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“Thank ye fer attending us here,” Arran began. “I believe ye can guide us tae the place in the mountains often frequented by both Bairre and James Mackinnon when they were lads.”

Nicol nodded. “Aye. I recall the path we took some years back. Although we never found the place they’d made their hideout, I believe I ken where it is and I can take ye there.”

“And how soon can ye be ready tae ride with us?”

“Me shift on guard duty ends at midnight and I’ll be ready after that.”

“In that case, we’ll make ready. I will thank ye tae tell the head groom that the time fer us tae leave this place has come and tae make ready our horses.”

Arran walked with Nicol to the door. After the man had taken his leave, Arran turned to Dahlia and Beattie. “’Tis midnight then, our flight. We’ll ride intae the night with Nicol tae guide us.”

After he’d stepped outside to resume his duty as her jailer, Dahlia turned to her maid.

“Of course, I willnae insist ye accompany us, Beattie. It will be hard riding in the mountains and there’ll nae be the comforts afforded ye at the castle.”

Beattie chuckled. “’Tis nae bother tae me, melady. I’m happy tae be of service tae ye wherever ye are.” There was a sudden mischievous light in her eyes. “Besides, once the word is out that me cousin was yer guide, I’d be back scrubbing pots in the kitchen or emptying the chamber pots. I prefer tae come.”

Dahlia took Beattie in her arms for a warm hug. “Thank ye, good woman. I’ll be glad of yer help on the journey.”

“Now,” Beattie smoothed her skirt and straightened her lace cap, “there’s work tae be done, ye’ll need tae prepare. I’ll make sure ye’ve clean clothes and the kitchen has a package of bannocks and oatcakes fer us tae take with us.”

Dahlia retreated to her bedchamber before supper time, taking care to be well out of the way of Bairre who, according to Beattie, was dining in the great hall with his men. Arran followed the two women, keeping several strides behind them, and stationed himself at the door of Dahlia’s chamber.

As the night wore on and with Beattie busying herself at her tasks, Dahlia dozed briefly in her chair by the fire, but terrifying visions of being pursued by horsemen coming in every direction alternating with nightmarish wanderings alone in unknown woodland kept her from feeling rested.

At last, the time had come for them to leave the room and make their way to the stables. Dahlia prayed that Nicol had gone undetected and that the horses would be saddled and waiting for them to make their escape.

Arran shouldered the small bundle of clothing and the box from the kitchen and led Dahlia and Beattie silently through the labyrinth of hidden passageways that took them through the keep, culminating in the pathway at the rear of the stables.

When they reached the stables, there was no sign of Nicol.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Arran shook his head, frowning, immediately convinced by the possibility that this was a trick and Nicol was leading them into danger.

“Damn it. The man promised he’d be here at the end of his shift.”

“Never fear Arran,” Dahlia whispered. “Beattie assures me he’s a man of his word and once he’s finished his shift at the gate he’ll be here.”

Arran took a deep steadying breath. It had only just gone midnight, there was still time for Nicol to present himself. Sure enough, after only a short wait, the man appeared, slightly out of breath.

“There’ll be nae trouble getting through the gate. I’ve seen tae it that the lads on duty now will turn the other way as we take our horses through.”

Dahlia was again mounted on her trusty little mare, and another equally pleasant ride had been provided for Beattie. Arran mounted his black horse with Nicol mounted on an older steed that the groom assured them would be good over a long distance.

As they wheeled the horses around, ready to cross the courtyard, Nicol put up his hand.

“Hush, someone is coming.”

They froze at the sight of an approaching lantern and the sound of footsteps.

The footsteps came to a halt and a lantern was swung high, momentarily dazzling them. Arran put a hand up to shade his eyes, his heart making a sudden leap against his ribs.

“Arran,” said a familiar voice.

It is Craig Donald.

Arran released the breath he’d been holding.