Voices.
They were soft, little more than murmurs. Unable to make out the words, Raven forced her feet onwards, painfully aware that she might be discovered at any moment.
“I wish you would not wear that thing.”
A whisper, but this time loud enough to make out, even if the words themselves made little sense. Raven froze again. It sounded so close she must almost be on top of them. She felt at the wall to her left, and realised there was another turning just ahead. The speaker must be on the other side. She risked leaning forward, and saw a pair of dark shapes standing less than a dozen yards away, in the middle of the ruins.
“You cannot be too careful.” A man’s voice; distinct but muffled. Of course, Raven thought, finally making sense of the previous comment. The doctor is still wearing his mask. But who the meeting other?
“It is dangerous to meet like this.” The doctor’s voice again.
“You think I don’t know that?” the whisperer snapped. “It’s taking too long. You must increase the dosage.”
“On the contrary, everything is proceeding on schedule as requested-”
“To hell with the schedule! Time grows short and that oaf clings to life still. It must be soon!”
“There are still weeks to go until-”
“We don’t have weeks,” the second voice hissed. “Maybe not even days. I fear the duke’s investigator is growing close to discovering the truth.”
“We have nothing to fear from the witch-hunters,” the doctor scoffed.
“I’m not talking about those imbeciles. They’d happily stomp about in the countryside burning peasants for months if the duke allowed it. There’s another, the girl. There’s a cunning to that one I don’t like. And she’s been seen in the city again.” Despite herself, Raven felt a small flush of pride.
“So be it. I can do what you ask, but I require additional funds to complete this work ahead of schedule.”
“You’ve already been paid enough gold to sink a barque!”
“Nevertheless, the cost of reagents, the risk of discovery...” Raven could hear the sly smile in the doctor’s voice.
“Very well.” The second speaker’s annoyance was clear. “I’ve yet to meet one of your profession who didn’t share a magpie’s love of all that glitters.” One of the shapes moved, withdrawing something from its belt, and Raven heard the soft clink of coins. It seemed their business was concluding, and by the sound of it Kester was not long for this world. The doctor’s guilt was clear, but what of the second figure? From all Raven had heard it was they, and not the doctor, who was behind the attempt on his life.
Just then a crack opened in the clouds above and the moon’s silver light shone through, casting all below into a ghostly pallor. Still peering around the corner, Raven saw them both clearly. The doctor, taller, his beak-like mask casting a macabre shadow across the ground. And beside him the second figure, her true adversary, their face hidden inside a hood. They turned, only slightly but enough to reveal a nose and mouth. A flash of gold. Raven’s eyes flew wide.
A moment later she stole away with relief, retracing her steps. On reaching the castle she went to her stash and retrieved her own clothes. After what had happened with the housekeeper, there seemed little point in maintaining the disguise, and in any case it had served its purpose.
In the gloom of the cellars, Raven dressed quickly. She was tired and famished having not eaten for almost a whole day, but there was no time for food or sleep. There was still much work to be done before morning. But despite her fatigue and the gnawing sensation in her belly, she smiled.
The hunt was over.
* * *
Niamh jerked awake, blinking in the light streaming through the window. It was not far past dawn, she judged, yet already the sun carried the promise of another unseasonably warm day. She sat up, the chair creaking as she moved, and glanced around the room. All was as it should be, yet something had disturbed her. But what?
A moment later the answer arrived in the form of a soft knock at the door. Something in its tone managed to convey that the person on the other side was unsure their first had been heard and, against their better judgement, was trying again while at pains to avoid any implied criticism of the recipient’s tardiness in answering their initial attempt.
Niamh smiled as she rose to her feet. She knew only one person who could imbue an action as simple as rapping upon a door with such layers of meaning.
“Good morning Sarah,” she said, drawing back the bolt and opening the door to reveal a face lined with worry.
“Sorry to disturb you, m’lady.” The voice contained just as much fretful concern as the face. “Only the girl’s just been up from the kitchen with m’lord’s breakfast, and you said...”
“It’s fine, Sarah, I was up anyway,” Niamh said kindly. It was a lie, but a harmless one. The older woman had been in her family’s employ all her life – had practically raised her – and knew that her anxiety about causing her mistress any distress was so great that Niamh could seldom find it in her heart to chide her. “Do bring it inside, while it’s still warm.”
The round, diminutive figure bustled into the room bearing a tray. Upon it sat a single wooden bowl, its contents gently steaming. Niamh’s stomach turned at the sight of the grey sludge, even though by now she was no stranger to it.
“How is his lordship?” Sarah said, gently setting the tray down on the bed. Niamh noted how her gaze avoided the wraith-like shape laying beneath the sheets but barely disturbing them. “Any better today?”
Niamh sighed. “No change, I’m afraid, Sarah. Last night as I sat at his side, as the moonlight fell across his pillow I thought perhaps his eyes opened for just a moment. Gladness filled me and I jumped to my feet, but then just as quickly it was gone. Then this morning as I awoke I wasn’t sure whether it was real or a dream.”
