“Brought the letter,” he whispered back, and kissed her ear. “After I present ye to these two fools so they can sit down again. Jolene, meet Niall and David Ogilvy, Mora’s brothers who couldnae seem to find their way out of France.”
“Oh! Mora will be so delighted!”
She pretended not to notice the little boy had slid onto the bench next to her and was filling his plate with food but handed him the right utensil as he studied all that was standing around the plate. Jolene knew she should be outraged and order him to leave, but he looked like he could use a good meal, so she said nothing, just made certain her skirts were well away from his clothing.
Then she studied Mora’s brothers. Both were tall, lean, and handsome enough to draw many ladies to their side. The one called Niall had brown hair, but it was liberally sprinkled with red and some gold. David had dark red hair. She could actually see a small similarity to Mora in them, especially in the blue of their eyes.
“Uh, Sigimor, she is English,” said Niall as he sat down, and earned a slap on the back of his head from David.
“I ken it but I decided I would forgive that flaw,” he said, and leaned out of reach when Jolene tried to hit him. “Let me read this letter, woman!”
David watched as Sigimor read the letter and his expression grew darker and darker. He suddenly understood why the man’s name could be enough to unsettle people. That was the face of a man who would ride into a gathering of the enemy and cut them to pieces, then go home, wash the blood off, and bed his wife with no lingering remorse about what he had done.
“Sigimor, what is wrong?” Jolene asked, and lightly rubbed his arm.
“I believe ye will see your sister soon,” said Sigimor, and handed David the letter before turning to his wife. “We will need to ride within the hour.”
Jolene nodded slowly, realizing he meant they might have to fight. She was about to ask some important questions, such as who, why, and where, when there was a sound in the hallway that drew her attention. Several men walked in and she wondered why so many people were coming to see Sigimor so early in the morning. It could not be good.
Her eyes widened as Gybbon, Harcourt, a young boy, and a few MacFingals walked into the room. The MacFingals were the ones who seemed to have made Sigimor’s home theirs, yet they stood with the two Murray men looking as deadly stern as the Murrays did. She did wonder who the young boy was until he squealed and raced toward the two Ogilvy brothers. The Murrays also looked as if they had ridden hard to get to Sigimor. Jolene was getting a very bad feeling about all of this.
“Sorry to disturb ye so early,” said Gybbon.
“Ye didnae rouse us out of bed, so no bother,” said Sigimor. “Lost your lass, have ye?”
“How did ye ken that?”
“She wrote to me. Though it isnae addressed to me, so she may have just been writing to anyone who would be taken the letter. Seems her uncle didnae feel inclined to hear bad things said about his wee boy. He ne’er has listened to any bad said about that son. Sit. Have some food. We will leave, as I have said, within the hour.”
Gybbon sat, setting Mora’s bag down next to him and opening it so Freya could slip out. “Are ye sure we should wait?”
“Aye. Old men do nothing fast. Mon probably hasnae e’en got out of bed. Robert willnae do anything because he obviously would prefer his father to take any blame that might come. Aye, we have time to finish breaking our fast.” He glanced at the MacFingals, who were already devouring full plates of food. “And ye need to let those lads eat or they might be too weak and frail from hunger to fight. And mayhap the boy should go to bed, aye?”
“Can I take the cat?” he asked when Jolene walked over to him.
“Of course ye can. I will see to a box for the animal,” Jolene said as she led the boy away.
When the MacFingals merely looked up from their food and smiled, Gybbon felt a smile tugging at his lips as well. Sigimor did have a skill of making one feel less frantic. He noticed a dark, furious look on the face of one of the young men who had been there when they arrived. Curious as to who they were, although Andrew’s reaction made him strongly suspect they were the long-lost brothers, he looked at Sigimor.
“Ah, forgot to introduce ye. Lads,” Sigimor said to the two young men, “meet Harcourt Murray, Laird of Gormfeurach, and his brother, Gybbon. Harcourt, Gybbon, these two fellows Andrew latched onto are Mora’s long-lost brothers.”
