L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep (14 page)

Clutching the partially shuttered lantern in one hand and holding
her skirts up off the damp floor with the other, Moira passed quickly through
the large storage rooms near the entrance to the undercroft. When she reached
the winding passageway leading to smaller chambers deep beneath the keep, she
set down the light and wrapped her cloak more securely about her. The chill of
the place seemed to seep straight through the heavy wool of her clothes.

Her movements awkward, she looped the hem of her gown and cloak
up over her arm and slipped her eating dagger free of its sheath. She doubted
she’d find anything but rats here, but she knew better than to go unarmed.
Indeed, she should have drawn the knife as soon as she came through the door.
She sighed. Clandestine endeavors such as this were clearly beyond her.

At least no harm had come of her lapse this time. The babe gave
her a kick beneath the ribs—its usual nighttime activity—as, lantern held high,
she wended her way along the stone corridor until she reached a heavy,
iron-bound door.

The light glittered off the heavy lock, wet and rusting, that
hung open on the latch.

The lock should have been closed. She’d swear it had been, the
last time she’d ventured this deep into the cellars.

When had that been? She could scarce recall the last time she’d
made a thorough examination of the entire undercroft. The previous spring,
perhaps?

Her blood ran cold. Whenever it was, she knew for a certainty
that she hadn’t been here since before the MacCarthys had come to Gerald’s
Keep.

Had they used their brief time within the castle to explore the
place? They could have … They could have done
anything
while they had everyone gathered together in the hall and
bailey and Moira occupied in her old bedchamber, with none of them the wiser.
She drew in a deep breath and fought to quell the panic sweeping through her.

What might she find beyond this door?

She’d never know if she stood here like a coward. Her hands
shook, making the light waver wildly, but she managed to slip the lock from its
mooring. Gathering her resolve, Moira opened the door.

The loud creak of the hinges echoed after her as she passed
through the portal. The way grew narrow at once, and the stones
more rough
. Here she could sense the walls crowding in on
her, feel the bulk of the keep tower and the walls pressing down on her. ′Twas
a fearsome experience, making her breath seize tight within her chest and the
babe shift restlessly.

She let the lantern drop to the floor, setting her shadow to
dancing on the wall as the flame wavered, but thankfully didn’t go out. Moira
leaned back against the stones and closed her eyes. Smoothing her hands over
the squirming child, she searched within herself for a drop of courage to carry
her the rest of the way.

However far that was.

Once her heartbeat slowed and her breathing eased, the slow,
measured tread of footsteps suddenly caught her attention. Her pulse thundered
in her ears once again, but didn’t drown out the sound. She couldn’t tell
whether it came from behind her or ahead of her; either way, ′twould be
trouble. Who else would be down here at this time of night save someone who
shouldn’t be?

Herself
included.

Moira opened her eyes and adjusted her fingers about the knife
hilt, pushing away from the wall and broadening her stance. The footsteps sounded
louder now—and they were definitely coming from behind her.

“You’ve trapped yourself this time,” she muttered under her
breath. “How will you get out of this?”

The tip of a sword edged past the half-open door. Not knowing
what else to do, Moira raised her puny eating knife and lunged toward the
doorway, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Soon after Connor entered the undercroft, he caught a glimpse of
light and set out in pursuit of it. Skulking along in the intruder’s wake, he
kept to the shadows, never coming close enough to see who it was he followed.
The floor became uneven, slowing his progress further as he tried to move
quietly.

He caught up when they reached a series of smaller chambers that
afforded some cover, wincing when the screech of metal against metal split the
air and echoed throughout the place. The light stopped moving, and the
footsteps ceased.

The cellars couldn’t go on any farther than this! Perhaps he’d
cornered the intruder? Eagerness singing in his blood, he drew his sword and
crept forward.

A narrow opening lay before him, light glowing brightly beyond
it. Sword first, he crept toward the half-open portal.

He realized ′twas Moira standing before him just as she
screamed and dove at him with a knife. Dropping his sword in the cramped
passageway, he grabbed for her wrist as the blade slashed toward his face.
“Trying to give me another scar?”

He released her arm and caught her as she slumped against him,
her knife falling to the floor. “By the Virgin,” she gasped. “I might have cut
you!”

Holding her steady with one arm, he stooped to retrieve their
weapons. “You might try,” he said, surprised to feel himself grinning. He
flipped her knife around and, catching it by the blade, presented it to her
hilt first. “But I think I’ve strength enough—barely—to protect myself.”