The older woman patted her hands. “You’re not getting enough rest yourself, m’lady, if you’ll permit me saying so,” she said. “It can’t be good for you, sitting up in that chair night after night. The mind can play tricks anyway with the sort of strain you’ve been under, and when you’re hardly sleeping...”
Niamh smiled, and even as she did so she felt the tiredness weighing down upon her like a millstone. Nevertheless, she said, “You shouldn’t worry, Sarah. The Dunmars are made of strong stuff. It would take more than a few nights of broken sleep to bring us down. Besides, what sort of woman would I be to sleep soundly while her betrothed lies stricken in his sickbed?”
“A bad business all round and no mistake.” The older woman shook her head sadly. “Now, will you be feeding his lordship his breakfast, or...”
She left the words hanging in the air, and Niamh nodded gratefully. “If you would be so kind, Sarah.” She’d fed Kester several times, particularly in the early days of his illness, feeling that it was her duty. But the actual process of spooning the watery soup into his mouth she found distasteful, and even worse was wiping the errant globules from the matted mess of his beard afterwards. “Now that you’re here, I shall return to the chapel and pray for my beloved’s recovery.”
“Of course, m’lady. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of him.”
The older woman was just raising the spoon to the lips of the ashen figure propped up in the bed when Niamh let herself out of the chamber. Once in the passageway beyond she negotiated the twists and turns of the castle with ease, as well she might; over the past few weeks she’d made this journey so often she half-expected to find she’d worn a groove into the floor.
The chapel was small – it would have been uncomfortably cramped with half a dozen people inside – but well-kept. It contained little other than a statue of the Divine set within an alcove and a few cushions laid on the floor to protect the knees of the faithful. Like similar chapels in castles across the land it was simply a place for members of the household to come between the services held weekly at the church down in the city, but unlike – she suspected
– many others, the one in Strathearn Castle was used regularly. Since Kester fell ill she’d become a daily visitor, and often when she arrived someone was already there, head bowed in silent prayer.
Today, though, the chapel was empty. Niamh knelt down upon one of the pillows, and took a moment to gaze up at the statue. All that was visible of the Divine’s face was his nose, mouth and chin, the rest hidden by a deep hood. But as always she felt a serenity from what could be seen. As was customary the statue’s hands were upturned and outstretched, a gesture of peace and comfort. Unburden yourself of troubles, the figure seemed to urge, let me bear them for you.
As ever, Niamh did just that. “Please,” she said softly. “Let this nightmare be over soon. I cannot take much more.” With those words she closed her eyes and bowed her head. The long blonde hair that so enamoured Conall Maccallam fell about her shoulders like a cascade of molten gold.
She was still there when, some time later, a pair of the duke’s household guards appeared at the chapel’s entrance. They dithered, unsure what to do, until one coughed discreetly to draw her attention.
Niamh turned her head and smiled, bemused by their discomfort. “Good morning Tam, Dougal,” she said, recognising both men. “Is there something I can help you with?”
The older of the two, Tam, dipped his helmeted head respectfully. “Begging your pardon, m’lady. Only His Grace has asked for you and said we was to find you.”
“The duke wishes to see me?” Niamh’s eyebrows raised. “At this hour?”
“He’s asked for everyone, m’lady. There’s talk that one of the hunters His Grace sent out has returned with news.”
“News? About Kester?” She climbed to her feet and patted dust from her skirts. “They’ve found her then, the hag?”
“Afraid I don’t know, m’lady. There’s been no official word.” The older guard broke into a grin and winked. “But between you and me the whole castle’s ablaze with the news that Kester is saved.”
Niamh’s hand flew to her mouth. “But that’s... that’s wonderful! We must go at once and hear for ourselves.”
She rushed from the cramped chapel and started along the passageway, only to be brought to a halt by a shout from Tam. “This way m’lady,” the older guard said, indicating the other direction. “They’re gathering in the great hall.”
“But of course,” she said, coming back and passing between them, “forgive me.”
The guards fell into step behind as they made their way down towards the main doors of the castle, a pair of broad oak constructions banded with iron and grown as hard as stone over the centuries since they were first hewn. Not far from this imposing portal lay the great hall, a long, high-ceilinged chamber that served as dining room, banquet hall and a place for the duke to hold court.
As they made their way inside, Niamh was as ever struck by how typical it was of Duncan Maccallam to conduct his audiences in such a space. It wasn’t that it was small; on the contrary, she herself had been present at a banquet of over a hundred revellers, all comfortably housed within. But nor was it especially impressive, the decorations within being sparse, amounting to little more than a few limp banners displaying the house crest, and this just as much as the chamber’s dual purpose belied the duke’s pragmatic nature and austere taste.
In theory the duke was one of the most powerful men in the land, in fact most would agree second in pre-eminence only to Emperor Maximilien himself. But not that you would know it. Niamh had only been to Ehrenburg, the capital city far to the south, on one occasion, but the experience of approaching the Golden Throne through the imperial palace’s Hall of Light was one she would never forget. In scale and grandeur it was unparalleled, and served to make any visitor no matter how high and mighty feel small and impotent. By comparison, the great hall of Strathearn Castle was rather worn and shabby, and not like to intimidate anyone.
