Isabeau jerked back as if struck, taking several steps away from him. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, her lips still parted as though she was waiting for the kiss that never came. Michael, too, stepped away instantly, his breath ragged, guilt and desire warring in his chest.
“Come back in a few minutes Maisie, I’m almost done!” She called out.
“Go,” she then whispered, not looking at him.
Michael lingered a fraction too long, then inclined his head in apology. “Fergive me,” he said quietly. “I shouldnae have come here.”
He turned and slipped out the door before Maisie could round the corner, the echo of Isabeau’s voice following him down the corridor. And once he was in the quiet of his chambers, behind the safety of his closed door, he finally let the mask slip with a sigh as he leaned his head against it.
What will I dae with her? I’m already too far gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Night settled over the keep like a heavy cloak, concealing not only Michael’s movements, but also those of his enemies. Torchlight spilled in the corridor as he crossed the stone floor with the deliberate quiet of a man who had learned to keep his footsteps from betraying him. The bitter taste of blackmail—the memory of Alistair’s desperation, the coin in his palm—still lingered behind his teeth. He had done what he must. Now he had to bring him the letter.
He shut the door to his chamber and drew the shutters. The small room smelled of beeswax, the last of his rapier oil, and the faint perfume of lavender that clung to him from Isabeau’s quarters. He set a candle, took a scrap of parchment, and uncapped the ink with a hand that would not stop trembling until the last stroke was finished.
If this reaches ye ken first that I am alive and within Campbell walls, but time is thin and the net tightens. The situation here is worse than when we discussed. Campbell’s men have doubled patrols at night, and Fergus watches the dungeons restlessly.The men we sent inside to scout have been taken. They sit now in the same dungeons where Alyson is held. We cannot wait. We must strike tomorrow night, at dusk, when the guard changes.
Ye two will lead the feint in the yard. Bring a good showing of men, enough to draw Angus and his household guard out of the central keep and pull Fergus’ greater force towards ye. Make noise so that the laird believes the main blow is there. Yer goal is tae fix Laird Campbell’s strength outside the inner gate. Dinnae linger. Break when the signal is given.
I will remain inside under me present guise. I will draw the lesser guards from the dungeon and create a narrow opening, such as a guard rotation miscount, a door left unlatched, or a man sent on a false errand. If something goes awry, I must try tae keep me identity concealed at all costs. I will only reveal who I am if absolutely necessary.
Stay strong, braithers. We’ve almost made it.
Michael read the letter twice, then once more. Folding the parchment, he sealed it with some wax, letting it harden without the sigil of his clan. Though there was little doubt to whom such a letter could belong, even without their names on it, the last thing he needed was for the McDonald sigil to be on it if it fell on the wrong hands.
He let the wax cool, then sat back and rested his forehead against his knuckles. The candlelight threw his shadow long on the wall, darkness surrounding him from all sides.
Slipping through the keep unnoticed, like his shadow on the wall, Michael made his way to the stables, where Alistair was already waiting for him. The cold was biting at that time of the night, his breath fogging the air in front of him, and the man waiting for him was nothing if not restless—and suspicious. He was simply standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking around him as though he already knew he was going to be caught.
A healthy dose of fear was a good thing; terror like the one he displayed was another, and Michael had half a mind to put an end to it before it even began. But Alistair was his best bet now. The more he left the keep, the more suspicion he would draw to himself.
Alistair jumped in surprise the moment he stepped foot into the stables. When he saw it was only Michael, he gave a sigh of relief, his hand resting over his chest.
“Good—good evenin’,” Alistair said with a tilt of his head in greeting, but Michael wasted no time in pleasantries. He walked over to the man, his boots heavy on the packed earth, and handed him the sealed letter, his mouth a thin, hard line.
“Ye will take that letter an’ go by the east ridge road, through the farm track by the withered ash. There’s an abandoned croft beneath the ridge, two miles out past the mill. Leave it inside the hollow, under the loose stone at the base’s north side. Leave immediately. Dinnae talk. Dinnae stop. Dinnae dawdle.”
Alistair hesitated, thumbing the edge of the letter nervously. “An’ the coin?”
Michael set the pouch into his hand and watched Alistair close his fingers over it like a man feeling a heartbeat in his palm. “Half now, half once the job is done. Keep yer tongue, Alistair. If ye fail, Laird Campbell will hang ye an’ call the rope justice. If ye succeed, ye and yer family eat this winter. An’ if ye speak…”
He let the implication hang like a noose between them. But Michael doubted the man would risk speaking. Desperation made him a smaller man, but it also made him compliant.
“I’ll dae it,” he said. “I swear it.”
“Then go,” said Michael. “An’ remember… if ye open the letter, I will ken. If ye speak o’ this tae anyone, I will ken. If ye linger, I will ken. An’ ye dinnae let me tae find out ye’ve gone against me orders.”
Alistair nodded so violently it was almost a convulsion, then turned and vanished into the shadows, the jangling of the coin pouch the only sound he carried away.
Michael watched him go until the night swallowed the man whole. On his way back to the courtyard, a thin ribbon of satisfaction threaded through the tightness in his chest. It was not joy but rather purpose sharpened to a point. Only a few hours remained between him and Alyson, between now and finally freeing his sister.
As he neared the keep, his gaze was drawn to one window, lit from within with candlelight. Though he couldn’t see her, Michael knew Isabeau was there, waiting out her fate.
On the morrow, I’ll be gone… but she’ll still be here, trapped.
And the thought flooded his mouth with a bitter taste.
