“Of course,” he replied. “But if there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to let me know.”
“Of course.”
“And also, if it is not too much trouble,” Castor went on, “would you mind keeping me abreast of your findings?”
Fin hesitated, then nodded, wiping his mouth. Breakfast done, he and Hollis stood and headed out. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Five
Ivy
After breakfast, Ivy found herself without anything to do and felt restless. Castor was busy trying to ingratiate himself with the household staff, especially with the head steward and the Captain of the Duke’s personal guard. All Ivy could do was roll her eyes and shake her head. She was sure the men Castor was trying to cozy up to could see through his transparent attempts to better his position.
With nothing better to do, Ivy thought she would take in the town that sat outside the walls of the castle. She knew they had a market that was far larger and livelier than the one they had in Elix. The market was one of the only reasons she enjoyed coming to York since she could find interesting and exotic things not available on their small barony.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Ivy turned and found herself face to face with Brixton and frowned, thinking she had given him the slip in the warren of corridors inside Castle York. Brixton was one of her brother’s most loyal soldiers, and the man he had assigned to guard her person and keep her safe. He was not a bad man, but she did not particularly enjoy having a shadow everywhere she went.
He was also sometimes a little too familiar with her for Ivy’s liking. Indeed, he sometimes acted as if she belonged to him. Standing tall, the man was broad through the shoulders and chest, tough and battle-hardened. His hair was dark but graying at the temples with deep-set dark eyes and lines etched into his bearded face. He was handsome in a grizzled kind of way, but he was twice her age, and she was not attracted to him in the least.
“I am going to take in the market if you must know,” she snapped, not in any mood to deal with him today.
“Afraid not, My Lady,” he said. “Your brother left me specific instructions that you were to stay on the castle grounds.”
Ivy waved him off. “You are welcome to stay on castle grounds with my brother,” she said. “It is not often I get to York, and I plan on taking advantage of it. I am going to the market.”
“But My Lady, your brother--”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you stay here and find him?” she cut him off. “And you can tell him personally just how quarrelsome I am being.”
“My Lady, I really must insist--”
“Enough!” Ivy roared. “I am done talking about this. I am going to the market.”
Without another word, she turned and strode down the corridors, marching with a purpose until she reached the doors leading to the antechamber and then to the path that led down the small hill to the bailey. A cool wind swept through the grounds, and Ivy pulled her cloak about her shoulders a little tighter. The men who were working in the bailey cut glances at her as she crossed to the main gate.
She passed beneath the sally port and cast a glance over her shoulder and rolled her eyes when she saw Brixton trailing behind her. Not that she thought he would actually allow her to leave the keep alone. But at least he had not tried to force her to stay inside the castle walls. That would have led to an ugly confrontation she did not want to have. All she wanted was to take in the market and do some shopping.
Ivy raised her chin and pretended he wasn’t actually behind her. She walked into the town of York and threaded her way through the crowd. When Brixton attempted to clear the crowd out of her way, she shot him a look that could have soured milk. He fell back and walked behind her after that, a flash of irritation etched upon his features.
Ivy rounded a corner and found herself at the edge of the marketplace. She paused for a minute and took it all in, a small smile pulling the corners of her mouth upward. It was at least twice the size of the marketplace in Elix, and from where she stood, she could see vendors hawking goods Ivy knew she could not find back home.
The crowd was thick, and Ivy had to turn this way and that to keep from being jostled and bumped into by people not paying attention to where they were going. Ivy felt frenetic energy in the crowd, though, as people dashed this way and that. The voices in the crowd were loud as men and women hawked their wares, and others were in loud negotiations over this and that. Ivy could not help but smile as she enjoyed the nearly chaotic energy that saturated the place.
As she passed by a booth, Ivy inhaled the rich aroma of something cooking over an open fire. She’d just had breakfast, but the food smelled so good, she couldn’t help herself. Stepping over to the stall, she gave the woman behind the counter a warm smile.
“That smells wonderful,” Ivy said. “What is it?”
“It’s lamb in me family’s special fig sauce in a bowl of bread, m’lady,” she replied. “Can I pour ya a cup?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “It smells too good to pass up.”
“Aye, that it is,” the woman grinned. “Ye’ve got exquisite taste.”
Ivy gave the woman a few shillings and accepted the bread bowl. She found a less occupied spot and sat down on the end of the bench and rolled her eyes when Brixton sat down on the opposite side. His eyes were wary as he scanned the crowd, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.
“It is not as if we are in hostile country, Brixton,” Ivy chided him. “We are in York. I hardly think assassins will be falling from the sky to kill me.”
Brixton shrugged his broad shoulders. “I am quite certain Duke Hamilton and his daughter thought the same thing. And yet, here we are.”
Ivy tucked into her bowl of food, frustrated that she could not refute his words. She knew what he said was right. So rather than argue a losing cause just for the sake of arguing, she filled her mouth with food instead. And she was glad she did. The fig sauce was divine, and as flavor exploded in her mouth, she moaned with pleasure. Ivy ate silently, making a point of ignoring Brixton entirely.
