“I at least feel hale enough to try and walk again.”
“Aye, that is clear enough to see. What can also be seen is that when ye stand up ye sweat and tremble like a man with the ague. ’Tis your body telling you that ye arenae ready at all. Heed it or it will make ye pay dearly for disobeying it.” She moved to pour him some wine.
“Ye make it sound as if my body has its own life and rules, seperate from what my mind says.”
“It does.” She handed him the goblet of wine, frowning when she saw how he had to hold it with both hands because of the faint tremor in his arms. “I think ye have wit enough to ken that your body is now telling you that ye have been verra foolish indeed.”
Nigel groaned and tried to thrust the goblet at her, but lacked the strength for such a forcible gesture. He was barely able to hold it out to her with only one unsteady hand without dropping it. “If I must lie abed for verra much longer I may weel be strong enough to walk again, but I will also be drooling mad.”
Maldie had to smile as she put the goblet away and gathered a bowl of water and rag to wash him. “I ken weel how maddening it can be to do naught but lie abed, your mind alert but your body too weak to act upon your wishes. ’Tis why I say ye must heed your body. I cannae say it strong enough or often enough.” She began to lightly wash the sweat from his body. “I ken that people think I speak nonsense when I say your body tells you things, but it does. When ye stood up didnae your head swim, didnae ye sweat from head to toe, and didnae ye tremble? That, my fine knight, was your body saying, in the strongest way it could, to get back into bed and get some more rest.”
“’Twould be nice if it had my mind give me such a warning ere I put foot to floor,” Nigel said, smiling faintly.
“Ah, true, but the mind is a contrary thing. It doesnae always lead us in the right direction or tell us the truth. And, no matter how sharp-witted we are, we can often allow it to lead us astray. Surely ye have thought of things that were neither wise nor safe and, worse, acted upon them.”
“Oh, aye, and one’s cursed mind doesnae have the courtesy to let ye forget such blunders.”
Maldie’s laughter caught in her throat as she became aware of the fact that the body she was washing was not as completely drained of strength as she had thought. There was certainly one part of Nigel’s body that revealed no difficulty at all in standing. She had suspected that Nigel desired her, but seeing the stout proof of that tightening the front of his braies left her feeling embarrassingly flustered. She stood there, staring, unable to decide what to do next. There was only one thing she was sure of, and that was that she had just lost all chance of pretending that she had not noticed anything.
“Weel, ’tis some comfort to ken that I havenae been completely unmanned,” Nigel drawled.
That piece of impertinence was just starting to pull Maldie free of her shock when she had the damp rag yanked from her hand, and a familiar deep voice said, “I believe the time has come for another to assume the duty of washing my brother.” Balfour nudged Maldie away from the bed. “I am sure Mistress Kirkcaldy can find other things to do.”
“But, Balfour, the lass and I were just having a fascinating discussion about how one should always heed what one’s body tells it.”
Maldie heard Nigel grunt with pain, but could not see around Balfour to judge why. She was tempted to tell Balfour to go away, irritated by the way he was shoving her aside and taking over her duties, as well as telling her what she could or could not do. Then wisdom prevailed over pride. Nigel desired her and was obviously well enough to reveal that with more than a look or weak touch. It was undoubtedly best for both of them if she ceased to take care of any of his personal needs now. Bathing him could easily lead to a confrontation she would prefer to avoid.
“I will go and fetch his meal,” she murmured and made a quiet, somewhat hasty retreat from the room.
The moment the door shut behind Maldie, Balfour tossed the rag aside and glared at his brother. He struggled to control his anger, one he knew was born of an unreasoning jealousy. When he had entered the room and seen Maldie bathing Nigel, he had felt the usual pang of envy. The moment he had seen Nigel’s blatant arousal and the seductive look on his brother’s face, it had taken all of his willpower not to throw Maldie out of the room and undo some of her fine work in healing his brother.
“Ye have a rough touch, brother,” Nigel said, warily eyeing his scowling elder brother.
