Beloved Highlander

“Captain Grant?”

The voice was lowered, but clear enough in the silence of the dungeon. Most of his men were sleeping, although Malcolm Bain stirred and half sat up. Gregor shook the sleep from himself and stood—or stooped beneath the low ceiling—to move toward the heavy wooden door, with its single, barred window.

The face that peered through, in the half-light of the torch, was one he found vaguely familiar.

“Captain Grant, I am Sergeant Calum Anderson. I am in the duke’s private army.”

Gregor wondered what Sergeant Calum Anderson was doing here at the dungeon door, but he forbore to ask him. He remembered him now. He was the soldier who had thrown Gregor an apologetic look as he drew his sword on him.

“Things are no’ right here at the castle,” Calum Anderson went on. “I dinna like the way Lorenzo is giving us orders in the duke’s name. We havena even seen the duke himself for three weeks now. Lorenzo has sent off most of the servants and the castlefolk; there are hardly any left. It just dinna feel right.”

Three weeks. Gregor tried to clear his head, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Three weeks? It sounded ominous, but maybe the duke was simply sulking over the fact that Meg had wed someone else. Though why send away his household to sulk? Apart from Lorenzo…

“Lorenzo gives you all your orders?” he demanded.

“Aye, all of them. We are used to that, but usually the duke will make an appearance, off and on. This is the longest we have ever gone without seeing him.”

“So when you locked me and my men in this place…?”

“Lorenzo told us he was following the duke’s orders. But it was only on his say so, we never heard anything from the duke himsel’.”

Sergeant Anderson leaned in closer, and Gregor smelled the whiskey on his breath. The question was, had the man drunk a dram to gain the courage to come down here, or was he simply a drunkard with an axe to grind against the duke’s favorite servant?

“That is very strange, Sergeant.”

“Aye, sir. We all think so. We dinna like taking our orders from Lorenzo, but he says he speaks for the duke, and what if he does? What if it’s true? And yet…it has come to the point where there is talk of us going up to the Duke’s rooms ourselves, and taking a wee peek. If ye ken?”

“I ken, Sergeant.” He fixed the man with a straight look. “What do you want me to do?”

Calum Anderson shifted his feet, uncertain in his mind, and then took a deep breath. “We’ve been talking, sir, me and the others. We want to let ye out. The duke would never have left ye here so long. He’d have wanted to see ye straightaway, talk with ye, play a game or two of chess with ye and beat ye soundly. It is his way. This,” he waved his hand at the cell, “is more like Lorenzo. So we want to let ye out, so that ye can go and talk with the duke yersel’. Then we’ll all know.”

And my going will save you from being reprimanded, if what Lorenzo says is the truth, Gregor thought to himself. But he held his tongue. This was their chance to be free. And if it meant solving the mystery of the duke and Lorenzo at the same time, so be it. Gregor wasn’t at all adverse to a wee confrontation with Lorenzo.

“I would be verra happy to speak with His Grace for you, Sergeant. Have you a key?”

Calum gave him a grin, and held up the ancient dungeon key with a flourish.

“Then let us out, ye daft bugger!” Malcolm Bain growled from behind Gregor. “Let us out, and we’ll do the rest.”

Calum eyed Malcolm Bain askance, but Gregor reassured him: “If there is something amiss, Sergeant, ’tis best if we waste no more time.”

A moment later, Gregor heard the metal key in the lock. It was the sweetest sound he had heard in a long time, but he remained calm and steady. There was much to be done yet—no time to celebrate. If what Calum said was true, there was a mystery to be solved, and Lorenzo to be dealt with, before Gregor could go home.

The door swung open. It felt as if a cool breeze swept in, though in reality they were far underground. Time to move. Gregor took a deep breath of that imaginary air and turned to his men, calling for them to wake, while Malcolm Bain went about rousing the laggards. Calum, helpful man that he was, showed them to the armory, and they were able to reclaim their weapons.

“Do any of your men favor Lorenzo?” Gregor asked, tucking his pistols back into his belt.

Calum gave him a scornful look. “He isna even an Italian, sir. We reckon he’s from the south, Hawick or somewhere close. One o’my men was in Rome for a time, and he set him some traps—questions, do ye ken? Lorenzo, as he calls himsel’, couldna answer a single one.”

“Gregor?” Malcolm Bain was back at his side, questions in his eyes.

“We find the duke,” Gregor said. “We find Barbara Campbell. Then we find Lorenzo. And after that, we go home.”

Malcolm grinned. “That sounds bonny to me, lad. Let’s do’t.”

Chapter 28

Outside it was day. Why had Gregor thought it was night? He supposed he had become disorientated in the dungeons, where it was always night. How many hours had passed, how many days and nights? He did not know. Not many, he thought, for though he was hungry, it was not the gut-clenching sort of hunger he had felt in the gaol after Preston.