The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,88

his awkward, long-legged gait, he walked back over to the table where the second lantern burned and blew it out. “Sleep now, aye? I’m off to fetch more blankets and try to get ye some wine.”

Sorcha held tight to the water cup, struggling against the urge to scream. “Aye. I shall rest. And heal.” It took every last ounce of self-control she possessed to go along with Heckie’s insanity. She hated the thought of being submerged back into the darkness, but she feared going against anything he said. Not yet. Not until she was stronger and could escape. For now, she would drink her water, eat her bread, and do her damnedest to figure a way out of this mess.

Heckie kissed her on the forehead again and smiled down at her. “That man is in the tunnels. Him and his friend. They’re a looking for ye, but they’ll never find ye.” He winked. “Dinna worry. Soon ye’ll be a widow and free to marry me just like ye always wanted.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Every guard, servant, and clansman here at the keep has been accounted for.” Greyloch stared down at the table covered with diagrams and plans used in the construction of the keep, the chapel, and the building inside the skirting wall.

Sutherland inked the quill and blacked out yet another tunnel inside the walls. He turned and looked across the great hall at the sectioned-off corner guarded by four of Clan Greyloch’s most trusted warriors. Within the wall of muscular men, Jenny lay on a cot. Aderyn sat beside her on a stool. They had feared placing the lass in her own room, afraid she would disappear just as Sorcha had. “And still no change in Jenny?”

“None,” Magnus said. “Aderyn hopes by morning—”

“Nay!” Sutherland slammed his fist on the table. “My love has been gone since who knows when last night. There has to be something that old woman can do to bring the girl around so she can help us.”

“Such things cannot be ordered or forced, Sutherland. Ye know that as well as I.” Magnus leaned over the maps, wearily propping himself against the edge of the table. “We’ve covered a good bit of the maze, and the others should report back to us soon.”

“The problem is…,” War Chief MacIlroy paused, tapping a finger on the north side of the map, “this system was designed to change at the will of the person traveling the tunnels. If whoever did this knows the passages well enough, they can connect and close off the halls, changing the maze completely.” He fixed Sutherland with a grim look. “And if they’re smart enough to obliterate the markings we’ve made to keep track of our progress…”

“Help me with him!” shouted a guard from an archway at the head of the hall. Another Greyloch warrior lay at his feet with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

“Aderyn!” Greyloch bellowed as they sprang into action to help carry the injured man to a table.

“Steady now, lad,” Sutherland encouraged as they settled the young clansman down. “We need to prop his upper body higher so he can breathe easier.” Sutherland had vast experience when it came to such wounds. If they didn’t place the lad in a somewhat upright position, he could drown in his own blood. A maid came running with a pile of folded linens, and they wedged them beneath his head and shoulders.

“Lift me up onto the bench,” Aderyn ordered with a hard yank on Sutherland’s sleeve.

Sutherland did as she commanded, keeping hold of her waist to steady the crone as she examined the guard’s wound.

“Luckily, it hit bone instead of heart or lung,” the old woman said. “Hold him so I can pull it out.” She yanked the arrow free of his chest before anyone could follow her orders. With a pleased with herself clucking, she patted the lad’s shoulder. “’Tis better to rip it out when ye least expect it, so ye dinna tense and make it worse.”

“They thought I was ye,” the wounded guard said in a pained whisper. He grimaced at Sutherland. “Yelled yer name right before they let loose the arrow that hit me.”

“Did ye recognize the voice?” Sutherland asked, his hopes rising.

“Nay,” he responded, bucking as Aderyn poured whisky in the wound. “Screeched it out like a feckin’ banshee, they did, but it was yer name. Raibie heard it, too.”

“Aye,” the other guard, Raibie, agreed. “They yelled ‘MacCoinnich’ plain as day to make us turn. Then the arrow whizzed right