Abigail glanced at the sun, knowing she’d sat in the window embrasure for at least four hours. They had given her a tray for her morning and midday meal. She suspected neither Cormag nor Gordon wanted to hear from her, and she assumed Ronan had been right about Cecily. She’d turned her nose up at Abigail throughout the previous evening’s meal. She appeared as pretentious as Ronan described, happy to have another lady at her table and to claim she’d rescued Abigail. But Cecily had looked down her nose at Abigail and had no desire to engage her in conversation. For her own part, Abigail didn’t miss Cecily’s company, much preferring to be alone in the chamber.
As Abigail sat and looked out of the window, she watched the guards move along the battlements. She’d counted the sentries and estimated the timeframes when they switched positions. She strained to make out any distinguishable features or appearance among the men; she easily recognized the captain of the guard. He was an ox who barreled along the wall walk. Even from across the bailey and at her elevation, Abigail could tell the captain barked orders. When he turned his back, none of the men jumped to follow his command.
Abigail observed the clan members moving around the bailey. She spied the blacksmith’s workshop, the laundresses, a small fruit tree grove, and several storage buildings. The only things that interested her were the barracks and armory, but they were outside her line of vision. She could only guess how many warriors were at Dunvegan, even after she counted how many stood watch throughout the day and tried to count the men training in the lists between the inner wall and outer barmekin.
With nothing else to do, Abigail lay down to rest, soon falling asleep. Her strength was still diminished from the ordeal of the previous day. The fear during the attack, the physical strain of being in the water, and then the anxiety of waiting for Ronan to wake exhausted her. She’d turned away the porridge and eggs that morning, trusting neither offering. She’d settled for bread and butter with a chunk of cheese and an apple. When the midday tray arrived, she picked at it, only trusting the neeps and tatties. She didn’t care for turnips, usually skipping the neeps. But she was ravenous, so she ate them along with the potatoes. She devoured her second serving of bread and butter. She longed to try the apricot tart, but she didn’t trust it. She sipped at the watered ale, taking at least two hours to finish a single mug. She looked forward to the evening meal only if she sat at the dais and watched the servants offer Cormag and Gordon the same dishes before her. She would suffer their company for a hearty meal.
She woke with a start as the same maid from the day before shook her shoulder to rouse her. She sat up so quickly that she nearly bumped her head against the maid’s. The woman jumped back as though scalded, which was fine with Abigail. Distance between them meant the woman couldn’t stab her. The maid watched her through squinted eyes, suspicious of Abigail even though she was still groggy.
“Evening meal,” the maid mumbled.
“I’ll just use the pot,” Abigail said as she jutted her chin toward the screen that hid the chamber pot. She would use it as an excuse to put her knife back in her boot. Her shoes were dry now, but no one had returned her kirtle to her. She hoped it was being laundered, but it wouldn’t surprise her if they never returned it. Borrowing clothes from Cecily would keep her indebted to the woman. She would wear her boots in silent rebellion and because they fit better and hid hersgian dubhwithin easier reach than the top of her stocking. Abigail rose from the bed, turning back to straighten the sheets and retrieve the knife from beneath her pillow. She palmed the blade along her leg as she moved behind the screen.
Abigail knew using the chamber pot forced the maid to retrieve it rather than lead her out of the chamber. While the maid turned her nose up at the task, it gave Abigail time to grab her boots and slip the blade into its sheath. She laced and tied her boots with no one watching. When she was ready, she knocked on the door, and a pair of guards escorted her belowstairs. She maintained the same air of cool superiority that she’d shown the night before when she approached the dais. She didn’t wait for an invitation to sit at the table, taking the same seat she’d been offered the night prior. She pulled her chair close to the table and folded her hands in her lap. Her right leg crossed over her left in a most unladylike manner in order to bring her knife within easy reach. Fortunately, the table covering hung to the floor on the other side, keeping her posture hidden from the rest of the diners.
“No blathering on this eve?” Gordon asked as he looked past his brother and Cecily. Abigail offered one of her shrugs that seemed to irritate Cormag.
“There’s no one I wish to talk to.”