“Why did they ne’er hear from ye?” asked Gybbon, as Jolene returned, having left Andrew in the capable hands of her maids.
“Because someone tried to kill us, almost from the moment we got there. Nearly succeeded once with me. And we wrote. The letters were clearly caught and tossed away before they reached my parents. We ne’er got word from them.”
“Ye didnae question that?”
“Oh, aye, we did. Constantly, but we couldnae find any way they were doing it. When I healed from the third . . .”
“Fourth,” muttered Niall.
“. . . attempt to kill me,” continued David, “we decided to start to make our way home. The attempts to end us continued and I pray it cost Robert a lot of his money. We did get a few men hanged for what they did, but it didnae stop the attempts.”
“Even tried once to get us locked up and hanged,” said Niall. “Fortunately, David was charming the daughter of the mon who would have come after us and she gave us enough warning to get away. Along with some weeping and wailing.” He flinched when David elbowed him in the side.
“Robert has been a verra busy boy,” muttered Sigimor. “Mon is more clever than I thought.”
“And now,” David said in a hard voice, “he plays much the same game with our sister.”
“Which would leave Andrew with no one,” said Niall.
“And there he finally makes his mistake,” said Harcourt.
“What do ye mean?” asked David.
“The lad is nay alone. He has the Murrays.”
“And the Camerons,” said Sigimor. “Nay, the boy willnae be alone. He will also have his sister back soon.” Sigimor looked at the MacFingals, who made a noise that indicated insult over not being included. “And I guess he has these fools, too. Sweet Mary help him.”
“An impressive guard for a small lad,” murmured Niall, obviously moved by the show of support. Then he grinned and looked at the MacFingals. “I think he would really like the MacFingals.”
“Not if he has a horse he favors,” drawled Harcourt.
Ned tossed a piece of bread at him, but he caught it. Then Jolene started to lecture them on table matters. Gybbon watched Mora’s two brothers calm and held his hand out to them.
“May I see the letter?”
“Why?” asked David even as he held it out.
“To see what trouble she has gotten into, her view of it all.”
“How can that help?”
“She is inside. We are not. She has spoken to the old mon. We have not.”
When David frowned and nodded, Gybbon took the letter and looked at it. She had a very neat hand, he thought as he began to read:
Greetings! I am in the dungeon in my uncle’s keep.
The bed is hard and the blanket is thin. Uncle is
better in body, but I worry about his mind. He is
very angry and he refuses to believe any wrong about
Robert. I pointed out that several questions should be
asked, that the answers would prove Robert was
lying, even asked them myself, and answered them,
questions that show Robert’s tale is nonsense, but he
bellowed at me that I lied just as my mother had.
That made me angry, but I could see then that he
will just not listen. And so, I am locked up and
Manus has the keys. Robert came by to gloat and
sneer and tell me I am to be hanged and said that he
will be in the fore of the crowd watching it. Hilda
believes this le
tter will help, but I cannot see how.
Who can she give it to? I hope Freya did not cause
Annys too much trouble and that someone can take
care of her. Tell Gybbon I am sorry I did not heed him
about this. Please watch over Andrew. Ink is done.
Mora
Gybbon shook his head. “She babbles. How can one babble in a letter?”
Niall laughed. “Never had a letter from her, have ye. She writes down whatever goes through her mind. We actually missed getting one while in France.”
Jolene took the letter and read it, smiling most of the time, but then she sighed and looked at the men. “She is also scared.”
“How can ye see that? I suspect she is scared, but I didnae see that in the letter.” Gybbon took it back from Jolene and glanced over it. “She does speak of Robert gloating over her hanging, but I cannae really see fear. She sees that they mean for her to die, which is why she asks someone to care for that foolish cat and for Andrew.”
“I cannae tell ye why I see that she is scared here, I just do.”
“One of those things women claim they ken e’en when they have no proof,” Sigimor said, and softly grunted when Jolene hit him in the arm.
“What cat? And who is Freya?” asked Niall.