“Mayhap I am just disgusted that ye would try to seduce the wee lass who has worked so hard to keep ye alive,” Balfour snapped as he moved to pour himself some wine, inwardly cursing the temper he could not seem to control.
“And why should that trouble ye so much?”
“She is but a poor, fatherless lass and was it not ye yourself who warned me against being blinded by a bonny face? Was it not ye who said that she held too many secrets?” He looked straight at Nigel, a little discomforted by the considering look on his brother’s face, one that told him he had probably revealed too much of his feelings.
Nigel nodded slowly. “I did and I still do. Howbeit, I now think those secrets have naught to do with us, are no threat to us. She is, as ye have just reminded me, a poor, fatherless lass. She has led a hard life and feels deeply about the shame her mother suffered and the way her father cast her and her mother aside. Her secrets are about herself and her past, about shames, hurts, and trials that she rightfully feels are none of our concern.”
“Mayhap.” Balfour prayed that, if he shut his mouth now, Nigel would let the subject lag, but a moment later he knew that was a vain hope.
“I dinnae think ye are angry because I was succumbing to a lass ye mistrust.”
“These are troubled times. One should be cautious.”
Nigel ignored his words. “I think ye want the lass yourself and ye thought I was stealing her away.”
“And I think ye have lain abed so long that your wits have become as weak as your body.”
“Nay. I am right. Ye cannae insult me out of my belief. Ye want the lass. I saw it when we found her on the road, but chose to forget that. I think I have chosen to ignore all signs of your desire for her. ’Twould interfere with my own plans, wouldnae it? Just how badly do ye want the lass?”
Balfour briefly considered heartily denying Nigel’s assumptions and then making a hasty, cowardly retreat from the room. Then he shook his head. It would only gain him a small respite. His brother would never let the matter rest until his curiosity was satisfied. An honest answer now might silence Nigel. To his utter disgust, he found himself wondering if it would also make Nigel back down and leave Maldie alone. He hated to think he was that uncertain of his ability to woo and win a woman, especially one Nigel had also set his eye upon.
“Badly,” he finally replied. “At times I think my wits have been scattered to the four winds.”
“Aye, those green eyes can do that to a mon. So can a hearty lusting.”
“’Tis more than lusting,” Balfour reluctantly admitted.
“How much more?”
There was an odd look on Nigel’s face, intent yet somehow unreadable. It was as if Nigel was trying very hard to hide something. What if Nigel was also captivated? What if his brother also had feelings for Maldie, ones that went far deeper than a natural, manly lusting for a pretty woman? Balfour realized that he did not want to know, no matter how selfish that was. He did not want to feel obligated to give Nigel a fighting chance. If his brother was hurt by whatever happened between himself and Maldie, Balfour decided he would deal with that later.
A small, jealous part of him muttered that it would do the bonny Nigel some good to lose a woman. Balfour swore that he would do something to finally kill that still bitter, hurt young man inside of him, the one that had watched too many women turn from him to Nigel and obviously still resented it. He had not realized how deep that sense of injury had gone, not until Maldie had walked into their lives.
“I dinnae ken,” Balfour replied q
uietly. “That ’tis more than passion is all I am sure of.”
“And how does she feel?”
“She wants me. That I am certain of. She fights it because she believes passion destroyed her mother. Maldie doesnae want to repeat her mother’s follies. ’Twas when I saw that I no longer feared I was about to repeat our father’s mistakes that I was sure I was being driven by more than desire.” He shrugged, a little disgusted by his own uncertainties. “I just cannae say how much more. ’Tis a fierce thing, but ’tis also a puzzling thing.”
“Then have her, brother. She is yours. I withdraw from the field. What with your fears, confusions, and desires and her fears and passions, the field is too crowded anyway.”
Before Balfour could ask what Nigel meant, Maldie returned. The cross look she gave him as she set a tray of food on Nigel’s lap made Balfour fear she had overheard his talk with Nigel. He quickly discarded that concern. If Maldie had heard anything, she would have been a lot more than cross. Balfour knew that, to anyone idly listening, it would have sounded as if he and Nigel were callously deciding who would bed her. He doubted that his confession about the depth and confusion of his feelings would have wrung any sympathy from her either. Maldie was clearly just annoyed at his interference and the way he had ordered her around.
