The Ghost, Greyson, Maeve [funny books to read TXT] 📗

possess a bit of sense. The man looked like he wanted to smile, and she could’ve sworn she saw him wink at Alexander. Could he possibly be an ally?

Cawldrake’s face became an even darker shade of red. Brenna fully expected the man to keel over at any moment from an attack of apoplexy. “Arrogant Scots!” he fumed, foaming at the corners of his mouth like a rabid animal. “Were it up to me, I would see every last one of you shipped off to the colonies.” He raised his fist and shook it. “I shall order men placed at this keep to watch for the prisoner, and every nook and cranny of those caves searched by Her Majesty’s finest. We shall cover this mountain, both within and without, if it takes every able-bodied soldier at my disposal. What say you to that, sir?”

Alexander rose to his full height and stepped down off the dais. He didn’t slow his stride until he stood towering over the man. “I say ye best take care, Sassenach. I dinna take threats lightly.”

“I would be happy to stand watch outside the gate for a day or so, sir,” Raithwaite volunteered. After a polite bow to Alexander, he continued, “that is, if Chieftain MacCoinnich would find that acceptable? And perhaps but a single unit to search the caves. With the chief’s permission?”

“Outside the gate. One day. No more. Understood?” Alexander’s scowl darkened. “Three soldiers may search the caves. Only if escorted by MacCoinnich guards.”

Without a word, Cawldrake spun around and charged out of the hall, sputtering and cursing under his breath. “Bloody Scots. Commander Barricourt shall hear of this!”

Raithwaite leaned toward Alexander and whispered something Brenna couldn’t hear. Then he rushed from the room.

As soon as the soldier exited, Brenna hurried to Alexander. “What did that man just tell ye?”

“He thinks Magnus fell through a sinkhole higher and to the west of us. He couldn’t check on his welfare because of the others.” He gave her a quizzical look. “When did ye return?”

“That doesna matter,” she said. “Tell me how we find Magnus?”

Chapter Seventeen

The impact knocked the wind out of him. Flat of his back, he gasped and wheezed, fearing the earth might shift and gulp him down even deeper. Once he could breathe again, he risked opening his eyes. He blinked with a slow, hard squeeze, praying he had not been rendered blind because there was no difference whether he opened or closed them. The total absence of light was suffocating. Magnus concentrated on pacing his breaths and reining in the panic threatening to take hold. To survive this black hell, he needed calm, clear thinking. He tried not to think about being buried alive.

With as little shifting of his body as possible, he checked for injuries. While he appeared to have landed on a good-sized bit of stable ground, he could just as easily be perched on the edge of a pit, bottomless or otherwise. The initial fall had felt like it lasted several lifetimes. He preferred not to repeat it. ’Twas a wonder he hadn’t broken his fool neck.

Nothing hurt worse than he could endure. But his right knee, the one he had injured once before, burned as though packed in hot coals. Walking would be a chore, if possible at all. Still not moving from where he lay, he stretched out both arms, walking his fingers around himself as far as he could reach. The ledge surrounded him as far as he could touch. He rolled to a sitting position, and a stabbing pain forced a wincing groan from him. His right hip. It felt like a demon had sunk its teeth in deep and refused to let go. Shifting his weight to his left buttock, he shoved away the fist-sized rocks that had chewed his arse when he landed.

As he gingerly pulled shards out of the cheek of his arse, something bumped the back of his hand. He froze. Could he be so lucky? Sending up a prayer to any entity that might be listening, he twisted and brushed his fingers up his back to his belt. It was still there. The extra torch he had shoved into his belt. The fool British either hadn’t seen it, or good old Archie had somehow concealed it so that it wasn’t stripped from him when they took his weapons. May the gods bless that bloody Sassenach and whatever bit of luck that had kept the torch attached to him during the fall.

Now, if he could just strike a spark. He patted around until he found his sporran and located the steel and flint that would bring him blessed light. With his kilt hiked out of the way and the torch on the ground between his knees, he held his breath as he struck them together over the pitch-soaked rags. Sparks showered down and erupted into flames.

“Thank the gods.” The light made breathing so much easier. Magnus lifted the torch and cast its glow all around. No wonder he hadn’t been hurt worse than he had. The sinkhole was a narrow bottleneck that emptied out into a wide stone room. He remembered clawing at the earth on all sides as he had tumbled through the darkness. Pushing up on his uninjured leg, he steadied himself by propping against the low ceiling and leaning back against the wall. He’d be sore pressed to find anything to use as a crutch or a cane, but at least he could move by holding onto the walls.

He made another slow sweep with the torch, trying to remember if he had ever been in this part of the cave system before. If he couldn’t locate any markers or anything recognizable, he was doomed. A man could wander this maze until the angel of death appeared to lead him out. Lifting the flame, he peered up the narrow passageway that had funneled him into the mountain’s core. Nothing but darkness past the reach of his