by Katy Baker
Gretchen’s heart sank. Maybe her task of finding her friend wasn't going to be as easy as she'd hoped.
Jenna placed her hand over Gretchen's. "Dinna worry, lass. Ye'll find her, I'm sure. We'll ask around, send out word, see if anyone has news of yer friend."
"Thank you," she whispered. "I'm grateful. I really am."
Jenna squeezed her hand. "Yer welcome, my dear."
Suddenly the door to the great hall banged open and a cloak-wrapped man stood in the doorway. He looked around for a second and then strode across the hall to the main table.
Richard de Clare pushed back his chair and stood. "Guy!" he called. "I'm glad you've finally returned. What news?"
The man halted before the main table and pulled down his hood to reveal a curly-haired blond man with a scar down his cheek. The man sketched a small bow to Merith and Richard de Clare.
"My lady, my lord," he said in a voice loud enough to carry through the hall. "I've ridden all day to get here. I bring grave tidings. This morning a band of MacFarlane warriors crossed our northern border and attacked Smallhowe. They burned the village, drove off the cattle, and slew any who opposed them."
A collective gasp went up around the hall quickly followed by angry muttering. Merith raised her hand for silence and then climbed to her feet. She looked angry, her lips pressed into a hard, flat, line.
"Do ye have proof it was the MacFarlanes?"
The messenger nodded. "Aye."
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out which she tossed onto the table in front of Merith. It made a metallic clang as it landed on the wood. Gretchen leaned forward to get a closer look. It was a knife whose hilt bore some kind of crest that Gretchen didn't recognize. The edges of the blade were blackened as though it had been in a fire.
"A MacFarlane dagger," Merith breathed.
"This is an outrage!" Richard de Clare cried. "This cannot be allowed to go unpunished! First the MacFarlanes slay my father, and now they rub salt into that wound by harrying our lands! They are laughing at us! They are laughing at the Murray clan!"
There was a rumble of angry agreement around the room. Beside her, Ewan tensed. His eyes were fixed on Richard de Clare.
"It will be punished," Merith said. "They willnae get away with this. Send out word. Gather our warriors. It is time the MacFarlanes were made to pay for their crimes." Her eyes swept the gathering. "The Murray clan are going to war."
There was much cheering at this. Gretchen glanced at Ewan and then at Connail, Amy and Jenna. They looked troubled.
"It would be folly to march against the MacFarlanes," Ewan said loudly.
Merith's eyes snapped to him. "Ye would let this go unpunished?"
Ewan climbed to his feet. Everyone was watching him now. "Nay, I'm not saying that. If Clan MacFarlane are indeed responsible for this atrocity, then they must pay."
Richard de Clare stood. The two men stared each other down. "What right do you have to speak? You, who abandoned your clan? You have no authority here!"
"That's where ye are wrong," Ewan growled. "I'm the eldest male of the Murray line. I have more right here than ye, de Clare. And I say it would be folly to move against the MacFarlanes. They are a large clan. They have more warriors than we do. We canna risk marching against them until our allies agree to it." He locked his gaze with Merith's. "Send word to MacGregor. We canna march without his aid."
Merith watched him, her eyes narrowed. "It seems ye've lost none of yer gift for strategy while ye've been away, cousin. Ye are right. We'll need allies to face the MacFarlanes. Perhaps this is the mistake my husband made and he paid for it with his life."
"Don't listen to him!" Richard de Clare spat. "We should march against them now, while they're not expecting it. You know Andrew MacGregor won't march with us. He's a fat old man too frightened to even leave his castle!"
Merith shook her head. "Then we must convince him. Word will be sent, offering our terms of alliance."
Talk erupted throughout the hall, everyone talking at once.
Ewan leaned down to Gretchen. "It seems that discussion down here is going to turn to darker things. Mayhap ye ought to retire. Ye must still be weak from yer fever."
Before Gretchen could reply, he took her elbow and steered her to the stairs, moving quickly as if he was eager to get her out of there. As they reached Gretchen's door she turned to face Ewan.
"What was all that about?" she asked.
A shadow passed over Ewan's face. He sighed. "Nothing ye need to worry about, lass."
