Chapter Thirty-Four
Footprints in the snow avow the story.
— Adrian Macgillivray
At Noel’s approach, Galen spun around, then offered a crooked smile of welcome. “Lord de Servian! Thank the heavens you have come.”
“Aye, I have.” Noel almost chuckled at the man’s grin and his stating of the obvious. “Never thought you would be happy to see an Englishman, eh?”
The Scotsman nodded, “’Tis true. Right pleased I be to see this one.”
“Skena is up there? The children, too?” Noel tied Brishen out of sight by the stand of tall pines.
“Aye, footprints―hers, the children and several others―lead straight to it.” The old man was shaking, and Noel had a feeling it wasn’t from the cold.
Noel looked at the positioning of the strange, round tower, wondering what was going on inside the stone structure, trying to see it with warrior’s eyes, and not clouded by the emotions barely contained within him. It was situated well. Attackers would struggle to maintain their footing up the incline to reach the entrance. On the far side, the tor dropped off steeply, leaving it invulnerable to attack from that angle. These ancient people, who had lived here, fought here, had chosen the perfect location to protect, giving all the advantages to the broch.
Guillaume rode up, dismounted, and tied his horse close to Brishen. “A wagon and men follow. Any more tracks, other than the ones we know about?” he asked.
Galen shook his head. “Nay, a man and several smaller sets―either women or young boys came this way. And the children. Kenneth has gone to the other side of the tor to scout if men wait beyond, toward the Comyn boundary. We found this back on the track, where a scuffle took place.” He held out a length of soggy cloth to Noel. “Comyn plaide.”
Taking the tartan, Noel glared at it. “’Tis not Duncan Comyn up there. My guess this was left to confuse or misdirect. They hoped to move on, but the storm forced them back here.”
“Must be your watcher in the woods, acting with Dorcas and Ella aiding him, I ajudge,” Guillaume said, walking a short distance up the hillside to study the tracks. “Unless Kenneth returns with tides of men on the other side, none cover his back to give us a problem. Nonetheless, we cannot just storm the tower, Noel. These Pict brochs are extraordinarily constructed, brilliantly engineered. Skena’s people were renowned for selecting some of the best defensive locations. They built to cause all manners of trouble for invaders. There is only one entrance―”
“One?” Noel exclaimed, tossing down the swatch of wool.
“Aye, and it gets worse. The opening forces a man to stoop to get inside. Then, you pass under a platform where people can stand and jab spears down upon anyone stupid enough to force their way in. If you get by that, there is a double wall with the stairs winding inside. The passage is cramped, barely enough for one at a time to pass. Your elbows will brush the stones on either side―no room to wield a shield or sword, and so the body is exposed. There simply is not space wide enough to put up a shield before you. If you go in, ’tis the obstacles you face,” Guillaume pointed out the problems presented by the ancient structure. “And for my curiosity―just who is in there? You know you killed Angus Fadden, I do not care what little Annis says. Children of that age can be misled. One might think you blessed with the Kenning. You seem to know. Duncan? I cannot believe he would be crack-brained enough to do something like this with no men covering his flanks. With backing, a Comyn is bold enough―foolish enough―to risk attacking Challon and Damian. Alone―they run scared.”
“I know you want to tangle with Duncan because of what happened to Damian and Julian, but nay, Comyn is not behind this mess. It came to me in my sleep a few nights ago. I recalled Skena saying she had fought Fadden on sending Andrew to his brother for training. I meant to question her about this, but I was distracted, and the dream faded. ’Tis Fadden’s brother,” Noel stated flatly. “It has to be. Why Annis thought it was her father.”
Guillaume’s face showed surprise. “Brother? Bloody hell. Why you galloped off when we were speaking of sending to my brothers for help.”
