A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,16

clanking as if they still remained fastened to prisoners, and feel the hot breath of the dead on the back of our necks.”

As if to illustrate this, the skin on the back of my head began to crawl, and I felt the almost irresistible urge to squirm. Many of the others did not resist, wriggling their shoulders, and giggling even as they did so.

Our Lord of Misrule’s gaze met mine almost in challenge. “If you listen, you can still hear their moans and their screams of terror.”

I arched a single eyebrow back at him, even as we all held our breaths to listen, refusing to be baited by such a blatant ploy. Moans and screams, indeed. If we heard any, they were no doubt being made by some servants conned into doing so by Lord Edward.

However, I did shriek when something crawled across my foot. I leapt away from it, nearly climbing onto Gage as a furry creature darted into a hole in the masonry to our right.

“Oh yes. Perhaps I should have said. There are rats down here as well.”

I pressed a hand to my chest over my pounding heart, glaring at Lord Edward and his wry smirk.

“The ratcatcher persists in setting traps, but the vermin obstinately insist on staying,” he continued blithely. “It is a dungeon, after all, even if no one has been imprisoned here in over two hundred years. They’ve probably lived here for generations, their grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather passing down the knowledge that this place holds the potential for tasty treats, so they refuse to leave.”

“That’s gruesome,” I snapped. “And absurd.”

He shrugged.

“If there are rats doon here, I’m leavin’,” one lady behind me screeched.

“’Tis a jest,” the man with her insisted. “He’s just tryin’ to scare ye. Aren’t ye?” he swiveled to demand of Lord Edward.

“Am I?” was his oblique answer.

The man glowered while Lord Henry, standing at the back of the small cluster of us holding a second lantern, rolled his eyes.

The agitated lady stamped her foot. “I’m leavin’.”

“Go on then,” her male companion declared, turning away and crossing his arms over his chest.

This seemed to forestall her, for she glanced uncertainly about her. But Lord Edward was already leading us forward, deeper into the dark corridors of stone. The chill air grew even colder as we made our way further into the cellar. I tucked my arms close to my sides, grateful for once for the warmth of my nun’s costume. I imagined the other ladies, and even the men in their kilts, were not so comfortable.

Water dripped somewhere, striking a steady staccato to my nerves as we paused in what appeared to be the furthest corner. At first, I wondered whether our guide had taken a wrong turn, whether even he could get lost down here. But then I realized he stood at a blind corner. What appeared to be a dead end merely concealed a small opening in the stonework.

“This tunnel is a secret known to but a few,” Lord Edward declared with relish, nodding toward the opening. “It leads into the catacombs beneath the ruins of Kirkbryde Abbey, and from there out into the Scots wilderness. Our ancestors used it upon occasion as a convenient means of escape from their enemies, or as a way to come and go as one pleased without the others in the castle being aware of it.” He grinned. “On one notable occasion, the laird’s men slipped out to exact revenge on a neighboring clan, all while the marches’ warden slept in one of the beds upstairs.”

The men chuckled at this tale from the time of the Border reivers. As I had my own fair share of such ancestors, I’d heard plenty of evocative legends of their plundering exploits. So much so that it was often hard to separate fact from fiction. But I had no trouble believing his next anecdote, especially when his good humor slipped a notch.

“Our ancestors also sheltered a number of priests and canons in our dungeon, disguising them as prisoners, when Henry VIII’s men swept through to destroy the abbeys.” He inhaled a deep breath, smiling brighter again. “And most recently my brothers and I utilized it to escape our tutors.”

“Or Cook’s wrath for stealing her raspberry tarts,” Lord Henry added.

Lord Edward turned to lead us through the opening into the tunnel of similar construction, which made me suspect it had been built at the same time as the initial castle. The floor was less compact, the dirt looser, crunching