The Postern Gate
Kyla and her companions walked away dejectedly from the agitated soldiers rushing about inside the Captain’s Gate. Halfway down the ramp of the revetment, she espied John Smith waving to her from the middle of the outer ward.
To her dismay, he hurried toward them, red-faced and breathing heavily when they came together near the outer gatehouse. “Did thee not get through?” he asked.
Nicolson stepped between him and Kyla. “The keep’s closed to all comers until further notice. Something about a fugitive on the loose.”
Kyla clenched her jaw. “Today of all days! We have to get in to see the king.” She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose at the muck in Smith’s fingernails when he thrust out his chin and scraped the stubble on his fat neck.
“There is a postern gate,” he whispered conspiratorially after glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Behind Queen Mary’s Tower.”
“Heavily guarded, I’m sure,” Nicolson replied.
Smith shook his head. “Bricked up long ago, but…”
Kyla became impatient when he hesitated. “But what? No one can hear us.”
“They left part of it open, just blocked by a grill.”
“And how are we supposed to open the grill?” Nicolson asked.
Smith tapped the side of his nose. “Thee’s forgetting I’m the smith. I’ll lend thee the tools. The forge is on t’other side of the ward.”
He strode away without a backward glance.
“Why do ye think he’s helping us?” Adrian asked.
Nicolson snickered. “Something to do with red hair.”
Kyla winced. “That’s what I’m afraid of, but do we have a choice?”
Her navigator shrugged. “We could end up being arrested.”
“At least then we’d be inside the keep.”
Smith came to a halt and turned. “Art coming or nay?”
Without further ado they hurried to catch up to him.
*
Lily buried her head against Broderick’s shoulder as the uproar continued around them.
“They’ll catch him,” he reassured her, though he feared the indignant crowd rushing to the stairs had impeded rather than helped the pursuit.
Darroch reappeared. “The fools have the stairwell blocked,” he hissed.
Broderick shook his head, signaling the need not to alarm Lily.
Darroch nodded. “Ye’re certain Kyla’s in Gretna, brave lass?” he asked, stroking her hair.
She raised her head. “Ye’re Kyla’s dadaidh.”
He chuckled. “Aye. The red hair gave me away, I suppose.”
“Lochwood left Kyla with my brother’s boat. He threatened to hurt me if she wasna there when he got back.”
Broderick set his sister on her feet, reluctant to ask, “Did he harm ye in any way?”
She rubbed her wrists. “The rope burned my skin and he kept gripping my arm too tightly, even pinched me sometimes.”
Relief washed over him as he kissed Lily’s chafed wrists, but…
“What about Kyla,” Darroch asked, giving voice to the question burning in Broderick’s gut.
Lily shook her head. “Nay. He was rude to her, but she was too busy sailing the boat to pay him any heed.”
Darroch chuckled. “Sounds like Kyla. The man’s an idiot if he thinks my daughter would sit idle in Gretna and not pursue him.”
Broderick hunkered down next to Lily. “Who was with her?”
She tapped her chin. “Yer captain.”
“Delft?”
“And Adrian. Lochwood gave him a dagger.”
“So he left his valet to guard the hostages?”
“Aye. But I dinna believe Adrian would follow his orders. He hates Laird Lochwood.”
A cough alerted them to the king’s presence. Engrossed in their conversation, they hadn’t noticed him approach. They bowed and Lily curtseyed.
“The wretch is still at large,” James assured them. “Did ye see the shock on his face when he set eyes on ye, Maxwell? He thought ye were a ghostie.”
“I thank ye, Sire,” was all Broderick could choke out past the lump in his throat. He ought to compliment the king on his adept handling of the subterfuge, but…
“What’s the consensus about yer daughter, MacKeegan?” James asked.
“We’re nay sure if she’s still in Gretna, or if she followed Lochwood here. ’Tis possible he waylaid her if he sensed she was following him, and if he escapes he might try to get back there.”
Broderick didn’t want to contemplate what retribution the lunatic might exact in that case. “We must get on the road to Gretna, Yer Majesty, but my sister…”
The king patted Lily’s head. “Dinna fash. She can play with our children while ye’re gone. I’ll send for Queen Anne’s ladies. They’ll find the courageous young lady a frock.”
“Companion to princes and a princess,” Broderick whispered to Lily. “A high honor.”
She kept the smile on her face, but he sensed her annoyance. He wasn’t certain if it was caused by the prospect of playing with three royal children or dressing like a lass, or she simply didn’t want to be left behind.
He hugged her fiercely, and kissed her cheek. “I hafta go.”
“I ken,” she replied with a smile. “Go rescue Kyla. She cares for ye. She was heartbroken when she thought ye’d drowned.”
