Chapter Twenty-Three

"Keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden."

Cormac McCarthy, 1933–2023, Pulitzer Prize–winning Author

Sara shifted carefully, balancing on the seat of the stool as she got her damp boots under her. Keeping her feet in the middle of the seat the best she could, she used the wet wall to help her stand. A glance below the stool at the torchlight, reflected in the water, showed the tide had come in and the water level was close to the rung she'd hooked her heels onto. She wobbled and gasped.

Leaving the blanket in the lake around her small island, Sara realized the basket with provisions had already sunk. She reached the rope ladder. Tugging on it, she felt that it held fast and began to climb. Her toes hit the wall at each level, and she wiggled them to get her foot safely on top of each thick rope rung. It took time to climb with the rope flat against the wall, and she struggled, scraping her knuckles on the rocks as she pulled herself higher.

Who had lowered it? Would Jamie throw her back down if Rory hadn't yet returned?

Her muscles ached from the hours of sitting down there in the cold. Pulling with her arms and pushing down with her toes, Sara's head reached the top, and she peeked over the edge. The corridor was empty and dark except for the one torch flickering in its sconce on the wall. Both relief and worry tangled inside her with no one there.

Sara pushed with her toes. Chunks of dirt and mortar loosened, dropping down to plop into the water at the bottom. She used her hands to inch herself along the floor on her stomach while her feet continued to push against the rope ladder until she could wriggle out enough to get her knees under her.

I will not think about the grime on the floor. Please, God, don't let there be rats.

Scrambling up, she brushed her damp hands on her petticoat and looked around, her heart pounding with the effort to climb out. Where should she go now? To the privy . But after the privy? To her tower? To Eleri?

Should she hide somewhere and wait for Rory to return or try to get across the water to the village? Could she find Lily and ride to Morag's?

Her head spun, and she climbed the steps leading to the main part of the castle. She passed a small window that allowed air into the dank passage and saw that night had descended. Rory must still be out hunting down the flag. Jamie's actions would start a civil war at Dunvegan.

At the top of the stairs, Sara hesitated briefly, peeking out a crack in the door. If she hadn't a need for the privy, she might have watched longer, but she hadn't wanted to piss in the pit. The closest privy was at the end of the great hall in an alcove.

The vaulted room was cast in thick shadows with the fire burned down to embers. Hurrying across the empty room, Sara stopped when she heard a low growl. "Gus?" she said, and the large dog shot up from his spot by the hearth. His nails skittered over the stone floor as he circled her, licking at her hands and snuffling against her skirt streaked with moldy grime from the walls of the pit and the floor of the cellar corridor. He followed her to the privy.

"Wait here."

His tongue hung out of his gray snout, and his backside thumped on the floor as he sat. She closed the door, not bothering to find a taper. Gus's tail swished along the floor outside the door. The click of his nails faded as he moved away.

"Good dog," someone said. It sounded like Theodore. "Guarding the hall, are ye."

"'Tis good," Margaret said, "since most are gone hunting the flag."

Theodore walked with her as they passed the privy. "They won't find it," her husband said as their steps faded down a corridor.

How could he know that? Was he merely speculating, or could he and Margaret be involved somehow? Sara shook her head in the darkness. She couldn't believe Margaret would let Sara take the blame for it. Her heart squeezed. Who could she trust?

Sara relieved herself as she listened to Gus's nails click back to her door. He snuffled at the crack. "Almost done," she said, trying not to feel heartsick at the possible treachery.

Grrrrr . A low rumble came from Gus, and then his nails scratched on the stone floor as he pivoted, running away from the privy.

Sara stopped herself from calling his name when she heard footsteps enter the hall.

"Go. Get back." It was a woman's voice, full of annoyance. But it was so soft, Sara wasn't sure who it was. Could it be a maid or Eleri? Cook Fiona? It wasn't Margaret, and Eleri would have sounded kinder. Winnie?

Sara's thumb paused on the little latch that kept the door shut. Her curiosity was subdued by her worry that the woman would sound the alarm, and Sara would end up back in the pit. When the woman's slippers faded, Sara cracked open the door, jumping slightly at the dark form waiting for her. Gus's large head lifted, his ears perking up as much as they could in their floppy way. It looked as if he smiled.