As she ate, her mind turned to the burly Scotsman. She hated to admit that she had been wrong about him. After learning he had been appointed by the Baron of the West March to look into the attempted assassinations of the Duke and Gillian, she had been embarrassed. She had treated him like a servant yesterday and had spoken to him harshly. Even now, thinking about it made her cheeks flush with heat.
She was terribly worried about Gillian - an innocent bystander who had apparently been caught up in these evil machinations by accident. Ivy had only met Gillian a handful of times at various events at York over the years, but she liked the woman enormously. Ivy appreciated Gillian’s straightforwardness and intelligence. She thought Gillian was tough, strong, and courageous - more courageous than she had ever been, that was for sure.
Gillian seemed to have a fire inside of her that burned bright and caused Ivy to admire her. Knowing she was now lying in bed, possibly fighting for her life, broke Ivy’s heart. She was glad that somebody was looking into it and made her a little bit ashamed of her brother, who was simply here to be seen by others and to curry favor with the nobles rather than actually trying to help find the would-be assassin.
As she thought of Gillian and the assassin, her mind drifted to thoughts of the big Scotsman. Fin. He barely spoke to her over breakfast and still seemed annoyed that she had taken him to be a household servant or tableman. As she thought about it, Ivy supposed that she could not blame him for that and thought she should make a point of apologizing to him. Ivy did not want him to think ill of her.
As she thought about him, her cheeks warmed. She had to admit that he was a handsome man. Tall, with wide, sloping shoulders, arms as big around as her thigh, and a body that was taut with corded muscle. His hair was a dusty shade of brown, and he wore it in a braid that hung just below his shoulders. His eyes were a dark shade of brown that wer
e warm and rich and made her heart stutter inside of her chest. Fin’s skin was dusky colored from having spent quite a bit of time in the sun.
He was a very handsome man. Ivy could not deny that. And with images of him still floating through her mind, she finished off the last of the bread bowl, savoring every last bite of food. No sooner had she swallowed it than she felt stuffed beyond the point of reason. She groaned, but this time it was for an entirely different reason.
Ivy stood up and laid her hands on her belly, so full she feared she might be ready to burst at the seams. Either that or she might get sick. She took several deep breaths, trying to clear her mind. And as she stood there looking out at the crowd, she saw the big Scotsman and his man weaving their way through the crowd. There was no mistaking his size or the thick beard that clung to his face.
As she followed him with her eyes, her stomach lurched, and she felt the warmth growing inside of her. And it gave her an idea.
Chapter Six
Fin
He and Hollis wove their way through the crowd, sidestepping and dodging people who stood in the middle of the narrow roads and were oblivious to anybody or anything but themselves. The more he was jostled and bumped into, the more irritated he was getting.
“The next person who bumps intae me is goin’ tae get me boot up their backside,” Fin growled.
“I daenae ken that was what Col meant when he said tae be discrete,” Hollis said.
Fin chuckled. “If he wanted somebody tae be discrete, he shouldnae’ve sent me.”
“That’s true.”
They threaded their way through the crowds, turning down sidestreets and cutting through alleyways. The town around Castle York had grown quite a bit over the past few years with people moving in and setting up shop. Once thought of as England’s last line of defense against the evil Scots in the north, York was fast becoming one of the country’s more important economic centers.
Unfortunately, at least from Fin’s perspective, that meant more people. Which meant larger crowds, more garbage, more filth, and as they cut through one more alleyway, more stink. Fin wrinkled his nose at the offensive odor and exchanged a look with Hollis.
“Smells like somethin’ died down here,” Fin said.
“I ken somethin’ that died would smell a whole lot better.”
They emerged from the alley into a small square surrounded on all sides by two-story buildings. The crowd was thinner, but people still bustled in and out of the shops. Fin looked around and found the shop he was looking for. He led Hollis over and pushed through the door into the apothecary’s shop.
The air inside was saturated with a hundred different aromas. Herbs, spices, and a slew of different fragrances filled the air. It was cloying to the point of being overpowering, but it resurrected fond memories of his childhood. Of his mother. He looked over at Hollis, who gave him a lopsided grin.
“I’m goin’ tae wait outside if ye daenae mind,” he said. “I daenae think ye’re in any danger in here.”
Fin chuckled. “Is that what ye ken yer doin, then? Protectin’ me backside?”
“Have been for years now.”
Fin scoffed. “Nay, I been the one watchin’ yers.”
“Whatever helps ye sleep at night, lad.”
They shared a laugh as Hollis turned and walked out of the shop, leaving Fin standing alone in the overwhelming scent of the place. Clearing his throat, he stepped to the back of the shop and found a comely middle-aged woman at a table. Her long, honey-blonde hair was tied back under a kerchief, but loose strands of it flapped free. She was tall and thin with ruddy colored cheeks and blue eyes. The woman was working with the mortar and pestle, grinding the leaves inside into a fine powder.
She looked up at him and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She stood up and stretched her back, giving him a small but warm smile.
“Afternoon,” she said. “How can I help ya?”
