This was partially her fault, and rightly or wrongly, if she didn’t do something, she would feel responsible for the deaths of those men for the rest of her life.
But it was one man’s death that would haunt her. The man she’d watched for over two weeks, the man who’d sacrificed himself, who had selflessly given his food and shouldered more of the burden for his friend, did not deserve to die. She knew it deep in her soul with a certainty that could not be ignored. War or not, it was wrong, and she had to try to make it right, even if…even if it meant letting him go free.
Once the treacherous thought was out, it felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She knew what she had to do—or try to do, if it were possible.
Exiting the Snow Tower, she paused in the shadows to get her bearings. She didn’t have a plan. All she knew was that the Scot had been moved to the pit prison, which was located below the old keep next to the burned-down Great Hall. She’d walked past it every night on making her deliveries—quickly, as the forbidding old stone building hadn’t been used in some time and seemed very dark. But there was a torch there now, burning from its iron perch beside the doorway. Drawing a little closer, she kept tight to the shadows of the wall and watched.
Dear God, what was she doing? She couldn’t help but feel the impossibility of her plight. How was a sixteen-year-old girl going to break anyone out of a pit prison without help? Without a plan? She couldn’t very well just walk in there, open the door, and pull him out.
Could she?
What about the guards? Even though she couldn’t see anyone right now, and the pit prison offered little chance of escape, there had to be at least one.
There was. A soldier appeared from the direction of the warden’s tower, where the prisoners were being held, walked back and forth a few times in front of the entry to the old keep, and then disappeared. About five minutes later he did it again. After two more times, she had to hope it was a pattern. The next time he left, she waited until he was around the corner and then darted into the entrance of the keep.
It was pitch black and cold.Verycold. Chill-run-down-your-spine cold.
There are no such thing as ghosts…no such thing as ghosts.
But if the dead were ever inclined to walk the earth, this would be the perfect place to do so.
After giving her eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, she moved around the room, looking for the entrance to the pit prison, finding it in a small stone antechamber off the main entry. The room was no more than three or four feet wide, with a small wooden door covering one corner of the stone floor. She heaved a sigh of relief, seeing that the door had a simple latch rather than a lock.
How many minutes had gone by? Two, maybe three? Very carefully she slid the iron latch, her heart stopping more than a few beats when it squeaked—loudly. She froze, but when no one came rushing in with a sword drawn, she slid the latch fully out of the way and grabbed the edge of the wooden door to lift.
It was heavier than it appeared, and she struggled, but finally managed to open it. A rush of cold, dank air pushed her back for a moment, but eventually she kneeled over the hole and peered down into the darkness. It was dead silent. At first she didn’t see anything, but then she saw the unmistakable glow of white gazing up at her.
She startled.
“Morning already?” he sneered. “I was just getting comfortable.”
God, that voice!Deep and powerful, it seemed to reverberate through her bones. “Shhh,” she whispered. “The guard will be coming back.”
Though she knew it was impossible, she swore she could see him stiffen with surprise.
“Who are you?”
“Shhh,” she pleaded again. “Please. The guard will hear you.”
Leaving the door open, she raced out of the small antechamber and plastered her back to the wall next to the entry. Holding her breath for what seemed like eternity, she waited for the guard to approach. With each footstep her heart stopped, starting only when she heard the fall of the next. When the footsteps finally moved away, she ran back to the room.
“We have to hurry,” she whispered. “He’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The Scot didn’t waste time questioning her, taking charge in the coolly efficient manner of a man accustomed to the role. “They lowered me down with a rope tied to a latch in the wall. See if it’s still there.”
His voice was closer now, and she realized he must be standing right below her. Probably only a few feet separated them. She shuddered or shivered, she didn’t know which, but turned around to do his bidding. She found the iron peg in the stone wall and sure enough, an old, frayed piece of rope was tied around it. Picking up the end, she moved back to the opening.
Seeing her shadow return, he asked, “Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
“Throw it down.”
She hesitated; suddenly the full import of what she was doing hit her.
After a long pause he spoke. His voice was harder—with disappointment maybe? “Change your mind?”
Had she?No. She wasn’t wrong about him. But still, it was one thing to watch a man from a window and admire him and another to have him right next to you. “If I help you, you have to promise to leave without hurting anyone.”
