“Oh! I’m so sorry, Miss—” The maid peered up at him, but he wrenched his hood down.
“I’ll clean it up,” the druid said and instantly regretted it. He dropped to his knees and started to gather the silver.
“Dinnae fuss!” Halla chided, coming to block him from view. Shoving the tray at the maid, she said, “Go on!”
“Oi!” the cook shouted from the spit, alerted by the commotion. “What ye doin’ skulkin’ about? We’ve a feast to prepare! Bring up those cabbages!”
The druid gripped the cloak—his only armor.
“Aye, we’re coming, calm yer head!” Halla called, nudging the young maid onward.
“Halla?” the druid whispered, unsure.
She nodded him down the corridor. “To the pantry! Quick! I’ll find ye there!”
He had no time to resist. He hurried down the corridor, his gaze flicking from one lintel to the next.
Where was the pantry?
Voices rose. Which direction? He couldn’t tell. Ahead of him was another open door. It smelled of barn. The yard was near.
His feet picked up, lurching for the doorway and—he bit back a gasp.
Through the arch was a hissing hearth, and around it sat six armored guards.
The barracks.
Stunned, the druid barely corrected his stumbling.
The men hollered and drank, unaware of his intrusion. He held his breath, dared one step back.
“Where ye goin’, wee fine lass?”
He froze.
One man stood, silhouetted against the fire. “I said dinnae ye fucking move.”
The druid couldn’t. His fingers had gone bone white clenched in his cloak. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
The man staggered and bellowed, “And I had her right there behind the privy!” He performed a lewd gesture. The others roared with laughter—all of them dreadfully drunk. The man pranced about, carrying on with his promiscuous story, and the druid realized he hadn’t yet been caught. But it was all too precarious.
A turn of the head and they’d see him—a ghost against the stone.
He took another step back.
The guards started in on an odious song. The druid turned and ran.
The barn smell thickened, but the maze of Rhyd-hal worked against him. He searched door after door, finally stumbling into a rounded cellar.
He had found it. And for an instant, wished he hadn’t. A rabble in his mind was rioting—head back!
Panting, the druid glanced about. The castle’s storeroom was piled with thick barrels. Sagging shelves laden with dusty bottles lined the walls, and hay speckled the floor. It smelled of dirt, which should have calmed him, but his body refused.
Footsteps sounded behind him. He spun, coming face-to-face with Halla.
“Quickly! Just beyond there.” She motioned wildly to a door at the far end of the room.
“Halla, maybe we shouldn’t—”
