“Addie?”
She tensed as the door opened, and Mrs. Murree came in. Perhaps twenty years Addie’s senior, Mrs. Murree had a soft face and a gentle disposition. She was good company, especially if one were in the mood simply to sit and listen.
“I’m here,” Addie agreed wearily. She leaned on one elbow. Why was she so tired?
“It’s good to have some company,” Mrs. Murree said happily. “Do you need a simple for the hair? Or more of that pomade? I doubt mine is as good the French merchants, but I’m learning. Look! This one has a hint of rosemary. Very good for the hair, is rosemary. Mark my words.”
Addie nodded wearily. “It smells good,” she said.
“You look tired,” Mrs. Murree observed. “What happened, lass? Can I tempt you with a lozenge? I made them yesterday and they’re sticky still, but full of the best of the mint we grew last year…”
“Thank you, Mrs. Murree,” Addie said. “But no. Thank you.”
“What is it, lamb?” her friend demanded.
“I just feel weary,” Addie said. “And I don’t want to go back upstairs again.”
Her friend must have noticed the slight shiver with which she said it, for she nodded slowly.
“A difficult customer, aye?” she raised a brow. “Aye, lassie. I understand. Would ye like some tea? Freshly brewed from root of valerian. Wonderful tonic, it is.”
“Thank you,” Addie whispered.
Her friend put the kettle on the fire, the comforting clank of copper and the hiss of water on coals soothing Addie’s nerves. She looked around the room while she waited, letting the familiar sights calm her down. Bunches of herbs hung from the rafters, the surface of the work bench dark oak, uneven with knife cuts and old stains. The windowsill was cluttered with empty clay pots and one or two rare glass vials.
“Now, here we are,” her friend said, producing a roughly made clay cup and a plate that looked like it had been worked by the same potter. “Drink up, and tell me what ails ye?”
Addie sighed. “I don’t know, Mrs. Murree,” she said, lifting the brew to her nose and sniffing. It helped to calm her nerves. “I just…ever since the ball, I haven’t felt right.”
“It’s a lad, is it?”
Her friend’s eyes – a pale gray, like a mirror – held hers. Addie shuffled on her seat, uncomfortably.
“I don’t rightly ken,” she said. She could feel heat in her cheeks, which annoyed her. She reached for her tea, staring into the greenish surface of the water, rather than meeting her companion’s clear-eyed gaze.
Mrs. Murree wasn’t looking at her, but into the surface of her tea. “I can tell ye, with lads you’re never certain. Fruits and flowers – they give clear signs. If it’s red and rosy, it is ready tae eat. If it’s got buds, it’s flowering. See? But lads…there’s nae a sign on them that says, 'I be the one'. Nae, ye cannae tell.”
Addie chuckled. “I’m glad,” she said. “I thought it was just me.”
“Nay! Lassie,” her friend was laughing now. “Ye can never tell. Not by looking at them, anyhow. The only way ye tell is by looking inside you. How do you feel? Happy? Contented? Or like ye’re pricked all over with thistles?”
Addie swallowed a mouthful of tea, nodding slowly. Mrs. Murree had sense. If she considered how she felt near Lord Arnott, the description of the thistles fitted perfectly. McMorne made her feel like that, too. She felt as if whatever she did near him would meet with criticism.
How do I feel about Alexander?
She had to bite her cheek to stifle a smile. When she was near Alexander, she felt content and happy. Excited, too, with that strange tingle in her blood as if she had just eaten spiced honey cakes. She couldn’t describe the feeling – all she knew was that it was wonderful, and she liked it.
“Thank you for that advice,” she murmured.
Opposite her, Mrs. Murree chuckled. “It’s grand, lass,” she said. “Now, before ye go, I’d like your opinion on a new salve I’m making. It’s for Lady Amberley, and it’s tae make hair lustrous and shiny. I’ve put in oil of almonds, and elderflower leaves, and…”
As Addie listened to the list of ingredients, she tried valiantly to concentrate. There was something nagging at her thoughts, though, which made it hard. It wasn’t her own personal concerns about her feelings – she felt less confused after Mrs. Murree’s advice – it was something else.
