by Katy Baker
“What arrived?” Callum said, wondering why James looked so uncomfortable.
“A letter.” James reached into his pocket and pulled out a parchment. “It’s addressed to ye. It was sitting on the desk in my study when I went in. I didnae see who delivered it.”
“What’s so strange about that?”
James shifted his feet. “The thing is, my study was locked and I have the only key. I dinna know how they got inside.”
Callum suddenly felt uneasy. He took the parchment and opened it, quickly scanning the words written there. His fingers tightened, scrunching it into a ball.
“Thank ye, James. That will be all.”
“But shouldnae we try to discover who wrote it? And how they got inside—”
“I said that will be all.”
James gave a bow. “Aye, my laird.”
Callum watched the man walk off down the corridor before turning around and continuing on his way. He reached his chamber and was glad to shut the door behind him.
Somebody—Agatha probably—had been in and lit the fire and he was grateful for the warmth. He placed the letter on the fireplace and then yanked off his wet clothes and tossed them onto the laundry pile. He dried himself off and then donned a fresh shirt and plaid before grabbing the letter and dropping into the chair by his desk.
For a while he just stared at the parchment, turning the crumpled ball over and over in his hands. Then he smoothed it out and read the words written in a flowing, elegant script.
This will be your only warning. Do not send any more of your agents to spy on us. We know who you are.
His stomach clenched with anger and he crumpled the parchment in his fist. A snarl pulled his lips back from his teeth. Curse them! Curse them all!
He thumped the arm of his chair in frustration, a growl rumbling in his throat. Then he sprang from the chair and tossed the letter into the fire. His bath would have to wait. He yanked the door open hard enough that it slammed against the wall and then strode from the room.
If the Disinherited thought he would sit idly by whilst his people suffered, they had severely underestimated him.
He hurried down the corridor and descended the steps at the end two at a time but stopped abruptly when he spotted Agatha standing with Rosie, the healer, by the door to the great hall. The women were talking in low, urgent whispers.
“What is it?” he asked, approaching them. “What’s wrong?”
Agatha glanced around, as if to check nobody was within hearing distance and then said to Rosie, “Tell him.”
Callum glanced from Agatha to Rosie and back again. “Tell me what?”
“It’s the sickness,” Rosie said in a low voice so only Callum could hear. “The same one that struck down Magda, Barric’s wife. I thought it an isolated case but I was wrong. I’ve seen three more cases in the village this morning.”
Callum went cold. He struggled to keep his expression neutral as he asked, “Do ye know what it is? Is it plague perhaps? Should we seal off the village?”
“Nay, my lord, it isnae the plague. I dinna know what it is. I havenae seen the like before. As far as I can tell, it isnae catching, otherwise Barric and the bairns would have come down with it by now. But whatever the source, it’s starting to spread.”
“Have the sick brought up to the castle,” Callum ordered in as calm a voice as he could muster. “Agatha, have the chapel turned into an infirmary and enlist whatever staff ye need to help Rosie with the sick.”
The two women nodded and hurried away to do his bidding. Callum entered the great hall, striding across the room to where James sat at the main table, rifling through documents and counting out money. He looked up as Callum approached.
“My laird?”
“Send orders to the village and the surrounding crofts immediately. Nobody is to eat anything that has come from the ground. Only the winter stores. And nobody is to drink from any river or stream. They’re to collect rainwater or else drink ale that’s already been brewed. No new ale is to be brewed until further notice.”
James blinked. “I’m sorry? What is this about?”
Callum glanced around the hall. It was quiet now but he knew as soon as his orders went out the hall would soon be crammed with frightened, panicking villagers. But he had no choice. If he didn’t do this, how many more of his people would die?
He stepped closer to James, towering over the old man and keeping his voice low. “There is a sickness sweeping through the land. I dinna ken its origins but it seems connected to the blight rampaging through the crops and is carried by water. Until we discover its source and eradicate it, we have to assume naught is safe.”
James worked his mouth a few times, obviously stunned by this news. “But what will everyone eat? We’ll starve!”
“Dinna ye think I realize that?” Callum snapped. “Send word that Dun Saith’s granaries are to be opened. Food will be distributed to all who need it. And send out riders to all our merchant contacts and buy in as much as you can from beyond our borders.” He laid a hand on the steward’s shoulder. “I will need yer support to make this work, my old friend.”
“Of course I’ll support ye,” James said without hesitation. “Did ye doubt it?”
Callum smiled. “Nay, my friend. Never. Ye have served this clan well these many years.”
James scraped back his chair and rose to his feet. He clasped Callum’s shoulder for a second before striding towards the door, already shouting orders for messengers to attend him.
Callum sank into the chair James had vacated. A headache was beginning to throb in his temple. He grabbed a goblet and poured himself a dram of whisky, knocking it back in one swallow.
He suspected it was going to be a long day.
“THIS SHOULD MAKE YOU more comfortable,” Sophie said, holding the pottery cup to the woman’s lips. She put her hand behind the woman’s head and lifted it so she could take a drink from the herbal concoction Rosie had made.
