She sighs, ‘thank you, Will. But I would not have you in danger, he is very powerful.’
‘As am I, in my own way.’
She thinks of him towering over Carmichael and smiles. ‘That is very true.’
They lie still. The rain no longer drips on them and all is quiet.
‘Would Elspeth have been of your choosing?’
Will squirms next to her. ‘Perhaps, I do not know. We didn’t have the chance to discover it.’ He laughs. ‘Although, since you told me she ran off with the painter, I think I was not her choice.’ He grows sombre. ‘I think my calling is to live a life where I follow Christ’s true path, and anything else is secondary.’
She finds his hand in the dark and pats it. ‘You are a good man.’
‘I am trying to be.’
‘I know.’
They sit up and lean against the damp rocks and sharp stones. It must surely soon be dark enough outside for them to risk escape into the short summer night. Bethia falls asleep, head resting against Will’s shoulder. She doesn’t know how long she has slept when he awakens her, fingers pressed to her lips.
Chapter Forty-Six
Escape
There are men moving around the guard-room. They tuck themselves as tightly under the overhang as they can and tug the blanket over them.
‘There is no one in here,’ a voice says.
‘Search each place with care, we were told,’ a gruff voice orders. ‘For who knows what trickery these Castilians may pull.’
‘They looked barely able to walk never mind capable of any trickery: flea-bitten, worm-ridden and poxed. Even the great Norman Leslie was like to a starving beggar.’
‘No mind, we must still search.’
They can hear the men crunching over the rubble, then a flare of light above as the torch is swung over their hiding place.
‘Jesu protect me, what’s that?’ a voice cries. ‘I nearly fell in.’
Her heart is hammering in her chest; Will squeezes her hand and her breathing slows.
The men draw close around the edge, she can feel them. From the voices she guesses there’s at least three, standing high above looking down into their hiding place.
‘God’s bones, were they Protestants in search of Hell? They had no need to dig, it will find them soon enough.’
There’s a snort of laughter.
‘No,’ says one slowly. ‘It’s the beginnings of a mine. They started in the wrong place and abandoned it.’
‘Och well, good to know they had as much wasted effort as we.’
She hears the man hawk and spit above them and mentally thanks Morrison for the thought of the blanket. Unfortunately their captors then decide it’ll be a fine idea to test if the pit is truly empty. Stones are tossed and Will jerks as they hit his back and the top of his head, but no sound escapes him. Only one hits her, for Will’s body is protecting her. She bites her lip and holds her arm – it feels wet, they must’ve drawn blood. A torch is swung above them, back and forth.
‘Throw it in.’
She grips Will’s hand even tighter, she can feel his heart thumping. It is only a moment before the gruff voice speaks, but it feels like a lifetime.
‘And leave us stumbling around here in the dark? Don’t be a fool, Tantallon. Watch out! I think there’s another pit behind you, might be any number we could fall in. Come, we have plenty more places to search but they would be fools to have stayed; to surrender means a life spared, to hide is death.’
‘Only if you’re caught,’ says Tantallon.
She wants to be sick; had not fully understood what a risk they were taking.
The light moves away and the men with it. There is silence in the guard-room once more. Will again presses his fingers to her lips. They hear the quiet shift of a foot on stone. They wait. She’s sure whoever is watching must sense their presence, feel the fear seeping from her.
He sniffs and they hear him stumble away. They lie still beneath the damp blanket against the cold stone for a long time. They can hear the occasional call from outside, then it too goes quiet.
‘We must get out while it is still dark,’ whispers Will. Slowly he pushes the blanket off and rises. Bethia rolls onto her hands and knees and stays there. She’s so stiff she doesn’t think she can stand. She can feel the air shifting above her as Will swings his arms wide and rocks on his feet to get his blood moving. Placing one foot on the ground, she tugs her dress from under it and pushes off with the other, hands crawling up the side of the pit.
Will presses his lips to her ear. ‘I’ll give you a lift to climb.’
‘I must get these skirts out of the way first.’
She wears only a shift beneath, but she fumbles at her waist to loosen the string and the skirt drops to her feet.
‘Wait,’ whispers Will as she feels above her for the first protruding rock to grip. ‘Let me go first.’
‘Don’t leave me down here!’ She holds tightly onto his arm.
‘I stayed to protect you, I’m hardly likely to leave you now.’
She lets go and he starts to climb, but his flailing leg kicks her in the face and he drops back and holds her. She rests her aching cheek on his shoulder briefly, then lifts her head. ‘Go,’ she whispers.
‘If you tie the blanket and your skirt together, they can be a rope to help pull you out. You need only climb the first few feet unaided.’
It’s difficult to see anything in the gloom, but she runs the skirt through her hands and ties it to the blanket. Will ties it around his waist and starts to climb. She can hear his breath grow loud with effort and hopes no one is nearby. Then she can see the white of his face as he kneels on the lip of the pit, peering down. She climbs quickly; unhampered by her skirt it’s easy. She feels shame at the fuss she made about being hid down there. She can get out by herself, if she’d only remembered what an impediment long skirts are. She’s already forgotten her terror at being alone in a confined space, for now the pit seems a safe haven in comparison to escaping the castle unseen. She takes one last look down into the black dark and steps away from the edge.
Will is fiddling with the knot tying her skirt to the blanket and she reaches out to take the bundle from him, barely able to see in the murky gloom. Her deft fingers quickly loosen it. They are both concentrating, neither attending to their surroundings, when he topples sideways, taking her down with him.
‘Got you, you protesting bastard,’ a voice hisses.
She gets onto her hands and knees, crawling away to avoid kicking feet and flailing arms. They roll in a fighting frenzy while she fumbles for a rock, the largest she can find. But she cannot tell which is Will and which is his assailant in this tangle of limbs. She’s afraid they will fall into the pit, but they roll closer to the doorway, where the dawn light is beginning to seep in. She crawls after them; she hesitates, crouching with the stone raised high, ready to smash it down on the back of the assailant’s head. But is it Will’s or his attacker? Then she sees Will’s face looking up at her, eyes bulging, the attacker’s hands around his throat. She steadies herself, indeed has begun the downward motion when Will kicks hard and rolls again, so the attacker is under him. She crawls forward and grabs the attacker’s hair, banging his head off the stone floor. Will is astride him, punching his face. The body goes limp. They scramble to their feet, breathing heavily.
‘Did we kill him?’ she whispers.
‘I don’t know.’
They stare down at the inert body.
She grabs Will’s hand, ‘we have to go.’
‘Wait, we must hide him.’
They haul the man by the legs, deep into the guard-room and roll him, as gently as they can, into the pit.