Free Tangled (Handfasting) by Becca St. John Page A

keeping
foods fresh.
    Like
the ones at home, from the outside it was no more than a small mound. Unlike
home, this storage area was cavernous with endless rows of goods on shelves,
huge barrels lined a rack as sacks, bulging with grain, hung from the ceiling. More
food than her clan could eat in years carried on beyond the meager light of the
lamp.
    Except,
Maggie saw, a halo of light at the end of the first row of shelves. It illuminated
a second doorway.
    “Mother
of God,” she whispered. “Do I really need to go there?”  A wasted prayer, for
she knew she had to, knew she had to see who moved beyond this great store
room.
    Caves,
dark places, bats and rodents and deep crevices. Nightmares were tamer than
this adventure.
    Baskets
of root vegetables on her left, the wall to her right, Maggie edged through the
room, scanned the shadows and the looming dark deeper in the yawning cavity. This
was a foolish venture, for sure. The women were merely on an errand and would
return soon. Or the guard would bring them back.
    On
the verge of convincing herself of this, the light that drew her flickered and
shifted, dimming as it moved beyond the dark mouth of the second door. Maggie
hurried to catch-up.
    One
step over the threshold of the second room smacked her with the scent of smoke.
It had been there all along, she realized, only now it enveloped her. Some
great ox of a person stood between her and the glow of the lamp. Heart beating
a vicious tattoo in her chest, she reached out and grabbed the shadowy figure. Not
an ox nor a man, or even a woman. It was a ham. She had moved into a smoke
house or, at the least, the chamber where the meats were stored.
    “Oh
lord,” she prayed to herself. “What have I gotten myself into?”  She was too
far to turn back yet, what little light remained was moving swiftly away.
    A
hole of blackness threatened, between either light. Maggie shouted for Deidre,
certain she would help, just as the torch light, went out. Her call echoed
back, shuddering the silence.
    This
was no mere storehouse. These were caves that ran forever beneath the keep.
     “Seonaid?” 
Maggie tried for help once more but even to her own ears it was a weak attempt.
There was nothing for it but to head back, use the same grounding touch she had
used to get this far. Except she had left the wall when she raced after the
dimming light.  With relief, she saw way back was still illuminated.
    As
quickly as the thought flickered through her mind hairs rose on the back of her
neck.
    The
door to the smoke room slammed shut.
    She
didn’t like the dark.
    An
icy stream of fear ran down her back. Rigid she searched the black before her.  There
were no shadows to run from, no sounds to alarm but still, she conjured a million
ways to die a horrible death in this place.
    These
caves were the pride of Glen Toric, a perfect defense against thieves. Ideal
for storing foods but dangerous for the uninitiated. Deep crevasses, soft
ground, endless tunnels to get lost in, threats enough when one had light.
    “Don’t
be foolish.”  She admonished herself. “There’s naught to fear.”  That door
would have been weighted to swing shut just as the great door had been. Focused
on the only thing she had to do, which was get back to the first chamber, she
used the cured meat as a guide.
    Despite
the self-chastisement, her hand shook as she reached for the first haunch of
meat, calmed as she realized the wall was next to it. She followed that,
sliding a foot in front to ensure solid ground would meet her step.
    Progress
was far slower on the return, but at least it was progress and she did reach the
doorway. It was long and narrow. It was also lodged firmly into place. Hard as
she tried, the latch refused to lift.
    Holding
panic at bay, despite a dark heavy as pitch, she felt around the rough opening
to see which side the hinges were on, whether the door needed a push or pull to
open.  They were on the other side. It was easier to push