Highland Thirst. Lynsay SandsЧитать онлайн книгу.
worry o’er that. We shall have some help. Colin and Fergus are here.” She took a deep breath, struggling to organize her thoughts so that she could adequately refute the argument she knew he was about to make. “I mean to free them as weel. Them and Sir Heming.” Brona was surprised when Peter only blinked very slowly and then frowned.
“Are ye sure freeing Sir Heming is verra wise, mistress? I think that is one verra dangerous mon.”
“That may be but he has ne’er wronged the Kerrs. Nay more than ye or Fergus or Colin have. This is wrong and I finally saw that I was little better than my cousin for I was closing my eyes to all of his cruelties. Nay more.”
“Ye put yourself in grave danger by acting against the laird.”
“I ken it, which is why I am also leaving Rosscurrach. Try to muster some strength, Peter.” She unlocked his cell door, ignoring the twinge of guilt she felt for having stolen the keys. The theft had been a necessary sin. “We will gather ye up as we leave this place.”
“Be careful, mistress,” Peter said as he sat down and leaned against the frame of the door. “I cannae recall much of what happened to me after the laird cut my throat, but there is something verra dark in Sir Heming.”
“Aye, I ken it, but he will be as eager to leave this place as the rest of ye are, willnae he. We can deal with the mon, come to some sort of truce that will get us all out of here.”
Peter did not argue with her plan so she hurried along to the cell that held Fergus and Colin, pausing to check that the few cells between theirs and Peter’s were empty. Both men were standing at the front of their cell obviously aware of her approach. Brona was relieved to see that neither man had a wound upon his neck. If Sir Heming had drunk from either of them she knew they would never agree to help her free the man. It was going to be difficult enough to get them to help her now.
“Mistress, who were ye speaking to?” asked Colin, his rough-hewn face revealing only a hint of the curiosity she could hear in his voice.
“Peter,” she replied, pleased that she could tell them that their clansman was still alive.
“He still lives?”
“Aye, but he is verra weak.”
“Because he has lost his soul,” said Fergus, fear clear to read in his handsome face.
“Nay,” said Brona, a little surprised by the sharp tone in her voice for she rarely spoke sharply to anyone. “He is weak from being left naked in this cold, damp place and from loss of blood, but ’tis still Peter I just talked to. There is no change in the mon he was ere he was dragged down here and surely there would be some change if he was now soulless, aye? I wouldst judge Hervey and Angus as lacking souls faster than I would Peter.”
Colin frowned. “Ye are certain he is the same?”
“Verra certain and I shall need your help to get him out of here,” she said.
“Then let us out, mistress, and we will carry the mon to safety.”
“I will also need ye to help me get Sir Heming out of here.” She sighed when they both stared at her in horror.
“But he is a demon,” whispered Fergus.
“Nay he isnae,” snapped Brona. “Do ye truly think my cousin has the strength to capture and hold firm to a creature from hell?” She nodded when they both frowned in doubt. “E’en Hervey and Angus dinnae think he is a demon.”
“He drank blood, mistress.”
“Aye, I begin to believe that he did and ’tis a frightening thing, but he didnae attack Peter to get it, did he. My cousin cut Peter’s throat and kept shoving the mon at Sir Heming until he did take what was offered. I dinnae understand why any mon would drink blood, but what happened to Peter was the laird’s doing, nay Sir Heming’s. If Sir Heming has such a strange need, he fought it hard, didnae he. But, weak and wounded as he was, he obviously couldnae fight it for verra long. All I ken is that that mon has ne’er harmed a Kerr and yet he is being tortured unmercifully.”
Colin slowly nodded. “Then we will help ye get the mon out of here.”
“Thank ye, Colin.” Brona quickly unlocked the door to his cell. “We had best hurry. I dinnae think anyone will be coming down here but ’tis wise to get out of here as quickly as we can.”
When Brona reached Sir Heming’s cage and held her lantern closer, she had to smother a cry of shock. Fergus and Colin both hissed out a series of profane curses, but she did not reprimand them for speaking so in front of her. She wished she knew some very profane curses herself, for spitting them out might ease some of the horror and anguish twisting knots in her stomach.
Sir Heming hung limply in his chains, the length of them not allowing his unconscious body to sprawl comfortably on the stone floor. It was just another form of torture to chain him in such a way. He was covered in blood, his body a mass of whip marks, cuts, and bruises. Some of those wounds still oozed blood. Brona saw the slow rise and fall of his chest and the fear that she had come too late to save him slowly left her.
“I dinnae ken what the mon is, but, if he isnae a demon, he doesnae deserve this,” muttered Colin, and Fergus grunted in agreement. “As ye say, mistress, he has ne’er harmed us. Wheesht, I have ne’er e’en heard of these MacNachtons.”
“There are a lot of dark whispers about the clan,” Brona confessed as she struggled to find the right key to unlock Heming’s cage. “I have listened to some, e’en gently sought out some information on the clan although few here had any, but I simply cannae believe the tales. If the MacNachtons were as dangerous and powerful as is hinted at then they wouldnae stay so quietly hidden away at some place called Cambrun, would they. Nay, their men would be giving the great Douglasses a fight o’er all that power they grab for themselves. Ah, there we are,” she muttered as she finally got the door to Heming’s cage open.
It took Brona another few minutes to find the key to unlock the shackles. As soon as she freed Sir Heming’s ankles, she gave Colin the breeches to put on the man. Fergus stood ready to catch Sir Heming as she unshackled the man’s wrists. With the two men helping her, Sir Heming was free and clothed in less time than it had taken her to find the right keys. Brona gently bathed the man’s battered face, but it only roused him a little and she was not sure he would understand what was happening.
“I fear one of ye are going to have to carry him,” she said to Colin and Fergus.
“I can do it,” said Colin. “Fergus can help Peter. Once we are outside we can make a litter to carry them.”
“Ah, weel, I fear we willnae be going outside the keep for a wee while.”
“But ye said ye were freeing us.” Colin hoisted Sir Heming over his shoulder, faltering a little under the weight of the man before he could steady himself again.
“I am but ye would find yourselves back here quick enough if we try to flee o’er land, at least right away. I couldnae get us any horses, so we would all be on foot,” she said as she led them to Peter’s cell. “I dinnae think Hervey and his men would e’en work up a good sweat in catching us all.”
“So where do we go?”
“This keep is riddled with hiding places and I have prepared one for us to hide in.”
“Which the laird will be able to find, aye?”
“Nay. It seems no one ever told Hervey about all of the passageways, tunnels, and hidden chambers. I think many of them came about in my grandsire’s time.”
“Ah, aye, me da once mentioned that, I be thinking. When the old laird decided the easiest way to thicken the walls of Rosscurrach and add all those fireplaces was to simply build a new wall around the old ones.” Colin frowned. “Are ye certain the laird doesnae ken aught about them?”
Brona nodded as they paused for Fergus to help a weak, unsteady Peter