Highland Magic (5 page)

“Where are you going?” Branwenn asked as she
stumbled into step behind him, stretching her arms out in front of
her so she could catch him when he fell—for his gate was stiff and
uneven as he tried to keep the weight off of his injured ankle.

“I’m going to my family’s fortress.”

“But...this passage leads only to my father’s
realm.”

Callum was growing short of breath now. “Nay,
it leads to a”—he stopped walking and bent forward, resting his
palms on his knees as he took a couple of deep breaths—“secret
entrance to the castle.” He would
not
swoon, he vowed to
himself.

This was news to Branwenn. She’d thoroughly
explored this cave when she’d first arrived and had found no such
entrance.

A drop of sweat trailed into the outer corner
of Callum’s eye and he blinked the sting away. After a minute more,
he resumed his trek. ‘Twas not long before he came to the place
where the passage forked. Recessed in the entrance to the adjacent
tunnel was a large portion of planked wood which had been fitted to
block the opening and then curtained in a painted black and gray
fabric, the design resembling the stone walls around it. The
darkness of the cave, the skill with which the painter had copied
the look of the stone, along with the little light even a torch
could provide in the black chasm, helped to conceal the second
route.

“Take hold of these a moment,” he said,
placing the fistful of pulled-back curtain in the fey one’s hand
and the taper in her other. Taking two deep breaths and releasing
them, he filled his lungs once more and thrust his shoulder against
the wooden barrier. Unfortunately, it gave much easier than he was
expecting and the force sent it, and him, flying forward. He landed
with a loud
thud
directly on top of it. “Aargh!” he yelled
as he felt his shoulder bone thrust from its joint.

“Blood of Christ!” Branwenn cried out. She
flew to Callum’s side and dropped down to her knees. “You’ve hurt
yourself, you simple-minded fool! And now I know not how I will
ever get you up again!”

A fleeting memory of someone else speaking to
him in much the same manner flitted through his mind, but ‘twas
much too nebulous an image for him to catch and keep hold of. So,
swallowing another groan, he simply ignored the vexing creature. As
this was not an unfamiliar injury for him, he did as he’d been
taught should this happen on the battlefield. Slowly, he brought
his arm up and placed his hand behind his head and rotated the
appendage. With very careful, slow movements he began to reach
toward his other shoulder. He felt the bone slide back in place.
Aahhh! Perfect. But now he was beginning to see pinpricks of
colored lights. Afraid he’d swoon when he was so close to his
destination, he took a few slow, deep breaths and manfully shook
the false visions clear before staggering to his feet once
more.

“Praise be, you are still able to walk,”
Branwenn said with a sigh of relief.

“Why are you still here? Have you no other
mortal to hound with your endless yammering?” His head ached so
badly now, his stomach was threatening to spew its bile.

“Oh, and I suppose you would rather have no
one here to aid you should you swoon and fall to the ground again?”
…you unthankful cur!
, she finished in her head.

The fey one had a point, but Callum would
rather eat a live toad than tell her so. “The door leading to the
tower is just ahead,” he said instead.

They’d just come to it when, all at once,
Callum’s head began to reel and the cave walls began to billow in
front of him. Confused, he stumbled forward, hitting his head on
the frame and sliding to the ground. The taper fell with him,
coming loose from its base, and rolled several feet away. The flame
went out.

“Callum!” Branwenn cried out in the sudden
darkness. Moving in the direction of her patient with her arms out
in front of her, she felt her way toward him. “You can
not
die yet, I won’t allow it!”

Later, much later, Callum would recall this
moment—and the time previous—and question how the fey one could
possibly know his name, but for now, his befuddled mind could do
naught more than direct its thoughts to the problem at hand. He
managed to force his eyelids open and was met with complete
darkness. But he felt the now-familiar hands of the fey one as she
examined his head for new bumps. “I’ve no new wounds, but I fear my
head is spinning too much and my hand shakes too badly to unlock
the door.” Though his limbs were now lethargic, he managed, with
his good arm, to bring the leather thong that held the key out from
under his tunic and over his head. “Here, take this and I will tell
you the way to open the locks.”