“Yes, it brought back the dream. And I knew. When Edward gave me the charter to Craigendan, he muttered something about a younger brother that had been wounded and made prisoner after Dunbar. I assume he escaped. De Moray did. And I hear you say Challon now has a father-in-law underfoot.” He lifted his brow to emphasize the point. “English jails do not seem able to hold these Scotsmen. Skena once mentioned the brother; said Darach never came north when Angus had wed her. She has never seen him. He was younger and was off currying favor with their King Alexander at the time, an eye to winning land of his own. I guess with ten years difference between them they were never close.”
“So why the elaborate mummery? He thinks to murder you to avenge his brother?” Guillaume turned at the sound of horses approaching. Riding by twos, men of Challon came bearing torches, reaching them at the same time young Kenneth trotted up from the opposite direction.
“Naught so honorable. I think he wanted Skena dead, me as well. Once we were out of the way, he could lay claim to his brother’s holding. Bootlick Edward, bend knee, and offer enough coin, the king forgives all, he thought. Most ken this. My guess Darach promised Dorcas she would be the new lady of Craigendan to gain her succor. Stupid wench.” Turning to the young lad, Noel asked, “What say you, Kenneth? Any signs of men waiting behind the knoll?”
The redheaded boy shook his head. “Nay, I went all the way to the bottom on the other side of the hillock. My tracks were the only ones in the snow.”
“That is to the good then.” Noel pulled his sword from the sheath, slung crosswise on his back. “Let us be done with this madness.”
Guillaume reached out and grabbed his arm, staying him. “Wait, Noel. You cannot rush in there without a plan. Did you not hear what I said you face by attacking the problem head on?”
“I heard.” Noel looked at him resolute. “Skena is in there―with some Lowlander vermin that needs killing. Nothing else matters.”
“And kill him you shall, but I shan’t see you trade your life for hers.” When Noel yanked to break the hold, Guillaume tightened his grip, preventing him from pulling free. “Skena wouldst not want that either. You rushed off from Craigendan with no mind to what comes next. Such foolishness gets a warrior killed. Your wife is depending upon you to have a knight’s head and come after her in a smart manner.”
Noel closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, knowing Guillaume spoke truth. He slowly gave a nod. “Thank you, my brother.”
Guillaume smiled, saying they had watched each other’s backs more times than they could count. “Now, let us set about fetching your Skena.”
Noel returned the sword to its scabbard. Looking to Galen, he asked, “What condition is the tower in?”
“The broch will be settled upon Elspeth when she marries. Whilst the outer defensive wall has fallen into disrepair, the clan kept the tower sound. Folk started to take stones from the top level ages ago, but Evelynour—witch of the Ogilvies—warned ’twas wrong, a dishonor to the ones who came before us. She spake if the broch fails, then so will the clan. The Earl Kinmarch fitted it with a new roof five summers ago. Even so, it will take muckle work to set it right for our Elspeth. Joint timbers on the lowest two levels are still there, but no flooring. Planking be partially in place for the upper level to make it easier for the thatchers.”
“Thatch?” Noel asked, his eyes skimming the round tower, seeing there were no windows, in the smooth stoneworks, only arrow loops. “Then, I should be able to cut my way through?”
“Excusin’ my language, my lord—how the bloody hell are you goin’ to get all the way up there?” Kenneth asked with wide eyes.
Galen shot the lad a sour look, silencing him. “Aye, you might do that. I assume you will scale the left side since ’tis the shortest slant of the land. Once up there, cut a hole. Turn to the wall and drop down the inside facing. Move to your left, about a quarter turn of the tower, and you will find the doorway to the stairs that leads down to the next level. From the second landing you can descend straight to the ground floor using the crossbeam.”
“Such cannot be accomplished in complete silence. My movements will be heard. What say you, Guillaume? Make pretense of entering—call him out and such. Focus his attention on you, keep him talking. That will allow me time to make the climb, cut my way through the thatching, and get into position. A slow count to two score and I shall drop.”
Guillaume frowned at him. “Nay, I will do the climb. Your back is not healed yet, Noel.”