“I prefer your silence,” Cormag snapped before taking a long sip from his chalice. Abigail offered him the practiced smile she’d used countless times at court, but her eyes spoke a different tale. They challenged Cormag, her loathing clear. She watched as the servants placed food in Cormag and Cecily’s trencher first before moving to Gordon’s then hers. She watched as the three ate each item before she tasted hers. She wouldn’t put it past them to poison a dish and know not to eat it, while duping her into thinking it was safe. Like the night before, she avoided the wine that already sat in her chalice. Unwilling to drink it, she never received a drink from the same pitcher that refilled the others’ chalices. Cormag smirked, just as he had the night before. “Either Kieran or Ronan advised you.”
“Or I ken how to survive living alongside King Robert and Queen Elizabeth.” Abigail glanced at Cecily. “I wonder if you found your time as a lady-in-waiting as filled with intrigue as I did.” Cecily turned a disdainful look at Abigail.
“It was sophisticated and entertaining,” Cecily said archly. Abigail didn’t care how the woman responded. She’d made her point to the laird and his brother. She reminded them of her connection to the royal couple and that she’d survived living at the royal court, a place where poison wasn’t foreign. “Your sister was the most entertaining part.”
Abigail turned to look at Cecily squarely, running her eyes over the woman’s appearance, sniffing much as she had the day before. “Madeline has a way with words. I have never known her to be wrong.” Abigail wouldn’t defend her sister, trying to persuade them that the former lady-in-waiting turned postulant cum Lady Grant-to-be had reformed her vicious tongue. Instead, she would use that reputation to her advantage. “People say she and I are much alike.”
Abigail watched as Cecily retreated, both from the conversation and into her chair. The woman leaned back, abandoning the food before her. Abigail thought Cecily was prudent not to test her. But it left Cormag with an unobstructed view. He leered at her and licked his lips. She offered him a sardonic gaze before glancing at Cecily and cocking an eyebrow. It wasn’t difficult to see there was no affection between the couple, but she suspected Cecily was possessive and territorial about her husband. Either he conducted his affairs discreetly or he didn’t dare to have any. Either way, Abigail was confident he wouldn’t make advances while Cecily was nearby.
“Three sennights should be an appropriate length of mourning.” Gordon shifted the conversation to him. “Convenient as that is how long it takes to post the banns.”
“You think to force me to marry you.” Abigail’s disgust rang in her tone. “Kieran will think it odd that I should remarry so soon considering he knows my feelings aboot marriage and my husband.” She was careful not to admit how much Ronan meant to her. She knew the brothers would use it as leverage against her when the threats of torture came next.
“As a widow, you’ll be expected to remarry. It doesn’t take long to rip each finger from a mon’s hand or to stretch his limbs so far that they tear from his body.” Gordon was entirely predictable. “Mayhap you will watch, so you understand the type of mon you’re marrying.”
“No priest in Scotland will marry an unwilling woman. Kill Ronan, and there is naught but a guaranteed war. Since the Lord of the Isles favors my husband over you, and Kieran would undoubtedly make me a widow a second time, I wouldn’t do that.” Abigail turned her mouth down in a mocking frown. She broke with decorum and placed her elbow on the table and leaned her chin against her palm as though she were settling in to gossip with Cormag. “Did you forget that John of Islay wanted to be called the King of the Isles? I mean, he and the MacDonalds now control most of the Hebrides.”
Abigail leaned further forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially, letting go of her ladylike tones. “Dinna tell, but I think King Robert will give Islay whatever he wants if the mon will leave the Bruce alone. So, when the MacDonalds of Sleat march alongside the MacKinnons, I bet ye’ll spot the royal livery in there too. Imagine that. Do ye have enough birlinns to get yer entire clan to Harris?”
“Dunvegan is impregnable, well you know it,” Gordon snarled.
“Only if ye wave yer wee Fairy Flag,” Abigail mocked. She watched as Gordon and Cormag’s expressions grew guarded. While Abigail didn’t believe the folklore, it was clear the men did. Or at the least, their expressions gave away the existence of the fabled banner. Abigail turned back to her food, biting into a dried apricot. If she couldn’t have the tart, she could at least have a piece of the fruit. Neither Cecily nor the men spoke to her again. Abigail preferred they ignore her. It meant she’d be left alone that night, which was perfect.