On this day, though, it came close.
They were all waiting when she entered, seated in high-backed chairs upon the raised dais at the far end of the hall. The duke, stern-faced, in the centre, flanked on either side by his second son Fearghus and Conall, the youngest, who was nearly dwarfed by the large seat on which he was perched. Standing beside the boy was another she recognised, the dark-haired girl who had promised to leave no stone unturned in her quest to save Kester. The duke’s heir was not with the rest of his family, not surprisingly, but his presence was still felt in the form of one empty seat beside the others. In front of these, spreading out from the dais in two rows along the sides of the hall were the duke’s retainers and servants, including the wizened figure of Craddock, whose brows were knitted in a formidable glower as they approached. As this was his customary expression, however, little could be gleaned from it.
Despite the strange atmosphere hanging over the hall, Niamh smiled as she reached the dais and curtseyed before the duke. “Good day my lord,” she said brightly. “I trust this morning finds you well?”
A hint of a grimace played across the old man’s features. “Better in some ways, less so in others,” he said, somewhat curtly.
Niamh’s smile faltered, but she quickly rallied. “May I ask why we’ve all been summoned here? I heard tell that it has something to do with my beloved.”
A snort of derision escaped the duke’s lips, though unaccompanied by any hint of a smile. “You could say that,” he said. “I believe we have at last captured the one responsible for my son’s affliction.”
“Oh praise be!” Niamh exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Then you have caught her?”
“Yes.” The duke snapped his fingers. Suddenly rough hands grabbed at Niamh’s arms and held her tight. She glanced to the side and saw the faces of Tam and Dougal, the once-amiable guardsmen, now grown as hard and cold as stone.
“Yes,” the duke repeated, rising from his seat and looming over her. “I believe we have.”
* * *
Raven watched different emotions play across the blonde woman’s face. First there was surprise as the guardsmen took hold of her arms, then anger, her eyes flashing daggers at the figures upon the dais. She gained control with astonishing speed, the anger quickly replaced by fear and hurt, her body sagging beneath the hands of her captors.
“My lord, how could you think such a thing of me?” she pleaded. “Every day I have cared for your son – fed him, cleaned him, spent hours down on my knees praying for his recovery.” The air of injured innocence seemed to radiate from her.
The duke’s face darkened. He jabbed an accusatory finger. “You were seen-” he began.
“By who? Her?” Niamh’s head nodded in her direction, a half-smile of disbelief on her lips. “Some wayward child who plays me false by vowing to save my darling Kester while working against me? You would take her word over mine?”
Oh, you’re good, Raven thought. Had she not seen the blonde woman with her own eyes in the ruins of the old castle, colluding with the doctor, she might have believed her. Even then for a brief moment she found herself questioning her conviction. Had Niamh Dunmar not been born a noble, then surely a life on the stage would have beckoned.
The duke’s arm fell back to his side. For a moment Raven feared he would demur. Then, in a measured voice he said, “It matters not who brought your... your treachery to my attention. This is not based solely on one testimony. Last night, acting on my orders, Craddock and members of the castle guard searched the quarters of Doctor Burbage and found evidence to prove your guilt beyond any doubt.”
“And who is this doctor anyway? Another stranger whose word you place more value in than your son’s bride?”
“Alas, it seems the doctor fled in the night. Evidence, if more were needed, of his own complicity in this despicable attempt on my son’s life.” The duke seated himself once more upon his throne. “However, much else was found in his stead. It seems our doctor kept extensive notes – a detailed record of everything he did, of everything he was instructed to do and the payments he received
for fulfilling those orders. Your name appears prominently throughout, my dear. He had detailed the dates, times and locations of your every meeting... not only that, he had retained every letter and note he’d received. From you.”
A shuddering sigh escaped her. “That bloody fool,” she murmured. “I told him to burn everything.”
“On the contrary. The doctor is guilty of many things, but foolishness is not one of them. Doubtless he feared you would betray him just as you betrayed my family, and hoped that keeping such records in his possession would prevent any accusations in the future.”
“It is over then.” She closed her eyes and smiled beatifically. Then when they opened and took in each of the figures on the dais one by one, there was no malice in her gaze. “In truth I am relieved. The weight of guilt was becoming harder and harder to bear. It is not the end I desired, but it will have to suffice. Come, Tam,” she said brightly, addressing the older guard. “Let us not detain His Grace any longer! Take me to the cell I’m sure awaits me.”
“Hold fast!” the duke barked, as the perplexed guardsmen turned to leave. “You will not leave until I have had answers. Why have you done this?”
“If you cannot see what is as plain as the nose on your face, then there is truly no hope for you. My lord.”
Duncan Maccallam was not a man given to shows of emotion, but now his face turned purple. His knuckles turned white as they gripped the arms of his throne. “You will explain yourself,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his apoplexy in check. “Or by sundown that pretty little head of yours will adorn a pike before the castle gate for all to see.”
That startled her. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said at last. “My father is cousin to Lord Hyland himself. Caer Lys would rise up against you if you treated the baron’s kin so.”
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