“Right now, I shan’t feel a thing. Until I hold Skena safely in my arms again I cannot breathe.” Noel stared Guillaume in the face, both of their warrior wills clashing. “If that were Rowanne in there, tell me you wouldst stand back whilst I rescued her. Skena is my woman. I will fight for her. I will die for her, if needed.”
Guillaume inclined his head, resigned. “Just see you do not die.”
“Not to fash―as Skena wouldst say. I have a lot to live for.” He patted Guillaume’s upper arm.
Mallory came carrying a sack. “You will need this, Lord de Servian. The best rope—made in the rope-walk way. No splices. It shan’t fail you, my lord. A grappling hook is on the end.”
“Thanks be to you.” Noel removed his mantle and handed it to Guillaume. “Let me have your dirk.”
Guillaume tugged it from his boot and passed it to him hilt first. “Be careful, Noel. I have a fondness of your pretty face. We have ridden too many leagues together to allow some maggot-brained Lowlander to change that.”
“Give me time to circle around and get in position. Then call to him, get his attention, anything to provoke him. He dare not come out, but do what you can to give noise, a cover for the climb,” Noel instructed.
Guillaume clutched Noel’s shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze, his eyes speaking his concern. Life had not seen fit to give Noel a brother, but he counted himself a lucky man to have a true brother of the heart in this man of Challon. With a faint nod, he turned and hurried off into the night.
Hunched down low, Noel sped through the shadows until he was out of sight of the broch’s entrance. When he reached his position by the right side, he waved to Guillaume to let him know he was ready. Flanked by Mallory, Guillaume openly approached the front of the broch. Noel watched from the shadows, waiting until they drew near the entrance. In the absence of light, Guillaume’s build was similar enough to pass for Noel at a distance. It might be enough to confuse Darach Fadden, and allow Noel to get in position for the climb.
He opened the drawstring of the sack. It fell away, leaving him holding the heavy coil of rope with the climbing hook on one end, its length more than enough to reach the top. He heard Guillaume call out, demanding Darach show himself instead of cowering behind the kirtles of females. Noel began swinging the three-pronged hook around and around, playing it out in an ever-widening circle. Finally, he let loose, allowing the rope to snake through his gloved hands, sending the metal end flying skyward.
Noel breathed a sigh of relief when the hook landed without noise, the combination of the snow and the thatch muffling the sound as it hit. Carefully easing back on the rope, he felt it finally snag; he gave a small, sharp tug to see if the hook caught. There was resistance. To set it, he yanked hard and found solid opposition. Feeling confident, he tested with his full weight, then smiled that it held firm.
Hefting himself a short distance up the wall, he carefully walked the rope to the side, so he could wave to Guillaume, saying he was ready. His friend withdrew his sword and boldly walked up to the very opening. Whilst the Pictish entrance disarmed those trying to enter, those same defensive measures would also hamper anyone trying to come out. Fadden could not easily venture forth. Thus assured, Guillaume took his sword and tapped the flat side to the stones, tormenting. Inside, it would sound like thunder breaking. The perfect cover for Noel to climb.
Despite his back still being sore, he quickly ascended to the top. The thatch was densely packed, hard from several seasons age and swollen from being wet, but he was able to cut a man-size hole in it with little trouble. Sitting on the wall’s thickness, he slid the dirk back into his boot. He coiled the rope around his lower arm, from hand to elbow and around again, preparing to use it to descend into the black bowls of the damnable tower.
Below, he could hear voices―Ella and Dorcas, he thought― though not clear enough to discern words. Still, it was obvious they were unhappy about Guillaume banging on the side of the fortress. Their tone strident, harsh, they fussed about the racket, one voice in particular rising above the others.
Noel smirked, going through the door and down the steps as Galen instructed him. “You think that is upsetting, wait until you catch sight of me falling from the roof,” he whispered to himself.
In the archway to the second level, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust. He leaned in and wrapped the rope about the beam. Pulling with his weight to set the metal barbs of the hook, the beam felt solid. He listened, seeing if his presence was detected.
