The man’s death scream echoed in his ears the instant his fingers closed around the knotted rope.
“Do not disappoint me,” he said, thrusting the end of the rope into James’ hands. “I am not yet ready to leave this world.”
James nodded once. “I’ll hold it fast.”
Marmaduke returned the nod, and then, before his doubts about James’ capabilities could stop him, he swung himself over the wall. Fierce gusts of sea wind seized him at once, repeated blasts of brine-laden air that bit into his bare back and whipped his hair across his face, making the perilous descent even more difficult.
He kept his gaze on the vertical rock face in front of him. Glistening wet and dark, the very stone reeked of the sea and a fouler, more rank odor that could only have to do with the purpose of his descent.
As he neared the bottom, great plumes of icy foam fanned upward, enclosing him in a shimmering, luminescent cloud that misted his skin and lent cooling relief to his straining arm and thigh muscles.
At last he reached the rocks at the cliff’s base, but a thick coating of darkish slime and slippery clumps of long-tendrilled seagrass made it difficult to stand.
Frigid waves slammed into the backs of his knees, posing a further test to his balancing skills. The satchel and drawplate rested nearby and the garderobe chute loomed not five feet above the rocks, protected from the sea’s endless lashing by a cave-like niche carved deep into the face of the cliff.
Securely tied to one of the larger rocks, the coracle rose and fell with the sea. Eager to be done, Marmaduke thrust his dirk into the hide-covered hull. He made several long gashes, then cut the tethers, freeing the little boat to the tide.
Straightening, he picked his way over the rocks to the cliff-face. Someone long before him had cut deep into the rock, widening what must’ve been a natural fissure. An alcove of sorts, shielded from the most vicious lashings of the wind and waves, but filled with heavy, stagnant air.
Long-corroded shards of twisted iron protrused from the opening’s edges, bearing testament that a grate of some sorts had once guarded this foul-reeking route out of, or into, the bowels of Dunlaidir.
Literally.
Marmaduke shuddered, tried not to inhale too deeply.
Revulsion lent speed to his handiwork. As did a keen awareness of the need to be done before the heavens cracked open.
Blessedly, the drawplate proved a perfect fit.
No further murder-minded miscreants would use the chute to sneak into the stronghold.
Even so, he wouldn’t sleep easily until he knew his lady safely on the other side of Scotland, happily ensconced in his own soon-to-be claimed, better guarded, and much more comfortable Balkenzie.
But closer than Balkenzie and, at the moment, of greater importance, the storm that had appeared so far out to sea neared at an alarming pace. The air around him crackled, prickling his skin and lifting the hair on his arms.
Arms no longer slick with mere sweat and salt spray, but streaked with grime.
His hands were worse.
Marmaduke glanced at the tossing waves. Cold and wild, there was no question they’d be invigorating as well as cleansing.
And he had promised himself a dip in the sea.
Above him, James leaned through one of the crenel openings, watching him. He was clearly waiting to see if Marmaduke would indeed go into the water.
Marmaduke didn’t need to consider.
He’d lose already-gained ground with James should he not follow through with his boast. And so he lifted a hand in acknowledgment and flashed his best smile.
Then, before his good sense prevailed, he dived off the narrow ledge of rocks.
The icy water embraced him, its shock nearly stopping his heart. A strong undertow threatened to whisk him out to sea, but before the current could pull him deeper, another more powerful cross-current caught him in the side, rolling him over and over before slinging him against a wall of submerged rock.
His head and shoulders broke the surface close enough to the base of the cliff for him to grab hold of one of the rocks and swing himself over its edge to safety.
His lungs screamed for air, his entire right side burned as if on fire, and the sting of saltwater near stole the vision from his good eye, but he’d kept his word.
For a long moment, he didn’t move and simply let the water course down his limbs. He took several deep, restorative gulps of air, filling his lungs before he squeezed the water from his hair, then ran both hands down his face.
