“There’s a point with three different tunnels off it. We don’t know which way to go.”
“Shite,” Maitland said, closing his eyes to think. “I want Lennox, Finlay, and Artan to stay up here with the lasses.” Grant continued to fuss, so he finally said, “We’ll come, but one of you in front of us and one behind us. I can’t hold my sword with him on my chest. I can only hold my dagger.”
Broc said, “My mother. I’ll lead.” He would find his mother and bring her home, on his honor as a Grant Highlander.
They crept down the staircase, distant torches lighting up the tunnels. Once at the cross path, they stopped and waited for Grant to give them direction, and he did. They took the path to the right and passed two doors. On the third door, the bairn nearly jumped out of his restraints.
“Open this one,” Maitland said to Broc, stepping past the door to protect his son.
Broc opened it, then stood back, his sword in front of him. No one came out.
“Wia.”
Broc stuck his head in and noticed a pallet against one wall. “John?”
“Aye? Broc?”
“Aye, lad. We’re here.” Broc had a hard time holding back his excitement at finding the lad. Grant had done it, no one could deny it. He set his weapon down, nodding to Alaric to keep himself at the door. Maitland and Broc moved over to the lad, both using their daggers to set him free. Success at last! Now for his mother and Alasdair next.
“Wia! Wia!”
John said, “Greetings, Grant. Why is he here?”
“He led us to you. Where is your father? My mother?” Broc asked.
“I don’t know.”
Maitland asked, “Do you have your sword?”
“Aye.” He held it up and Grant kicked and giggled.
“Wia, Wia.” The blue glow filled the chamber. The wee lad reached over and grabbed the end of the sword, wiggling it without cutting his hands. Broc couldn’t believe that not a speck of blood showed from the lad grabbing the blade of the weapon.
He was not about to try to touch it.
“They took my father because he told Kelvan he was you, Broc. Said he was Kyla’s son.”
“How long ago?”
“A quarter of the day?”
Maitland said, “Tell Grant to lead us to your sire, John. He listens to you.”
John took Grant’s hand and said, “Which way? Where’s my father?”
He pointed back down the passageway to where they started, then led them down another hallway.
They followed the wee bairn’s lead and found the door. Broc opened it, shocked to see his mother sitting on a stool, leaningagainst the wall. “Mama?” She looked so small, something he never would consider his mother to be. Kyla Grant MacNicol was always larger than life.
A man was chained to the stone edge. “Alasdair!” The man’s head shot up.
“We’ve been waiting for you. Where’s John?”
“Right here, Da.” John came in and searched around for the key to his father’s chains.
Broc moved to his mother and knelt beside her. “Mama?”
She had a black eye and a bruised cheek. Her lip was cut, but her eyes opened. “Broc?”
