“She wouldn’t get in, especially this time of night, without a good reason,” said Malcolm. He took another look up at the window, but Fergus had disappeared.
“Laird, the two of ye would help the rest if ye get in line. ’Twill settle them, like.”
Malcolm jerked his head in agreement at Ramsay's suggestion. There was a roaring in his ears, so loud he couldn’t think. He told himself his inability to breathe was due to the headbutt to his gut and not terror. He strode toward the lines, Duff at his side. Kiera and the laddie were in danger, but he had to be strong for their clan. They had to believe all would come home safe.
Nothing else mattered but Kiera’s safety, and that of her wee guardian. Not a castle, no matter how grand, and not his life.
He waited with the others, heading one column with Duff at another. Mistress Hetty stood at the front of a third and Father Patrick at the fourth. It was likely no more than five minutes before they were all lined up. Each second grated on Malcolm’s patience.
The guard sent to the bailey gate called out. He pointed at the door. A square of white, head height, showed clearly against the dark wood. Duff growled and took a step. Malcolm grabbed him by the back of his shirt to stop him from leaving the line.
“I wish to see what it says as well, but we have to set an example of calm and trust,” he said to Duff. “The keeper is in charge of Kinrowan’s security. We are new here and must trust him. And aye,” he added, “it burns me to wait and not do sommat when Kiera's in danger.”
“It looks like parchment, a note stabbed there with a dirk,” said Duff in a low growl.
A Ross had come this close? Malcolm’s fear turned to fury. He fought both. There was no way to tell one person from another when all were dressed in their finery.
The guard brought the note to Ramsay, who was standing near the armory door. Ramsay read the note. He met Malcolm’s eyes and gave a brisk nod.
“’Tis a note about Kiera,” said Malcolm. Duff grunted, showing he’d heard.
The door to the small stair’s entrance to the bailey opened a crack. Ramsay opened his mouth to blast whoever dared to come out, and then beckoned with his fingers. A guard opened the door. An old man shaking so hard he could barely walk, shuffled out.
“Jesu! That’s Fergus!” said Duff.
“Laird!” Ramsay beckoned.
Malcolm and Duff ran to Fergus, who shook like he had palsy. His face was so white he looked as if he’d been drowned for a week. He stared into the bailey as if it were the very gates of hell. To a man who’d lived in one room most of his life, it must have been.
“Fergus! Ye came down!”
“I had to, Laird Malcolm,” he croaked. “They took yer lady!”
“Ye are a far braver man than me,” said Duff. They each took an arm and helped Fergus back inside. He was shaking too hard to walk. Once the door shut out the crowd Malcolm picked Fergus up in his arms. He weighed what Kiera did.
God, he would carry her again like this. He would!
“I watched yer lady all day in the village, as much as I could see.” Fergus spoke in a trembling whisper. “She were walking slow, tired like, but she went down the beach with the laddie. When she got near the headland she hiked up her skirts and ran. She caught the laddie by surprise as it took him a moment to follow. She were near the end when she went down.”
“Down?” demanded Duff from below.
“She must’ve twisted her ankle as she couldna walk. She got up on her own. I’d seen a wee boat with a man and a woman rowing near the shore, following her, like. The woman never moved. The man turned the boat and came in. They talked. Methinks they offered the lady a ride as she couldna walk.”
“Damn! They must have been waiting for a chance, and this was perfect!” said Duff.
“Aye. When he rowed out and didna turn to the beach Camden stood up in that wee boat and waved his arms at me, yelling, and then he whistled three times. Ye ken Camden’s an orphan. He comes up and we have a chat. He’s a good lad, and kens that I watch.”
Malcolm topped the stairs and strode through his office to Fergus’s laird.
“He is a brave laddie,” said Duff.
“Not as brave as Fergus for coming down those stairs and stepping out into the bailey,” said Malcolm. He set the man down on his pallet, sitting beside him. He put his arm around Fergus’s shoulders to keep him from falling over. “Duff, methinks this brave man needs a wee tot of whiskey.”
Duff touched a finger to his brow and strode out. Malcolm kept quiet, letting the man calm himself and speak in his own time.
“Laird, I tell ye, I couldna breathe when I put a foot out of this chamber. For years I told meself I could leave if I wished. I just didna wish it.” He shook his head. “Every step I thought I’d die, but I had to tell ye of yer lady.”