“What are ye doing perched up there so precariously, love?” Caillen asked, “Be careful lest ye fall. I’m sure those bars have been impossible to move for centuries, so dinnae waste yer strength.”
Emer did not want to divulge her conversation with Pastor Dougal to Caillen, not unless she absolutely had to. What was the use of being told about a secret passageway when there was no way of finding it? She stared hopelessly at the outline of the family church for a bit longer and then jumped down off the barrel.
“It’s lighter outside than it is in here,” was all she remarked, “the moonlight cannae penetrate these dingy window holes.”
Caillen walked around the barrels and casks, giving each one a kick and listening to hear if it was full or empty. Each dusty container gave a hollow booming sound; they had been drained.
He went to give Emer a hug, pulling her close so he could nestle her head under his chin, “Dinnae fash, Em,” he said, “it may be they will bring us food and drink later.”
They went to lean against one corner of the cellar, sitting down on the hard flagstone floor with their knees pulled up, facing the bolted door to see who or what would come through it. Caillen put his arm protectively around Emer’s shoulders to keep her warm and hold her close.
“D’ye think they similarly waylaid Gilby on his route back to the keep, leading them to pinpointin’ our route?” Caillen mused out loud.
“But how did they ken where to findhim– if they did at all? Did ye tell anyone ye were leaving to follow me?” Emer was racking her brains to think of how the Sutherlands found out Caillen’s movements – he always kept his routine as unpredictable as possible for this very reason.
“Aye,” Caillen said in a neutral voice, “I told yer sister, as ye instructed me to do in yer letter.”
It was an impossible statement for Emer to respond to, but in her heart, she could only hope they had no cause to regret what had been done.
They stayed hunkered down in the corner, keeping each other warm by wrapping the traveling cloaks around them.
And so it was, in this position, Flora Sutherland found them in the morning.
* * *
“What a touching tableau,” Flora Sutherland said when the cellar door was opened for her, and she stepped under the low lintel.
If she had been hoping to take Caillen by surprise, she was doomed to disappointment. Caillen, a past master at being on duty upon the ship’s deck all night, had simply rested his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift but was still very aware of any sounds around him. He had heard one pair of light footsteps outside the door, followed by the heavy tread of another pair.
Guard and woman. She’s in charge because she’s walking ahead of the guard and then stepping back for him to open the door for her. A quick shuffle of his feet as he stands aside to let her pass, possibly even a salute. She’s wearing expensive shoes with high heels. She’s short because her stride is truncated. She’s also eager because she’s tripping along the passageway at a clipping rate.
Before the guard had even managed to close the door behind her, Caillen had replied without bothering to open his eyes, “A fine morning to ye, Flora. How’s yer illustrious faither?”
And then he opened his dark eyes slowly and looked at Flora Sutherland lazily from under his lashes.
“How did ye ken...? I mean..., I hope yer night wasnae too uncomfortable, Maclachlan,” Flora was at first bemused by Caillen’s perceived omniscience but then recalled her servants talking about how it was impossible to take Caillen by surprise. She made a nice recovery from her astonishment and reminded herself she was here to gloat, first and foremost.
“Are ye going to wake yer precious wee lady friend?” Flora inquired sweetly, “or shall I send for a guard to prick her awake with his dagger?”
Caillen gave Emer a gentle shake with the arm he still had wrapped around her shoulders. She moaned and stirred, then suddenly, her memories about what had happened to them the previous day came flooding back. She sat up straight with a start, staring at Flora as though the woman was a figment of her nightmare.
“Who...? What...?,” she whispered, her voice still husky from sleep.
‘Dear me,” Flora cooed, “Nae the sharpest lass, is she?” And then, slowly and loudly, as though she were talking to a small bairn, she said to Emer, “Ye’re in Sutherland lodge, dear, that’s nae too difficult for ye to grasp, is it nae?”
Emer sat more upright, rubbed her eyes, and thus was able to take her first clear look at Flora Sutherland.
She had seen templates of Grecian goddesses in library books at Maclachlan keep, but not even the sculptors in ancient times were skilled enough to capture such exquisite beauty. Flora had pale white skin, more reminiscent of alabaster or marble because it was so flawless. Her hair was almost the same color. It was platinum silver, silken and straight, so fine that where it framed her oval face, it looked as if the edges had been powdered with talc.
Her brows and lashes were golden, which only served to throw the icy arctic blue of her eyes into stark relief. Even though they were pursed into a petulant pout, Flora's lips were the color of a newly unfurled rosebud, pastel pink and delicate. When she opened her mouth to speak, the illusion was slightly shattered; Flora Sutherland’s pearly teeth were marred by two elongated, sharp incisors. It gave her a wolfish appearance and made her smile seem almost predatory. When her short stature and slender, almost child-like figure were considered, Flora Sutherland resembled a sugar paste doll on top of a cake more than a flesh and blood human.
Caillen stood up, using the wall behind him to help him stand. His legs and knees were cramped from being in one position for too long. When his muscles had warmed, and the blood flowed back into his limbs, which took a moment, he turned his back to Flora and helped Emer up. Still half asleep, she took his hand and stood upright with a slight struggle. Emer discovered her riding bonnet was still pinned onto her curls after touching her fingers up to her head, the hat feathers now limp and damp. She kept hold of Caillen’s hand.
As though one person, Emer, and Caillen assessed the woman standing in the middle of the room. Neither of them asked for water or food – they knew it would be a futile request.
Flora licked her lips in anticipation of their begging and pleading for a meal, for a mug of water, for an explanation – but it never came. Emer and Caillen remained tight-lipped and stared at her with a steely concentration.
It was Flora who broke off her gaze first.
