“And ye believe that someone else is me,” she whispered, barely able to speak over the knot in her throat. She did not think she had ever been so hurt.
“Can ye make me believe elsewise?”
Maldie swayed a little, his words striking her heart like a sword blow. She had expected this, or so she had thought. Since her arrival at Donncoill she had feared discovery, but that had been about her parentage. Once it was discovered that she was Beaton’s daughter such mistrust was only to be expected. This accusation was coming without that knowledge behind it.
The only reason for this accusation was that she was not a Murray. Grizel’s betrayal had obviously not been enough to make them see that even their own could sometimes turn against them. Maldie found her hurt swiftly turning to anger and insult. She may not have told them all they wished to know about her, but that was not reason enough to think she would send a man to his death.
“My word is not enough?”
“Nay, I cannae allow it to be.” He sighed and shook his head. “Ye have cloaked yourself in secrets, yet expect blind trust. We dinnae ken who ye are, where ye have come from, or what ye were doing on that road, yet ye want us to believe that ye are our friend.”
“I have been more than a friend to you.” She was pleased to see him flush, for it meant he still had some doubt about her guilt, felt some reluctance about what he was doing to her.
“Can ye nay see how e’en that can make ye suspect?”
“Passion is a crime now, is it?”
“Maldie, just tell me something, anything, about yourself, something I can have a mon test the truth of.”
“And why should I?”
“Why willnae ye?”
“Who I am is nay your concern, nor is where I come from, where I am going, nor anything else about me. Ye want me to give ye proof that I am not a spy? Weel, where is your proof that I am?”
Balfour grew angry again, infuriated by her stubbornness. He was not asking anything that should be difficult for her to give. All he wished was a little information about her, the sort of information most people would give without hesitation. All anyone at Donncoill knew about her was that she was a skilled healer, her mother was dead, she was a bastard, and she sought her kinsmen. Considering how long she had been with him that was precious little.
“Can ye nay see why I do this? I am at war. My brother is being held by my enemy. I cannae afford to simply trust a person because they say they are innocent. I need more than that, Maldie, or I must treat ye as the enemy ye could weel be.”
“Then I suggest ye cease berating me for crimes I havenae committed and seek out the true traitor.”
“As ye wish. Ye will be confined to your chambers, allowed only to go and tend to Nigel.”
“Are ye sure ye wish one of Beaton’s dogs to touch your fair brother?”
“Ye have had ample opportunity to do the mon harm and havenae. Also, Nigel may not be strong enough yet to ride to battle, but he is certainly strong enough to defend himself against a wee lass. Mayhap some time alone will make ye see that this isnae the time to hide behind your pride. Surely a little truth isnae too much to pay for your freedom.”
He left the room, barring the door from the outside. He was saddened, angered, and confused by the confrontation. At first Maldie had looked stricken to the heart, then she had grown furious. That seemed to indicate that she was innocent, that she was being falsely accused. Yet, she offered no defense other than denial.
“Is it done?” asked James, moving to stand by Balfour.
“Aye.” He nodded at the man James had brought to guard Maldie’s door and started toward the great hall, James at his side.
“I dinnae suppose she confessed and begged forgiveness.”
“Oh, nay, Maldie wouldnae have done that even if she was guilty.”
“Ye still dinnae think she is?”
“I dinnae ken what I think. The way she reacted to the accusation was the way an innocent person would, but she could just be skilled at playing a part. Yet, she offered no defense except to say she was innocent. I asked for some information, something she could tell me about herself that we could verify and she told me to go and look for it by myself.” As they entered the great hall, he caught a fleeting look of amusement on James’s lined face and scowled. “Ye think that is funny?”
“Aye, I fear I do.” James shook his head as they sat down at the head of the largest table and poured themselves some wine. “In truth, it makes me think she may be innocent. Aye, or far more clever than we are.”
“I have just accused my lover of a heinous crime, of sending a mon to a gruesome death, and now ye say she may be innocent?”
“I have always thought she might be, have ne’er found anything to show her guilt. Howbeit, ye would ne’er have acted against her if I had told ye that. I am nay so old that I cannae be swayed by a bonny lass with green eyes, but I am nay blinded by the beauty of them either. One of us had to harden his heart and look at all the possibilities.”
Balfour cursed and stretched, trying unsuccessfully to ease the tension in his body. “She will ne’er forgive me for this.”
“If she doesnae care enough for ye to see that ye do what ye must, then ye wouldnae have held her verra long anyway. ’Tis odd that she would still tell ye nothing about herself. I fear one must ask what the lass is trying to hide.”
“Aye. She does have a lot of secrets, and we can no longer let her roam free hoping those secrets arenae ones that could hurt us. I ken that I have done what I had to do. I just wish that doing the right thing felt better.”
Maldie stared at the locked door for several moments before she could make herself move. She staggered to the bed and threw herself on it, staring blindly up at the ceiling. So many emotions tore through her that she found it a little hard to breathe. The one thing she did not want to do was cry, but the choking lump forming in her throat told her that she would not get her wish. Softly cursing Balfour, she turned onto her stomach and gave in to her tears, letting them rule her for a while.