“Freya is her cat. The one Andrew was stroking?”
“That was the wee runt that someone tried to drown?” David asked, and Gybbon nodded. “It survived?”
“Aye, and dinnae ask me any more about it as I cannae explain that animal except to say it is badly spoiled and doesnae seem to realize it is a cat. Ye will just have to see for yourselves.”
“Then mayhap ye can explain how ye met our sister?”
“She tried to steal my horse.” Gybbon just smiled at the brothers’ shocked faces and helped himself to some bread.
“How long did she stay on him?” asked Harcourt, smiling faintly.
“She didnae e’en get the chance to pick up the reins. He didnae toss her hard though, but she was wounded at the time and that made it a bit worse.”
“Your horse tosses people off?” David asked in surprise.
“Unless ye are properly introduced and approved, if ye get in the saddle, he will toss ye to the ground.”
“What wound did she have?”
“When she first ran from Robert he tried to stick a knife in her. Jolene said it looked like he was trying to gut her. ’Tis closed now and healed. Jolene”—he raised his tankard of cider to the woman in a silent toast—“is a skilled healer.” He could see the fury on the brothers’ faces and nodded in approval.
“I think we had best get over to Wasterburn. We dinnae ken when the laird will rise and make his decision.”
“He doesnae get up until after the noon meal is served,” said Aiden, then blushed deeply when all the adults looked at him. “They say ’tis because he was so sick,” he added, looking at Jolene. “He got better after ye saw him and gave him that potion. Colin still moans about being stuck in the room while it did its work.” He grinned and Jolene laughed.
“Aiden!” called Hilda from the door. “Ye shouldnae be sitting there.”
“Oh, ’tis fine. Are you the woman who got the letter from Mora?” asked Jolene.
“Aye. I thought it might help the lass.”
“Come here then.” Jolene indicated the seat next to the little bench she and Aiden shared, then looked at Sigimor. “This woman has seen Mora.” She then nodded toward Niall and David. “The young men across from us are her brothers. And, you are Hilda?”
“Aye, m’lady.”
Jolene poured the woman a tankard of cider. “Sigimor, this woman can probably tell you a lot of useful things about what is happening, who is trouble, and maybe e’en the best way to get Mora out.”
Sigimor frowned at her. “Jo, ye are the wife. I am the one who goes about all matters of battle. I am the one who makes the plans.”
“Of course, love. I understand,” she murmured, and was not surprised when he stole the sweet cake she had just put on her plate.
Gybbon hid his grin by sipping his cider, then listened as Sigimor gently questioned the woman. She was nervous at first and hesitant to answer until he assured her he had no plans to wantonly slaughter the garrison since some of them were related to him. Gybbon was a little amazed at the questions Sigimor asked, revealing that the man well understood the ways of battle. He glanced at Harcourt, who was watching and listening carefully to the exchange. When he was done, Sigimor dismissed the woman, who was going to take the boy with her, and Jolene made certain they both had a small sweet cake before they left.
“Sometimes I forget how clever and sneaky ye can be,” said Harcourt.
“Then ’tis a good thing we are allies.”
Then Sigimor laid out his plan and Gybbon felt the hint of hope. Glancing at Mora’s brothers, he could see they did as well. It was indeed good that they had such a man as an ally, he thought. Sigimor planned for everything, every step that needed to be taken, and even for what might go wrong. He planned in a way to bring back as many of his own people as possible, all while destroying the enemy. It was easy to see why Sigimor still lived, despite his tendency to make people angry, and all his siblings were still hale.
“So, when do we ride out again?”
“Soon, Gybbon. Verra soon. I want us all in place when the judgment is given. Then we can make our judgment and bring the lass back.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mora woke to Manus opening the cell door, a wide awake and somewhat flushed Hilda standing behind him with a tray. “Is it morning already?” Mora asked as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“This is when the laird says all working in the keep must eat. Prisoners too,” Manus answered in a voice sharp with annoyance. “I think he hopes it will keep us out of his way once he hobbles down to break his fast.”
