The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,37
have a look at it as we passed.”
“I do, but—”
“Can we lead a horse down there?”
“I think so. The shore of the river is lined with sand and stone.”
“Excellent.” Emma took another bite of stew. “But to be certain, after you purchase the horse, ride down the path and make sure.”
“Does Dun…er…the laird have a plan?”
“Aye.”
“What is it?”
Emma dabbed the corners of her mouth. She didn’t want Sam in any deeper than he already was. She’d told the sentry at the gate the lad was her footman, and that’s all they knew of him. If something went wrong, they’d have no idea where to find him. “’Tis best if I only tell you what you need to know.”
“Ye ken the sally port is barred and locked.”
“What kind of lock?”
“How should I know?” Sam asked with his mouth full. “A black one.”
“All right.”
“Do ye have a key?”
“Aye, of sorts.” She grasped his hand and squeezed. “Mention this to no one.”
“But do you not think one of Lochiel’s men will be looking for us soon? At least for you. We ought to be heading home, else they’ll take a pound of flesh out of me hide, they will.”
“This is all my doing, and I shall vouch for you if need be. But Achnacarry is so large, it will take them half the day to figure out I’m not there. By the time anyone may or may not reach us, I’ll have taken care of what needs to be done. I’m certain of it.”
* * *
The church bell struck twice, piercing through the night air like the first call of a tern at dawn. Keeping close to the wall so they wouldn’t be seen, Emma and Albert followed Sam while he led the horses over the boggy land. Beside them, the river gently trickled. Ahead, the lake water slapped the shore. An easy breeze stirred the seagrass.
“The sea gate’s just ahead.” Though he spoke softly, the lad’s voice carried with the resonance of a deep F from a harp string.
“Is there a guard?” she asked.
“None I can see.”
“Can you please direct me to it?”
“It will be on our left. But aren’t we close enough?”
Emma brushed her fingers over her chignon, locating three hairpins. “I need to pick the lock.”
“You what?” he asked, the tenor of his whisper shooting up with disbelief.
“Secure the horses as close to the wall as possible so the patrol on the wall-walk will not see them, then follow me. I need your eyes.” Emma urged the dog across the uneven ground until he stopped at the wall. She reached for the gate, but placed her hands on cold stone.
“Three feet to your right,” whispered Sam, bless him.
She paused for a moment and held very still. No sound of anyone approaching as yet.
When she found the gate, she tied Albert’s lead to one of the bars and grasped the lock between her hands. Goodness, it was heavy. A hairpin wasn’t going to be strong enough for this monster.
Digging in her satchel, she found a slender iron pick at the bottom—one Robert had given her during his lock picking lessons. She inserted it into the keyhole and turned her ear. A padlock this size ought to have two shackles, and the trick was finding the second one. Working the pick forward a fraction of an inch at a time, she patiently listened.
Clink.
Stopping, she tightened her grip. There’s the first.
Emma bit her lip and levered the pick upward ever so slightly. Another clink came when she tried to move it forward, but the sound didn’t have the right resonance. She needed to hear a hollow, unmistakable chime, a noise no untrained person would be able to distinguish.
Levering the pick a mere fraction, she tried again. This time the tool slid easily.
Clink.
She dared to inhale.
“Will Dunollie meet you here?” asked Sam.
“Shhh.”
If she wasn’t successful now, she’d have to start over.
Footsteps approached on the wall-walk above, coming from the direction of Loch Linnhe.
Every muscle in Emma’s body tensed, her heart suddenly racing. “Haste,” she whispered. “Clamp your hand around Albert’s muzzle and crouch in the gateway.”
“Stay,” Sam growled with a bit of rustling.
The dog wriggled and grunted while the soldier paused right above them. Had he seen them? Could he hear the dog’s impatient snorts?
Dear God, please let him pass!
Emma’s breath rushed in her ears as she willed Albert to remain calm. Her head spun. In the next heartbeat all could be ruined. The padlock slipped in her sweaty palm, and the fingers of