Fin pursed his lips as he thought about how to best approach the topic. He was reluctant to reveal too much right away, just in case she was involved. But he knew he needed to tell her something to get her talking. As he tried to find the words, he again silently cursed Col for saddling him with this task. He was at his best with a blade in his hand and was not the sort who could delicately question somebody. And Fin thought his cousin, of all people, should have known that.
“Good day,” Fin started. “I was hopin’ I could ask ye a few questions.”
The woman grinned. “Depends on the questions,” she said. “And depends on who you are.”
Fin chuckled and tugged on his beard. “Me name’s Fin,” he said. “I’m here on the business of the Baron of the West March and the Duke of York.”
The woman grinned and gave him an expression of faux amusement. “Well, look at you then,” she said. “What is a fancy man like you doing mixing with we mere peasants?”
“I’m hardly a fancy man,” Fin laughed softly. “I’m more peasant than I am a fancy man.”
“Couldn’t tell by lookin’ at that fine cloak of yours.”
She was teasing him, and Fin laughed. She was disarmingly charming and, with just a few jests, had knocked him off the bare track of questions he had laid out for himself. The paranoid part of his mind wondered if she was intentionally trying to divert his attention and knock him off his footing with her charm.
“Okay, fancy man, ask your questions,” she said.
“First, what’s yer name, lass?”
“Lass? I don’t think I’ve been a lass for about twenty years now.”
Fin shook his head as he laughed and rubbed his face with his hands. This interrogation was not going how he had envisioned it when he was trying to formulate a strategy earlier.
“To answer your question though, my name is Margaret,” she said. “Margaret Werther. And you will have to forgive me for talkin’ your ear off. I don’t get many visitors here.”
“Nae a problem, Margaret,” he said. “I wanted tae know, though, what ye know about monkshood.”
“Monkshood?” she asked. “I know it’s not something you should be toying with.”
“Aye,” Fin agreed. “But dae ye stock it here?”
“I do. A little bit anyway,” she said. “It has some medicinal uses. When used correctly, it can help alleviate some common pains and ailments.”
“And also as a poison.”
She nodded. “It can be used like that as well.”
“Have ye sold any monkshood recently?”
A small smile touched her lips. “Does this have anything to do with the Duke being poisoned? I know they were trying to keep it quiet, but people talk — especially the Duke’s household staff. Bunch of clucking hens, them,” she stated. “Word of advice, if there is something you don’t want getting out to the public, don’t say it within the walls of the keep.”
Fin hesitated but figured that since she knew about it already, there was no harm in telling her. Besides, he didn’t get the sense that the woman was involved. The more he talked to her, the more she didn’t seem the type to him. But he was still wary, knowing that he was so new to being any sort of investigator that he could not trust his own feelings.
That bothered him more than anything - not being able to trust his own instincts. His instincts had carried him through many difficult spots and had saved his life on many occasions throughout his life. So now, knowing that his instincts could be off and that he could not fully trust them was frustrating.
“Appreciate the advice,” Fin said. “Tis good tae know.”
“To answer your question though, I haven’t sold any monkshood recently,” she said. “Except for the monkshood that is part of my normal tinctures.”
Fin nodded. It seemed reasonable to him. But it was also the sort of answer he would have expected from somebody who was involved. And yet he could not shake the feeling that Margaret was telling him the truth.
“What makes you think it was monkshood?” she asked. “There are doz
ens of plants I can conjure off the top of my head that could be used as a poison.”
“Thae physicians found monkshood residue in the wine cup.”
She nodded, and a shadow passed across her eyes. Fin could see she was nervous, and it made him curious.
“Dae ye know somethin’ about this?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I swear it.”
“Then why dae ye look so nervous?”
She let out a quiet breath and turned to him. “Because the last time somebody important was poisoned, the women with knowledge of roots and herbs were hunted down,” she said with a strong hint of bitterness in her voice. “They were burned at the stake as witches. But our only crime is to have a knowledge and understanding of the natural world. That does not make us enchantresses or sorceresses.”
“Nay,” Fin said softly. “It doesnae. Me own mother was like ye. She knew everythin’ there was tae know about roots and herbs.”
“Was she also burned?”
Fin shook his head. “Nay. We respect women like ye in th’ north,” he said. “We ken that women like ye keep us healthy and alive.”
“If only everybody were so enlightened.”
“Are there any other apothecaries in town?” he asked after a moment of silence. “Anybody else who might deal in monkshood?”
“Well, to be honest, monkshood grows wild, so anybody can get their hands on it,” she said. “There’s a small bush of it out on the edge of the lake. It’s where I get mine.”
“Have ye seen anybody else pickin’ it?”
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen anybody out there,” she said. “But I’m not out there very often. Personally, I don’t like handling the monkshood. It’s dangerous.”
Fin felt his stomach sink. Knowing it grew wild was a problem. He scrubbed his face with his hands, his level of frustration growing higher. Fin didn’t know what to ask next, didn’t know where to go with this. He felt lost and entirely out of his depth.
Siren of the Highlands: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Cherrythorn) Page 4