What is this trouble they’re having in the castle?
She looked out of the window, noting that there was a body of soldiers drawn up in the courtyard. That in itself was unusual, and she bit her lip, trying not to shiver.
The King had ridden out that morning, and he was not yet back. Was it trouble with Lord Baliol? Had something happened to him on his way to Edinburgh?
“So,” her friend finished, turning to her. “That’s the lot. Is it satisfactory?”
Addie shifted uncomfortably. She’d barely heard any of them.
“Um, it sounds grand,” she stammered.
“Good, good,” Mrs. Murree murmured contentedly. “Now, will ye take it to her later?”
“Yes,” Addie said distractedly.
She headed out of the room with a burning need in her to know what was going on. She took the clay pot of salve up to her chamber, then headed swiftly down into the castle courtyard. Outside, the wind had risen and it was getting late. The air was cool and the dusk, bluish gray, had settled over the courtyard. She caught sight of a friend and ran over.
“Rendell!” she said. “What’s happening?”
“The King was attacked,” Rendell said. He was wearing a helmet, and he removed it, smoothing his hair. His blue eyes were big with worry. “We have to search the woods for the outlaws.”
“Outlaws.” Her voice was flat. Her stomach was a roiling mass of fear. Something made her think of Alexander. He was spying here, conspiring against the King. Was he the attacker? She felt her hands get clammy with perspiration. She heard his voice in her head.
Thanks. It was a grand dance. And, later, you do care.
I do care, she wanted to say. Please, wherever you are, be safe.
“Aye. In the woods. A tall one with red hair, and a short one with a round face like a turnip. That’s what his Lordship said, anyways.”
Addie almost fainted. “Tall?”
Rendell, mistaking her reaction, smiled tenderly at her. He rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Dinna fret, lass,” he said consolingly. “We’ll not let them get near ye. That lot have numbered days where they can bother anybody.”
“I see,” Addie said. Her voice was a tight whisper.
“We’ll catch them before tomorrow, lass,” he said. “And make an example of them so’s no others come and take their place. The safety of the king is in all our interest to preserve.”
She noticed a wry twist of his mouth, and knew he was thinking what most Scots were – that the King of England was a deadly enemy, doing his best to infiltrate the country by putting a puppet leader on the throne. Nobody liked him, or trusted him. As part of his household, Addie mistrusted him perhaps more than most.
She nodded now, though. “I trust that to be so,” was all she said.
“Dinnae concern yourself lass,” he said gently. “It’s taken care of.”
Addie nodded and, finding she couldn’t speak, turned and fled indoors.
Inside, she leaned against the nail-studded oak door. She felt her heart thudding in her chest. She closed her eyes.
Please, wherever he is, let him be safe.
She heard more guards, running down the hallway, and shifted quickly out of the way, as they reached the door. As they jogged out into the darkened courtyard, she felt her hands clasping and unclasping, heart filled with worry.
I pray he has a safe place to hide.
A thought occurred to her. It was a wild thought, on the far edge of sanity. All the same, the more she considered it, the more she felt she had to go and make sure.
Looking left and
right to make sure no one observed her, she gathered her woolen shawl tight about her shoulders and headed briskly into the courtyard. There, she skirted the soldiers who assembled by the gate, and headed to the barn by the gate house.
Little more than a windowless cubicle, the place was deserted and gave off a menacing aspect. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. No answer. Bending down, she whispered through the knot hole in the wood.
“Hello? It’s me. Addie. If you’re in there, tell me.”
No answer.
She whispered a “hello” again, then leaned on the door, waiting. She heard nothing. She started to feel a little stupid. If they were on the run, what reason would they have to come here? To enter the castle, where they were in most danger, was madness.
Shrugging, embarrassed by her own foolishness, she turned away.
At that moment, the door opened. She almost fell in, gasping.
“Hush, lass,” a familiar, wonderful voice whispered.
“Alexander!” she exclaimed, as she slid in through the door. “You’re alive!”
