He took Douglas’s words of caution to heart. His former friend might be an arse, but he was an experienced, battle-hardened one who’d been on God knew how many dangerous missions. This was Thom’s first, and no matter how it had come about, he was determined to prove himself among his companions. If that meant casting himself in the role of pupil to Douglas’s teacher, he would do so gladly. Whatever his personal feelings, Douglas was one of the greatest knights in Scotland; Thom would be a fool not to heed his advice.
Fortunately, Douglas’s trepidation proved unwarranted. The plan proceeded without a hitch—or a barking dog, as Thom was to hear about over the campfire the next evening.
Thom climbed the cliff and scaled the last thirty feet of sheer rock without any trouble. Jamie and Elizabeth had been correct in their estimation of his skills. He wouldn’t characterize it as easy, but neither had it been difficult. Had he not ridden almost nonstop for the last twenty hours or so, and had a sore shoulder, he would have climbed it in even less time than the forty minutes it took him.
The most difficult part of the mission turned out to be finding somewhere to tie the rope that he dropped to Douglas and the six others who’d accompanied them into the castle—MacRuairi (who supposedly would be able to open the gate), Sutherland (who apparently had some knowledge of black powder that might give them extra time if they needed it), MacKay (who like Thom didn’t have any fondness for riding and also like Thom apparently possessed some skill with working iron), Boyd (who didn’t need to tell him what he was there for—his physical strength was obvious), MacSorley (whose easygoing presence and seafaring skill were put to use throwing the grappling hooks of the specially made wooden ladder they used to scale the wall), and MacLeod (whose unrivaled skill with the sword would be needed if they stumbled on any trouble). Campbell, MacGregor, Lamont, and MacLean had remained outside the gate to keep watch and alert them from below if anything appeared amiss.
Eventually Thom decided to secure the rope by winding it around a large rock and using his own body to provide extra leverage as the men climbed the last sheer section of the cliff.
MacSorley threw the grappling hooks over the wall with barely a sound, and to Thom’s surprise, after Douglas, he was the next man sent up the ladder. It was an unexpected honor, and Thom knew it was MacLeod’s way of letting him know it was a job well done.
Once in the castle, they encountered no resistance in their search for Archie. He was exactly where he was supposed to be: in the prison tower at the edge of the cliff. The two soldiers in the adjoining guardroom had been dispensed with quickly, and within a matter of seconds MacRuairi had the iron bar of the door unlocked.
It was pitch-black in the small chamber, and MacSorley had fetched a torch from the guardroom. Three filthy, bloodied faces stared back at them from a corner of the room; one of them was Archie’s. Thom’s stomach rolled, and bile rose up the back of his throat.
Douglas didn’t say anything, but Thom knew what he was feeling because he felt it, too: rage. Archie was only sixteen, damn it, but the lad had obviously suffered a vicious beating. He was covered in bruises and cuts, and the eyes that looked back at them were white with terror.
But with no time to take inventory of the wrongs committed against his brother—wrongs that Thom had no doubt would be accounted for in the not-so-distant future—Douglas simply gave the lad a quick embrace and helped him out of the hellhole in which he’d been trapped. They’d taken the other two men (who weren’t much older than Archie) with them as well.
Though in bad shape—weak from hunger and the beatings they’d suffered—the former prisoners nonetheless found a boon of strength to aid in their escape. They managed to climb the ladder and descend on their own, albeit with some help and the support of the ropes.
By the time the group was riding away from the castle, there was still nearly an hour of darkness remaining. Lamont and MacLean had found additional horses, but Archie and the two others were too weak to manage them on their own. Douglas took his brother, and Campbell and MacGregor took the other two behind them for the first few hours of hard riding.
Once they’d crossed the border near the English-occupied Berwick Castle, Douglas slowed the pace. After the first break, where the prisoners had washed, had their wounds tended by MacKay, eaten, and drank a good draught ofuisge-beatha, they were able to ride on their own.
