Page 35 of The Falcon Laird
“I doubt anything remains here that we can eat. And you may have a thump on the head if that ceiling collapses. Go careful, there. Is that a well? Careful!” He took her elbow to pull her back from the edge of a dark hole in the floor. A thin black gleam of water was visible far below.
“I knew it was there.”
“What in the name of sweet Christ is a well doing here?” he asked, peering into the depth of the hole, and holding Christian back from the collapsed stone wall.
“That draw-well has been here longer than the tower. Much of the castle is ancient. An ancestor of my mother grew weary ofdragging buckets in from the yard and built this tower around the well itself. It was convenient to draw water directly into the bakery, and then up to the kitchen.” She pointed to a gaping hatch in the ceiling above their heads.
“Likely it was. And now it is dry.” Gavin kicked a stone over the edge; it rattled all the way down. He peered into the shadows. “Jammed by debris. Hopefully we can clear it for a close water supply.” He glanced around. “Most of the walls are sound, from what I have seen. The stone vaulted ceilings down here seem strong as well, though a mason should look at everything. Above these rooms, if we can replace the floorbeams, we can set floors in again.”
“In the kitchen, the floors were slate tiles.”
“Christian. You know this castle. Help me understand how to repair it.”
“If I help you rebuild Kilglassie, you will use its strength against my people.”
“English or Scots, we need a safe place to live if we are to survive the winter. We must begin now.”
“That is why I brought you here. Will you move that burned cupboard away from the corner? Aye, just there. See that wee door.” She took the torch from his hand.
“Another storage space?” He shifted the cupboard to see a narrow niche cut into the wall with a partly burned wooden door. “Nothing could escape a thorough roasting here. But we will look if it pleases you.” He pushed the door, which opened easily, and saw a corridor. He looked at her in surprise.
“Come with me.” She gave him a little smile and stepped through. Intrigued, he followed.
The corridor but barely large enough for a tall man to pass through. Walking through a tunnel made of stacked stones, Gavin frowned. “Looks like an ancient tomb. Do you have plans for me here?”
She gave him a scathing look and glided ahead, holding the torch high, the snapping, brilliant light spilling over the dark cloud of her hair. She stopped at another door that looked untouched by fire. “This is the pit. The dungeon.”
“So that is why you brought me here.”
“You will see.” She handed him the torch and opened that door to descend a few shallow steps. He followed her down a dark corridor, a sinuous tunnel lined with rough-cut rock walls. The air was chilly, with the raw, earthy smell of stone with a hint of dampness and draft. Holding the torch, Gavin walked beside her now, taking her elbow as she stumbled on the rough stone underfoot. She did not refuse his support.
“This is cut directly into the rock under the castle,” he said, touching the gritty stone walls.
“The walls are clean down here. The fire did not reach this far. Thank God,” she said.
He realized then this place had been built to house secrets. “What better hiding spot for a castle’s treasure than a subterranean passageway behind doors?”
“The treasure is not here,” she said. The tunnel ended at another door, its aged wood carved with decorative interlacing. Christian laid a hand on the heavy iron ring at its center.
“Sweet Christ,” he murmured. “This place must be cut from the center of the promontory. And this door is very ancient.”
“The heart of the rock.” Her voice was a whispery echo. “The Galloway princes who were my mother’s ancestors cut the tunnel and the chambers down here.” She set a hand on the door and looked up at him, her face delicate and beautiful, washed in the torch’s amber light. “I must ask something of you.”
“What you will, lady.”
“Promise me you are no English knight here. Promise me you are just a man in this place.”
He frowned. A thrill raced through him at her earnest words, a plunge that went through him. “Aye. Only that,” he murmured.
She pushed, then pushed again. Gavin set a hand to help, and together they moved the door open. He stepped into the space with her, holding the torch high. Astonished, he turned in a slow circle.
“God save us,” Gavin said, “it is a storage chamber.”
The room was wide and long, chiseled from solid rock like the corridor outside. Yet this was vast, the walls set with iron sconces meant for torches, the ceiling pierced with vents for smoke at either end. Translucent beams of light sliced through the vents to illuminate an assortment of wooden chests and barrels stacked against the walls and ranged haphazardly across the floor. Christian stood by the door as Gavin walked into the room, shining the torch over the boxes, chests, sacks, and barrels.
“Holy Mother Mary,” he breathed, touching a barrel, then plump sacks, another barrel. He turned. He glanced down to see scattered oats by the toe of his boot.
“Mice,” she said. “They seem to get everywhere.”
