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

in the leg. They can carry the fool Scot to the gallows on a litter for all I care! I am done with this foolishness!”

Magnus felt sure they would not shoot him. The more distance he put between himself and the lantern boys, the harder it was for any of them to see anything.

“Take that man or suffer the consequences!” Cawldrake’s voice hit a higher pitch.

Magnus chuckled. The fool redcoat sounded like he had his bollocks in a bind. Whipping the rope in an arc around himself, he shuffled down the mountainside, stinging every soldier who dared come too close. He daren’t pause long enough to rid himself of the shackles. If he did, they’d fall upon him. He’d rid himself of the heavy chains later.

His heel caught the edge of a large rock and threw off his balance. He lost control of the swinging rope, the end of it popping him in the face and burning like a hot coal. Hitting the ground hard, he tucked and rolled to survive whatever punishment the slope gave. A boulder brought him to a rib-cracking stop. He scrambled around it, tucked in tight, and held his breath. Without torch or lantern to beat back the darkness this far down the incline, they would be hard-pressed to find him. All he need do was wait them out.

“I do not tolerate failure!” Cawldrake screamed. “Find that man. Find him now, I say!”

“We can’t see a bloody thing, sir,” one man said. “Send down the lanterns or wait ’til daybreak.”

“Daybreak be better, sir,” another called out. “No way will he light anything to see and give hisself away, and we got but five lantern boys left since we lost two in the caves. Them Scots are wily bastards, you know.”

“I refuse to return to Fort William empty-handed,” Cawldrake informed them. “You! Lantern boys. Spread out and walk down the mountainside.”

Magnus risked a glance around the boulder. He had tumbled quite a way before hitting the rock, bouncing hard every bit of the way. Never did he think he’d be thankful for an extended beating from the mountainside, but when he didn’t catch sight of the lights, he was. It would take the soldiers a good while to work their way down to him.

He spit the key to the shackles into his hand, along with several pieces of a broken tooth. At least he hadn’t lost the thing while tumbling down the slope. The key was worth a tooth or two. Catching up the chains and holding them tight to prevent their rattling, he unlocked the irons and slid them off. Then he withdrew his trusty sgian dhu out of his boot, thankful that the soldiers had missed it. The wee dagger might not be much, but it would be effective when needed. He felt better with some sort of weapon in hand.

Inching his way up the side of the boulder, he propped his arms on top and scanned the surroundings. Ben Nevis’s mistiness didn’t seem as dense here, but the night was cloudy, making visibility just as poor at this level. With no help from the stars, he didn’t know where he was or how far to go to make it back to where he had exited the mountain and dig his way back inside.

Eventually, he would have to move. While there was still no sign of lantern light, the troop of soldiers sounded like a herd of Highland cows stampeding down the mountain toward him. He pushed off the rock and rolled his shoulders against the ache from the land’s punishment. That pain was nothing compared to his worry for Brenna.

By his best calculations, they had ridden west but a short way before he had made his escape. Near as he could tell, he had rolled straight down but wasn’t sure. He would head east for a few furlongs, then climb back up the mountain as soon as it was safe to do so. No way in hell would he suffer the English to capture him again. If he could find the stream as he moved east, that would help him decipher his whereabouts and continue on.

Rocks tumbled, and a soldier growled out a curse. That hadn’t been all that far away—time to move.

He took a step toward what he hoped was eastward, then the ground disappeared out from under his feet, and the mountain swallowed him.

Chapter Sixteen

Brenna made another pass around the vast storage cavern, searching for more broken barrel staves or whatever else might burn to keep the precious fire going. Sweat beaded on her forehead, even more trickled down her spine. She paid it no mind. Heat hotter than damnation was better than total darkness.

She had discovered some useable supplies and collected them to one side of the circle of firelight. The meager pile was comprised of a pair of ropes, one a bit short but still useable. The destructive marauders had somehow overlooked a double handful of oatcakes and a small sack of dried meats and fruits. Ruined supplies, she had shoved off into the shadows. Those that would burn were stacked beside the fire for fuel.

She thanked God Almighty that whoever had fouled the storage area and slashed the water bags had either been careless or in a hurry. The slab of stone beneath the waterskins’ rack was covered in holes and dips that had preserved several puddles of drinkable water. At first, she had hesitated to drop on all fours and lap at the leavings like a thirsty dog. But after a careful sniff and a taste, her parched state had won out. Unfortunately, the minimal amount of water wouldn’t last long.

Tired of pacing but too agitated to sit, she stood by the fire, staring down at the flames until her eyes stung with the need to blink. How long had Magnus been gone? Was he safe? Had he found water? Had the mended skins held? So many questions that wouldn’t be answered