Free Parris Afton Bonds by The Captive

sconce at the far end. Pins in well-greased hinges turned noiselessly as he closed the portal behind him. The cellar’s stone floor ended here, and the tunnel’s hard-packed dirt softened his footsteps. Just beyond the sconce, the tunnel veered and terminated with another door. Without knocking, he entered.
    A bearded man wearing the Knights Templars ’ white robe with splayed red cross was perched on a stool before a counter. On it, the vials, flasks, mortars, and pestals indicated this anteroom also served as an alchemical laboratory. The man turned, head canted, and asked, "Archibald Armstrong?”
    “ You remember. Tis been almost fourteen years.”
    The owl-like eyes twinkled. “ How could I forget someone who not only bested me at claymores but made me look like a laddie in the bargain?"
    Arch smiled. He, too, remembered. Remembered not only Bernard, but the man ’s eccentric uncle, Isaac Newton, who had performed some of his clandestine research in this very laboratory. “I need help, Bernard. Information.”
    The Knight Templar nodded. “ About Lady Enya?”
    "Then word is already out?" He took a seat on another stool, which the Knight indicated. "Aye. Do you know who is holding her hostage? ”
    The Templar laid aside the beaker he held and wiped his hands on a cloth. "Reivers, no less. The fiercest of the raiders, in this case — Ranald’s Reivers."
    "Where can I find these reivers?"
    “Their leader, Ranald Kincairn, is of the Clan Cameron. Red Castle near Ballengarno used to be the power base of the Camerons. The Earls of Atholl of the Cameron branch could trace their clan back to the sacred origins of St. Columba and the royal house of Fife.
    "These days, Ranald Kincairn abandons one base for another . He had the English troops quartered at Fort William chasing their tails. Murdock’s arrival has changed all that."
    Arch rubbed his chin. "Does anyone know where their present base is?"
    "Some say the Trossack area. That is Gaelic for bristly country. Which should hint at how difficult your search will be.” The Templar’s owlish eyes hooded over in a secretive look. "Seek out first the keeper of the Templar graveyard in Argyll.”
    Arch knew he could learn no more. He thanked Bernard and left. He still had a ret urn journey of fourteen hours of hard riding before him. Kathryn would want to know the news as soon as possible.
    He reached Afton House just after four o ’clock the following morning. The sky was still dark, without a hint of moon. His horse’s flanks were steaming, his own labored breath frosty in the crisp early-morning air. Kathryn was still up. Her light shone in her bedroom on the second floor.
    She could wait ’til sun-up, he reasoned. Nothing could be accomplished before then anyway. He cantered on to the stables. After unsaddling his weary horse he sought out a bed of straw, which was better than he often got.
    When he awoke Kathryn was kneeling over him. For a moment he thought he was back again twenty-five years. His arms raised to embrace her. Then he recollected where he was, who he was. Instead, he pushed himself upright. “What time is it?”
    "Just before matins. One of the stable boys found you. What news have you?”
    He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. God, he ached all over. He was too old to be chasing around the countryside. He should have taken his vows to his order long ago, changed his vocation from brother to priest, and then taken his carcass out of Scotland for good.
    “ Enya is being held by Ranald Kincairn, acting chief of the Camerons.”
    “ Do you ken where?”
    He shook his head. “ No."
    Kathryn rose and began pacing before him. The hem of her skirts swished the dirt and straw. Dust particles filtered up in the shafts of early-morning sunlight. The odor of horse manure was powerful, and he realized he h ad fallen asleep with one elbow in a pile of it. "God’s blood, but I smell rank!”
    "I can be ready to ride by dawn tomorrow.”
    "What?" He bolted