But rest is what they most needed, and by early afternoon, Douglas halted for the night. Unlike the ride the day before, they had no cause to press. With the rain, sodden ground, and taking to the hills whenever possible to avoid the main roads and running into any English patrols, the ride was slow-going and treacherous to say the least.
They’d stopped somewhere in the Cheviot Hills, near what appeared to be an old hill fort. Archie and the other two lads were asleep on bedrolls in the canopy of the forest, while Thom relaxed with a skin of ale and some of the other warriors around the fire. MacLean and Lamont were on guard duty, and MacLeod and Douglas had gone somewhere—probably to hunt for food—but the other men were enjoying their well-earned rest. Thom was content just to listen to the conversation (most of which consisted of pointed barbs and needling), but he found himself drawn in more than once.
He’d already heard the story of how a dog had foiled the taking of Berwick Castle (when MacGregor hesitated to shoot it), and how they’d narrowly escaped capture afterward due to a resourceful young girl from the family who was hiding them deciding to sell tickets to see “the most handsome man in Scotland,” when the conversation turned to the most recent—and more successful—mission.
MacSorley, whose wicked smile was matched by his sense of humor, clearly liked to needle the others. His current target, however, was surprising. From everything Thom had heard of Lachlan MacRuairi, he was not a man to prod. His reputation as a black-hearted scourge and the most feared pirate in a Western Isles kingdom of pirates was well known. Thom had been shocked when MacRuairi had been unmasked as one of Bruce’s Phantoms and assumed he had been paid a fortune for his sword. But after watching him for the past couple of days, Thom was no longer certain his loyalty had been bought. Still, MacRuairi wasn’t a man Thom would want to cross swords with in a dark wynd or close.
MacSorley, however, seemed undaunted by the infamous mercenary’s reputation. “I think that pretty wife of yours and all those bairns you were never going to have made you soft, cousin.” They were kinsmen? Thom couldn’t hide his shock. The two couldn’t have been more different in appearance and temperament. “I thought you said climbing that cliff was ‘impossible.’ ” The big, fair-haired seafarer who would have made his Viking ancestors proud grinned. “MacGowan here didn’t seem to have any problems.”
“Sod off, Hawk. I think you are confused. I’m built like a rock, but that doesn’t mean I am one.”
MacSorley—Thom wondered where the name Hawk came from—chuckled and turned his gaze to Thom assessingly. “Interesting theory. Rock. I like it. It fits.”
Thom had no idea what he was talking about, but the others seemed to, as he saw more than one man smile.
MacRuairi wasn’t finished. “Anytime you want to show me how it’s done, cousin, be my guest. But I didn’t hear you volunteering to lead the way.”
MacSorley gave a dramatic shudder. “Nor will you. Christ, I didn’t even like being up that high with a rope. Be it good old terra firmaor the wooden planks of a ship, I need something under my feet.”
MacRuairi leaned back, kicked his legs out, and crossed his arms, eyeing his cousin slyly. “I didn’t think you were scared of anything, cousin—other than your wife.”
A few of the men laughed, and MacSorley grinned. “And people say you have no sense of humor.” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I have a healthy respect for both.” He turned to Thom. “So,Rock, how the hell did you learn to climb like that? I’ve never seen anyone scale a cliff so high or sheer.”
Thom smiled at the name—understanding the others’ amusement earlier—and shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just something I enjoyed, so I kept doing it. I like the challenge, I suppose, and the satisfaction of doing something no one else has before.”
A few of the men exchanged glances, and Thom wondered what he’d said.
“Well, that’s an understatement. I’d wager the English are still scratching their tails, wondering how we got in there.”
Tailwas a slur for coward, and Thom chuckled along with the others.
The Highlander Magnus MacKay, who was leaning against a tree next to Thom, gave him a long look. “I have to admit I share Hawk’s healthy respect for heights.”