The woman took a few halting sips before Sophie lowered her head back onto the straw-stuffed pillow. She wasn’t much older than Sophie but her skin was sallow, dark circles sat under her eyes and her lips were bloodless. It was much the same for the other patients that filled the chapel.
Sophie straightened. Her back was aching and she had a raging hunger but she didn’t ask for a break. For five days, Agatha, Rosie, and herself had been caring for the patients that had been steadily trickling into the hospital. The sickness didn’t seem to discriminate by gender, age or general health and the patients now filling the beds represented all aspects of local society, both poor and rich alike.
In the few moments she and Callum had managed to snatch together over the past few days they’d gone over everything they knew about the Disinherited—which wasn’t much—trying to figure out how they were spreading the sickness. They’d come up with nothing and Sophie knew Callum was taking it hard. He looked more haggard every time she saw him.
“Sophie!”
She turned at the shrill voice that suddenly shattered the quiet. Joan burst into the chapel, skidding on the flagstone floor. The girl looked around wildly, her brown plaits whirling, before she spotted Sophie.
“Sophie! Ye have to come!”
“What is it?” Sophie asked, kneeling so she was of a height with the girl. “Is it your ma? She’s not—”
Joan shook her head. “It’s Fergus! He’s gone missing!”
“Missing? What do you mean?”
“He said he knew where he could find a cure for Ma and then he took off! Me and Da have searched everywhere but we canna find him!” She broke into a fit of wailing sobs, the fear for her mother and now her brother suddenly more than the nine-year-old could bear.
Sophie pulled her close, holding her slender body whilst she sobbed, and then pushed her to arm’s length. Meeting the girl’s eyes, she said sternly, “We will find your brother, you hear? So no more tears. Show me where you saw him last.”
Joan nodded, wiping away her tears,
and Sophie took her hand, leading her from the sick room. She wished she could speak to Callum first but he’d ridden out with the steward and some of the garrison earlier to take warnings to the outlying crofts and hadn’t yet returned. She bit her lip. She was breaking her promise not to leave the castle without him but what choice did she have? Agatha and Rosie could cope in the infirmary without her and Fergus needed her help.
It was still raining outside although it had lightened into a persistent drizzle rather than the torrential downpour they’d suffered for the last five days. She and Joan hurried through the village, heads bent against the rain.
Sophie spotted many of Callum’s men making their way through the village, knocking on doors to relay Callum’s warning and to check for anyone that had fallen sick. She shuddered. In the twenty-first century healing these people would have been straight forward, but here? There was none of the modern medicine needed and they didn’t even know what the poison was or how it was being administered. What if she and Callum weren’t able to save them? What then?
The thought made her stomach twist in anguish and she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. She and Joan made their way up to Barric’s farm and found him in the yard. Relief broke over the farmer’s face as he saw Joan.
“There ye are!” he cried. “Dinna do that to me, lass! I thought I’d lost ye as well as yer brother!”
“I went to get Sophie,” Joan replied, as though that should have been obvious. “She’ll be able to find Fergus!”
“I’m sorry about this, my lady,” Barric said to Sophie. “I had no idea she’d gone down to the castle. Ye shouldnae be bothered by our worries.” The farmer seemed exhausted, the lines around his mouth tight with worry.
“Nonsense,” Sophie said. “I want to help.” She rested her hand on Barric’s shoulder. “Where did you last see Fergus?”
Barric pointed into the distance where their land gave out into a woodland that cloaked the slopes of the valley. “He went that way. I’ve been into the woods and shouted and shouted but there’s no sign of the lad. I’ll wring his neck when I lay my hands on him!” His voice cracked, breaking into a sob.
Sophie squeezed his shoulder. “You and Joan go inside. I’ll find Fergus. I promise.”
“But I—”
“Magda needs you. Go on. I’ll find your boy and bring him right back.”
Barric sagged. “My thanks, my lady.”
Sophie watched as Barric took Joan’s hand and led her into the house, then turned to look up at the wood-covered hill. Pulling in a deep breath, she checked she had the dagger Callum had given her strapped securely to her waist and then set out, crossing the muddy field and then entering the bordering woodland at the spot Barric had indicated.
Once inside the tree line, she halted, looking around. The leaves kept off the worst of the drizzle, for which Sophie was grateful, but she still didn’t have the first clue how she was going to find Fergus. Had she made an empty promise to Barric?
Think, she told herself. What would Callum do right now?
She’d seen Callum scouting their trail many times on their journey here. He would walk slowly, scanning the ground until he found...
There!
Sophie pushed aside the clinging branches of a bush and knelt to examine something in the mud. It was a set of footprints, exactly the right size for a ten-year-old boy.
Sophie set off, following the footprints as she’d seen Callum do. They led deeper into the wood and the trees became bigger and more widely spaced as she moved, majestic oaks and beeches towering over her head. There was little ground cover beneath these behemoths so Sophie was hopeful she might catch sight of her quarry.
She was out of luck. She saw no sign of the boy although his footprints remained clear in the muddy ground and easy to follow. At one point he seemed to have stopped at a large bush covered in white flowers. The ground here was a mess of footprints as he’d made his way around it. Perhaps he’d been hoping to find this cure for his mother on this bush, but whatever he was searching for, he evidently hadn’t found it, because the footprints set off into the wood again.