Branwenn nodded, tho’ he could not possibly
see the action, and felt for the key he held out to her. Grasping
it tightly in her fist, she stood and explored the door with her
other hand until she at last found the metal devices he’d spoken
of. They were cold to the touch, and shaped like—she took a moment
to become familiar with their contours—hearts? How strange. Now, to
find the keyholes. “These are unusual,” she said absently as she
slid her fingers lightly over the face of each lock. “It feels as
if they are all connected, but each also joined to its own
latch—and....
Are
they interlocking hearts?”

To fortify his waning strength, Callum took
in a deep breath before answering. “Aye, they are, and they require
a specific combination of turns of the key and slides of certain
brass plates in order to get them all open.” Luckily, even with his
fading mental acuity, he could still remember what that combination
was, for he’d practiced it many times with his mother after it had
been installed. She was the only other person who held a key to
this secret exit, as ‘twould be her means of escape during a siege,
should the need arise. There was a small, hand-sized door to the
left of the locks that only opened from the other side and which
used the same key. When open, ‘twas large enough to put one’s arm
through and unlock the door.

Over the next quarter hour, Branwenn
diligently tried to follow Callum’s instructions, but because she
was doing so without benefit of light, the process took several
attempts before she at last found success. And, to her thinking,
with little time to spare—for their nerves were frayed to their
limits by this time and she could tell by Callum’s groggy voice
that whatever reserve of strength he’d been relying on thus far was
fading quickly.

With a hard jerk of the handle, Branwenn
opened the arched oaken door and found the other barrier Callum had
told her of. Doing as he’d instructed, she felt for the recessed
stone and pressed. The barrier opened with little effort and she
peered into the chamber before her.

Praise be, ‘twas lit by a torch that hung
from a sconce to the left of her, but was free of human habitation.
“Come, we must get you inside at once,” she said, turning to
Callum.

“Bmm...mmm,” Callum replied.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she
placed her arm around the waist of her near-unconscious patient
and, with no small amount of effort, managed to get him to his feet
and into the tower chamber. His eyes remained closed and his head
canted to the left the entire time she walked him to the pallet in
the far corner. “Will the guard return soon so he can get you to
the keep? For I dare not go further inside these walls. I want no
other mortal to see me—and, I beg you, tell no one of our meeting,
else my father will surely have you vexed with mischief the
remainder of your days.”

“Nay...sext,” Callum answered, tho’ ‘twas all
he could do to get the words past his dry throat.

“Sext! But that is not for at least two more
hours!” Branwenn felt his forehead. Godamercy, ‘twas still so
hot—but his brow was dry as a bone now. Not good. She could not
leave him here with no one to help him. She just couldn’t.

An idea came to her. Grabbing a stool and an
unlit candle holder from atop a small table, she hurried to stand
near the opening of the secret entrance and threw them with
maniacal force onto the ground. Satisfied with the loud clatter
she’d made, she then began to cry out in as low and manly a timbre
as she could manage. In the next instant, the sound of pounding
feet on the stone stairs outside the doorway to the tower, as well
as the sound of men’s raised voices, filled the room. With one last
quick look at Callum, she fled through the opening and hastily
closed it behind her. When she was safely on the other side of the
oaken door, she breathed a sigh of relief. Surprisingly, she could
still hear what was going on inside, so she stood and listened as
the men hustled to get Callum to the keep and made plans to find a
physician in all haste. When all became quiet once more, she turned
to make her way back to her own dwelling but stopped short.
Hellfire and damnation! She had no lit taper. Blood of Christ and
Mary and God, too! She was going to have to go back inside that
chamber and get the torch. She giggled then. Well—wasn’t that just
the type of mischief mortals expected of the wee folk? And ‘twas
awfully still and quiet inside that chamber now—no doubt, the guard
on duty would not return until his scheduled time. With a shrug,
she turned back to the door and opened it wide. Hmmm, mayhap she
would find a few other items she could use while she was about it.
And she did have the key—as well as the combination—to the secret
entry...hmmm.