She widened her eyes a little. That was the angriest Manus had ever sounded when talking about the laird. It was almost a complaint about the man, and the man had always been careful never to say anything bad about his laird. As Hilda set down her tray, Mora could see the laughter in the woman’s eyes.
“I will tell ye this much, lass,” said Manus as Hilda walked out of the cell and he began to lock the door, “rest and think because naught will happen until midday or later. Laird doesnae do any business till then.”
“Ah, weel, he is still fighting to get his strength back after the poisoning.”
Manus nodded and shuddered a little. “Aye, but he began improving after Lady Cameron made him, er, gave him a potion so he would, weel, throw it off.”
“Expel it. She said expel.” Hilda crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “He expelled all over the place. Didnae ken a body could hold that much. Colin looked as if he would join him and Matron didnae look much better e’en though she has taken care of the ill many times. It was truly a horrible time.”
“Cameron’s English lady called it cleansing.” Manus shrugged and sighed. “Messy, foul business. I was surprised it didnae finish the mon off.”
“It worked. That is what one must keep in mind, that it worked.”
“True, but I dinnae think he came back right.”
“Nay.” Mora sighed. “I am nay sure he did, either, but I am nay sure that is from the illness. How he is behaving could be the anger I saw in him, a fierce anger, and I think he cannae, or willnae, expel that. It taints all he does and thinks.”
“Ye think he does ken what Robert is and has done, dinnae ye?” said Hilda.
“Aye, I do. There is a big part of him that has already accepted that Robert is wrong. He recognized that enough, at some point, to do what he could to keep Murdoch safe. I would wager he kenned why he was ill, as weel. The mon is nay weak-minded. It has just proven too much. He doesnae want to see it, doesnae want to hear about it, doesnae want to admit it.”
“Weel, the old fool will have to soon or he will be condemning all of Wasterburn because we w
ill have to live under Robert’s rule.” Hilda shrugged her shoulders and rubbed at her arms as if she had suddenly been buffeted by a chill wind.
* * *
“Robert! Stop! Stop now!” cried Murdoch as he rushed across his brother’s bedchamber and pulled him away from the girl he had been beating. “She is little more than a child.” He avoided looking at the naked girl when she crouched down and tried to cover herself.
Robert swung toward Murdoch, a knife in his hand. Murdoch tensed for the pain of it piercing his flesh. To his surprise, Robert stopped, the knife point embedding into his shirt and tickling his flesh, but he did not push it in. He just stared at it with a blank look on his face that chilled him, and Murdoch signaled to the girl to run. A quick glance showed her picking up her clothes, then running to the door.
“Why hesitate now, brother?” he asked as he tried to think of a way to disarm Robert without being killed.
“’Tis nay time,” Robert said, a distant look in his eyes. “Need to keep the order straight and there are still two left.” He sheathed his knife and gave Murdoch a sharp slap on the cheek. “Your time will come. Shame ye sent away the lass. Now I shall have to find another one.”
Murdoch watched Robert leave, then ran to the pot in the corner and emptied his belly. He finally had to accept that his eldest brother was mad. It had long appeared to be simply a deep meanness and an easily stirred anger, but the last year it had settled in hard and his thoughts and actions had become less precise or clever.
Staggering to his feet, Murdoch washed his face, cleaned his teeth, and rinsed out his mouth, continuing to think on how all the signs had been there years ago. Robert had always been arrogant, always insisted things go his way, and had been vicious if they had not. Too often that viciousness had been aimed at Murdoch. He still carried some of the scars and might well have died if not for Lachlan and Duncan.
He had been very young when he had realized that Robert was more than just a mean, angry brother; he was someone to be very careful around, even to avoid as much as possible. Being just a boy, Murdoch had become attached to an animal, and of all things to care for, he had gone and loved a rabbit, one of the ones the cook raised so they had meat handy. Cook had not minded and had even helped him learn how to tend to its care. He had even named it Bruce after their great king his father had told him so many stories about.
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