She stepped out, stroking the giant head of the wolfhound. "Who was that?" But he only licked her hand in response and trotted after her as Sara tiptoed back out of the hall. She stopped in the alcove that led to the dock and listened. The faintest sound of a door opening came from below, and a slight breeze kissed her cheeks.

Sara exhaled, feeling suddenly extremely tired. She looked down at the sludge across her gown and longed for a bath and fresh clothes, or at least a clean bed. Her toes were damp and probably wrinkled in the wet boots. "Come along." She beckoned the dog to follow.

Holding a taper, she climbed, growing more tired and winded with each step. Gus followed her up the turning tower stairs without them running into anyone. Any guards must be out looking for the flag. She cursed when she opened the tower door. Everything in the room had been gone through, her wedding trousseau spread out across the floor. Velvets, linens, and silk smocks had been heaped beside the chest she'd brought from Dunscaith.

"Too tired." She undressed, changed into a fresh smock and robe, and fell onto her righted mattress. Gus settled down next to the locked door as if he planned to stand guard. "Good dog," she said and let the weight of sleep take her over. Dreams of Rory and then of a great Phoenix turned darker to nightmares about being locked in cold pits where icy fingers reached for her, and she pushed deeper into her blankets.

Bam! Bam! Bam! "Is anyone in there?"

Gus's bark filled the tower room with deep warning, and Sara jerked upright in the bed. Where am I? She blinked, her half-asleep mind catching up quickly. The pit. The tower. Gus continued to bark over the sound of keys clanking. Sara only had a moment to pull her robe tight and stand before the door swung inward to reveal Brodrick MacLeod.

Brodrick's face was red with exertion as if he'd been running about, and his hair stuck out at angles. She glanced toward the window and saw that the sun had only recently risen.

"Sara Macdonald," he said, his lips pulling back in a quiet snarl.

Gus sniffed around him but had stopped barking.

"I'm not going back into that hole," she said. "Lock me in here until Rory returns with the flag."

Somewhere behind Brodrick, voices bounced between people and footsteps hastened. What was going on? Were they under siege? Would Kenan rush in to save her, bringing Macdonald armies?

Brodrick's heavy breaths slowed enough for him to speak. "Did ye do it?"

Had she climbed out of the dank hell hole of the Dunvegan dungeon? "Not without help," she said, "but don't blame anyone else. I would've figured out how to win my freedom, eventually." Despite their assurances, Sara didn't want the elderly men, Eleri, or Margaret to be punished for her escape.

Brodrick's jaw dropped as his brows rose. He drew his sword, and Gus began to bark at him, backing up before Sara as if choosing her side in a battle.

"Is she up there?" a woman called. It sounded like Margaret.

Brodrick ignored the question and kept his gaze directly on Sara. "Then I arrest ye, Sara Macdonald, for the murder of Chief Jamie MacLeod."

…

Rory stretched his arms overhead to work the kinks out of his shoulders. The familiar aches of sleeping on the ground were easily remedied, and he lifted his saddle that had served as his pillow. "'Tis already past dawn, Airgid," he said, settling it onto his horse's back. "Ye let me sleep too long."

Rory had continued toward Dunscaith until darkness made the chance of missing his prey too great. He bit into his oatcake while holding another flat on his palm for Airgid to lip off it.

No tracks.

He exhaled, wiping his horse's slobber on the rag that hung from his belt. Jok and Rory had traveled far apart, but within sight of one another, looking for fresh tracks of someone stealing away the Fairy Flag, but neither of them had seen any.

Should he continue to Dunscaith, knowing Sara's father was the source of the likely thief? Or should he return to defend Sara against his brother who seemed more interested in punishment and blame than finding the damn flag?

Rory had hated riding south away from Sara, leaving her alone to deal with the repercussions of their night together. Her warmth and the softness of her skin had marked him. Rory could almost smell the freshness of her rain-damp hair, the slight floral scent in its heavy layers. How he'd raked it out from her beautiful face like a radiant sun across the bed they'd shared. She had a constellation of freckles across her nose and summit of her cheeks, and her lips were the perfect instruments to show her desire and give him pleasure.

He threw some cold water from the burbling creek onto his face and rubbed roughly through his hair. "Bloody hell," he said, thinking about Sara locked away in the same castle as his brother. He'd never known his brother to brutalize women, but he hadn't seemed in his right mind since the fire.