“I should be as surprised as you sound,” he said. His face was unsmiling. Addie swallowed hard.
“Alexander, they’re on the lookout.”
“I know,” he said. “If we weren’t in here, we’d like as not be dead.”
She felt a glow of pride at those words, even as her tummy twisted in a knot, fearful. “Are ye unhurt?” she asked.
“We’re fine,” he said.
“Well, since you ask, we’re hungry,” a voice interjected. Addie almost cried out in alarm, but stifled her response quickly.
“Brogan, shut your mouth,” Alexander hissed out angrily. Addie shook her head.
“No, he’s right,” she said carefully. “You must be half-starved. I can get you something….”
“No, lass – it’s too dangerous,” Alexander began, but again a voice interrupted.
“You can get us aught..?”
Addie heard the raw excitement in that voice and stifled a grin. “Aye,” she said. “I can. Wait a moment…”
“No, lass,” Alexander said. He grabbed her wrist. Addie felt like she’d touched a coal, a tingling spark of response shooting up her arm to her elbow. She looked up at him. His eyes locked on hers.
“I’ll only be a moment or two,” she said.
Then, before anybody could argue with her, she twisted round and headed through the door. She slammed it shut, leaning against it a moment. When she heard nothing, she slipped round the side of the barn.
Sticking to the shadows, she headed into the kitchen.
“…and they’ll be feasting like demons when they come in,” Mrs. Miller was grumbling. “A dozen men, riding all night? Stomachs like Loch Morar.”
The fire was reddish embers, crackling in the grate. Besides Mrs. Miller and one of her friends, an unpleasant woman whose name Addie didn’t recall, the place was empty. The silhouettes of pots and kettles, upturned to dry on the side board, looked like the remnants of shipwrecks. A shutter creaked in the wind, banging and groaning like the unfortunate.
Addie took advantage of the noise. Slipping across the polished flagstones, keeping to the shadow, she aimed for the rear cupboard.
She stepped onto a spoon or knife lying forgotten on the floor, the metal clanging on the flagstones. She tensed and stiffened.
“What were that?” Mrs. Miller whispered.
“Och, naught,” her companion said soothingly. “That shutter, banging again. Sit ye down, Christina. We’re safe down here.”
Mrs. Miller said nothing, and Addie could almost feel her piercing eyes on her. She closed her eyes and felt sweat trickle between her shoulder blades. If she was caught, she’d not be able to get the men their food. How could she excuse a load of bannocks disappearing from the kitchen at this time?
“Och, you’re right, Greere,” she grumbled. “Just that shutter. I thought I asked Alex tae mend it. Useless sort, he is.”
Addie felt herself start to breathe. She reached the cupboard and opened it, feeling through the doorway for the pile of cooled bannocks. Her fingers closed on two or three and she took them out, cramming them into the pocket of her gown. Then, walking as quietly as she could, she crossed the floor to the door.
“Hey!” Mrs. Miller shouted as she opened the door and it creaked, letting in a chink of golden light. “Greere? There is somebody there! I can see them!”
Addie ran.
Exploding into the upper hallway, she ran through the double doors and out into the courtyard. She didn’t stop until she reached the door. She tapped on it, then almost fell through as Alexander opened it.
“Here,” she whispered, passing them the bannocks. “Eat up.”
“Thanks!” the young round-eyed fellow whispered. He grinned, his teeth shiny in the dark. Addie felt Alexander sit down next to her on the floor. Her heart almost stopped.
Just then, a shout rang out.
“Intruders! In the castle! Shut the gates!”
ON THE RUN
Alexander looked at Addie. Her eyes were huge in the darkness. He could hear her breathing; low, frightened breaths. He reached for her hand. Felt her fingers, cold and claw-like, grip hers.
“Oh, no…” she whispered. “They’re coming…”
“No,” he whispered back. He gripped her hand. Her fingers fastened on his tightly, and he felt a familiar jolt at the touch of them. “No. They’ll not think to look here. Why would they?”
“They might,” she whispered back.
