The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,62

anything like this has ever happened under her watch before.”

“She is getting older,” Sorcha whispered. “But we willna dwell on it, aye? No harm done, and we’ll make sure Da is none the wiser about any of it.”

They hurried down to the level of rooms beneath the kitchens, rushing past the root cellar, larder, and rack room housing the Greyloch wines. The last room at the end of the long dirt-floored hallway was her father’s pride and joy, the special room housing Chieftain Greyloch’s private whiskies, selected by the man himself.

“How do ye mean to pick the lock? I thought the chief had it special made, and the smithy said it would stand against anyone.” Jenny peered around Sorcha at the thick iron door.

“The smithy is unaware of my talents.” Sorcha pulled her sgian dhu from inside the lining of her jacket. She’d taken to keeping the knife on her person ever since Sutherland’s accidents had started. Who knew what Garthin Napier might decide to try next. She grabbed hold of the latch, pulled with all her might, and wiggled the blade in the lock. True to her talents, a metallic chinking soon announced her victory, and she yanked the heavy door open. “See? Easy enough.”

“I’ll light a torch.” Grabbing one of the cloth wrapped sticks from a nearby pitch barrel, Jenny lit it from the sconce in the hall.

“Take care, Jenny. We dinna need to blow the keep off its foundation. Ye know how burnable Da’s whisky is.” Sorcha returned her blade to the inside of her jacket as she squinted in the flickering light at the labels on the bottles and the dates burned into the wooden casks. “I forgot how he said they’re stored. I think he stacks them by their date.”

The heavy door creaked behind them, then slammed shut with a heart-stopping rumble. “Why did ye pull the door to?” Sorcha spun around, only to find Jenny staring at the entrance as though it were possessed by demons. “Tell me ye shut the door, Jenny.”

Jenny shook her head, nearly hugging the sputtering torch as she edged closer to Sorcha.

Refusing to panic, Sorcha grabbed hold of the latch, bore down on it, and shoved. The door didn’t move, nor did the handle’s mechanism respond. “This be shite sure enough.” Sorcha tried again, even taking out her knife and working it in the lock to no avail. The sudden need to breathe fresh air threatened to overcome her. “It’s not opening.” She rattled the latch again. “Hello! The door’s got jammed. Run fetch help! Is anyone out there?” Surely, the lad Mrs. Breckenridge was sending down had to be in the cellar by now. He’d soon hear them and run for help.

“L-look,” Jenny stammered, pointing at the floor.

Rags and reeds, lit and smoldering with thick dark smoke, inched their way into the room from under the door. As quickly as Sorcha stomped on the burning debris, more replaced it. A constant digging and scratching sounded like a pack of vermin on the other side. “Who is out there?” she shouted, pounding on the door. “Stop it, I beg ye!” More red-hot bits slid in underneath the door, igniting into flames and smoking as soon as they cleared the threshold. “We’ve got to smother them and close that crack, so they canna shove more inside. Quickly! Help me grab dirt out from the corners and from under the racks.”

“If we put out the flames and block the opening, won’t we smother, too?”

Sorcha froze. Jenny was right. The more they blocked the crack under the door, the more they closed off their only source of air. “We need to pull them the rest of the way inside and douse the fires in the middle of the room. Scrape up as much dirt as ye can whilst I drag them to ye.”

Jenny sprang to action, wedging the torch into a peg hole in the wall.

Sorcha banged on the door. “Whoever ye are, stop this! I beg ye! If it’s money ye want, it’s money ye’ll have!” Why else would anyone do such a cruel thing as this?

More burning rags wormed their way into the room. “I’ll be damned if I die in my Da’s whisky room.” Sorcha grabbed hold of the fiery cloths, grinding her teeth against the heat searing her flesh. She pulled them to the center of the room, where Jenny scooped dirt over them. The majority of the space’s flooring had been made of broad flagstones. Thankfully, the