Gawain suppressed his mirth, “Aye, I cannae imagine him prostrating himself on the kirk floor in supplication for forgiveness. He’s more the kind to lay blame on everyone else but himself.”
As the two brothers snickered at the thought of Laird Sutherland pushing his invalid chair up the chapel aisle, Emer said in an acidic voice, “When ye’ve quite finished making light o’ the matter, perhaps we could try lifting the trap door? It’s freezing down here.”
“It’ll be freezing up there too, lass,” Caillen remarked, but then they fell quiet as Gawain took a breath, felt for the latch to release it, and pushed upwards.
Chapter Thirty-One
There was no light to greet them on the other side. Night had fallen, and the graveyard was still and empty. Only the subtle breeze blowing in her face told Emer the passage had led them outside. Gawain felt for her shoulder in the dark and then asked for her to give him her hand. She obliged, and he hoisted her out of the secret chapel entrance. When Emer stood up, she found herself inside a crypt. It was so old and neglected, parts of the corners and entrance had crumbled away, and she was able to see starlight when she looked around. When her eyes had adjusted to the nighttime glimmer, Emer was able to read the engraving on the tomb by the light of the moon.
“Enid Hughes – styled herself Lady Enid Sutherland – mother of Flora,” she read.
By this time, Caillen had hauled himself out of the passage and said, “So, Flora Sutherland didnae crawl out of the black part o’ hell to torment us. She was born of a human – wonders never cease to amaze me.”
“Nay mention of her being a wife,” Gawain remarked.
Emer felt tempted to tell them why, but their position was too precarious for her to waste time with anecdotes. The chapel was behind Sutherland walls. They still had to get out the other side.
Fortunately, once Gawain was in the chapel yard, he knew his bearings far better than Emer and Caillen, who had never set foot inside the lodge walls.
“The stables are that way,” he pointed, “and the gates are over there.”
“Where’s the guards’ room; where do they sleep and stand sentry?” Caillen asked.
“The captain of the guards is housed in his own lodgings. The men at arms bunker down over there, and at the gates are a sentry post. Armed and manned by four soldiers for the most part – I’ve never tried to enter here at night, so I’m nae sure.”
The brothers sat quietly for a long while. Emer guessed they were thinking about an escape plan and wondered why they did not discuss it out loud. She was not aware that the brothers had been planning and strategizing together since they were small children, and this was how they did it.
“I say we check the stables first. We need mounts,” Caillen said, and Gawain nodded. The men were sitting casually with their backs against Enid Sutherland’s tombstone, reserving all their strength for the escape.
After considering this some more, Gawain said, “Let’s split up. I’ll take the guards’ room to check for lookouts. Ye take the stables and get us horses.”
Emer did not know this, but the brothers meant that Gawain would go and try finding them disguises and get them weapons while Caillen saddled three horses. Both missions were fraught with danger, and both required the brothers to kill anyone if they happened to be seen.
“I think we should look out for sentries or sleepless servants in both places,” Caillen said, and Gawain nodded.
“I’ve seen visitors come and go at all hours, but me vantage point was always from seeing them arrive in the great hall – I have nae idea how they got in an’ out.”
Caillen came to a decision and stood up, “Emer, stay here. If we nae come back, dinnae go back down the tunnel. Wrap yer cloak around ye and pull up the hood. Try to cozen yer way out of the gates by saying ye’re the new maid. Flirt and play the coquette if ye must, even if it means allowing the guards to take liberties. Yer life is on the line.”
Emer nodded. There were no more jokes or sad farewells. This was real – it was either escape and live or stay and die.
Gawain and Caillen disappeared into the night.
Emer strained her ears. Only night noises came back to her; the occasional whinny coming from the stables, the barking of a dog, the slamming of a scullery door, and then the sound of a water pump being used.
She waited.
The moon rose in the sky and blotted out some of the starlight with its brightness. As much as she loved the sight of it, Emer could not stop thinking the illumination would make it easier to recognize and hunt them by moonlight.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Gawain’s return. He was holding two swords by the hilt in one hand and a dagger in the other. There was a spray of fresh blood on his face, and he had used the kerchief Emer’s had given him to wipe some of it away, but the blood shone black in the moonlight. A bundle of clothes was tucked under his arm.
“Where’s Caillen?” he asked. It was not a foolish question because, in the past, Caillen had always been the one to do all the reconnoitering.
Emer shook her head. Gawain went through the bundle of clothes and drew a cloak over his shoulders. He crammed a close cap over his head after tying his hair back in a knot.
A dark shape came into the graveyard and revealed itself to be Caillen.
“The horses are hidden behind the auld priest house walls. I threw what tack I could find into the horse trough.”