It took longer than she liked to gain control of her emotions again, but as her crying shuddered to a halt, Maldie decided it had served a good purpose. She was tired, but she was clearheaded. Now she could think about what had happened even though she wished she could just forget it all.
The fact that she had been accused of spying for Beaton was not what bothered her the most. She had been expecting it for a long time. It was that Balfour had accused her of it without knowing the one thing that made her look guilty—the name of her father. He had no proof that she was any more than she appeared, an orphan wandering the country seeking out her kinsmen, yet he was able to believe her capable of sending a man to a horrible death. That Balfour could even consider such a thing was a hard blow.
In a way, she mused, it was almost funny. If she was not in so much pain, she might even muster up a chuckle over the irony of it all. She was there because she wanted to kill Beaton, wanted to help Balfour and the Murrays destroy the man, yet she was being held prisoner—suspected of helping him! Somehow she had erred, had left herself vulnerable to such suspicion, but she could not see how. Balfour spoke of how secretive she was, but Maldie could not believe that was all of it. Did everyone who passed through Donncoill sit down and recite their lineage?
She cursed, got up, and poured herself some wine. There were no answers. He could not understand why she would not tell him everything about herself, and she could not understand how that reluctance could be turned around to get her accused of helping Beaton, of taking part in the death of a man. She and Balfour were never going to come to a meeting of the minds on this. He was, after all, proud of his family, his heritage. It would probably be impossible for him to understand how someone else might just want to forget that she even had a family.
What she had to consider was how to get out of the mess she was in. She still needed to fulfill her vow to her mother, and she could not do that while confined to a bedchamber in D
onncoill. Maldie ambled over to the door and tried to open it, not at all surprised to find it barred from the outside. She had heard Balfour slide the bar into place. There was undoubtedly a big, sword-wielding Murray standing out there as well. The straightforward way was definitely not the way to get free.
There was the choice of telling Balfour what he wanted to know. She could tell him a great deal without revealing who her father was. However, if he sent a man to her old home to ask about her, that truth could easily come out. Her mother had not been reticent about the man she blamed for all of her misery. Maldie was also sure that some of the townspeople would gleefully tell some tales that would not make her look like an innocent, honorable, and trustworthy person. There had been a few things she had done out of a need to survive that she was not particularly proud of. She had also made little effort to endear herself to the sometimes irritatingly pious people of town.
Simple, foolish pride kept her from telling the man anything anyway. It obviously annoyed Balfour that she still refused to answer all of his questions and, at the moment, that was a small, satisfying punishment for his accusations that she was not inclined to give up. That left her with little more to say in response to his accusations than she was innocent and he was a fool. That was not enough to get her free. She was not in fear of her life. Balfour was not a man who would hang someone simply because he thought she might be guilty of something. As he had with Grizel, he would wait until he had overwhelming proof and, since she was innocent and there was no proof to be found, she was safe.
There was really only one thing she could do and that was to get out, free Eric, and prove that she had never helped Beaton. This whole matter with Beaton had to be resolved. She realized that even as she was proving her innocence she would be revealing the whole truth about herself, a truth she was sure would send Balfour fleeing her side, but that did not matter. If he chose to hate her because her father was William Beaton, that was his weakness, but she would not sit idly by and allow him to think her a traitor to her friends and a murderer.
Maldie suddenly laughed. Her amusement was enhanced by the soft sound of movement outside her door for she knew the guard was frowning at it, wondering if she had gone mad. There was a small chance that she had. Her lover, the man she loved to desperation, thought her such a low creature that she would aid his enemy and hand a man over to the bastard to be slaughtered without a qualm, yet she knew she could come to understand why he had been forced to do it. If that was not madness, what was? Probably deciding that the perfect solution to my difficulty is to escape, hie to Dubhlinn, and rescue Eric, she mused and giggled again.
She was locked in a room at Donncoill, a strong keep, and well guarded. The only place she would be allowed to go to was Nigel’s room. If she did escape and it was discovered quickly, she would have half the Murray clan chasing her across the countryside. At Dubhlinn she would have to be very careful, for they would all be wary of any stranger now. As she closely watched her own back she had to find Eric, then free him. Finally she had to get herself and the boy safely out of Dubhlinn and back to Donncoill.
“What could be simpler,” she muttered as she set her cup down and sprawled on the bed.
It was impossible and she should not even consider it, but she did. It was the only plan she had and it would require a great deal of thought. Turning her mind to such a mad adventure was far preferable to sitting alone in her room with her pain.
Chapter Twelve
“What are ye plotting, Maldie Kirkcaldy?” demanded Nigel as he eased his aching body down onto the bed.
She turned from the tiny window she had been staring out of and looked at him. For three days he had been her only companion, unless she counted the silent guard who walked her across the hall. Neither of them had talked about the things she had been accused of, and they had done a good job of ignoring her imprisonment as well. They had just worked hard to improve his ability to walk again, something he was doing very well at. She had begun to think that that was his only interest. It was clear that Nigel was still keeping a close watch on her, however.
