The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,38
her right hand twitched from holding the pick steady.
Help!
The soldier marched on, moving toward the loch until his steps faded into the sounds of the breeze and the lake lapping the shore.
“That was too close,” whispered Sam.
“The sentry had no idea we were here,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
“May I release Albert now?”
“Aye.” With a flick of her fingers, the metallic clack of the padlock opening rang like a bell in the night air.
“Holy smokes, you did it.” The lad’s voice was filled with disbelief.
Emma held out the pick. “This is one skill my brother taught me that once seemed nothing more than an idle pastime. But at long last it has proved quite valuable.” She slipped the tool into her satchel and untied Albert’s lead from the bar.
“It seems like we’re a fair bit lower than the fortress grounds.” She inclined her ear upward. “Are there stairs?”
“Seven of them. You do not want me to go in there, do ye?”
“Nay. Can you whistle like a blackbird?”
“Aye.”
“Stay hidden in the stairwell, but if you see any danger, whistle ever so quietly.”
“What if they see you?”
“Then I’ll have to pretend I’m a ghost, will I not?” She smiled, though no one need remind her she was about to enter the lion’s den. Drawing in a deep breath, Emma faced the most perilous seven and sixty paces she would ever cross. With luck, this might be the one time in her life when darkness was her friend.
“Ye’re either brave or mad, I’ll say.”
“Perhaps I’m a bit of both.” She climbed the stairs, running her hand along the stone wall.
At the top she stopped and held the kerchief to Albert’s nose. “Find Ciar.”
“He’s nay a bloodhound,” Sam whispered a bit too loudly.
“At least he’s a dog.” Emma turned toward the sound of Sam’s voice. “Stay hidden.”
“I will.”
With a tug of the leash, she slipped against the north wall and headed west toward Loch Linnhe. Eleven paces took her to the corner. The smell of horses and hay reassured her.
Only forty-five paces to reach the rear of the officers’ hold.
Halfway, a gentle whistle came.
She pulled Albert against the ramparts and held his muzzle. “Stay,” she commanded, barely whispering.
The footsteps clapped the wall-walk again. Heavier this time, but still she heard only one guard.
She froze, imagining herself bathed in light, terrified she’d be seen.
Albert squirmed.
“Shhhh!” she whispered with her heart flying to her throat.
Emma’s mind ran the gamut as the dragoon neared. How would she respond if he spotted her? Apologize? Tell him she was lost? Admit she was taking a lock picker to Ciar? What about a pastry? She was blind, after all. How could she know if it was day or night? Bless it, if she had thought, she might have stopped by the baker’s and purchased a tart or something to make her excuse more plausible.
But the guard continued along the wall, not even pausing this time.
She allowed herself to breathe. Thank heavens.
Hearing no other movement, Emma continued counting her steps. At forty-five paces, her hands started trembling uncontrollably. She’d need to move away from the wall now. Out of the shadows. She’d be even more vulnerable.
Eight paces to the front.
But when she turned and reached out, Ciar’s cell wasn’t there. How far off track was she? Had she turned the wrong way?
Help! I ken I counted correctly.
After forcing herself to take a calming inhalation, she smelled the horses. Perhaps she hadn’t walked far enough? A soft neigh came from her left. She held the kerchief to Albert’s nose again. “Please, laddie, take me to Ciar!”
The dog walked on, his tail slapping her knee. Beneath her boots was the familiar sound of gravel crunching. Was she close?
Three paces to the door.
Emma let Albert lead her the few paces. He stopped and nuzzled her hand.
“Here?” she asked, reaching out, her fingers brushing wood. Tears welled in her eyes as she drew a breath of relief. “You are brilliant.”
She found the padlock right below the latch. This model was easy, nowhere near as large as the lock at the postern gate.
“Ciar?” she whispered. “Are you ready?”
Pulling a hairpin from her chignon, she set to work on the lock, praying she’d found the right door.
“Emma?” A healthy dose of disbelief reflected in Ciar’s voice.
Nonetheless, the sound made her heart jolt like a spark from a fire. “’Tis me.”
She released the lock with a flick of her wrist and opened the door, reaching inside. “We must hasten. A guard walks the ramparts every