The Raven's Moon Read Online Free PDF Page B

from her horse to step into the bog after him, lifting his head out of the muck and slapping his cold, muddied cheeks anxiously. The messenger had not even groaned.
    Christie backed down the stairs, while Mairi followed with the heavy burden of the head and torso. They maneuvered slowly down the cracked stone steps to a corridor at the lowest landing. Two stout doors were tucked at the end of the small, dark space.
    Together they shifted and bumped their way through the narrow corridor, and entered one of the dark cells.
    Mairi grunted as she eased the man's head onto the bare stone floor. "Like carrying a side of beef," she muttered.
    Christie chuckled. "He will need some beef and broth," he said, "and warm blankets as well. I'll ride back to Jennet's house to fetch them."
    "Aye. And bandages and healing ointments too. But before you go, help me with him, please. We'll need a light," Mairi said. Murmuring agreement, Christie rummaged in the folds of his cloak and withdrew a candle stub and a bit of flint. Once the candle flamed, he dripped wax on the floor and set it there.
    "Borrowed a dozen o' these from an English household a few weeks back," he said with a sly grin. "Good rolled beeswax, they are, and English make."
    "Borrowed?" She laughed. "You and your Armstrong kinsmen reived them in the dark o' the night."
    "My sister was muckle glad to have them. I'll bring another for us here when I come back wi' the food and such."
    Mairi nodded, and reached out to brush back the damp waves of black hair that fell over the unconscious messenger's high, cool brow. "He's chilled, and this wound on his brow looks poorly." Blood seeped from the cut, staining her fingertips. "May I have your dirk, please?"
    Christie handed her the thin blade. She cut a long strip of linen from the tail of the shirt she wore, which belonged to Iain. She wore, too, Iain's quilted black doublet, his best breeches and cloak, and a pair of high boots that their parents had sent Iain from Denmark. Though too large for her, the garments, which her brother had previously worn to kirk meetings and funerals, had been useful for riding the highway at night.
    She held the folded piece of linen to the man's injured brow and pressed down to discourage the bleeding. Lifting one of his eyelids, she saw no response in the shadowed, gray-green iris. Beneath her hand, his cheek was lean and cool, and his stubbled black beard felt harsh. But his breath stirred soft and warm over her fingers.
    "I wonder if we will even be able to lock him in here," Christie said, looking around. "I doubt the door will hold. This place is crumbling apart."
    "'Twill hold," she said. She wrapped another torn strip of linen around his head to hold the folded cloth in place, and tied it securely. "I checked the lock myself not long ago. And there's a strong door bar."
    "Ah. You'll keep this man for ransom, then," Christie said.
    She looked at him in surprise. "Ransom? I will not do that."
    "But ransoming is the custom o' the Borderlands, Mairi. What d'you guess his kin will pay for him?" Christie looked speculatively at the messenger.
    "I am a Macrae of the Highlands. I will not ask coin for a man's life. When he is recovered, we'll let him go."
    "Let him go? You will not need to. By the look o' him, we will not be able to keep him here. He's a braw, tall man. As soon as he can move, I trow he'll twist that latch and pull the door loose, and come after you and me both. If you mean to keep him here, then we should at least chain him, and enjoy a ransom fee for our trouble."
    She shot him a disgusted look. "We do not even know who he is. Are you foolish enough to ransom the king's council for their messenger? We'll keep him here for now, and let him go when we judge it safe. Lincraig may be falling to pieces, but this dungeon is still stout enough for a prisoner. And secret. 'Tis said no one has been here for forty or fifty years."
    "But for phantoms." Christie glanced around anxiously.
    "That