“Am I allowed to help him eat his food?” Maldie asked, frowning when Balfour grinned.
Balfour wondered fleetingly why he should be so inordinately pleased that he had not only guessed her mood, but the cause of it. “I should have thought that he was recovered enough to feed himself.”
“Aye, he would be, if he hadnae got up and skipped about the room.”
“I didnae skip,” muttered Nigel, whispering a curse when he had to have Maldie cut his bread for him.
“And why shouldnae he be trying to walk?” asked Balfour, frowning a little when he suddenly became aware of how pale his brother was. “His fever has been gone for a week or more, and his wounds arenae in danger of opening.”
“True, but he must now regain all the strength he lost. He must take his first steps with the utmost care, especially since one of those deep wounds was to his leg. I can understand what sets his mind to such foolishness,” Maldie added, watching Nigel closely as he took a drink of cider. “Lying abed, rested and with a full belly, one isnae always aware of one’s weaknesses and has no patience for caution. Howbeit, to do too much too fast could leave him with a stiffness in his leg he would never be rid of.”
The firm tone of her voice told Balfour she spoke the truth, and he looked at Nigel. The tight, almost sullen look on his brother’s face said that Nigel also believed her warnings. Once Nigel’s fever had passed, Balfour had considered his brother healed, that the man only needed rest and food. He realized that he had been as foolish as Nigel. He could also see that Nigel was going to require a great deal of very close watching.
“How goes the plan to free Eric and make Beaton suffer?” asked Nigel as Maldie took the meal tray away.
“Slowly.” Balfour leaned against one of the tall, thick posts at the foot of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “We ken verra little about the mon or about Dubhlinn. I have set a mon within the heart of the enemy’s camp, but ’tis difficult for him to send us any information. Even the simplest thing could aid us, but we dinnae e’en have that yet.”
“When ye say simple, do ye mean such things as when they open and close the gates?” Maldie asked as she poured herself a goblet of cider.
“Aye, e’en something as small as that.”
“Weel, they open them when the sun clears the horizon, and shut them at twilight.”
Maldie nearly flinched beneath the brothers’ stares. The hint of suspicion in their eyes was justified, but that did not make it any less unsettling. In her eagerness to help defeat Beaton in any way she could, she had not considered how such information would be viewed. Nor had she considered the need to devise a very clever explanation for possessing such knowledge about their enemy. The truth, that she had learned all she could about Beaton so that she could more easily kill the man, would be viewed by the Murrays with distrust and, quite possibly, distaste.
“How do ye come to ken that?” demanded Balfour.
“I was searching for my kinsmen in and around Dubhlinn.”
“Ye are the kinswoman of a Beaton?”
The way Balfour said that, as if she had just told him that she had the plague, reaffirmed Maldie’s decision to never tell him her true parentage. “Nay, my kinsmen are minstrels. I had followed their trail to Duhblinn and lingered in an attempt to discover which way they had traveled upon leaving the place. The Beatons who kindly took me into their home were an aging couple in the village.”
“Why did ye say naught? Ye kenned that we were fighting Beaton.”
“I am no warrior, Sir Balfour. I didnae ken that ye would be interested in what little I saw or heard. I wasnae there when your young brother was taken, either.”
Balfour sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then tried to rub away the sudden stiffness in the back of his neck. “I beg your pardon, Mistress Kirkcaldy. I didnae mean to insult or accuse you. With each day that Eric lingers in that mon’s hold, I grow more concerned for his safety and, aye, mayhap see betrayal where it doesnae exist. Even now, I have found myself wondering how the mon kenned where and when to wait to capture the lad, and that has made suspicion set itself deep in my heart.”
“No need for such a humble apology,” she said. “Ye are at war and I am a stranger.”
“Balfour,” Nigel drew his brother’s attention away from Maldie, “do ye really think someone has betrayed us? That someone here actually helped Beaton gain hold of Eric?”
“Aye. I wonder that I ne’er thought of the possibility before,” Balfour replied.
