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For a few seconds, he lay, stunned and unable to move, then he was pulled to his feet. Then he was gripped by what felt like two pairs of rough hands and carelessly slung over something coarse and hard. A moment later, he was bouncing up and down to the rhythm of a cantering horse, and the pain at the back of his head was excruciating. He heard himself cry out before darkness took him, and he remembered no more.
* * *
He had no idea how much time had passed, but when Fergus regained consciousness, it was to the pain of a throbbing headache and an aching back. He had no memory of what had happened to him, but when he opened his eyes, he could see nothing at all but unrelieved blackness.
‘Where the hell am I?’he wondered. He could feel soil beneath his body and a moldy, damp smell assailed his nostrils.A cave, perhaps?
He was stiff, sore and shivering with cold, and he lay motionless on the hard ground, staring into the darkness, before raising himself onto his elbows. As soon as he did, the pain at the back of his head worsened, and he groaned in agony. He began to look around himself for any sign that could tell him where he was. After a moment, he discerned a thin line of light at the level of the earth on which he was lying. There was another line higher up on what appeared to be a wall.
‘A door,’Fergus thought, and a wave of relief swept over him. There was too little light to see by, but perhaps he could find a handle and open it. He wobbled to his feet and stumbled to the door, then felt around until he found what felt like a wooden handle. He pulled and pulled, but it did not yield. He felt around a little more until his probing fingers encountered a keyhole.
His heart sank. He had no idea where he was, or what time it was. He had no food or water, and no way of getting out of this prison, for he knew now, that was exactly what it was.
‘Robert,’Fergus thought.‘You did this.’For a moment he tried to deny it to himself, but deep inside he knew that it was true. His own brother, the one to whom he had given away the love of his life to, had done this despicable thing to him.
He tried to remember exactly what had happened to him, and a face came back to him, that of a small red-headed man whom he had seen occasionally around the castle. Fergus remembered that he had once seen him coming out of the door to Robert’s study, and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together.
Fergus roared into the darkness and began to bang on the door. “Let me out!” he yelled. “Let me out!” He shouted at the top of his lungs and hammered on the door until his hands were aching. From time to time he stopped to listen for any sign that he had been heard before beginning again.
Because of all his shouting, a raging thirst had begun to overtake him, and all of a sudden, he was swamped by a tide of despair. He was not going to be rescued. He was going to die there, and perhaps his bones would be found in a few months or years, but by that time, no one would even remember him.
No. Grace would remember him, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would be looking for him at that moment, and so would William. What a good man he was, Fergus reflected, wishing his own brother could be more like him.
Fergus sighed and lay down on the floor again. He had nothing to do but think, so he thought of Grace, the taste of her warm lips, the feel of her soft flesh under his hands.
However, at that moment, he heard the click and scrape of the door being unlocked, and he scrambled to his feet. If it was Robert or some of his minions, he was determined to fight. They would probably kill him in the end, but he would ensure that it would not be easy for them.
The door swung open, and a tall, well-built man stood there, silhouetted against the daylight. He was carrying a dagger, and he took one step into the cave. Fergus stood his ground, his whole body tense and ready for action.
* * *
The carriage rolled up to the main gate of Kinkeld castle a short while later, into a wide courtyard between the two walls, then through a second gate, from where they could see the main body of the castle in its entirety.
It was about half the size of Inverleck, Grace judged. The main body and the two wings that jutted out of it at right angles were surrounded by two high walls, but it had no moat and only modest defenses. Although it was called a castle, it was really more like a large manor house. Grace could not imagine anywhere less likely to start a war from than this place. Unless it had giant unseen stores of weapons and ammunition stored somewhere, she could not see how it was possible.
Presently, as they drew up to the main building, a young man came out to meet them, grinning from ear to ear. He was sandy-haired and almost as tall as Fergus, although he was lanky rather than wiry. He had bright, blue-grey eyes and an open, friendly manner about him.
“Welcome!” He greeted them heartily, bowing. He opened the door, then helped Grace to step out, kissing her hand as he did so. Then, in a gesture of great courtesy, he reached out a hand to Crissy and helped her down, smiling at her. Surprised, Crissy smiled back.
When it came to William, he did not offer any assistance at all but laughed.
“You, Will Gibson, are big enough and ugly enough to climb down by yourself!”
“I’ll remember that!” William warned, with a threatening frown that changed into a burst of boyish laughter. The two men hugged briefly, patting each other’s backs with exaggerated force.
Callum turned to Grace. “Well, Grace, it has been a long time!” he remarked. “I trust I find you well?”
“Of course, Callum, and you?” Grace’s tone was polite, even though she hated the tedious pleasantries that were involved in greeting people.
“Well, thank you,” Callum replied politely, then he grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. As if reading her mind, he said, “I hate all this, don’t you? Come, I have a feeling that we have something more serious to talk about.” He flicked a glance at William.
He led them inside to a small cozy parlor where a bright fire was burning in the grate, then he ordered warm ale for all of them. It was almost time for their midday meal, but again, Grace could not face the thought of eating. She sat looking miserably into the fire for a few moments until she heard Callum addressing her.
“Grace—Will said in his note to me that you needed to ask about Fergus MacAndrew.” His voice was gentle as he gazed at her earnestly. “What do you need to know?”
Grace took a deep breath. “Robert MacAndrew says he thinks your men kidnapped Fergus,” she ventured. “He also accuses you of making preparations for war against him, but William says he knows you very well, and that you would never do such a thing.”
Callum stared at her in disbelief. “That would be funny if it were not so tragic,” he observed angrily. “We have no quarrel with anyone in Scotland, no one at all, and MacAndrew knows it! As for Fergus, he is a good man, and I would never wish harm on him. Even if I had kidnapped him, where would I put him? The stables? The food stores? The guards’ quarters?” He shrugged. “I have nothing to hide, but if you feel you would like to make sure, you are welcome to look around the castle.
