Page 16 of Claimed Highland Brides
15
COMING TO A HEAD
F iona slipped into Jamesina’s room, her cloak already on, and Julieta trailing sleepily behind her. It was barely four o’clock in the morning. The night was still dark but Fiona had calculated that if they rode hell for leather, on fast horses, they could make it to Dumacree and back in a day and a night. She just needed for Jamesina to cover for her.
“Have ye lost yer mind? What will I tell Uncle Donnchadh if’n he comes looking for ye?”
“Tell him I am indisposed. Unable to emerge from my chambers. Tell him Julieta is tending tae me. ’Tis just a day and then I will have some answers.”
Jamesina sighed, shaking her head. “Gang wi’ God then. Ye ken I shall protect ye.”
Fiona hugged her sister tight before slipping out of the room again, Julieta on her heels. They snuck into the stable, clearly hearing the stable boy snoring away in one of the stalls. If they woke him up, that would be the end of this adventure. Julieta crept to the hooks and took two saddles, creeping out with them as Fiona led two horses out of their stalls. Luckily, the horses were quite amenable to this very early morning excursion and aside from snuffling and sniffing at Fiona’s pockets in search of apples, they made no sound.
As Julieta saddled the horses, Fiona dug into her pockets for the apples she had there and fed them to keep them still. Then they were riding like the wind, cloaks billowing behind them, for Dumacree.
* * *
Daividh rattled his chains, unable to stop trying to get free. He had not been told why he had been thrown in the dungeon but he was no fool and he could guess. He was less upset about his fate than he was about the implication that the McCormick did not intend to stop the wedding.
Surely he has to see how dangerous Hunter is. Is he such a coward that he would rather condemn his niece to her fate rather than stand up for her ?
Daividh shook his head in despair, unable to believe that. He knew that the laird cared for his nieces. He had seen it when he watched them, and how he spoke to them. But he must have cared for their father too and yet he withdrew the man’s guards. Of course, he could not have predicted that the man would be set upon. That was his only saving grace.
But wait? Perhaps that’s it! Perhaps he could have known and that is why he …
Daividh stiffened at the thought, unable to finish it even in his head. If the laird was capable of allowing his kin to walk into danger once, he was quite capable of doing it again. Daividh did not know where the thought had come from but he tried to bury it in the furthest reaches of his mind. It would do him no good to dwell on what were essentially imaginings.
A shadow darkened the doorway to his cell and he looked up to see Simon staring frantically at him.
“Brother! What gives? Why are ye in here?”
Daividh blinked slowly at his friend. “Ye need tae gang. Keep an eye on th’ lassie. Help her if’n she asks.”
Simon shook the bars on the door. “What d’ye mean by tha’? Tell me what has happened.”
“I am as much in the dark as ye. The McCormick’s personal guard came to my hoose and took me, brought me here.”
“Because ye went off wi’...?”
Daividh shook his head. “No. I think ’tis because I confronted the laird on what he means to do. I suppose he dinnae like to be challenged.”
“Th’ men willnae stand frae it.”
Daividh snorted. “Th’ men are sellswords. They’ll do as they’re told.”
“If’n tha’ was true, he wouldnae ha’ had to send his personal guard to take ye in the dead o’ th’ night.”
Daividh shrugged and then smiled. “Aye weel. Gang on then wi’ ye. Dinnae be fashit. I think he only means to keep me here until the wedding is done.”
Simon stared at him in disbelief. “And ye have nae problem wi’ tha’?”
Daividh turned to him, narrowing his eyes in irritation as he shook his shackled hands at his friend. “I dinnae have a choice the noo, do I?”
“Och, I suppose not.” He sighed, shaking his head before turning to leave. “I shallnae let this rest here ye ken?”
“Aye. Just dinnae get yersel’ thrown in here beside me.”
* * *
Padraig startled awake, with a feeling that a goose had walked over his grave. He got up and dressed himself, deciding to patrol the castle. Padraig did not have the Sight but he had learned a long time ago to pay attention to all his senses, and they were certainly tingling this morning. He strode quietly down the halls towards the north wing, watching the servants as they walked about, carrying hot jars of water for their guests to bathe with, and returning with chamber pots to cleanout. Footmen stood at corners, always at attention, and ready to run errands should they be required. Everything seemed normal.
He went outside where the milkers were just returning from the shed, steaming buckets in hand for the kitchens. Traders were already gathered by the kitchen door with freshly baked bread and other wares for the laird’s household. Instinctively, he turned towards the stables and was in time to observe the groomsmen rubbing down all the magnificent horseflesh fresh from their morning exercise. One of the groomsmen was agitated, speaking with the head of the stables and using a lot of gesticulations.
Padraig drifted nearer trying to hear their conversation but they stopped talking as soon as they saw him, bowing deferentially. “Guid morning sir. What brings ye to the stables? D’ye require a ride?”
Padraig paused, watching the man with beady eyes, letting him sweat. Perhaps he would say something that would enlighten him on what the excitement was about. The man simply stood waiting, pursing his lips as if to stop himself from speaking.
“No, I dinnae require a ride the noo. Carry on.” He paused, watching to see what they would do, if they would continue their conversation, but they simply bowed to him and went their separate ways. Whatever was upsetting them, clearly it was an internal matter they wanted to keep hidden. Which meant that Padraig wanted to know about it. He walked towards the courtyard, gesturing for a footman to come to him. “Get me my man Dand Dubhglas. Tell him to find me here.”