Sophie carried on walking. She lost track of time in the damp gloom beneath the trees and was so focused on not losing Fergus’s trail that she forgot about everything else. She was kneeling on the ground, examining the trail, when a cry suddenly rang out.
“Let me go!”
Her head came up and she surged to her feet, whirling towards the shout. It had sounded like—
“Let me go!”
Sophie took off, running at full speed across the slippery, muddy ground. Her pulse raced with fright but she retained enough presence of mind to draw her dagger.
She burst out from the undergrowth into the space beneath a huge beech tree and skidded to a halt. A large man with a shaven head had hold of a wriggling, squirming boy who was doing his best to kick him in the shins.
“Stop yer whining or ye’ll feel steel!” the man growled.
This had the desired effect. The boy sagged and Sophie got a look at his face.
It was Fergus.
She swallowed thickly. Gripping her dagger, she said in as strong a voice as she could manage. “You heard what he said. Let him go.”
The man spun towards her, surprise crossing his scarred face. “And who the bloody hell are ye?”
“Sophie!” Fergus cried. He wriggled again, trying to break free, but the man shook him savagely until he subsided.
“Ye know this urchin?” the man growled.
“I do,” Sophie replied, doing her best to appear confident, even though inside, her heart was thundering. “And I suggest you let him go right now. He’s under the protection of Laird Sutherland.”
If she hoped that mention of Callum might scare the man, she was sadly mistaken. A flash of anger crossed his features.
“Is that so? Then maybe Laird Sutherland should be careful who he sends to spy on us. He’s already had a warning.”
“I wasnae spying!” Fergus cried.
“Nay? Then what else were ye doing creeping around our camp? I’ve got a good mind to gut ye right now, ye little—”
“There’ll be no need for that,” said a new voice. “I’m sure we can sort this out amicably.”
A second man approached through the trees. He was tall and dressed like a woodsman although his clothes were of a finer make than she’d expect any woodsman to wear. He came to stand before Sophie, a faint smile quirking his lips.
“Greetings, my lady. I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you again.”
Sophie’s eyes widened as she took in the blond hair caught in a tail at the base of his neck and the scar that cut down one cheek. “Robert Rochford!”
He gave a flourishing bow. “So pleased you remember me.”
A jolt of fear shot through Sophie’s body. She shuddered as she remembered their meeting in Dun Garnon, of him cornering her in the deserted corridor, of him trying to force himself on her, his body pressed horribly against hers, his hand riding up her leg—
“What are you doing here?” she snapped. “You’re not welcome on Sutherland lands!”
Robert Rochford smiled at her, amused. “I might ask you the same question, my lady. I must say, I’m surprised to see you looking so well after your tumble.”
My tumble? What the—?
Then realization hit her. She heard that voice behind her again. You couldn’t leave well alone, could you? You had to go poking your nose where it didn’t belong? She’d recognized it but she hadn’t been able to place it at the time. Now she did.
“It was you!” she breathed, holding out the dagger and backing away a few paces. “You pushed me into the river!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Finally. I thought I was going to have to draw you a diagram. So, this is the second time you’ve blundered right into the middle of my plans. What is it with you? Do you do it on purpose just to irritate me?”
Sophie blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. �
��Let Fergus go. He’s just a boy.”
“Just a boy who was caught spying on my camp. I cannot allow that.”
“I’ve told ye I wasnae spying!” Fergus cried indignantly. “I was after a cure for my ma!”
The shaven-headed man cuffed him hard around the head and he fell silent. Sophie took another step. If she could reach Fergus, they had a chance. She had to keep Rochford distracted. She had to keep him talking.
“Callum will kill you for this,” she said. If she goaded him, made him angry, then maybe he’d make a mistake.
But Rochford merely curled his lip in contempt. “You think I fear the laird of the Sutherland? He is finished. Just as his Order is finished. He’s no leader. He can’t even see what’s under his nose! So if you seek to intimidate me with threats, my lady, you are going to have to do better than that.”
His Order is finished. He knew about the Order of the Osprey? And he’d pushed her into the river when she discovered it was being poisoned. That meant...That meant...
“You’re Disinherited,” she said. “You’re the one behind this sickness. You’re the one Callum has been looking for.”
He grinned, sending a chill down Sophie’s spine. He pulled up the sleeve of his tunic to reveal a tattoo on the inside of his wrist, in the same place that Callum wore his. A serpent coiled around a dagger.
“Clever girl. You’ve guessed our secret.”
“Which means you’re going to have to kill me, right?” Sophie said, her voice full of sarcasm. “That’s what the bad guys always say in the movies. But first you’re going to tell me your dastardly plan because you need my help. Isn’t that how these things work?”
As she spoke she’d been gently sidling away, inching closer to Fergus and his captor. Now she was only three steps away.
Rochford scowled at her. “What are ye talking about, woman?”
“You see, that’s another thing bad guys always do in the movies,” she said. “They underestimate women.”
She spun, lashed out at Fergus’s captor, slashing her dagger across his arm. With a howl, the man snatched it away, releasing the boy.
“Run!”