“Where are ye taking Ragnall?” Sarah asked.
“To his mother,” Duncan whispered, using up the last of his patience. “Now hush, Sarah. Not another word—unless yewantto see me back in that dungeon.”
Duncan opened the door and made sure no one was in sight, then the three of them walked on silent feet past the kitchen and up the stairs that led to upper floors of the keep. Duncan heard the snores and snorts of the sleeping men as they passed the entrance to the hall and continued up the stairs.
Duncan patted Sarah’s head and left her outside the door of the bedchamber she likely shared with several clanswomen. He was relieved to have that task done. Now he could go to the tower room. He hoped her family would not punish her too severely when they learned Sarah had helped them—but then, they would never know unless she confessed, which seemed unlikely.
Duncan took Ragnall’s hand and hurried back down to the ground floor, all the while praying that the guards had already made their last check on their prisoner for the night. He half expected to hear shouts and see men come running at him from all directions.
Very carefully, he eased open the door that led into the building adjoining the keep. The MacLeods expected no threat from within, so this inside door was unguarded. He and Ragnall crept up the stairs to the large room where he had found the children playing with wooden swords.
It was empty, as he had expected. He had learned that this was where Alastair MacLeod slept when he came to the castle. If the ghost existed, apparently she was gracious enough to stay in her tower and not disturb the chieftain’s sleep.
Before opening the door at the far end of the room, Duncan checked to see that the bit of twig he had stuck in it the day he arrived was undisturbed. Relief surged through him when he found that it was still there. No one had entered the turret room after he was here.
As soon as he closed the door behind them, Duncan dropped to his knees to retrieve the rope, flint, and rush lamp he had hidden under the narrow bed. Then he opened the shutters, and prayed that Alex was still waiting for the signal.
“If the guards chance to see a light that comes and goes,” he told Ragnall as he lit the lamp, “they’ll believe it’s the ghost.” Or so he hoped.
He held the lamp to the window, counted to a hundred, then closed the shutter. Then he did it all again three more times.
“Are ye taking me to my mother now?” Ragnall asked.
“The other MacDonald warriors and I must first take this castle from the MacLeods,” Duncan said, crouching down to rest his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Ye must wait here for me until the fighting is over. You’re not afraid of the ghost, are ye?”
Ragnall shook his head. Since most of the castle folk were afraid to enter the turret room, Ragnall should be safe here.
“As soon as we have secured the castle, I’ll come back for ye,” Duncan said. “You’ll be on the first boat sailing back to Dunscaith.”
Duncan tied one end of the rope around the leg of the bed, and then he leaned out the window to drop the rope. The sound of the surf crashing on the rocks fifty yards below filled his ears as he watched the rope disappear into the darkness. The blackness of the sea below was broken only by whitecaps.
Duncan stayed at the window, waiting. He was hours late with the signal. The others could have assumed things had gone awry—which they had for a time—and left.
Come on, Alex.
After what seemed like a long while, Duncan saw the shadow of a boat below him. From the way it was gliding impossibly close to the cliff, that had to be Alex. Duncan shook the rope to make it easier for the men in the boat to see it. A moment later he felt the rope grow taut.
“They’re here,” Duncan said, turning to nod at Ragnall.
Alex was the first on the rope, his fair hair visible even in the dead of night. It was a long climb, and the wind was blowing hard. When Alex was a few yards away and close enough to hear him, Duncan made the soft sound of a dove to let him know it was safe.
When Alex finally reached the top, Duncan took his hand and pulled him through the small window. Then he jerked the rope to signal for the next man to start up. Duncan could not find a single rope long enough to scale the cliff, so he had tied three together. Because the knots made it weaker, the men were climbing one at a time to be sure the rope would hold their weight.
When Alex saw Ragnall, his eyes widened; then he glanced at Duncan and raised an eyebrow. Duncan ignored the question.
“I’m Alex MacDonald, your mother’s cousin,” Alex said.
Ragnall examined Alex but said nothing in reply.
“The lad is spare with words and smiles.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “Reminds me of someone…”
Duncan gave him a look meant to end the conversation. Alex was a good friend, but he never knew when to be quiet.
Alex turned his back on Ragnall and said in a low voice, “Have ye told the lad?”
Duncan shook his head. “That’s for his mother to tell him.”
“It won’t wait. You’d best tell him before someone else remarks upon it.” Alex glanced over his shoulder at Ragnall. “They will, ye know.”