The passage sloped gently downward, and she could feel the air grow cooler and damper with every step. The stone beneath their feet was worn smooth, polished by centuries of servants who had learned to move unseen. At the far end, Annabel paused and pressed her palm to the wall. A narrow door opened inward, releasing a breath of night air. They stepped out onto the back side of the castle wall.
Here, Inveraray rose dark and silent behind them, its great bulk cutting off the moonlight. The loch lay somewhere beyond sight, and the wind carried the faint smell of wet grass and salt.
A man waited in the shadow of the wall.
Thomas.
He straightened as they approached. His hand was resting near the hilt of his blade. He did not bow. He did not speak at first. His eyes flicked to Margaret, assessing her, then back to Annabel.
“Ye’re sure?” he whispered to his wife, not to Margaret.
Annabel nodded. “As sure as I can be.”
His jaw tightened. He leaned in, murmuring something Margaret could not catch. She assumed they were practical, urgent words meant only for a wife who understood their cost. Annabel answered just as quietly, her hand brushing his sleeve once.
Then Thomas turned to Margaret.
“We go now,” he instructed. “Quietly. Stay close, dae as I say.”
“I will,” Margaret replied.
Annabel took Margaret’s hands then, squeezing once, hard. “Go,” she whispered. “And come back safe.”
Margaret nodded, unable to trust her voice. She turned away before she could falter. Thomas led her along the outer wall, keeping to the deepest shadows and choosing paths that bent away from torchlight and guard routes. They moved through low brush and damp grass, ducking beneath branches, then pausing when the wind carried sound the wrong way. Thomas never looked back, but Margaret could feel his awareness of her. She was certain that he was counting her steps and listening for her breath.
When they were far enough from the castle that its shape blurred into darkness, Thomas angled toward a stand of trees. He parted a curtain of bushes and revealed two horses tied securely to a thick trunk. Their dark coats were blending perfectly with the night.
Thomas checked the tack swiftly. “We ride hard, but nae fast. The path’s rough in places. Keep low.”
She mounted without assistance, grateful for the weeks of riding that had hardened her muscles and nerves alike. Thomas swung up behind her, took the lead, and they moved off at once.
Luckily, the chosen spot was situated right between her father’s lands and Domhnall’s. The journey was not excessively long, but every moment of it thrummed with tension. Hooves muffled on soft earth. Branches brushed past her boots. The night seemed alive with watchful sounds of owls, foxes and the distant rush of water. Margaret kept her gaze forward, marking turns and feeling the land open gradually around them.
She did not look back.
They finally got there. The trees thinned into a narrow clearing where the old road curved and dipped, half-forgotten and scarcely more than a memory pressed into earth. Moss softened the stones, and bracken crowded close, reclaiming what had once been a thoroughfare. This was where they had agreed to meet. It was quiet, unremarkable, and easy to miss unless one knew precisely what to look for.
Margaret dismounted first. Thomas moved to the edge of the clearing at once, fading into the shadows as though the night itself had taken him in. He did not speak. He did not need to. His presence was a promise that if danger came, it would not reach her without warning.
Margaret stepped forward alone.
She drew her cloak tighter and watched the road, her heart pounding as the minutes stretched. Every rustle of leaves made her still. Every shift of shadow pulled her attention sharp and fast. This was the longest she had stood still in days.
Nothing moved.
The road lay empty, pale in the growing light. There were no footsteps, and she heard no voices. There was only the whisper of wind through grass.
Perhaps we are too early,she told herself.Or perhaps?—
Then, a branch cracked behind her.
Margaret jerked around, with her hand flying instinctively to her chest. Her eyes searched the tree line, and her mind was racing.
Was it a boot? A blade? Would Thomas reach me in time?
She opened her mouth to call out, but then a voice spilled into the silence.
“Margaret.”
