’s eyes lit up with pleasure. “Thank ye, darlin’,” he said happily. “I will enjoy that wi’ my ale tonight.”
“May I see Finn?” she asked, with a cheeky smile on her face.
Angus hesitated, then laughed. “Go on then, bad lassie. Two minutes, mind!”
“Thank ye, Angus!” she said happily as she walked down to the end of the row of cells.
Finn’s face lit up when he saw her. “Who let ye in?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear. He reached out for the scone, his mouth watering, but Greta snatched it away, grinning mischievously.
“I have somethin’ else for ye first,” she announced, before removing something from the pocket of her skirt and holding it out to him. It was a smooth piece of wood with a bent metal blade at the top.
He frowned in puzzlement. “What is it?” He was utterly mystified.
“It is for openin’ locks,” she whispered. “I made it. I had tae wait for Angus tae be on duty because he doesnae search me. Here.” She took out the knife he had given her to skin rabbits. “I have sharpened it again, but I hope ye will no’ have tae use it.”
“How do I pick the lock?” he asked, frowning.
“Like this,” she replied. She pushed the implement into the lock, carefully wiggled it around, and then as if by magic, the lock mechanism clicked, and the door began to swing open. Greta quickly locked it again, handed the little tool to him, and after a few failed attempts, he opened the gate.
Finn stood gazing at the implement in amazement for a moment, then he grinned, stepped through the door, and kissed her as he had wanted to do for weeks.
It was glorious, Greta thought, even if Finn smelled like a sewer. His hands were everywhere, his tongue tangling with hers, and his lips were so sweet and mobile that she felt as though they had been made specially for her.
They drew apart, breathless and smiling.
“Why do we no’ just go now?” Finn asked as Greta pushed him back into the cell again.
“Because the timin’ is no’ right,” she whispered. “In three days’ time, the moon will be full, an’ we will be able tae see better. Now, here is what we will do.”
As she began to outline her plan, Finn felt a sense of amazement at the way Greta’s mind worked. There seemed to be no end to her talents, from finding food, butchering, sewing, tilling fields, making tools…and kissing. The thought of her lips on his made him swell and stiffen.
When she had finished, she asked, “Did ye understand a’ that?”
He nodded. “Ye are very clever, Greta, an’ I cannae wait tae be out of here.” He smiled at her wickedly. “I want tae kiss ye for hours!”
“No’ ’til ye’ve had a bath!” she said grimly.
* * *
Finn had practiced locking and unlocking the door so many times he could have done it in his sleep, and by the time the appointed time had arrived, he was as ready as he would ever be. Since his cell was in a different corridor from the other cells, no one but Angus ever saw Greta entering and leaving.
Greta was deeply glad of this since she would not have wanted to hear the other prisoners’ ribald taunts and foul language as she walked past them, particularly Liam’s, for whom she now carried a deep and abiding hatred.
The guard on duty on the night of the escape was an ill-tempered, thuggish man called Brian McKinnon, who frequently beat the prisoners for the slightest infraction. He had come to collect the plates, which the prisoners slid through a gap at the bottom of the door. He looked in at Finn, who was lying on his pallet snoring softly, and his lip curled in disgust. He had nothing but the utmost contempt for the prisoners, and it gave him pleasure to make their lives a misery.
As soon as he heard the jailer’s footsteps, Finn tensed, and when he heard the sound of the plate scraping along the floor, he sprang up and hurled himself against the gate.
