Chapter Twenty-Three

Lilias

T hat morning, the latch rattled in its unlocking, and moments later, Dame Brigit pushed open the door to Lilias's small bedchamber. She carried a tray with a bowl of porridge and a pot containing a hot herbal infusion, which she set on the table. Lilias was pleased that her request had been heard for something warm to drink in the mornings instead of watered ale, which gave her an unsettled stomach early in the day.

What surprised her even more was the rolled piece of parchment that the woman produced. When Lilias opened it, she saw a rough charcoal drawing of lines, curves, squiggles, and a track of ripples that she realized was a river.

"A map?" she asked, astonished.

"You asked me to tell you where this castle is situated. And I know that Sir John and that fellow Sir William are not telling you the truth. So I made you a drawing. Look. This is where you are. Loch Roskie," she said, tapping the page. "These are hills and moors. This way—" she pointed to one side of the crude drawing—"is Stirling Castle, which lies to the east. Over here to the west of Loch Roskie, see, are hills and a far stretch of moors. Then you see the long glen we call Glen Fada. Beyond that, into the Highlands, is another glen with a river and a waterfall. That water runs down to the head of Loch Lomond. That should tell you what you want to know."

Lilias nodded. "I saw Loch Lomond when I was traveling with my escort. We were attacked and I was stolen away, and carried by knights on a long ride—to here." She touched a crenelated square on the map. "Castle Roskie. Where we stand now."

"I thought as much." Dame Brigit shook her head. "Them men will not tell you. But I will. You are not under the mercy of their protection. You are a captive."

"I know," Lilias said.

"I heard them say they mean to ransom you. Now I never ask their business, and I do what I am told. But that troubles me. Young lass like you with such an important father, a man they mean to break. So this is where you are. I will tell you that."

"Are there other prisoners here? The men of my escort?"

"They came here with you. But they were taken to Dunbarton Castle last week. It is just you here, now."

Lilias nodded. She sipped the herbal liquid, felt it warm her stomach. She ate a little, then drew a breath to help her find her courage.

"Good dame," she said, "will you help me leave this place?"

The woman frowned. "I will not. I am just telling you what you asked."

"Oh." Disappointment swamped her. "If I followed the map, could I find friends?"

Dame Brigit shrugged. "How do I know who your friends are? If someone were to go east to Stirling, they would only find Englishers. But west over the hills and moors to the long glen, and then down the river that meets Loch Lomond, a person might find good folk at Brechlinn Castle. It stands at the north end of the great loch."

"Brechlinn. I have heard of it. My father mentioned it. A friend of his is laird."

"Do not tell me anything about your father. I want no trouble."

"Oh. Well, I suppose I must stay here then and wait for a ransom." She sent Dame Brigit as quick glance to see how that sat with her.

"Stay or go. I will have naught to do with it. But if you go, take the map with you."

"How would I go?"

Dame Brigit picked up the tray. "That is for you to work out. I only bring you food and see to your needs. But I will tell you this, lass," she whispered. "What you have done for Sir John is a kind thing. He will never repay that kindness. So I gave you that parchment. Good day to you. I will come back with supper." She went to the door and opened it.

"Thank you." Lilias smiled to cover the fear that churned through her.

Dame Brigit left the room, and left the door unlocked.

After a while, Lilias put on her cloak, folded and creased the map and tucked it in her little belt pouch with her rosary of onyx beads and a little silver cross, and ventured out of the room. Standing on the stone steps that curved downward, she listened for a long while, hearing very little noise. Easing down the steps, she paused at a narrow window in the turret stair and looked out.

Men rode out of the gate, several in a patrol of some kind. In the lead on a tall white charger, Sir William de Soulis wore a bright red surcoat over chainmail.

Waiting until she judged the riders to be a fair distance from the castle, she tiptoed down the steps, along a corridor, following savory smells that took her past the kitchen. Servants were busy in there; she could hear Dame Brigit complaining that Sir John would not want that bland stew again for supper later in the day.

Finding the door to the kitchen garden, she stepped outside. Beyond the garden lay the back part of the curtain wall. A postern gate, just a low, square, thick door, was within sight. At the nearest corner of the bailey, two soldiers argued with one of the servants about dumping offal too near the entrance gate where they had to sit all day.

They did not notice her as she hurried across the short stretch of the bailey yard. The postern gate had a simple enough latch. She lifted it.

Then, slipping through the doorway, she ran.