"It didn't sound like nothing. Talk of war? With a rival clan?"
Ewan grimaced and rubbed his chin. "I didnae want to drag ye into this, lass. The truth is my uncle Malcolm always had a grudge against the MacFarlane clan. Some kind of insult from the MacFarlane laird when they were boys I'm told. I'm more inclined to think it was jealousy. The MacFarlanes are a large and powerful clan and my uncle became gradually more warlike as he got older. He was constantly stirring things up with our neighbors and blaming them for the slightest thing. A crop failing? The MacFarlanes poisoned it. A spell of bad weather? The MacFarlanes had a witch curse us. And so it went. I didn't like it. My uncle and I argued over it a lot." He shrugged. "It seems my cousin Merith intends to continue in her father's footsteps."
"It sounded as though you're a little skeptical about what the messenger said?"
"I don't trust Richard de Clare," Ewan replied. "And the messenger was his man." He shrugged again. "If the reports prove true, then I will go to war. It's the Highland way."
Gretchen shivered. Ewan seemed hard and unyielding. Determination flashed in his eyes, his expression stony. In that moment he was every inch the warrior.
Then his eyes found Gretchen's and his expression softened. "Ye dinna need to worry, lass. Ye'll be safe here, I promise."
He reached out and gently ran a finger along Gretchen's jaw line. She found herself gazing at him, leaning towards him. He bent his head and for a moment Gretchen thought he was going to kiss her. And for a moment she really wanted him to.
But then Ewan paused. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and then straightened.
"I'd better be going, lass," he muttered. "Sleep well. I'll see ye tomorrow."
Then without a word he spun on his heel and strode off down the corridor.
Gretchen leaned on the door, her heart hammering, watching him go. She opened her mouth to call him back but stopped herself.
Instead she let herself into the room and collapsed onto the bed, pressing her hand against her forehead. She closed her eyes, trying to slow her thumping heart.
What am I doing? she thought. I'm here to rescue Darcy, not moon after some man. And Ewan only brought me here because I was ill, not through choice. That much is obvious from the way he backed off just now. No. The sooner I find Darcy and we both go home, the better.
Chapter 8
THE NEXT MORNING GRETCHEN opened her eyes to see sunlight streaming through the windows. She'd been so tired last night that she had forgotten to draw the curtains and, looking down, she realized she'd fallen asleep on the bed, fully clothed.
She stretched her arms over her head and let out a huge yawn. She guessed it was early, perhaps not much past dawn. Gretchen had always been an early riser. She swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed. She was feeling remarkably restored. The last vestiges of her fever had abated and her ankle injury was on the mend. She'd slept well and now she felt invigorated, ready to get on with the business of finding Darcy.
There was a knock at the door. Gretchen found a brown-haired serving girl waiting on the other side.
"Good morning, my lady," the girl said with a curtsy. "I brought ye hot water for washing. May I come in?"
"Of course," Gretchen said pulling the door wide.
The girl entered the room and set down a bowl and jug on the dresser. She looked at Gretchen, a tiny frown wrinkling the skin between her eyebrows as she took in Gretchen's gown which had obvio
usly been slept in.
"Would ye like me to help ye change, my lady?"
Remembering the difficulty she had getting into the gown by herself last night, Gretchen nodded. "Yes please, that would be great. What's your name?"
"Rose, my lady."
Gretchen held out her hand which Rose hesitantly shook. "Nice to meet you. I'm Gretchen. No more of this, 'my lady' business. I don’t know where you all got that idea. If my mom heard you calling me that she'd laugh her head off. She always said I had the manners of a five-year-old."
Rose grinned. "As ye wish my...Gretchen."
Whilst Gretchen busied herself washing her face and hands, Rose crossed to the wardrobe and took out a pale green dress. "What about this one my...Gretchen? The color will bring out yer eyes and I've heard tell it's Lord Ewan's favorite color."
Gretchen blushed. "Ewan?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Why would he care? He's only a friend."
"Oh!" Rose said, her own cheeks turning red. "Forgive me, my... Gretchen. I just assumed..." She took a deep breath. "How about the yellow one then? The stitching around the bodice is lovely."