Jamie had never thrown the memory of Madeline in Rory's face before, reminding him of his foolish, youthful choices that almost destroyed their clan. There had been insinuations and reminders, mostly from his father, for Rory to keep his oath to protect the MacLeod Clan over everything else. But the strength of his oath had weakened after a year and a half abandoned in a stinking English cell. Abandoned by the very clan he was to protect. Loyalty to the MacLeods above all others didn't fit inside Rory like it used to. It was like a warped sword unable to fit easily into its scabbard.

Walking along the bank, his eyes scanned the ground, but there were still no tracks to see. This was the regular route to Dunscaith on the Sleat Peninsula, and riders would let their mounts drink somewhere along here. "Unless they're purposely hiding." He looked east where Loch Duagrich sat in more mountainous terrain.

"Fok." The curse shot out of him, making Airgid's ears twitch. There was no way to tell if someone was stealing away his clan's fabled weapon. Airgid finally lowered his head to drink when Rory squatted to refill his two flasks, shoving them into the bag tied to the saddle. A light morning breeze blew northward, and he paused at a rhythmic sound.

Airgid snorted, his ears twitching again. "Ye hear that, too." Rory threw his boot in the stirrup and mounted, bringing his charger around to the open moor, watching the gentle rise south of them. A rider emerged, flying along the dry path across the moor.

"Siuthad!" Rory yelled, pressing into Airgid's flanks, and they turned to intercept. But as soon as the rider with one smaller passenger saw him, they turned his way, slowing.

"Hail, Rory MacLeod." Kenan Macdonald waved an arm over his head while he held a young woman before him on his mount. They waited for Rory to reach them since the road was firmer than the surrounding moorland.

"What news?" Kenan asked.

For a moment, Rory stared speechless at the girl before Kenan. "Lady Eliza?" Rory asked.

The girl smiled, and she looked so much like Eleri that the cool morning breeze sent a chill along Rory's shoulder blades. "Pleased to meet you, Sir Rory," she said, "the Lion of Skye. I see why they call you that. Your eyes are such an interesting color."

"Sara?" Kenan asked.

Rory turned to him. "The Fairy Flag has been stolen, and Jamie has decided Sara is the guilty thief. He's imprisoned her. Do ye have the flag?"

Kenan was shaking his head before Rory finished. "But my father acts as if he does."

"How so?"

"He's preparing for war from the looks of it but won't say a word to me." Kenan's face pinched in annoyance. "He's decided I'm a traitor for working with ye and the others to escape England."

"And he's not my father," Eliza said, a sternness in her voice. "So Kenan helped me leave."

Kenan waved his hand to get them walking again toward Dunvegan. "When I realized he was planning some type of siege or attack and wouldn't tell me," Kenan said, "I decided my loyalty is with my sisters." He squeezed Eliza before him. "Half sisters and whole sister."

Rory kept even with Kenan and Eliza. "We'll go together to Dunvegan then," Rory said. "If ye didn't see yer father bragging about the flag, he doesn't have it yet."

"But he thinks he'll get it soon," Kenan finished.

Rory huffed. "There's no way for us to find the thief out here on the moors unless they follow this safe road, which is the quickest."

"Bloody hell," Kenan said, rubbing his jaw, which was covered with a trimmed dark beard. "I should return to Dunscaith to watch for the flag." He pulled his sister halfway around to look in her eyes. "Go with Rory to Dunvegan. Ye'll be safer with Sara."

"But he'll punish you for helping me," Eliza said, her eyes round as she looked over her shoulder at her brother.

Kenan made a grim face. "He can try, but the men are loyal to me. I will be well." He looked out at Rory. "Go with Rory. The Lion of Skye is one of the most honorable men I've ever known."

Rory's chest expanded with the honor his friend bestowed, which also made him feel guilty about tupping his sister. If Kenan knew, he'd call him a scoundrel and try to knock him to the ground or skewer him. Jamie had gone into a rage at the knowledge, Brodrick ready to attack Rory, too. Even Jok questioned Rory's actions. But when he thought of Sara, her soft skin flushed with pleasure, he couldn't bring himself to regret his actions.

