"Witchcraft?" She almost laughed at the absurdity of it but then she stopped, shaking her head. It couldn’t be true, could it? "The key," she muttered to herself. "Oh no, tell me this isn’t really happening. I’m not really here, please tell me I’m not really in a medieval oubliette."
She remembered oubliettes from the research she’d done while writing her books. Dungeons set deep underground with only one way in or out, through a hole in the ceiling.
Prisoners were dropped through the hole and left to starve in the more cruel locations. In most places, they were simply effective prisons that were hard to escape from until trial.
"Why are you here?" she asked, turning to look at Lennox. "What crime have you committed?"
"I defied the English."
"How?"
"Never mind that now. With you here, I may be able to get out of here. Let me stand on your shoulders."
She smiled. "Do I look like a body builder?"
"A what?"
"Never mind. You’d crush me. I’ll stand on your shoulders. I could do with a closer look at this trapdoor."
"What if you fall?"
"Then hopefully I’ll wake up far away from here with a bump on my head. Come on."
He shook his head. "You’ll never get that trapdoor open."
"You’d be surprised what I can do. Hold out your hand."
He did as she asked and she put a foot into his hand, surprised to find him effortlessly lifting her upward. She almost lost her balance, grabbing his chest as he raised her further. She stood on his shoulders, her hands on the trapdoor, feeling for the lock. "Pretty basic," she muttered to herself. "Shouldn’t be too tricky."
She pulled out a hairpin, moving the stray lock that fell into her eyes so she could see better. "I can do locks like this in the dark," she called down. "Which is just as well given the circumstances."
Sliding the pin into the lock, she twisted it, feeling for the edge of the cylinder. It was a rudimentary design, just like one of the early ones she’d practised on as a child.
He shifted under her and she almost fell. "Keep me still," she snapped. "I’ve almost got it." There was a clicking sound she knew well. "Done." She shoved the trapdoor upward. It barely moved. Summoning up all her strength, she braced against it. "Push me up as high as you can."
His hands moved to her ankles. All of a sudden she was hovering in the air, moving swiftly upward, the trapdoor going with her. It swung open, hitting the floor of the chamber above with a muffled thud.
Reaching up she used the last of her strength to pull herself through the opening, collapsing to the floor and panting heavily, wondering just how long this dream was going to go on for.
She refused to accept it might be real.
"Hurry," he called up to her. "Find something for me to climb."
She looked down at Lennox. At the same moment footsteps began to echo behind the door to her left. Someone was coming.
There was another door to her right. She could run, leave Lennox to his fate. Or she could stay and try and get him out but risk being caught by whoever was about to come through that door. Stay or go. She had seconds to decide.
"Wait there," she called down, grabbing hold of a length of rope that someone had dumped by the trapdoor. One end was tied around a heavy iron ring attached to the floor. She threw the other end down through the hole just as a key turned in the lock in front of her.
Lennox began to climb as the door opened. Rose scrambled to her feet as a cruel looking man in dirty brown leather armor walked in. "What’s that noise?" he said in a gruff voice, looking at the open trapdoor and then at Rose. "Are you trying to help the Highlander out?"
"She’s already done it," Lennox said, springing up through the gap and landing a punch straight on the man’s chin. He staggered back, reaching for his sword.
Rose could hardly believe what she was seeing. It was like something from one of her books. The guard had his sword out and was slashing through the air. Lennox was the dashing outlaw, handsome despite the mud covering his face, laughing, darting left and right, goading the guard on as if he didn’t care about getting stabbed.
"Stop," she yelled. "Someone’s going to get hurt."
They ignored her. The man lunged at Lennox who leaped neatly back, his feet on the edge of the hole into the oubliette. He balanced there, beckoning the man forward. "Come on you English scum." He raised his hands above his head. "One free hit. Go for it."