Gretchen paused. So green was Ewan's favorite color was it? She waved her hand at Rose. "You know what? I think I'll wear the green one after all."
"As ye say," Rose replied. She reached up to take the aforementioned gown from the wardrobe and Gretchen was sure she was hiding a smile.
Rose helped her out of the dress she'd slept in then turned her back whilst she changed her undergarments, had a quick body wash and then donned a clean shift. Rose held out the green gown for Gretchen to step into.
"I could get used to this," Gretchen said.
"Do ye not have servants?" Rose asked, sounding surprised.
Gretchen snorted. "Servants? It's not exactly the done thing where I'm from." Then she thought about it a bit more. "Although I suppose you could say my mom has servants except we call them 'employees'. She has a lady come clean her house three times a week as my mom wouldn't know one end of a vacuum cleaner from another. And Jim has been her driver ever since I was a kid. But me? Nah."
Rose pulled the gown closed at the back and then began doing up the hooks. After this she slowly stroked a brush through Gretchen's hair and then used a series of pins to fix it around her face. When she was finished, she stood back and admired her handiwork.
"Oh my," she breathed. "Ye are beautiful, my lady. Um, Gretchen."
Gretchen looked at herself in the mirror and hardly recognized the face staring back. She looked elegant. Refined. Every inch the 16th century lady rather than the 21st-century young woman who liked to wear pencil skirts and high-heels.
"You should come home with me, Rose," Gretchen mumbled. "I know half a dozen of my mom's rich friends who would pay through the nose to have you as their stylist."
Rose smiled. "I dinna ken what a stylist may be but I'm glad yer pleased."
There was a knock on the door which Rose answered. Gretchen's heart leapt as she heard Ewan's voice outside.
"Good morning to ye, Rose. Is the Lady Gretchen ready for breakfast?"
"She is," Gretchen said, stepping up beside Rose. Ewan was wearing a black tunic and trousers with the Murray plaid over the top. There were dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn't had much sleep. How long had the talking lasted last night? Had Ewan got any rest at all?
"Well, if ye are ready I thought I'd escort ye downstairs."
Gretchen nodded. "I...um...yes. Thanks."
The main hall was relatively empty. Amy sat at the high table, her head bent over a book. She raised a hand in greeting as Ewan and Gretchen entered the hall.
"Did ye sleep well?" Ewan asked Gretchen as they crossed the hall.
Remembering the tousled state of her hair and clothes when she woke, Gretchen blushed. "I don't remember the last time I slept so well."
Ewan smiled. "I'm glad it was to my lady's satisfaction. I'm joining the patrols this morning. We're riding out towards the border to see if we can discover anything of the MacFarlanes’ plans. I'll be gone until this afternoon."
A jolt of alarm went through Gretchen. She didn't want Ewan to leave her alone. "You mean you're not staying for breakfast?"
He laughed. "Lass, I broke my fast over two hours ago. Since then I've brushed down my horse, cleaned my tack and made a round of the castle battlements."
Gretchen crossed her arms. Lord, what time did people get out of bed around here? The middle of the night? "Are you calling me lazy?"
Ewan held his hands up in surrender. "I wouldnae dare, lass. I'll leave ye in Amy's capable hands. Dinna let her fill yer head with her questions. While I'm away I'll put the word out and ask if anyone has news of an American lass by the name of Darcy." He rested his hands on her shoulders and his expression became intense. "Dinna worry, lass. If yer friend can be found, we'll find her."
Gretchen nodded. "Thank you."
Ewan led Gretchen over to where Amy was seated, bade her good day, and then left the great hall with some of the other Murray men. Amy looked up from her book and smiled.
"Hungry?" She waved a hand and a servant came over bearing a large bowl of steaming porridge.
The porridge proved to be delicious. Yes, Gretchen would definitely have to discover who the chef was.
When Gretchen finished eating Amy snapped her book shut and said, "Would ye like a tour of Dun Carrick? Nobody knows the place better than I!"
Gretchen dropped the spoon into her empty bowl. "Yes, I'd like that very much."
Amy's eyes flicked to a group of warriors checking their weapons by the main doors and her expression turned stony.