Twenty-Five
Abigail listened at her door until the keep beyond her chamber grew silent. She’d wasted no time when she returned from the evening meal and ran her hands over all the walls, sweeping them high and low until she found what she searched for. She wiggled the loose brick and pressed down, finding the inconspicuous door that led into the hidden tunnels. Cormag was a few years older than Kieran, but Donovan had been close to her own age. When she’d visited as a child, Donovan bragged about how much more impressive Dunvegan was than Stornoway. Proud of their home, Abigail and Madeline argued with their distant cousin. In an attempt to prove his claim, Donovan not only admitted to the sisters that secret passageways existed, he’d also shown them parts of it.
Abigail hadn’t remembered in time to tell Ronan, but she knew the tunnels led throughout the keep. At least one tunnel led down to the dungeon, one to the laird’s chamber, and one to the laird’s solar. She recalled Donovan leading them through a tunnel from the laird’s solar to the sea gate while the tide was low. She’d seen the metal gate that blocked the archway that led into the underbelly of part of the castle. She closed her eyes, trying to picture the docks they’d arrived at the day before. She recalled the docks were adjacent to an outcropping of boulders that hid the sea gate. When the tide was high, it submerged most of the gate.
As she remembered her childhood tour, she visualized the cavernous outlet, seeing a wooden door to the back of the dark space. She pictured crossing the bailey from the postern gate at the top of the path from the docks, then the external door they’d passed through before she and Ronan were dumped into their cell. The door they’d used to lead her up a flight of stairs and into the Great Hall took her to the midpoint of the ground floor. The laird’s solar wasn’t far from where she entered the gathering hall.
When Donovan led them through the tunnels to the sea gate, they’d entered close to a wood door in the back of the cave. She suspected that was the door that led to the dungeon. She knew she needed to do two things: get the dungeon door open and get the sea gate open. How she would accomplish that, she wasn’t certain. She’d seen where the dungeon guard hid the keyring. There’d been more keys than cell doors, so one likely led to the bailey door, one to the cave door, and one to the door within the keep. If she could get to that ring, she could free Ronan and their men, then get them into the cave. But she didn’t know where the key to the subterranean gate was, and she couldn’t guarantee it would be on the dungeon keyring. She would need to ensure she could get the gate open before she tried to rescue Ronan.
Now that the keep settled for the night, she opened the secret hatch and felt around. But she didn’t find a torch, making her groan. She pulled a fresh log from the pile and lit the end, hoping it would remain lit and that it wouldn’t burn too quickly. She felt along the walls inside the tunnel until she found the latch that would release the door and gain her reentry to her chamber. She prayed the MacLeods left her alone like they had the night before. She and her aspirations of freedom would be doomed if anyone discovered she left her chamber, especially if they realized she’d done it via the secret tunnels. She pulled the door shut, crossing her fingers that the latch she found worked once she was sealed into the dark passageway.
Holding the torch in front of her, Abigail held her skirts above her ankles and eased her way along the pitch-black corridor. She moved silently, uncertain how sound might carry from within the tunnels. She followed it as it turned and sloped downward. At the bottom, she considered where the laird’s chamber likely was, since she was sure she was on the second floor. She’d spied his door when she passed along the second-floor landing. She turned left and glided along until she heard muffled sounds. She leaned the side of her face against the wall and listened. It didn’t take much to deduce she heard a man and a woman coupling. The female moans didn’t sound as if they would come from Cecily. Either she’d found Gordon’s chamber, or Cormag did have affairs. Abigail ran her hand along the wall until she found a latch. She did nothing to it, instead turning to face the other wall. She kept her hand at the same height as where she found the first latch and soon discovered a second. Listening at that wall only brought snores to her ear.
Abigail turned back the way she came and followed the passageway as it led her down another floor. She spied light flickering through the wall. She crept until she could find the crack where the light shone through. She peered through it, finding both Cormag and Gordon in the chamber. She drew back, trying to figure out who she’d heard the floor above. Could the feminine moans have been from Cecily? Did she have a lover? Who was the person snoring?