* * *

“‘Twas my impetuous young nephew who did the
deed, I tell you! I knew naught of it until well past the time your
stepson left my holding last eve!” Laird Gordon avowed heatedly,
his brow damp with sweat and his cheeks the color of new-picked
berries. “I and my men immediately went in search of Callum as soon
as we learned of my nephew’s son’s treachery.”

Laird MacGregor’s eyes narrowed into angry
slits. “That well may be—”

A knock came on the door just then and
directly behind the sound, the door swung wide and the keep’s
steward propelled himself forward. “Laird,”—his eyes flitted
nervously to Laird Gordon and then settled back on his liege—“your
stepson lives—”

“Praise be!” Both laird’s exclaimed at
once.

“Where is he?” Laird MacGregor asked.

“We’ve taken him to his bedchamber, Laird.” A
short pause followed. “He is not well. He’s a fever and is barely
conscious. ‘Tis clear as well that he took a tumble from his steed,
for his ankle and shoulder are mightily swollen and bruised.”

“I must go to him immediately—have my wife
and her mother been informed of the blessed tidings?”

“Nay, not as yet, Laird. But the solar is my
next destination.”

Laird MacGregor turned to his unwelcome guest
and said, “Do not leave. I will return in an hour’s time, for we
must come to terms regarding recompense—as well as punishment—for
this crime.”

With a curt nod of the head, Laird Gordon
solemnly agreed. “Aye.”

* * *

Branwenn went through the remainder of the
day worrying over Callum’s health. No matter how hard she tried to
turn her thoughts to her own problem—and how she was going to
resolve it—her mind refused to cooperate. Finally, late that night,
she gave in to her nagging thoughts and returned through the
passage to the secret door of the tower chamber. ‘Twas now nearing
the chimes of midnight, and she worried that the guard would be in
the chamber, but after a quarter-hour of intent listening, she
heard no sound emanating from the other side of the wall, and
stealthily unlatched and opened the door.

She had no idea which bedchamber was
Callum’s, but she decided there would surely be guards, or maids,
or some-such lurking about the correct door. She was dressed in a
plain brown tunic, underneath which she’d carefully bound her
breasts in a strip of fine linen, and with her hood-covered,
short-cropped hair, she was sure to look like one of the lads that
worked with the gong farmer. If she encountered anyone on her
journey, she decided to simply explain that she had been told to
retrieve the chamber pot from the laird’s stepson’s chamber.

Thankfully, the tower stair was deserted and
it didn’t take her long to make her way down to the outer bailey.
In another moment, she was through the arched portal to the inner
bailey of the keep. Surely, one could gain entrance to the family
quarters through the chapel, she thought as she set out in that
direction.

All was silent as she scurried across the
moonlit courtyard toward the chapel. Her feet crushed the
dew-bathed turf as she went and it perfumed the air with its clean,
fresh fragrance. The dark beauty of the walled enclosure at this
time of night, all velvet purples and watery greens, blended well
with the scent of sod and it lifted her lagging spirits.

Fortune was with her, for she encountered no
one as she made her way through the passage between the stone
oratory and the family quarters and then climbed the stairs leading
to the upper chambers. There were few about above stairs either,
and she was growing worried that she’d not learn which was Callum’s
chamber, when a door at the end of the hall opened and a servant
carrying a ewer emerged. Praise be! She slipped into the shadows
and waited for the man to pass before taking the last few steps to
Callum’s door.

She silently edged it open and looked around.
The fire from the hearth illuminated the room enough for Branwenn
to see an aged man—the physician?—resting on his side on top of two
long benches that had been shoved together and covered in a fur.
Her nose crinkled as the smell of stale bile and the gong bucket
wafted toward her. The physician must have given him an herb to
induce more purging—or, mayhap ‘twas just a symptom of the
poisoning. The sound of muted snores emanated from the direction of
the benches, telling her that the physician was a sound sleeper, so
she silently walked further into the room. The curtain to the large
bed was drawn, making it impossible for her to see how Callum
faired without moving across the room to stand at the bedside.