something to it.” Raising his voice, he snapped, “Mary, come open this door, or by God I’ll flog the skin right off your backside!”
No reply came from within.
Duncan said, “How solid is that door?”
“Not solid enough to stop me from getting in,” MacCrichton said grimly. Gathering himself, he flung his body against it, but there was little room to gain momentum, and he fell back with a grimace of pain. The door had not budged.
“Stand back,” Duncan said. “I think it must be blocked inside. Let me see how it feels.”
“If it’s blocked,” MacCrichton said, standing back to make room for him, “it’s something bloody effective. That door won’t budge.”
Duncan saw at once what he meant. Turning the key, he could feel the lock mechanism move, but no matter which way he turned it, the latch remained stuck. “There is no great mystery about which way the key must turn,” he said.
“It’s like any other,” MacCrichton said. “The devil fly away with the wench. I’ll take her apart for this trick. See if I don’t.”
Duncan ignored him, surveying the door thoughtfully. “Since it’s the latch that won’t move, we can assume she has not put the bed or some other heavy piece of furniture in front of it.”
“She couldn’t move that bed alone,” MacCrichton said confidently. “The only other furniture in there is a table or two, a stool, and a pair of side chairs. She’s jammed the latch, that’s what she’s done.”
Duncan nodded. He had come to the same conclusion himself. Bracing himself with his hands against the stone walls on either side of the doorway, he brought up one leg and kicked the door hard at latch level. He felt it give slightly, but it remained shut. “Brace me from behind, both of you,” he ordered.
With the two men holding him, he was able to put more power behind his next kick. With a loud crack and the sound of wood fragments scattering across the floor, the door flew open. What remained of a small side chair, broken into numerous pieces, lay just beyond the open door.
“What the—” MacCrichton stared at the remains.
“She jammed it under the latch hook,” Duncan said. “Where is she?”
MacCrichton hurried across the room, kicking chair pieces out of his way, and peered into and under the curtained bed. The curtains hung open, and Duncan could easily see that the bed provided no dark space large enough to conceal a grown woman. Nonetheless, MacCrichton jerked off the featherbed and shook it, as if he expected to find her stuffed inside or underneath it.
A swift look around told Duncan that she was not in the bedchamber. He strode into the small adjoining turret chamber.
“Here, MacCrichton,” he called seconds later as he leaned out of the open window to pull in the rope that dangled a dizzying thirty feet or more to the ground. “I’m afraid that your love bird has flown away.”
Four
T ERRIFIED THAT SOMEONE WOULD look up from the courtyard or come around the wall from the dock or the main gate and see her climbing out of the window, Mary had wasted no time once she decided what she had to do. The action soon proved more difficult than the thought, however.
She had realized at once that she could not climb down a rope in her cloak, so she had dropped it to the escarpment. After some trial and error, she discovered that by using the rope, she could sit on the window ledge and balance there, but it was quite another thing to ease over the edge holding nothing but the rope. At first she did not think she could do it, but fear that someone in the courtyard might look up and see her, added to the greater fear that Ewan would soon come in search of her gave her the motivation to do it. Nonetheless, the plan nearly came to an untimely end when her skirt got wedged in the angle of the window opening.
Hanging there ungracefully, legs flailing, her skirt caught just above her, she could think of only one thing to do. Drawing a breath and saying a
No reply came from within.
Duncan said, “How solid is that door?”
“Not solid enough to stop me from getting in,” MacCrichton said grimly. Gathering himself, he flung his body against it, but there was little room to gain momentum, and he fell back with a grimace of pain. The door had not budged.
“Stand back,” Duncan said. “I think it must be blocked inside. Let me see how it feels.”
“If it’s blocked,” MacCrichton said, standing back to make room for him, “it’s something bloody effective. That door won’t budge.”
Duncan saw at once what he meant. Turning the key, he could feel the lock mechanism move, but no matter which way he turned it, the latch remained stuck. “There is no great mystery about which way the key must turn,” he said.
“It’s like any other,” MacCrichton said. “The devil fly away with the wench. I’ll take her apart for this trick. See if I don’t.”
Duncan ignored him, surveying the door thoughtfully. “Since it’s the latch that won’t move, we can assume she has not put the bed or some other heavy piece of furniture in front of it.”
“She couldn’t move that bed alone,” MacCrichton said confidently. “The only other furniture in there is a table or two, a stool, and a pair of side chairs. She’s jammed the latch, that’s what she’s done.”
Duncan nodded. He had come to the same conclusion himself. Bracing himself with his hands against the stone walls on either side of the doorway, he brought up one leg and kicked the door hard at latch level. He felt it give slightly, but it remained shut. “Brace me from behind, both of you,” he ordered.
With the two men holding him, he was able to put more power behind his next kick. With a loud crack and the sound of wood fragments scattering across the floor, the door flew open. What remained of a small side chair, broken into numerous pieces, lay just beyond the open door.
“What the—” MacCrichton stared at the remains.
“She jammed it under the latch hook,” Duncan said. “Where is she?”
MacCrichton hurried across the room, kicking chair pieces out of his way, and peered into and under the curtained bed. The curtains hung open, and Duncan could easily see that the bed provided no dark space large enough to conceal a grown woman. Nonetheless, MacCrichton jerked off the featherbed and shook it, as if he expected to find her stuffed inside or underneath it.
A swift look around told Duncan that she was not in the bedchamber. He strode into the small adjoining turret chamber.
“Here, MacCrichton,” he called seconds later as he leaned out of the open window to pull in the rope that dangled a dizzying thirty feet or more to the ground. “I’m afraid that your love bird has flown away.”
Four
T ERRIFIED THAT SOMEONE WOULD look up from the courtyard or come around the wall from the dock or the main gate and see her climbing out of the window, Mary had wasted no time once she decided what she had to do. The action soon proved more difficult than the thought, however.
She had realized at once that she could not climb down a rope in her cloak, so she had dropped it to the escarpment. After some trial and error, she discovered that by using the rope, she could sit on the window ledge and balance there, but it was quite another thing to ease over the edge holding nothing but the rope. At first she did not think she could do it, but fear that someone in the courtyard might look up and see her, added to the greater fear that Ewan would soon come in search of her gave her the motivation to do it. Nonetheless, the plan nearly came to an untimely end when her skirt got wedged in the angle of the window opening.
Hanging there ungracefully, legs flailing, her skirt caught just above her, she could think of only one thing to do. Drawing a breath and saying a
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