2
“You looking forward to your execution?”
Gavin didn’t bother to look up. The gaoler had made the same joke every day for six months and it wasn’t getting any funnier.
“I’m talking to you, great laird of the MacGregors, nought but laird of the pit now. You hear me?”
Gavin grunted as the gaoler kicked his leg. “I hear you.”
“You get a journey before the hanging, do you ken that?”
Gavin waited for the inevitable punchline.
The gaoler grinned a black-toothed grin. “A short trip to the end of the hangman’s rope.”
“Good one,” Gavin said, running his hand through his hair. “You make me laugh as much as my father’s jongleur. He’s been dead twenty years. In fact, I reckon if you dig his corpse up, the only way to tell the difference would be smell. You stink more than any corpse ever did.”
Some of the other prisoners laughed, the sound dying away when the gaoler pointed his ax at Gavin. “You think it’s sport to mock me? I might just kill you now. Tell Mungo I caught you trying to escape.”
“Now, that’s funny,” Gavin replied, reaching down slowly, scooping a handful of dirt from the dungeon floor into his palm. “You ken why?”
“Why?”
“Come closer and I’ll tell you.”
The gaoler leaned in, ax in hand, his stench enough to make Gavin grimace as he pressed the weapon toward Gavin’s chest. “Go on then, great laird. Your last words before I separate your head from your shoulders. Why’s that funny?”
“You said you’d tell your laird you caught me trying to escape. You ken why that’s funny?”
“Why?”
“Because I am trying to escape.” He tossed the handful of dirt upward into the gaoler’s eyes. The man howled and staggered back as Gavin stuck a foot out behind his ankle.
The gaoler stumbled over the foot, falling heavily to the ground. Before he could rise, Gavin was up, yanking his arms apart and snapping the manacles from his wrists. The other men cheered as he picked up the ax and tossed it away from the gaoler.
“Six months I’ve been in here,” Gavin said, rubbing his wrists where the manacles had dug into his skin. “Every day wearing away the cheap metal Mungo bought. I told him it wouldnae hold prisoners long but he wouldnae listen and look at me now. Six months of listening to your jokes and taking your kicks and your blows and you ken what you deserve in return?”
“Kill him,” someone shouted out. “Snap his neck.”
“No,” the gaoler said, hands outstretched above his face as he scrambled away from Gavin. “Please, don’t. I beg you.”
Gavin smiled. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“You’re not?” The man looked confused, as if Gavin had told him he’d grown a second head. “Why not?”
“Because MacGregors dinnae seek out bloodshed from those weaker than ourselves. We want peace and if your laird had accepted our last offer we would have peace. Here’s what’s going to happen.” He reached down, taking the gaoler’s ring of keys from his belt. “You’re going to sit in that corner and I’m going to put these manacles on you. Then I’m going to leave with my men and go back to my castle. In about six months if you work hard, you’ll wear away the metal and be free.”
“You’ll never get out of here alive.” The gaoler said. “They’ll catch you before you get out of the keep.” He leaped up, swinging a punch at the laird.
“You forget,” Gavin said, ducking easily back, grabbing the gaoler and then tossing him effortlessly into the corner. “My father’s master mason designed this castle. I watched it being built. I ken every single secret passage in these walls and I will be home before Mungo kens what has happened down here.”
He grabbed the gaoler’s arm, clamping the first manacle around it. “And when he does come down here and finds you in my place, you’re going to tell him something.”
“What?”
“Tell him next time I come to talk peace, he should listen. Together we can unite the highlands. Divided we are easy prey for the English.”
Gavin worked his way around the dungeon, freeing each of his men in turn.