“Sir?” Brogan put in. His mouth was full, Alexander could hear. Under other circumstances, he would have chuckled. “Sir? We have to leave.”
Alexander nodded grimly. “I know,” he said.
He looked around. The stifling shed was barely big enough to hold the three of them. He couldn’t see anything it held, but he’d felt around it earlier and discovered only sacking and a layer of disused planks and tiles.
Nothing we can use to arm ourselves.
He felt his hand go to his dagger. They each had a weapon, but there were at least twenty men out there – he could hear a chaos of footsteps, shouts and cries.
Thinking quickly, he came up with a plan.
“Have you a flint?” he whispered.
“Sir…” Brogan was fumbling in his pockets – Alexander could hear the soft sounds his elbows made, bumping into the wooden walls.
“I have,” he said after a moment.
“Grand,” he said. He reached for it, as Brogan provided the flint. He felt his fingers close round it. He’d have to time this perfectly, if it had any chance at all of working. “Addie?”
“Yes?” she sounded afraid, and trying not to show it.
“Go out,” he said.
“Alexander..?”
“Whist, lass,” he said gently. “I’ll no’ be in here long. Just a second. And you, too, Brogan,” he added swiftly. “Follow the lass after a few seconds. I’ll be in here a moment longer.”
He felt round the walls, finding a pile of sacking. Then he swore. “It’s damp,” he said. “I don’t suppose anybody has any lamp oil?”
“I have this,” Addie said.
Alexander tensed, then felt her pass him an object. Round and cool, it felt like a jar. He opened it, and his nose caught the scent of lard and oil.
“What is it?” he sniffed, feeling his heart soar. “It looks just the thing!”
“Hair pomade.”
He chuckled. His fingers slid into the lardy mixture, and, raising a brow at the herbal scent, he started to smear it on the dusty, moldy sacking.
“Now,” he said. “On the count of three, you go out. And then, three seconds later, you go, Brogan. One, two…”
He waited for the soft click of the door as Addie slipped out. Then another three heartbeats, for Brogan to follow. Then, wiping his hands on a rag, he threw the rag onto the pile and found the flint and the iron striker. He bent down.
“There!”
A spark
jumped. Landed in the oily sacking. Flared, then died. He repeated the motion.
The third time, the spark caught the rag. Flames leaped up.
“Go!” he hissed. He had only a few seconds to get out, before the contents of the barn would go up like a candle. The walls would follow, shortly, and the roof. It was a diversion. He only prayed it would work as he expected.
The flames were growing now, and quickly, feasting on the spilled lard. Boots scuffing on tiles and wood, he threw open the door.
His eyes darted round the night darkened courtyard. Where were they..?
“Sir! Sir…” Brogan hissed. His hand shot out and grabbed Alexander’s wrist, dragging him behind a natural bend in the curtain wall. He felt another body beside him and resisted the temptation to take Addie’s hand.
It was working, better than he’d expected, he thought, leaning against the rough wall and surveying the scene. The flames were already glowing through the wooden walls of the barn, the smoke starting to scent the air.
As they watched, he heard the first cries.
“Fire! Over here!”
Two guards, silhouetted against the flames, ran forward. The barn wall was just starting to burn, flames like orange flowers blooming on the dry wood.
“Fetch water!” someone shouted. “And fast!”
Alexander became aware of a soft breath in his ear. He looked round and saw Addie’s eyes, wide and white-edged. He could hear her breathing. He could only see the pale outline of her face, rendered grayish-blue in the dusk light. She looked taut with anxiety.
Wordlessly, he allowed himself to reach for her hand. His fingers closed round hers and he gripped them, feeling his soul calm.
“Somebody lit this!” a soldier was shouting, even as he threw open the barn door, spilling lurid light across the flagstones. “They can’t have got far!”
Alexander looked at Brogan, and he nodded.
“Run,” Alexander whispered.
“Where?”
“There’s a side gate,” Addie said, surprising him. “On the left. Round the big storehouse. If you follow the wall, it’s quite close.”
The Highlander On The Run (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 1) Page 7