Several hours later, Althea had almost succeeded in banishing the worry from her mind. She busied herself supervising the cleaning of the gilt-framed portraits in the great hall. When a shot sounded, she stopped mid-sentence, holding her body still while she listened. Soon after, O’Mainnin’s second shot echoed across the fields. With a strangled moan, Althea spun and met Quinn’s worried gaze. Were her worst fears to be realized?
“Maeve, go down to the kitchen and stay there,” Althea ordered the maid as Quinn rushed off. He returned with her warm, wool redingote and helped Althea into it. “It might be anyone, milady,” he said soothingly. “The priest likes to call in for a cup of tea. O’Mainnin is a good fellow, but not the sharpest, would argue with a signpost, would O’Mainnin.”
She firmed her lips, knowing the staff looked for her to be in charge. “The servants are to remain in the servants’ quarters. Don’t forget what I said, Quinn. Do not try to be brave.”
“Don’t worry, milady,” he said. “I will do as you wish.”
Althea wasn’t entirely sure he meant it.
At the entrance to the oubliette, he handed the lantern to Althea and unlocked the door. Once inside, he raised the trapdoor and removed the grill. Heart thudding against her ribs, Althea turned and climbed onto the ladder. She forced herself to negotiate the rungs and took two steps into the stale, bitterly cold air. Quinn leaned down and handed her the pistol he’d fetched from the gunroom. He’d instructed her how to remove the safety catch but she was familiar with guns—she was a farmer’s daughter—although she doubted she could shoot a person.
Finally, her feet touched the damp stone floor, which felt like a frozen lake beneath her shoes. The clang of the grill closing reverberated around her abnormally loud. “I wish you’d taken the lantern, milady.” Quinn’s voice floated down.
“No, a light might be seen.”
“As soon as I get rid of them, I’ll return.”
“Quinn?” The trapdoor banged shut. He had gone.
Her breath whooshed out of her lungs. The lantern gone, she could barely see her hand. The narrow window opening was a mere slit high up in the wall and did little to provide fresh air or lighten the gloom. The shadows took on menacing shapes. She dragged fusty air into her lungs, and sank onto the chair and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, seeking warmth and a protective covering. Tormented souls had suffered here, and some had died. Concentrating on her breath, she fought to slow the frantic beating of her heart and prayed Quinn wouldn’t do anything rash.
