Now Annie was glad she had taken the time on previous visits to familiarize herself with the castle’s layout. They climbed the steep flight of stone stairs that were so old the centre of each step was worn away by several inches. Wild, kilted highlanders with small ceremonial daggers, sgian dubhs, tucked into their socks would have climbed them in centuries past. Now, it was her and Max, Steve and Tony.
At the top of the flight a corridor opened out, stone flags on the floor, suits of armour lining the long in-curving wall. They walked silently on, then Annie indicated a left-hand turn, down more steps; Max pushed open the door and they stepped into a brightly lit and modern kitchen.
In the middle of the room, gagged and tied to a chair, was Mrs McAllister, her eyes wide with panic. When she saw Annie, she started making noises. Annie held a finger to her lips. Quiet.
The woman stopped making noises. She stared as Steve appeared, then Tony, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw they were holding guns. Moving stealthily, Tony went to the left side of the room, Steve to the right.
Annie looked at Mrs McAllister and mouthed, Anyone in here?
Mrs McAllister nodded frantically.
Shit, thought Annie.
Max moved forward. Where? he mouthed at the terrified woman.
She turned her head and indicated a door. A walk-in larder, Annie knew. Big enough to conceal a man, easily. The door was slightly ajar. Tony went in close, and Steve crossed the room quickly.
Annie held her breath.
Tony nodded to Steve, then threw the door open and dived inside, Steve right behind him.
There was no one in there. Steve shook his head at Max. Max moved over there while Annie stepped forward and quickly ripped the tape from Mrs McAllister’s mouth. The woman winced and opened her mouth to speak, and Annie held up a hand urgently: Shush. Quiet!
Inside the larder there were stacks of provisions, canned and jarred goods; nothing else. There was a tatty old strip of carpet on the floor. Tony threw it back. They were looking at a closed circular trapdoor with a disengaged bolt on one side.
‘Where does that lead?’ Annie whispered to Mrs McAllister, busy tugging the ropes that bound her loose.
‘I don’t, I couldn’t, he came in here so fast and I didn’t know what to do . . .’ she babbled.
Having freed the ties, Annie came round to the front of the chair and grabbed Mrs McAllister’s shoulders. ‘You’re safe now. Where does it lead, that trapdoor?’
‘Down into the cellars. We use them as wine cellars now, but once upon a time they were dungeons.’
Max looked at Mrs McAllister. ‘One man. Just one. Sure?’
She nodded shakily.
Steve reached down and flicked the bolt shut. ‘Well, he won’t come up that way,’ he said.
‘But there’s got to be another route up from the dungeons,’ said Annie. ‘Mrs McAllister, when this man came in here and tied you up – how long ago was that?’
‘About half an hour, I suppose.’ Mrs McAllister was a tough old bird, but she was choking back tears. ‘It seemed longer. He came in a helicopter, I thought it was you . . .’
‘And you’re sure he was alone?’
‘I didn’t see anyone else.’
‘So he could be anywhere in the bloody castle by now,’ said Max.
‘What did he look like, this man?’ asked Annie.
Mrs McAllister drew in a sobbing breath. ‘Pale. Sort of smiling. He looked crazed. And he had red hair,’ she said.