“Why should ye think I am plotting anything?” she asked as she moved to the bed and poured him a tankard of cider.
“Because my fool brother has made ye a prisoner?”
“I thought we were ignoring that wee difficulty.”
“When ye said naught the first time ye came to my room after he had committed this folly, I decided ye didnae wish to speak of it. Weel, mayhap ye dinnae, but I find it hard to ignore such an insult.”
She smiled, for he looked so outraged. It was nice to have someone who believed in her, but she knew a lot of that was because he felt he owed her his life. There was even a chance that he was so outraged and felt indebted enough that he would help her escape, but she would not ask it of him. This was her problem and she would solve it herself.
“I but wonder how long it will be ere Balfour realizes the error he has made.”
“Ye speak of it so lightly. Dinnae ye see the insult he has dealt ye?”
“Clearly. At times ’tis most difficult to look beyond it. Howbeit, when I dinnae feel like impaling him upon some spike,” she grinned when he laughed, “I can also see that he had little choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
Maldie shrugged. “Mayhap, but sometimes all of them are distasteful. Someone told Beaton that Malcolm was a Murray and that got the mon killed. Never before has a Murray mon been caught slinking about Dubhlinn. Now, either Beaton has grown very clever, which I dinnae think anyone would consider, or someone told him about Malcolm. Grizel is dead and so it couldnae have been her. So Balfour looks about trying to see what has changed at Donncoill, and what does he see? Me. I am the reasonable choice of suspect.”
“Nay, ye arenae,” Nigel snapped.
“Dinnae judge your brother too harshly,” she said. “He is the laird, responsible for all who live on his lands. That sometimes calls for hard decisions. There is also a wee bit more to it all than simply blaming the stranger for all that has gone wrong. And, to be fair to Balfour, he doesnae fully believe it all himself, but, with a battle drawing nigh he cannae chance that his trust is misplaced. He did give me the opportunity to defend myself.”
“And ye didnae?” Nigel frowned. “Why wouldnae ye?”
“I got angry. Pride reared its witless head.” She took his empty goblet from his hand and set it on the table next to the bed. “I decided my word should be good enough. He asked me questions, asked me to give him some tiny piece of information that he could send a mon to verify, thus proving my innocence. I told him that if he was so eager to find out something he had best get busy and look for it.” She found that she was able to smile faintly when Nigel laughed.
“That pride could get ye hanged,” he warned, all signs of good humor abruptly leaving his face.
“Nay,” she said without a hint of doubt. “Not with Balfour. He needs hard proof ere he sentences anyone to death.”
“Aye, ye are right. Balfour is a merciful and just mon. ’Tis sad that he is also a fool.” He grinned when she giggled, then grew serious, watching her closely as he said, “That leaves ye but one choice. Ye must escape Donncoill.”
She was proud of how carefully she controlled her expression and her emotion, especially the quick flash of fear that her plans had been uncovered. Nigel could not possibly have guessed her plans, for they were too wild. After all, the Murrays also planned to rescue Eric and they felt they needed a whole army to do it. No one would think a wee lass would even consider trying to do it on her own. That he suspected she had cherished a few thoughts of escaping was no surprise and no threat to her.
“Of course. Fleeing would certainly prove my innocence,” she drawled.
“Ye shouldnae have to be proving your innocence, curse it.”
“Nay, but running away like a thief in the night will not help me. I will be fine, Nigel. Truly. Aye, I am deeply hurt by all of this, but I am alive and the truth wi
ll out. I but need to wait.”
“If I can be of any help—”
She held up her hand to stop his words. “Dinnae e’en say it, Nigel. ’Tis best if ye stay right out of this. Ye believe in me and that is enough. Anything else and ye risk disobeying, or worse, betraying your laird.” The door opened and Maldie saw Jennie standing there, the guard looming behind her. “’Tis time to return to my room. Rest, Nigel. Ye grow stronger and can walk longer and more steadily every day. ’Twill be more tempting now than e’er before to try and do too much.”
“I ken it. Ye have proven right in all ye have advised me to do so far. I see no sense in closing my ears to your advice now.”
Maldie slowly walked out of the room. Jennie averted her eyes, blushing as Maldie walked by her. Everyone knew why Balfour had confined her to her bedchamber, and Maldie knew that what trust and respect she had begun to build was probably all destroyed. That was very hard to bear because she had begun to feel she belonged at Donncoill, that she was accepted, even liked. It was the first time in her life she had ever felt such things, and she was devastated by their loss.
The door was shut behind her and she cringed as she heard the bar slide across. She hated being locked in. She had always been free to come and go as she liked, many said too free. It had only been three days that she had been confined, but she was beginning to feel chokingly trapped. Maldie took a deep breath to calm herself and walked to the small window. A few slow, hungry breaths of the warm, fresh air eased the growing sense of panic she had begun to feel. She could at least see the outside and she was grateful for that. Balfour could have easily confined her to the dark cells deep in the dungeon beneath Donncoill.
“But then, he shouldnae have locked me up at all,” she muttered as she strode back to her bed.
Highland Destiny Page 14