He cleared his throat. "I'll keep Lady Eliza safe."

She reached out to Rory. "Let us off then, Sir Lion, and make sure my sisters are safe at Dunvegan." Eliza might be timid due to her circumstances and youth, but she had Sara's courage. Rory lifted her over.

"I'll bring word and the flag, if it turns up at Dunscaith," Kenan said and raised his palm with the four scars. "I swear it."

Rory held his own palm aloft. "And I swear I won't use it over Clan Macdonald if ye're leading yer clan, Kenan."

Kenan nodded and turned his horse around to break into a gallop south.

…

Jok appeared in the small doorway of the tower bedchamber beside Brodrick. "Ye are not to touch her," he said to Jamie's frowning guard.

"Dead? Jamie is dead ? How? Where?" Sara stuffed her feet into a pair of silk slippers. "Does Rory know?"

Brodrick strode into the room toward the small table next to the window, Jok right behind him. Brodrick grabbed a letter sitting there, half unfolded, the seal on it broken. "What is this?"

Anger mixed with confusion and something she didn't want to admit was relief. A man was dead, but he was a man who'd had her choose between an icy pit and rape. She shook her head. "I've never seen that letter."

Brodrick took a long time holding it. Not many knew how to read. Sara walked over. "Let me see it." She took the folded paper from his rough fingers. Last night, she'd sneaked in without a taper and had fallen into her bed exhausted. It must have been sitting on her table.

Sara's breath caught as soon as she saw the familiar Macdonald crest on the wax seal and her father's scrawl across the page.

Seraphina, my stolen daughter.

Your orders are plain and imperative. Follow through and return home in triumph. Bring the Fairy Flag to Dunscaith so we can win decisively over our foes. And if you rid this world of your bridegroom and the Lion of Skye, I will grant you and your sister, Eliza, Dunvegan Castle and its vast territory. If you fail me, Seraphina, Eliza will be reunited with her mother before Christmastide.

Do not fail us.

Walter Macdonald, Chief of the Macdonalds of Sleat

Brodrick and Jok stared at her. She could try to lie about what it said, but they'd know it soon enough.

"May I?" Jok asked, and she handed it over to him.

Brodrick glared at her. "I can read enough to know your father ordered ye to steal our flag."

Jok looked up from it, meeting Sara's gaze, his eyes hard, mistrusting. "When did ye receive this and how?"

She shook her head. "This is the first I've seen it. Someone left it here in my room. 'Twas unlocked when I came up last night."

"After ye escaped the dungeon," Brodrick said, his tone clipped, "and murdered our chief."

He reached out to grab Sara's arm, ready to haul her away, but Jok stepped before her. "Let the lady dress and come down to the great hall. We must send word to Rory and hear what the surgeon says about how Jamie died."

"Poison," Brodrick said. "There's a bowl of soup by his bedside."

Sara searched his face. "You cannot be sure there was poison in the soup."

"The fiend dropped these around Jamie on the bed." Brodrick held up a bright white mushroom. "'Tis a Destroying Angel mushroom."

"Sweet Saint Mary." She sent a quick prayer for Jamie's soul.

"Aye," Brodrick said, a white pallor slipping over his features. "And he vomited and…worse in his bed."

"I haven't been near the kitchen," Sara said. "How could I have poisoned him?"

"I will guard this door while Lady Sara dresses and then lead her below," Jok said.

Brodrick's glare at Jok was hot. "If anything happens to that letter or if Lady Sara disappears, ye're a traitor to Clan MacLeod." He turned on his heel and strode out the door, leaving it gaping open.

Sara sank onto the edge of her bed. "Do you know where Rory is? Someone needs to tell him."

Jok glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "Did ye…?"

"No, Jok, I didn't poison Jamie." Sara lifted her head.

"And the letter?"

Sara exhaled. "Someone dropped the rope ladder down into the pit for me last night. I climbed up, used the privy, and came directly up here with Gus. I had no light to give me away and didn't see the letter."

He blinked twice, Sara focusing on his blue eyes with reddish eyelashes. "Rope ladder," he said. "Jamie put ye in the pit after we left?"

"It was either the pit or his bedchamber. I chose the pit."

He rubbed his face. "Daingead. Rory is going to kill J—" But then he stopped because someone had already done it.