"Is something wrong, Amy?" Gretchen asked.
"Wrong? What could possibly be wrong? After all, I'm only a woman aren't I? I should be happy to sit here while the men ride to war. Doesnae matter that I'm a better fighter than most of them, does it?"
Ah, Gretchen thought. So that's it. She wants to be out there with Ewan and the rest.
"Listen," Gretchen said. "Remember I told you that in my homeland women determine their own fates? Well, it wasn't always that way. It took a long time for things to change but eventually they did. You just have to be patient and keep showing them what you're worth and you'll get what you want in the end."
Amy looked at her, her expression skeptical. But after a moment she nodded. "Aye. Mayhap yer right. Well, are ye ready?"
Gretchen pushed her chair back and stood. "Ready."
Amy turned out to be an excellent tour guide. As a member of the laird's family she had access to practically the whole of Dun Carrick. She showed Gretchen the castle, including the battlements where the wind threatened to tear Gretchen from her feet, right down to the crypts where Ewan and Connail's parents were buried.
After they'd seen the castle, Amy gave Gretchen a tour of the grounds. She saw the stables, the kennels, the blacksmiths and the farriers. They visited the sparring grounds where young lads trained with wooden swords and spears. Amy watched them longingly but said not a word.
They were crossing the inner bailey, heading back to the great hall when Gretchen spotted a large cart pulled up outside a set of open doors. The cart was piled high with sacks and barrels in all shapes and sizes. A burly woman in her early thirties was overseeing the unloading of the cart, barking orders to a stream of lads and lasses who carried the boxes and barrels through the doors.
Gretchen stopped. The mixture of smells coming from the cart indicated that this was a food delivery. She caught the yeasty smell of hops and the tangy scent of apples.
"Who's that?" Gretchen asked Amy.
"That's Isabelle. The head cook. She'll be pleased. That delivery is a week overdue already."
So this was the woman who'd made such a delicious dinner last night? "Can I meet her?" Gretchen asked.
Amy shrugged. "Of course."
She led them over to the cart. The woman looked up and gave a small curtsey when she saw Amy approaching. "My lady."
Amy snorte
d. "Ye can stop with all that prattle, Isabelle," she laughed. "Ye dinna need to impress our guest. She knows I'm no lady!"
Isabelle grinned. "Well, ye can never be sure, can ye? I didnae want her thinking we didn't know how to respect our own."
"Isabelle, I'd like ye to meet Gretchen Matthews. She's an outlander. From America. She came in with Ewan yesterday."
Isabelle nodded to Gretchen. "I've heard all about ye, my lady. I wouldnae be surprised if half the valley has by now. I'm very pleased to make yer acquaintance."
"And I you," Gretchen said. "I'm glad I bumped into you. I wanted to compliment you on your cooking. Your stew last night was amazing. It had a slight warmth to it—saffron perhaps?"
Isabelle blushed to her hairline. "It's kind of ye to say so. And yes, I did add some saffron. Spices are mighty hard to come by—the merchants who bring them only come twice a year. But I figured since Lord Ewan had returned it warranted using something a little special." She cocked her head, looking at Gretchen curiously. "Ye have a good knowledge of tastes, my lady."
"You could say that," Gretchen agreed. "Cooking is a passion of mine."
"And mine. My old ma was one of the best cooks in the Highlands. People used to come from miles away to sample her dishes." She turned to Amy. "Although today ye'll have to offer Lady Merith my apologies. The midday meal might be a little late. I'm an under-cook down. Sarah's da's taken ill again and she's had to go tend him."
"I'll help you out," Gretchen blurted.
Isabelle and Amy shared a dubious look.
"What?" Gretchen asked. "I promise not to burn anything!"
"It's not that," Isabelle said. "And I thank ye for yer kind offer. It's just that, well, this is servants' work. It hardly befits a lady."
"I don't want to be a burden to everyone after they've been so kind. I'd rather be put to some use and cooking, well, that's something I can do."
Isabelle looked from Amy to Gretchen and back again.
Amy shrugged. "They seem to do things differently in America."
At last Isabelle nodded. "Well, if yer sure, I could really do with another pair of hands. I'd be delighted to have ye help me."