Page 36 of Fearless Heart
Gilroy’s chin bobbed. “Aye, m’lord, clear. I won’t let her leave for any reason.”
Heath took the reins of his horse from him and set out and headed north. Their jaunt would take them to Lanarkshire, almost as far as Glasgow. By midday next, they crossed the river. A small bridge afforded them the crossing of the Clyde waters. Later in early eve, the rains came. The muddy trail hampered their horse’s progression. The weather cooled enough for snow, and the rain cold on their skin. Dreary gray skies matched his mood.
Graeme insisted they stop and wait out the torrent. Beneath thick pines, they stayed dry and warmed by the fire. As dangerous as it was to light a fire, they needed to keep warm. Additionally, they needed the embers for their concealment. Heath laid his bedroll and closed his eyes, but he wasn’t able to rest. His mind turned with his plan. He felt the shift of his leg and shot up.
“’Tis morn. The rains let up enough. We can move on.”
He nodded at Graeme and gathered his things. Remarkably, Heath felt rested and must’ve slept during their rest. He snatched his bedroll from the ground and shoved it in the saddle bag, uncaring that it wasn’t folded properly. Wanting to be on the way, he mounted and waited for his comrades.
Brodin piled a mass of cool embers and soot from the fire onto a cloth and folded it, securing the stash. “We will need this when we get closer.”
Toward evening when the sun nearly sunk below the horizon, they approached the castle lands. Heath stood beside his comrades and assessed the walls and high tower of the donjon. The land before the keep rose high in a massive steep bank. It wouldn’t be hard to climb. The walls were another matter altogether for they rose a good thirty feet with a recessed parapet.
He’d been inside Bothwell before and was familiar with its layout.
“Here,” Liam said, and handed him a cask of oil.
He poured a good bit in his hand and Brodin added the cool embers and soot to it. Heath mixed the ingredients until they meshed. He proceeded to cover his face, arms, necks, anywhere his skin showed. By the time he finished, he was completely camouflaged and would blend in with the night.
He waited for his comrades to finish their task and grinned. It was a clever tactic and one that Graeme had taught them. Graeme’s grandfather spoke of an ancient Germanic tribe who used the tactic to aid in their attack of a Roman legion. The warriors were so-called theGhost Warriorsfor they would attack their enemy at night, at the darkest hour, and be gone without being seen. They’d used fear to aid their warring, just as he and his comrades used the concealment to lend fear to their missions.
“Are ye ready?” he asked. “We’ll need to climb the walls. Darkness approaches.” They secured their horses and set their weapons about their bodies. The thought of adding strings to his boot crossed his mind, but Heath shook the reminder away. He might have to take lives on this mission, but the fate of two lads rested on his conscious. When the light faded and their approach to the wall was obscure enough, they ventured forward.
They reached the heavily stoned wall without difficulty, but the wall curtain would be difficult to scale. The sentry didn’t hear or see them when they reached the top. They hastened to the insets of the inner wall of the main keep and waited until each caught their breath. Once their exertion lessened, they tied a rope around the stone column and tossed the length over the wall. Heath ensured it reached a good ways down and they’d be able to easily descend.
He pointed at two men who stood on watch nearby down the alleyway. The posted guards inattentive and appeared to be playing a game of dice, and neither heard their advance.
Brodin and Liam subdued them with no trouble, and they reached the door of the barbican that led to the inner keep. Heath opened the door slowly and peered inside expecting to find more guards about. There was no one in the long corridor.
Sounds came from the great hall below and the residents were likely at their supper. That meant that many of the guards and servants were likely attending the meal. The brazen English still occupied the keep and were led by one of King Edward’s highest-ranking leaders, Valence, the Comyns’ main ally throughout the wars of their independence.
The king would’ve loved dearly to get his hands on that knave, for Valence had caused the Scots much grief during many a fracas. Likewise, James had spoken of going after the warlord. There was no time to ponder apprehending their enemy, for they were there on a much grander mission—saving the lives of two young lads.
At each door, they searched the chambers, but the lads weren’t on the second floor where the solars were located. Heath waved to Brodin and spoke low, “We’ll need to separate. Brodin, come with me and we’ll search the higher tower floors. Graeme and Liam will search the lower. We’ll meet back at the door of the parapet.”
Graeme shook his head. “I have a better idea. We’ll keep the sentry busy whilst ye find the lads. Get them to the horses, we’ll meet there.”
They agreed and set off, and along their trudge to the upper floors of the tower, Heath positioned his largest dagger at the ready. He turned a corner when a man rushed him.
“You there.” He stopped on his heels and gasped. “What are ye, a devil?” the man flailed his arms and tried to move backward.
His camouflage struck fear in the man as he’d intended. Heath stuck him before the man got another word out or made headway in his retreat. He yanked his dagger free and shoved the man away. The hallway dimly lit and barely afforded their view. Shouts came from below and the sound of swords strikes. The keep would be harder to leave now with the sentry alerted.
Brodin caught up to him and opened the nearest door. Heath stepped inside. The chamber was dimmer than the corridor. He searched for a candle but heard a whimper across the room.
Keeping his voice barely above a whisper, he called out, “Miles, Macon, are ye in here?”
“Who’s there?”
He turned toward the sound of a lad’s voice. “Heath Fraser.”
“We don’t ken ye,” another lad’s voice came from a different direction.
He frowned and realized the lads had been but perhaps two when he’d gone off to war in France. They didn’t know him and that got him to contemplate how he would gain their trust. Not only that, but with his concealment, he considered their fright. He and his comrades resembled spooks and bogeymen older lads spoke of to scare the younger.
“Lads, ye must trust me. I ken your clan well. My father Laird Fraser visits your da often, Aylmer Hunter. Your brothers Hamish and Gawin are two of my closest friends. Your sister Lillia awaits ye. I mean to take you to her. Come out, ‘tis safe.”
The sound of a chair scraping the wooden floor came. One of the lads touched his arm. Brodin found and lit the small bit of candle left on a holder. The small bit of light sent a dim glow to the chamber. It was barely enough light to see the entire room.