He walked around, examining the various weapons on display, ready for the training which the warrior inevitably did daily. It was a relatively peaceful time but raiding parties would sometimes descend from the hills and try to make off with cattle or sheep. The men were always battle-ready.
“Aye sir, ye called frae me?”
He turned to see his head of guards standing at attention before him. “Something has occurred and I want ye tae find oot what it is.”
Dand raised an eyebrow in surprise but knew better than to ask questions. “Aye, I shall do so at once.”
He nodded to his laird and went off at once, towards the kitchens. His men didn’t really mingle with other households; after all, why make friends with people one might have to kill? But they were very good at blending in and hearing things that might not be for their ears. And Dand was the best of them.
Padraig drifted off to breakfast in the great hall. Perhaps he would see his bride-to-be there and take the time to further impress upon her his ownership of her. He had the feeling she did not yet understand that she was his.
* * *
Donnchadh looked around at the breakfast table, failing to see his firstborn niece. He was equal parts relieved and disappointed. Sooner or later she would learn that he had arrested Daividh Campbell. He both dreaded and was curious about what her reaction would be. He had a feeling it would tell him just how serious a problem he had on his hands. But she was not here even as he counted all five of her sisters at the table.
Leaning towards ùna he affected a smile. “And where is Lady Fiona this morning?” he asked amiably.
ùna shrugged. “Jamesina says she’s sick and doesnae want tae be disturbed. I think she must be having her menses. She usually gets quite miserable and fit to be tied.”
Donnchadh blanched, straightening up immediately. Those were certainly details he did not want to discuss. “Och weel...er, wish her the very best frae me. Someone should take her some soup perhaps?”
“Jamesina said she would. She always takes charge if Fiona’s sick.”
Donnchadh nodded quickly before turning away. He had just about enough of that conversation. Deep down, he could not help but feel relieved that whatever confrontation they might have over his actions, it was postponed to some other day.
He was surprised to look up and see Padraig headed towards their table, eyes running over the women as if looking for somebody. He stopped by the foot of the table and surveyed the suddenly quiet diners with a wolfish smile. “May I join ye this morning?”
There was a general murmur of assent though Donnchadh noted that nobody quite met Padraig’s eye. He himself lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Padraig normally began his day in the comfort of his chambers, having a small repast delivered to him there. For him to be here now was more than passing strange.
Donnchadh knew that whatever had brought Padraig to his table, the other laird would articulate it quite clearly sooner or later.
The man in question suddenly spoke up. “I dinnae see my bride. Where is she?”
“Oh uh, she’s nae feeling well.” Jamesina blushed crimson, looking flustered. Donnchadh imagined it was not easy for her to speak of Fiona’s condition with a virtual stranger.
Padraig lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so? How will she prepare for the wedding then?”
“I’m sure she’ll be feeling better quite soon,” Donnchadh cut in to spare Jamesina any more embarrassment. The girl shot him a grateful glance and he nodded in acknowledgment. He would never say so aloud but he’d always envied Murdo Douglass his girls. They all seemed so levelheaded and they loved each other so dearly. It was heartwarming to see.
He had always wondered what kind of a father he would have made. Would he have been as involved and invested in his children as Murdo had been? The man did everything for his family. When his wife had died, Donnchadh had feared for him, for a while. But it had been Murdo’s daughters that had pulled him out of the blue megrims and made him want to live again. Their love for each other had saved them. Donnchadh felt a thick coil of guilt burn through his gullet and poison his appetite. What he was doing was wrong, he knew it. But he could see no way out.
* * *
“I have nothing new to tell ye,” Aifric said without so much as looking up.
“Ye kenned I’d be back then?”
The fortune-teller shrugged. “Leddies like ye always want tae ken more’n ye should.”
“Please, mam...I beg ye. I dinnae ken wha’ tae do for the best. Ye have tae help me.”
Aifric looked up, dark eyes so big that Fiona thought they might swallow her whole. “I have tae? Wha’ makes ye think tha’?”
Fiona went down on her knees. “I apologize for...framing tha’ in the wrong way. I am here presenting mysel’ humbly to ye. I need yer help. Tell me what I must do tae get it.”
Aifric was already shaking her head before Fiona finished speaking. “Ye came to hear yer fortune. Ye heard it. I cannae tell ye more.”
“Ye said I am to lose the love of my life. Is he to die at the hands of my betrothed? Wha’ can I do to save his life? Please, ye have to help me!” Fiona clutched at Aifric’s skirts, shuffling closer on her knees so she could look up at her in entreaty. “Ye’re my last hope.”
Aifric reached for her cheeks, cupping them with her dry callused hands, and looked into her eyes. “I cannae tell ye wha’ tae do, Fiona Douglass. The choice mun’ be yers.”
Fiona closed her eyes in despair. “Then we are all doomed.”
Aifric let out a trill of a laugh. “Ye young ‘uns and ye’re histrionics.” She waved Fiona away with her long, regal fingers. “Gang then wi’ ye afore they realize ye’re gone.”
“Will ye no at least gi’ me some hope?” Fiona stubbornly tightened her grip on Aifric’s skirts.
The woman smiled. “Have ye no faith in yersel’ lassie?”
Fiona wanted to shake her head sulkily but she understood that the fortune-teller would give her no more than she already had and got to her feet, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Thank ‘e for yer time,” she said dully.
Aifric leaned in, looking up at Fiona. “Nae, my dear. Dinnae thank me. I have gi’en ye nothing ye dinnae awready have.”