“One day before the execution,” Bruce said as the men gathered together. “I ken I taught you to work to deadlines but by God you cut it fine this time.”
“I didnae see you bursting out of your chains to free us all.”
“Aye, well, I wanted to test you, my laird.”
“Course you did. Now come on, let’s get moving before Mungo gets wind of our escape and we’re back where we started.”
Mungo Frazer had taken them hostage to try and extract a ransom from his clan. They refused to hand over a groat. Mungo had set a six month deadline for the ransom to be sent else the laird and his men would be executed.
Gavin had marked every day on the wall of the dungeon, keeping count while spending every spare moment wearing away the iron manacles, rubbing them on the rough sandstone that served as his seat and bed for the duration of his stay in the Frazer Castle dungeon.
“Come on,” he said to his men. “This way.”
He knew which key unlocked the dungeon. He’d seen the gaoler use it often enough. The long black one with the curved end.
With the door wedged open he looked back as his men passed through. He closed the door on the sound of the gaoler’s insults, locking it once more.
His men were standing in the gaoler’s quarters waiting to be told what to do next. He pointed at the wall. “Bruce, to your left is a red stone that juts out too far. You see it?”
“Aye, my laird.”
The stone below it, pull that.”
Bruce did as he was told, tugging out the stone to reveal a dark space behind. “What now?”
“Reach in and pull the handle.”
While he was doing that, Gavin knelt down and pulled the threadbare rug toward him to reveal underneath a trapdoor that swung open when the handle was pulled.
“Where does that go?” Bruce asked, nodding toward the trapdoor.
“Leads into the sewer and out by Bracken Wood. We’ll have to go one at a time. Bruce you take the lead, the rest of you follow and watch your footing. No noise until we’re well out of earshot of the castle.”
The men nodded, ducking through the trapdoor one after another. When they were all gone, Gavin took one last look around him, hoping he would never see the inside of Frazer Castle again.
He jumped down through the hole, pausing for long enough to pull the trapdoor shut. He couldn’t replace the rug but hopefully no one would notice too soon. The gaoler didn’t tend to get many social calls so by the time anyone realized he was missing they should be far from Frazer Castle.
“What you going to do when we get back?” someone whispered, the sound echoing back to him.
Another voice replied. “I haven’t seen my wife for six months. I think you ken exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Shake hands with her new husband?”
There was a smacking sound and then a sudden exhalation. Someone had just been punched in the gut. “Enough horseplay,” Bruce snapped from the front. “Unless you want to end up back in that dungeon.”
“What about you Bruce?” someone else called out. “Going to ask Mary to wed you?”
“Jings,” Bruce said. “You still care about that. She’ll have long forgotten me.”
“Not you,” another voice said. “Not Bruce the sword master, the barefist fighter, the chivalrous nobleman who lent her his finest cloak that stormy winter’s night.”
“You all saw that then?”
Murmurs of assent.
Gavin smiled to himself. Bruce had been slowly courting the barmaid of the Frog and Whistle for ten years. The safest bet was on him popping the question some time in the next decade.
“Six months away,” someone else said. “What if she has forgotten you?”