“′Tis nothing to laugh about,” she scolded, making Connor
want to smile all the more. Hands shaking, she snatched the knife from him and
shoved it into its sheath on her belt. She seemed genuinely concerned for his
well-being.

From her frown and the way she slapped him on the chest, he
guessed his pleasure must have been obvious to her. “You’re determined to do me
harm.” He captured her hand in mid-slap, brought it to his lips and kissed her
knuckles. “You’re freezing!” Catching both her hands in one of his, he tugged
her cloak closer about her.

Then he gathered her into his arms and held her. Once her shaking
stopped he loosened his hold, though he didn’t release her. Instead he pressed
his face to her unbound hair, savoring the sweet fragrance that even their
musty surroundings could not overcome. “What are you doing down here, Moira?”
he asked, the words a whisper rather than the stern demand he’d intended. “What
if someone other than me had followed you in here?” The mere thought made his
heart trip and falter.

She drew back and met his gaze, her blue eyes shining with
eagerness. “I remembered something, Connor—remembered a place down here that
could be what you were looking for.”

“You couldn’t wait till morning to check?” he asked dryly. “Or
send for me to come with you?”

“′
Twas
late—I thought you might
already be abed.” Some of the excitement faded from her face. “And I couldn’t
sleep,” she added, lowering her gaze, a trace of pink staining her cheeks.

Did he have anything to do with her sleeplessness?

There’s arrogance,
he
taunted himself. By the saints, Moira had troubles aplenty to keep her from her
rest.

“But nothing happened,” she said. “I’ve come to no harm.”

Connor lowered his arms and stepped back, then froze as a steady
thumping—pounding?—came from somewhere down the passageway. Moira clutched at
his arm. “What was that?” she whispered, her eyes huge in her pale face.

He held up his hand to silence her. The noise continued, faint
but distinct. Should he send Moira back for help and go on himself, or take her
with him? Either way, they would have to proceed silently and in total
darkness, lest they alert the interloper. He eased his sword free and leaned
close to murmur in her ear. “Go back, Moira. Tell
Will
we heard something, and that I’ve gone on to investigate.”

She drew herself up beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder
and tugging him down to her level. “I will not,” she said in an angry whisper.
“By the time I leave, find Sir Will and come back, who knows what might happen
to you?” She drew her blade. “There’s barely room ahead of us for men to fit,
Connor, let alone to fight. We’ll be lucky if you can stand up in the corridor.
It becomes much narrower just ahead.”

By the rood, he’d no desire to drag her along behind him, but
neither could he ignore this opportunity to discover what was causing the
noise. The answers he sought might lie straight ahead of them!

Other sounds joined the muted pounding. “All right,” he muttered.
“You needn’t go back. I’ll go on, see what’s ahead of us. But I want you to
stay here.” Glancing ahead of them, he noted how far the lantern’s light
spread. “I’ll be back soon.” He cast one last, measuring look down the
corridor, then bent and doused the light.

Moira stared hard at the place where she’d last seen Connor,
naught but a black void in a sea of darkness. She knew he’d moved away because
she could no longer sense his nearness—the warmth of his body, the
nigh-indecipherable scent of him. But he made no sound as he crept down the
passageway.

Could she manage to move so quietly?
she
wondered.

Edging past the lantern, she tightened her grip on her dagger and
set off to find out.

Moira gingerly felt her way along the dank passage, biting back a
shriek of terror when she slid her hand across something cold and slimy. Her
heart thundered so hard she couldn’t tell if the sounds Connor had gone ahead
to investigate continued. They could have grown louder, for all she knew.

The darkness wrapped about her like a cold, damp blanket. She
began to shiver again, so hard ′twas all she could do to keep moving.

But she could not let Connor face whatever—whoever—awaited him at
the end of the corridor alone, no matter what he’d told her to do. At the
least, she could go back for help if he
did
run into trouble.

The way became so narrow her shoulders brushed against the walls,
and the floor grew rough, littered with bits of stone and debris. She wished
she had light, for the end of the corridor must be near, and she had no desire
to come crashing into Connor and startle him.

She halted and held her breath, straining her ears for any sound.
But she heard nothing save the steady drip of water and the rapid thud of her
pulse.

Without warning, a large body backed into her. Biting back a cry,
she lost her footing and fell hard on her backside, with her attacker sprawled
atop her legs.

“By the saints!” Connor growled, following the words with a
string of curses the likes of which she’d not heard since she’d left her
brothers’ home. “Can’t you do as you’re told, Moira?” He rolled off her. “I
ought to blister your backside …”

“There’s no need,” she muttered through her tears. “′Twill
be black and blue already.” The floor beneath her throbbing buttocks must be
made up of jagged stones.