They bowed their way out of the king’s presence, rushed down the staircases, and retrieved their weapons from the gatekeeper. Sprinting the length of the revetment, they whistled for the groom to saddle their mounts.
Ten minutes later they were through the main gate, galloping for Gretna.
*
Corbin fought for breath as he crouched atop a narrow parapet, clutching the rough brick. The open window on the second floor of the keep had been a godsend, and he congratulated himself on having the presence of mind to slam it shut behind him. However, he hated heights and glancing down to the cobblestones far below made him nauseous.
The sliver of masonry had obviously been designed to buttress a nearby tower—the place of Queen Mary’s imprisonment, if he recalled correctly. Merchants he’d dealt with in Carlisle had once talked about an old postern gate near the tower. It was his only hope. But if he fell…
Knees trembling, arms outstretched for balance, he got to his feet, cursing the clumsy scabbard. Not to mention Maxwell’s trews were too long. How the fyke had the man survived the tidal bore? For a moment, Corbin thought he’d seen a ghost.
Well, Maxwell would pay for scaring him out of his wits.
He was reluctant to discard the scabbard, but it was no use without a weapon, and he might trip over it. He unbuckled the sword belt and let it fall, cringing as it clattered on the cobblestones.
Gritting his teeth, he put one foot in front of the other, squealing when he was forced to flail his arms to keep his balance. Heart pounding, he nigh on ran the remaining seven paces, counting them as he went, and recounting over and over as he launched himself to the safety of the tower’s roof and clung to the tile like a limpet.
When the deafening noise in his ears receded, he glanced back to the window, satisfied he’d eluded capture. Now all he had to do was find the postern gate.
He scrambled around the perimeter of the roof like a crab until he came to the side closest to the exterior curtain wall. He leaned over as far as he dared, looking for any sign of a small gate. There was definitely a thick, stone jamb set into an angle in the wall, but no sign of a gateway, and no sentry.
Now he thought about it, the merchants had said something about it being bricked up years ago.
His hopes plummeted—until he heard hammering, followed by a female voice he recognized.
“This is a waste of time. We’ll ne’er get it open.”
On top of everything else that had gone wrong, Kyla MacKeegan had disobeyed him. But it appeared she was trying to breach the very gate vital to his freedom.
If he could just get to the top of the curtain wall, he’d be able to see what she was doing.
*
Each time Nicolson struck the chisel with Smith’s hammer, it bounced off the iron grill embedded into the brick.
“’Tis a waste of time,” Kyla said again. “And we’re too exposed here on the embankment. Sooner or later, someone is going to come out of the main gate and challenge us.”
The long walk from Gretna had been tiring. The tortuous scramble along the steep, overgrown embankment that flanked Carlisle’s high curtain wall had drained the last of her strength.
She crouched down in the long grass beside a pale-faced Adrian when two riders came galloping out of the gate. Nicolson dropped his tools and dove for cover.
Gathering her courage when she thought the horses had passed, she peered out from their hiding place. The breath hitched in her throat when she caught sight of the long red mane of one of the men.
Exhaustion had stolen her wits. He looked just like…but Dadaidh was in Skye. She gaped. Something about the second rider…
“I’m losing my mind,” she mumbled.
“That mon looked like yer father,” Nicolson replied. “If I didna ken…”
Always trust yer instincts, lass.
Heart racing, Kyla sprang from the grass and waved her arms over her head. “Dadaidh,” she screamed.
But it was too late.
*
Broderick heard a shout behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder, surprised to see Darroch had reined to a halt.
He pulled his horse up abruptly, wheeled around and hurried back. “What’s amiss?”
“I’m nay sure,” Darroch replied. “I caught sight of someone hiding in the grass just after we exited the main gate.”
Impatience tugged at Broderick. “That was three miles back. Why have ye stopped now?”
“It has played on my mind. Few folks have hair as red as Kyla’s.”
Broderick tightened his grip on the reins. Kyla? In Carlisle? Hope warred with doubt. “Ye truly think ’twas her?”
“I ken she wouldna stay in Gretna, no matter what Lochwood threatened. Dinna forget, she thinks ye’re dead. She’d want to tell the king.”
“But how would she ken James is in Carlisle?”
“Because Lochwood decided to come here instead of fleeing to his own castle. She must have kent the reason. Even if she didna care about ye, she’d want Lochwood denounced for his crimes.”
They stared at each other. If they went back and Kyla wasn’t there, precious time would be wasted. But Darroch was clearly uneasy. Broderick nodded. “We’ll trust yer instinct, my laird.”
They urged their steeds to a gallop once more, this time heading for Carlisle Castle.