Highland Island (Book 6)

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

By the time she reached the unobtrusive door, she was expecting everyone to be facing her, accusation written across their faces. Yet, as she stepped through, head lowered, the noise level stayed constant. The loud space stayed filled with the jesting, shouting and general talking of the clansmen and women held within. Lifting her gaze, she really should not have been shocked that they did not know her mind, but the very fact they were so joyous whilst her Uncle was about to 'work' was beyond comprehension.

Feeling a little sick, she called over one of the kitchen boys and passed over the soiled tray. "Run that back to Cook," grabbing for his arm just as he turned to do so, she made sure he was listening before she continued. "Make sure to tell her, Artair wishes for some mead, I will be along later to collect it." Catching his eye, he nodded slowly. She knew he did not like the task, talking with Cook always came with a risk. But using Artair's name ensured that he would be talking with Cook when he entered the kitchen.

Turning in the opposite direction, getting to the well meant that she had to pass the clan and go out into the bailey. Ignoring the drunken calls of the small group nearest to her, she went from a dark world in her own mind, to sidestepping the lecherous hand which tried to swipe out at her behind. Turning out of the way just in time to watch the male fall drunkenly from his stool. His friends stared stupidly for a moment, before what they saw finally sank into their alcohol soaked minds. The laughter that erupted had the rest of the hall turning to see what had caused the frivolity.

Slipping out as her clansmen erupted further. She took a bracing breath of the cool night air. Finally able to breath as if the eyes of her clansmen were too much, too heavy, too constricting. Night had fallen in the time she had spent below. The cloudless night sky dotted with stars, but the moon itself was hiding this night. The stars were not going to light the way for the sentries. The moon had helped them this eve by hiding the light. The path to the forest would be bathed in darkness at least.

Shaking herself back to the present, she made her way down the lit path around the edge of the bailey to the well. The flickering flames shaping the shadows around her. None of them comforting as they had been in the past. They knew her treacherous actions, they were reaching out for her, trying to capture her in their shadowy claws. Tip toeing down the path, keeping an eye on the grasping shades that tried to capture her soul. She dodged between the pools of light, praying to the Lord above for the help and guidance to get through this night. At least in one piece and hopefully with her soul intact.

Tying the bucket to the rope, she threw the pail over the rim, watching the rope unravel, hearing the occasional clatter of wood on stone, until she heard the distinctive plop and splash of the vessel reaching the water below. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see a sentry glancing down at her. Waving a hand that everything was fine, he waved once back and went back to his job. He may very well be one who catches her later...no she could not think like that. If you think like a failure then you already are a failure. The point was, she did not know if she wanted to be a failure or not in this situation.

Catching a hold of the solid handle, she began to slowly turn the creaking wood. If the sentry looked back this way as she was not acting like this then suspicions would be raised. She needed to look normal, act as she usually would. The only problem was that inside she felt that every movement she made was too clunky, to out of sorts to be seen as natural to anyone who looked in her direction.

Making a grab for the swinging bucket, she had to lean over the wall to do so. The stonework digging into her waist as she did. Her hand slipping on the wet rope holding the pail in place. The burn rushing over her palm as the rope stung, cutting into her flesh as she tried to clutch for the swinging bucket. Hissing out a breath, the rope swung once more, she leant a little further as she grabbed for it.