“Are you all right? I didn’t harm the babe?” He reached out and
touched her legs, following them up her body till he could clasp his hands
about her middle. “Can you stand?”

She’d force her legs to work, if necessary, to get up and away
from the debris still poking into her. “Aye.” He hefted her off the floor and
set her on her feet, keeping his hands at her waist until she steadied. “We’re
both fine,” she assured him.

“Listen,” he whispered. They stood motionless.

The only sound they heard was their own quiet breathing.

Connor muttered something beneath his breath. “We must have
frightened them off.” He sounded as disappointed as Moira felt. “Come on,
then.” He caught her by the elbow and nudged her ahead of him.

“Did you find anything?” she whispered as she limped along.

“No.” Though he kept his voice low, she couldn’t mistake his ire.
“And I’m not likely to now, after all the noise we made.” The corridor opened
up a bit, and he urged her to move faster. “Anyone who was here will have gone,
if they’ve any sense. I was coming back for the lantern—” he tugged on her arm
and brought her to a halt “—though I doubt there’ll be anything to see now.
Still, it can’t hurt to look.”

The lantern rattled as he leaned past her and picked it up,
followed by the sound of flint striking steel. He kindled the wick and adjusted
the shutter, the warm light bathing them in its welcome glow.

He wore tension and exhaustion in equal measure upon his face,
and frustration in his eyes. Moira lowered her gaze. If she’d stayed where he’d
left her …

Connor shifted the lantern to his other hand. “Stay with me.

“You’re taking me with you?” she asked, then felt a fool for
giving voice to her surprise. Besides, she shouldn’t be surprised; he didn’t
trust her to obey him, most likely.

She followed close behind him, drawing her knife from its sheath
before they’d gone far. ′Twas a tight fit for Connor in this passageway.
If they encountered anyone, he’d not be able to draw his sword, though she
noticed he’d armed himself with a lethal-looking dagger he’d drawn from his
boot.

Though they were moving as quietly as they could, Connor couldn’t
hear anything save the rustle of their clothing as they crept along the ever
narrowing passageway. He held up his dagger, motioning for Moira to stop.
“Listen,” he mouthed. They stood for a moment, but heard nothing. Frowning, he
held the lantern out and scanned the corridor. “Look there—there’s naught but a
solid wall,” he whispered, not bothering to hide his disgust. Three strides
took him to it. He ran his hand over the roughly mortared stones, pressing on
the joints to no avail. “There’s no way through here.”

“Not yet,” Moira said. He abandoned his search and turned to look
at her. “I’d suspect someone was trying to tunnel their way in, but there’s
naught but solid rock on the other side.”

Connor reviewed their path to this point, trying to determine
where they stood in relation to the headland. “There shouldn’t be anything but
rock on the other side—though if that is true, why didn’t they simply
incorporate it into the foundation?” He smoothed his hand over the mortared
stones once more before turning to Moira, his weary brain alight with hope. “If
it was solid, there’d be no need for mortar here.” He took her by the arm and
urged her ahead of him, enthusiasm brightening his outlook for the first time
in days. “Time to go back.”

“What are you going to do now?”

He paused and leaned forward to whisper near her ear. “I’ll tell
you once we’re out of here. There’s no way of knowing if the rats are already
in the walls, or where they might be.” Moira nodded and remained silent as they
made their way to the door.

He swung the heavy, iron-bound panel wide and looked closely at
the sturdy metal hinges. “Have you a key for this?” he asked.

“I do, but it wasn’t locked before.” She shuddered. “I think
Hugh—someone—must have unlocked it when they were here,” she told him. “It was
always kept locked before. I’m certain I haven’t been this far back since
before they came.”

“Are you the only one with a key?” He unhooked the padlock from
the iron loop on the latch and held it up to the light, shaking his head.
“Look—it’s been forced, with a dagger most like.” He pointed to the gouges in
the rusty metal. “Perhaps someone came down here while you were otherwise
engaged.” He met her gaze, hoping she wouldn’t see the rage engendered by the
mere thought of what she’d endured that night—rage directed at the MacCarthys,
not her. “I don’t know how they got into the undercroft itself without a key,
though.”

“There’s more than one key to that door.” She unhooked her ring
of keys from her belt and sorted through them until she found the one she
sought. “Will it still work?” She handed it to him.

“We shall see.” With abrupt movements, he closed the padlock and
unlocked it with the key. Motioning for Moira to go through the portal, he
followed her, then threaded the lock onto the door, snapped it closed and
dropped the key into the pouch on his belt. “Come,” he ordered.