As the brothers discussed who could possibly have betrayed them and why, Maldie idly tidied the room. She was heartily relieved that Balfour’s interest in her and what she knew had been diverted. She had spoken too quickly, without thought. Minstrels, she decided, were a good choice of kinsmen, however, for few knew many by name, and their wandering ways meant that even fewer could be expected to know where they were. All she had to do was think of a name for them. There was a good chance that Balfour would never ask, but she wanted to be prepared with an answer.
The tangle of lies had begun to twist around her. It both alarmed and dismayed Maldie. She had rarely lied before. It was apparent that she had some skill in the art, but she felt no pride in that. Even though she did not want it to be true, she had to admit that lying to Balfour was especially painful. That he accepted her lies without question, even apologized for having reasonable suspicions about her, only made her more disgusted with herself. Deceiving someone was not something she liked to do. She was sure that deceiving someone who had taken her into his home and easily trusted her was a sin that could well stain her soul for a long time.
Maldie was pulled from her dark thoughts by the stealthy entrance of Grizel. She would not have known the woman was even in the room except that she was in between the ill-smelling woman and the tray she had been sent to retrieve. As Grizel brushed by her, Maldie had to clench her hands against the urge to wipe herself off. It was as if that light, swift touch had left her soiled, almost as if some of Grizel’s filth and smell had clung to her. Maldie noticed that the moment she had looked at Grizel, had acknowledged the woman’s presence, she had ceased to move so quietly. The two men talking so intently about forthcoming battles and possible betrayals were still completely unaware of the woman.
Grizel picked up the tray, turned to leave, and glanced toward the two men by the bed before marching out of the room. Maldie shuddered, chilled by the look on the woman’s face as she had watched Balfour and Nigel. It had been a look of pure hate, a feeling so strong that it had briefly touched Maldie, leaving a sour taste in her mouth. She tried to tell herself that she was being foolish, that she had simply been infected by the brothers’ talk of betrayal,
but she could not make herself believe that. Even though she did not know the Murrays very well, she could think of nothing they could have done to inspire such hatred. But she could not ignore or deny it, either. Grizel loathed the brothers. Maldie wondered if she had just found their traitor. She then wondered if she could make them see it.
“Ye look weary, Nigel,” Balfour said. “Rest. We but talk round and round and find no answers. I at least have the comfort of kenning that ye share my suspicions about a traitor at Dunn-coill.”
“’Twould be better if we kenned who it is,” Nigel murmured as he slumped against his pillows.
“’Tis Grizel,” Maldie said, deciding that the simple truth was not only the easiest way, but nice to indulge in for a change. It was hard, however, not to take a defensive step backward when both men suddenly stared at her.
“What is Grizel?” asked Balfour. “Was she just here?” He grimaced slightly. “God’s teeth, I think I can smell her.”
“Ye may do so. I keep these chambers verra clean. ’Twould be easy to smell such filth when it enters now.”
“Are ye saying that my chambers werenae clean before? I am wounded to the heart,” Nigel jested weakly.
“They are but much cleaner than they were,” she said. “Howbeit, I wasnae speaking wholly of Grizel’s dirt or odor, just her hate. ’Tis so strong I could taste its bitterness.” She smiled briefly at their identical looks of confusion. “Grizel hates ye and Nigel, Sir Balfour, truly loathes you.”
Balfour rubbed his chin as he carefully weighed her words. “I ken that the woman is ill humored and appears to deal weel with no one here, mon, woman, or beast. ’Tis a long stride from that to hatred. And of what worth is it to me if she does hate me or Nigel?”
Maldie shook her head. “Thus speaks a mon raised in the palm of wealth and ease. Those surrounded by ones who serve them are oftimes too blind to see either their worth or their threat. Ye both feel certain that someone had to have aided Beaton in the stealing of your brother, yet can think of no one with a reason to betray you. Weel, I give ye a good reason—hatred. Ere ye dismiss Grizel as a threat, mayhap ye should ponder what might have caused her hatred. Therein may lie the answers ye seek.”
Highland Destiny Page 6