Page 42 of Highlander’s Quest of Desire

“Here.” Laird Labert grinned and inserted his finger in an invisible slit in the tapestry. The flap lifted as easily as a single page being turned on a book. An oak door was behind it, caked with dust but solid.

Laird Labert removed a key from a pocket and inserted it in the lock. Bruce doubted it would turn, but it unlocked with ease. Dust showered down on the floor as the door opened with a spine-tingling creak. Cold air wafted into the hall, carrying with it the damp smell of caves, and turned earth.

“Come on, lad,” Laird Labert said, a wicked smile on his face. He took a torch from the wall and stepped inside the passage. “I cannae stop ye, but I can show ye a way back home.”

Bruce followed him, fascinated. Steps were carved into the rock. They descended steeply down into the unknown. The walls were carved from rock as well. Bruce touched the rough-cut rock, feeling its sharp edges as he went down.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“A secret passage in and out of Balquhidder.” Laird Labert grunted, his breath catching as he descended the steps. “It was built by my great grandfather as a way to escape if Balquhidder ever faced a siege. Only Laberts have ken of this place. Well, all the Laberts and now a Grant.”

He grinned at Bruce, the torch light shining around his head like a hellish halo. Bruce didn’t much like this place. It grew narrow as they went down, and the stone steps were broken in places, ready to trip anyone who wasn’t paying attention. The roof nearly grazed his head, and the air was stale.

The passage went on and on until Bruce lost the track of time. “How far does it go?”

“A long way. The passage connects the castle to the town down the hill. We’ve reached the half-way point.”

He pointed the torch at the wall and Bruce saw the Labert crest painted on the wall in red. Bruce stared at the clenched fist and couldn’t help but think it looked like the pleading hand of a tortured man trying to break out of hell.

He was loath to cross that marker, a strange superstition came over him that convinced him there would be no coming back if he crossed the half-way point. Laird Labert went on ahead without a care in the world. He heard him hum a ditty as he skipped down a few steps. The eerie atmosphere didn’t seem to affect him at all. Maybe it was a Labert thing. Maybe the passage only gave safe guidance to Laberts and sensed he wasn’t one.

With an effort he crossed that marker, nearly stumbling and falling. He reached a hand out to steady himself and cut his palm against the jagged wall. Standing up straight he looked at the small gash on his hand and the blood seeping out of it. The wall glistened with his blood; the paint underneath seemed to be moving in the shifting light of the retreating torch.

Now that the blood sacrifice had been extracted, Bruce hurried after Laird Labert. Immediately he noticed a change in atmosphere. The air was fresher, and the dense darkness in the crevices of rock dispelled a little. His heart no longer beat a tattoo in his chest, and the ache of fear had lifted off his throat. The place didn’t seem friendly, but it was no longer hostile.

“There!” Laird Labert announced. “Ye see it?”

Bruce was panting as he joined Laird Labert on the step. He looked to where Laird Labert was pointing and saw a pin point of light. “That’s the entrance. ‘Tis hidden and nae easily accessible, but I’ll show ye the markers.”

“’Tis this a punishment?” Bruce wheezed. “Are ye trying to get me sick so I willnae leave?”

Laird Labert laughed, the sound echoing in the passage. “Yer too stubborn to fall for something like that.”

They clambered down the steps, scurrying closer to the entrance. The light grew bigger and bigger until it was a large hole covered with a curtain of ivy and leaves. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Here we are!” Laird Labert planted the torch into the loose soil at the entrance of the cave. He pushed the vines out of the way, and they walked out into the sunlight. They stood in the middle of the forest. Birds chirped, announcing the presence of two strangers in their midst. His eyes smarted at the sudden change from hazy gloom to bright light.

Bruce wanted to fall to his knees and kiss the ground, but he held himself back from such desperate actions. It wouldn’t do to give away how afraid he was in the passage. Looking back Bruce saw the entrance was indeed well concealed. It wasn’t only the ivy and vines that covered the entrance but a smattering of overgrown bushes that obscured the cave. If he didn’t know there was a cavern with a passage behind all the foliage, he would have completely ignored the overgrown mess that blended in perfectly with the forest around them.

“Look here,” Laird Labert instructed. He was pointing at an ancient oak. “That carving up there on that branch?”

Bruce squinted up at the canopy of branches and found the one with what looked like carved notches. A heron’s nest obscured most of it.

“Aye,” he said.

“That’s yer marker. If ye reach the creek ye’ve gone too far. Whenever ye find yerself in danger, or ye need a place to hide, come to Balquhidder. Ye’ll always find safety here. Now, let me take ye to the town.”

“Are we going to walk all the way back?”

“Are ye insane, lad?” he shook his head. “I’m too old to climb all those steps. We’ll get some horses from a farm nearby and ride back.”

Those were the sweetest words Bruce’s aching legs had ever heard.