He took her by the arm and helped her over the uneven floor,
setting a hurried pace in his eagerness to leave this dreary place, to explore
the ideas teasing at his brain.

She pulled back and dug in her heels. “Enough, milord.”

“What?” He spun about and shifted his attention to Moira.

Weariness radiated from her, shadowed her face and her voice.
“You’re moving too fast.” She stared pointedly at his hand until he released
her arm. “I cannot keep up with you, Connor,” she said in a more even tempered
tone.

Especially considering how sore she must be from falling down and
having him land atop her. Jesu, was he turning into a thoughtless brute? “I’m
sorry.” He ran his hand absently through his hair. “I’ve much on my mind. I
didn’t realize . .
. ”

“I know. But dragging me behind you won’t help.” She held out her
hand and clasped his. “Come on. If you stay
beside
me, ′twill be all right.”

Again Connor heard the weariness in Moira’s voice, could see it
in the way she held herself. She should never have come down here tonight.

Perhaps if
he
were
thinking more clearly, he’d have realized she might try to search for a hidden
passageway herself. He felt his anger build again. How could she endanger
herself, her child, by coming here alone?

He clamped his jaw tight and stared hard at the water dripping
down the stone wall. He wanted to rage at her, take her to task for her folly,
but in truth, the fault could just as likely be his own.

His mind was so muddled, he didn’t trust himself to make a
sensible decision about anything. He needed to sleep, to give himself a chance
to mull over all he’d learned thus far, before he could determine what to do
next.

Haranguing Moira now would serve no useful purpose—and might very
well turn her away from considering any plan he put forth.

Best to hold his tongue till morning at least, wait to see how it
all looked once he could think clearly again.

He allowed Moira to lead him through the remainder of the
undercroft. After he locked the door to the cellars, he doused the lantern and
escorted her to the stairs. He noticed she was limping when she tried to climb
them. Muttering a curse, he handed her the lantern and picked her up, carrying
her the rest of the way.

She uttered not a word of protest, proving to him how tired she
must be.

′Twas past time for her to seek her bed.

They passed through the hall in silence as he wound his way among
the sleeping servants and up the spiral stairs. He set her down at her door.
“Will you be all right?” he asked. “Should I send for Brigit?”

“Nay, let her rest. I’d rather she not find out that I left my
chamber and went down there,” Moira said with a quiet, mirthless laugh. “′Tis
best not to provoke her temper—especially since she’d be right to take me to
task.”

Since he agreed with her, Connor didn’t know how to reply to
that. Deciding he’d be wise to remain silent, he simply nodded and opened her
door for her.

“Good night.” Shoulders drooping, she limped into her room.

He closed her door and leaned against the wall, resting his cheek
on the cool plaster as he sought the strength to go back to the barracks. As
much as he wished to climb the remaining stairs and seek his bed, he’d much
left to set in motion. He needed to arrange for men to guard the undercroft
till the morning.

He pushed away from the wall and made his way down the spiraling
stairs, marveling yet again at the ease with which Rannulf commanded several
keeps. His brother made the work appear simple, effortless, a skill Connor
wondered if he lacked.

Or perhaps he merely lacked the training Rannulf had gained in
his years away from FitzClifford.

By the rood, he’d gain nothing by treading over this well-worn
path once more, Connor realized. ′Twas his weariness and frustration
making him doubt himself, nothing more. He left the keep and stood in the
bailey for a moment to let the cool night air clear his head. He’d do what he
could tonight, then seek his bed.

After a night’s rest, everything would seem better, he was sure.

A raucous din startled Connor awake as the sun cast its first
light into the sky. Evidently Padrig hadn’t expected to find his master still
abed, for the lad sang a bawdy tale, his uneven voice mangling the tune, as he
entered Connor’s chamber and slammed the door against the wall.

“By Christ’s bones,” Connor snarled as he leaped from beneath the
covers and grabbed his sword from where he’d rested it against the wall.

“Jesu!” Padrig cried, jumping back from the coffer at the foot of
the bed and tossing the mound of clothing he held into the air.

A shriek sounded from the corridor. His sword still held at the
ready, Connor glanced past his squire and saw a young maid, her hands clapped
over her mouth and her eyes huge, standing in the open doorway staring at him.

He cast aside his sword, sending it clattering onto the floor.
Cursing, he snatched a blanket from the bed and draped it around his waist to
cover his nakedness.

A door down the hallway slammed. “What is going on out here?” he
heard Moira ask. Light footsteps on the wood floor heralded her appearance. “Maeve,
what is wrong with you?”