The Ghost Greyson, Maeve (reading an ebook .txt) 📖

the cache, and arm herself. Whether their spy was the addled maid or some other foe, they had yet to discover. She refused to meet them with only her dagger and the few throwing stones she had shoved into her pockets.

“Take care, lass.” Magnus caught hold of her and yanked her back a step. He took hold of her hand and pointed the torch downward, flooding its light across a crack in the floor wide enough to swallow a man whole. “This is the beginning of the fissure that guards the entrance to the southern cache. We can step across here, but farther around, it widens too much to do so.”

She held out the torch. “Take this and lead the way. My nerves canna take anymore blind leading where I dinna have a clue I’m headed.”

He hesitated, setting down the pitch bucket with a hard thunk. “’Tis heavy.”

“I can manage it the short distance left. Now, take the torch.” She still didn’t know how Magnus had seen the fissure in the floor, and she hadn’t, but she didn’t care. Her leadership of this expedition was at an end.

“Nay, take the bundle instead. I’ll keep the sparks away from the bucket. I dinna wish ye to lose yer balance.” He swung the bundle off his shoulder as he accepted the torch. Holding it high and to the side, he retrieved the bucket from the floor. “I’ll shine the light down so ye can see to step across, then I’ll follow, aye?”

“Aye.” Mouth dry as tomb dust, she adjusted the bundles on her shoulders. Heart pounding, she hopped across the split, feeling as if a monster could reach up and snatch hold of her and drag her down into the darkness at any moment. “Praise God Almighty,” she uttered once both feet hit solid ground.

“Well done, dear one.” Magnus followed, then shed the light on a crude set of steps created by receding slabs of stone. “At the top is the cache we seek. We’ll catch our breath there, then move on to the room I had in mind and build us a fine fire.”

She followed, staying close to manage the uneven layers of stone as she ascended them. One snagged toe, and she’d tumble down into the abyss. “I canna believe I allowed ye to bring Keigan into this wicked place. Never again, ye hear me? If I had known then what I know now—”

“Lads love a bit of danger in their exploring.” He grinned back at her. “It’s good for them, aye?” Sidling off to one side as they reached the top of the stairs, he tapped the torch along a low hanging beam. “Mind the opening here, or ye’ll knock yerself silly.”

As she ducked and wormed her way through the opening, she locked her jaws to keep from speaking her mind. They should’ve hidden in the Highlands or sought refuge higher up Ben Nevis. But nay—instead, they had burrowed into the earth like a pair of badgers setting up their den.

A squishy sensation under her right foot warned her too late. Thrown off balance by her shifting bundles, she slid across the muck, careened into a pile of broken barrels, then landed on her knees. “Mind the footing!” she shouted, floundering to rise from the heap of split wooden slats, bits of what looked like dried meat, and piles of crushed oatcakes.

“What the hell?” Magnus lit a second torch, holding them both aloft as he cast their light around the room and gingerly picked his way through the mess. “Someone’s fouled every last bit of it.”

“Water?”

“Gone.” Magnus held up a waterskin, flat as could be and dripping. “Every bag split open with a blade.”

Brenna shoved aside a broken barrel, hoping the one behind it might have been spared. Her hopes were for naught. Its bashed top revealed the small cask of flour soaked with enough pitch to light the entire cave system. “How often are the supplies checked to ensure they’re safe and usable?”

“Monthly, at least.” Magnus kicked aside a barrel, slowly leaking out a trail of salt as it rolled across the floor. “Graham assured me this one had just been restocked, and all was well. Said he checked it himself just days ago after the confrontation with Barricourt.”

“I didna bring water nor food. Both Catriona and Alexander said we would find plenty here.” Whoever had made short work of the stores had done their job well. Not a barrel, bag, nor waterskin had been left untouched. “We’ll have to go back,” she said, drying her hands on her skirts.

“We canna go back.” Magnus pushed the keg of flour fouled with pine tar to the center of the space and lit it. He pulled up a pair of crates missing their contents and offered Brenna a seat. “Surely, the keep is crawling with soldiers by now.”

A despondent weariness set in as she lowered herself to the ramshackle chair beside the fire. They could probably salvage some dried meat and oatcakes. Maybe even enough to last more than a few days. But the lack of water was a definite problem. “I heard water dripping through the tunnels. Can we not collect it?” The more she tried to think of a solution, the thirstier she felt.

“Nay.” Magnus shook his head. “We tried that once, and it gave us all the skitters. Gretna thinks much of the cave water is tainted with bat shite and whatever foulness it breeds as the water stagnates.”

“Then what do we do?” She was at a loss. They couldn’t stay here and survive, nor could they go back. “Is there another exit close so we might go outside and find a burn? Catriona told me about several sources of water that Tor Ruadh uses. Surely, we could find a spring close to the caves.”

“Aye, there’s an exit close, but the way to it isna easy. Few can travel it.”

Brenna didn’t like the look on Magnus’s face, nor the way he studied her. “Ye’re not leaving me