Again, he heard voices raised in heated anger, but the way they bounced against the stone walls distorted the words. He paused, his eyes growing accustomed to the dimness to where he began to make out the shape of the structure. The broad crossbeam blocked part of the view and the only light came from the ancient fireplace, still he could see everyone below. Against the far wall, Skena cuddled under her mantle with Muriel, presumably with the children between them.
Voices became louder, two women arguing.
Then, he heard Skena’s mocking laugh. “Fools―the lot of you. You kenned de Servian would come for me,” she taunted. “Did you really think he would sit at Craigendan until dawnbreak?”
Noel smiled at her spunk. He had told Guillaume he would feel nothing until he held her in his arms again. He lied. His heart jumped into an unsteady rhythm at just hearing her voice. God, he loved her! He meant it when he said he would die for Skena. Only, he would rather live for her, with her.
“I am bloody well going to beat her once I get her safely back to Craigendan,” he muttered under his breath, an attempt to lighten his spirit.
Noel fought the urge to drop from the center of the beam, where it could reach a spot between Skena and Fadden. Unsure just how sound the timber was, he decided to go with caution. Better to land in one piece than take the risk and possibly end up injured and little use to protecting Skena. Wrapping the coil of rope a turn around the beam and then passing it under his right thigh and over his shoulder, he pushed away from the stone wall. To slow the rate the rope played out through his gloved hands, he lightly shoved with his feet against the wall, almost to hop down the remaining distance.
Skena was the first to see him. Glancing up, her face lit with happiness. Fortunately, no one else seemed to have caught sight of him. He paused midway down, just hanging in the air, and held up his finger to his lips. Their eyes met in a silent communication, him trying to tell her to be ready. Relaxing his grip, he dropped the final distance in one release. Hearing the noise, Ella’s head snapped up. Her eyes widening, she screamed.
“Stupid cow,” he growled through gritted teeth. He landed on his feet, trying to jerk the rope from around his thigh. He reached up and behind, to wrap his hand around the hilt of his broadsword. Noel had to stop as Ella flew at him like a berserker, her right arm back with a knife in her hand. Never before had Noel struck woman, but he had little hesitation in drawing up his foot and giving her a hard jolt to the belly, sending her flying backward.
“To me!” he shouted to Guillaume waiting outside. “To me!”
Pulling the sword, he moved toward Skena. Ella jumped him, latching onto his sword arm and swinging him off balance. The woman was heavy as a man and surprisingly muscular. She slapped out with one hand trying to scratch his face. Forced to keep the crazed woman off him, dodging, careful she did not put out an eye, it was hard to see what was happening about him. Skena tugged Muriel and the twins to their feet, and was pushing them into the darkness. Dorcas snatched Skena by her long hair and dragged her back, nearly jerking her off her feet. Noel’s eyes searched for Fadden, the man materializing behind Skena struggling with the tall Dorcas.
Fed up with thrashing about with Ella, he flung the woman to the stone floor. Once more, he started to Skena. This time, instead of attacking him, Ella rushed toward Muriel and the twins. Muriel stepped to shield Skena’s children, catching Ella’s arm as she slashed through the air with the dagger. With her hands twisted with age, Muriel was no match for the stout Ella. The knife caught Muriel on the upper arm rending fabric and reaching the flesh beneath. Ready to strangle the loathsome woman, Noel seized Ella and dragged her away from the valiant Muriel.
The dim light in the room shifted as water was tossed into the fireplace. The room went to blackness as Noel heard Guillaume and Malloy coming through the entrance. Tired of the screeching woman Noel shoved Ella toward the men, letting them deal with the crazed female.
“Torches! Bring torches!” Noel yelled the command.
Muriel collapsed against Noel’s arm, sobbing, and then the children clung to his legs, hugging him. He wanted to comfort them, but he had to reach Skena.
Finally, torches were brought in, the yellow light banishing the impenetrable gloom. Everyone blinked as the light filled the tower.
Everyone save Fadden, Dorcas and Skena.
They were gone.