She opened her eyes and searched the horizon again, but saw no sign of him. Sighing in frustration, she slumped to the floor and stuck the pin back in the cursed lock.
One slight twist and it magically clicked open. She was free! Well…she was free of her chains. Laughing, she rubbed her ankle, so relieved, and then, she pulled the ropes toward her and set to work.
The mattress took a while to tear apart, the straw took some time to spread out in piles about the room and in front of the door. At one point, the cat woke and moved to one of the straw piles, curled up for a nap, refusing to leave even when Glenna scolded it, hissed at it, and tried to shoo it away. Finally, she picked up the cat and fashioned a sling to hold it.
The flint sparked readily, and before long, the oil reedflamed. Fire ready, she looked around her, took one deep breath, and she was ready, aware of the great risk she took if her plan did not go well.
His plan was not going well.
The first guard went down easily, but the second guard had Lyall pinned on the battlement with his head and shoulders hanging off. Below was a huge outcropping of jagged rocks that would break a man’s back should he be unfortunate enough to fall upon them…and he was close.
From his first few steps across the battlement, he had been in trouble. After fighting with the guard he’d met on the stairs, Lyall opened the wood door and ran out on the wall, then made the mistake of looking down. The height threw him off, and when he turned about, he faced an archer the size of a yew tree.
Disarmed too quickly, they struggled man-to-man, his only weapon his strength with his sword out of reach. The man pushed harder, a hand on Lyall’s throat, and from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the rocks so far below.
Fear broke out in beads of sweat on his brow, but he kept the heel of his hand pushing the man’s head back so he could not shout any warning. One alert and the castle would arm, then Ramsey and his men would never get inside the gates. And he hoped to God that Elgin Gordon was where they had left him, still manning those gates.
He felt the prick of the man’s dagger at his throat and found another burst of strength, and tried to reach for the man’s arrows, but his arms were not long enough. The knife tip was dangerously close, and his opponent did not budge but his face was red as apple.
With his boot to the man’s gut, Lyall tried to shove him off, but the man gained momentum, then lifted him and started to push. He began slipping over the side and fought to not slide anyfarther, which took everything he had and his arms began to shake.
The guard gasped suddenly, and made a sick groan of death. There was no more struggle and Lyall was freed, as Alastair Gordon shoved the man off him.
Panting, Lyall pulled himself up and sat there, his breathing labored, cold sweat pouring like water over his face, his worthless life still passing before his eyes. He took a moment, then grasped his sword and looked up. “God’s ears, Gordon. What took you so long?”
Alastair gave him a hand up and boasted proudly, “I had three guards to overtake on the eastern wall.”
“Only three?”
“Aye, but all at once,” Gordon lied.
“I’ll wager they weren’t the size of two men.” Lyall cast an uneasy glance at the man laying next to him, and knowing he owed Alastair Gordon his life.
“I would not have thought you were so worthless in a fight, Robertson.”
“Aye. Merely ask any one of Ramsey’s men. They’ll be all too glad to tell you what a coward I am.” Spoken too many times before, the words came from his lips easily. “’Tis is in my blood,” he said simply. “Now grab that pennant from its mount, and stop your cockcrowing. Someone has to signal Ramsey.”
Just as Gordon began waving the pennant, Lyall looked into the bailey, where a man had crossed and was just entering the gate house where they had left Elgin.
Lyall cursed silently.
There was a shout, loud enough to cause an alert. A moment later the gatehouse door opened with a loud scuffle and Elgin Gordon and the man tumbled out, Gordon clearly outmatched.
Alastair spun around. “El!” He took off through the battlement door, but Lyall looked on as his brother was already sprawled on the ground with a sword poised to kill. Frasyr’s man raised the weapon, ready to skewer Elgin.
In a the time it took a heart to beat, there was a whistling thud, and guard fell forward, an arrow in his back and piercing straight through his heart, his sword falling harmlessly from his hands.
Alastair Gordon came running out from the bottom of the stairs and straight to his brother, who lay there alive and stunned, pale and staring at the dead guard. Alastair turned and looked up as Lyall lowered the bow.
Two groups of Ramsey’s men had crossed the lake and were riding off the barges onto the island, another was already nearing the castle entrance.
“The gates!” Lyall shouted, then ran for the stairs.
The castle was arming.
At the bottom, he ran out, sword raised as Frasyr’s men swarmed out into the bailey. But the Gordons had managed to open the gate, and half his stepfather’s men were already inside and had the advantage of fighting on horseback. The fight struck hard and furiously, with sword clanging against sword and men began falling.
Lyall ran through the melee toward the keep, and inside, running past Frasyr’s men, who were flooding out like ants, strapping on weapons, and did not question his presence.
