Highland Destiny

by Hannah Howell

  As she walked back to Eleanor’s cottage, Maldie briefly felt overwhelmed. The task she had assumed was a huge one and the chance of her succeeding was very slim. She straightened her shoulders and pushed aside the encroaching sense of failure. Eric was in danger, and the boy could easily prove to be her half brother. If Balfour truly believed that she was a spy for Beaton, then he would also assume that she had told the man everything she knew about the battle plans of the Murrays and quickly change them. That meant that she did not know when, how, or where Balfour and his men would come for his brother. Eleanor had said that Beaton did not want Eric badly hurt or killed, but the woman had also said that her laird was going mad. She could not leave the boy’s fate in Beaton’s hands. There was also the matter of her innocence, which she had to prove.

  “Child, I began to worry about you,” Eleanor called from her doorway, pulling Maldie back from her dark thoughts.

  “I am fine, Eleanor,” Maldie replied. “There was a young boy who needed some tending to. He had the wind and a tiny touch of the ague,” she continued as the old woman pulled her inside of her home.

  Eleanor nodded as she began to set out the evening meal. “Ye have the touch, lass. ’Tis truly God’s gift to you.”

  “So I have been told.” She set the small bag of food Mary had given her down on the table. “And here is a gift from the lad’s grateful mother.”

  Maldie smiled at Eleanor’s delight over the cheese and the slab of salted pork. Beaton’s larder had been full to overflowing with such riches, so many that he would have to have a grand feast every night for months before he used it all. Maldie suspected that there was a lot lost through spoilage. The man obviously had a deep fear of being starved out of his keep during a long siege, but it seemed a heartless crime to let food rot when his people could use it.

  “Did ye find out how that boy fares?” Eleanor asked as she reverently placed the food in a small chest set near the alcove that Maldie slept in.

  “He is still locked up tightly in Beaton’s dungeons, still refusing to calmly accept Beaton as his father and the Murrays as—how does Beaton word it?—oh, aye, as low, thieving, fornicating bastards.”

  Eleanor giggled and nodded. “Aye, I have heard that one. The mon should be verra wary where he points his filthy finger and attempts to act more pious than they. Beaton used to mount any poor lass who couldnae run faster than he did. Now e’en I can run faster than the mon, and I am nay sure his wee pintle is working as it should.”

  “Eleanor,” Maldie gasped, amused and a little shocked by the old woman’s words.

  “Weel, ’tis true. Some folk think that whate’er the disease is that is rotting him away, it is a punishment from God. ’Tis a puzzle to me that ye havenae been called to go and have a wee look at him. He has tried some verra foul salves in a vain attempt to stop or cure his ailment. He should have learned that ye are a healing woman by now and wished to see if ye have anything he hasnae yet smeared upon himself.”

  “Nay, he hasnae called me to him at all, not once since I have been here or when I stayed here before. Either no one has thought to tell him about me, or he took one look at me and decided I was not what I say I am. I have had a lot of trouble with that sort of thing happening to me of late,” she muttered, thinking of Balfour and then quickly pushing him from her thoughts.

  “Weel, ye do look like a child, dearling. Tiny and delicate. Ye have to forgive people if they sometimes dinnae think ye have the years in ye to have learned so much.”

  “I ken it. And I still have a great deal left to learn.” She stretched and stood up. “I think I must go bed. I am verra tired. The journey here wasnae an easy one, and it wore me out more than I realized.”

  Maldie was startled when Eleanor suddenly stood up and embraced her, clinging to her tightly. She patted the woman’s back and felt the woman’s fear. It was so strong that it even overpowered her grief for her beloved Robert.

  “What is wrong? Why are ye frightened?” she asked.

  Eleanor stepped back a little and smiled faintly. “Ye always ken what I am feeling. Methinks ye have more gifts than your healing touch. At times, ’tis as if ye can see into a person’s heart.”

  “Aye, I do seem able to sense things. Howbeit, it takes no great gift to ken that ye didnae answer my question. Ye are frightened, Eleanor, verra frightened. Why? Have ye heard something, some warning of trouble? Mayhap I can help.”

  “What I am frightened of is what ye are about to do.”

  Maldie tensed and knew the fear she now felt was her own. She had thought she had been careful, measuring her every step and watching her every word so that she would not give away any hint of what she was about to do. Somehow Eleanor had guessed something, and if she had, someone else might have, too.

  “What I am about to do? I dinnae ken what ye mean.”

  “Ye dinnae have to tell me and ye can cease feeling so uncertain. I really dinnae ken much, just that whate’er ye are here for, it has to do with that poor wee lad that Beaton has locked away. Ye do what ye must, lass, and be assured that I will ne’er betray ye by word or deed. All I ask is that ye be verra careful.”

  “I am always careful, Eleanor,” she said gently.

  “Nay, dinnae just mouth words to soothe me. I mean this. Be verra careful. I have an uneasy feeling about all of this. I have suffered enough grief this year, losing my beloved Robert as I did. Please, I cannae bear to lose ye, too. Ye are like my own child.”

  Maldie was deeply touched and hugged the woman. She loved the little old woman and was pleased to discover that she was cared for in return. It was sad that, after such a short time, she could share a bond with Eleanor that she had never shared with her own mother. The difference, she realized, was the kindhearted Eleanor. Eleanor knew how to care about people, even ragged young women who showed up at her doorstep with little more than the clothes on their backs.

  Margaret Kirkcaldy had truly cared about no one, not even her own daughter. It was a hard revelation to accept, but Maldie forced herself to look at it. If her mother had any feelings, they were for the various men in her life, all of whom had treated her shabbily. Maldie was no longer sure even that those times her mother had been crying about loving some heartless man had been real. What Margaret had always craved, the only thing that had given her any pleasure, had been the attention given her by men, the flattery and the gifts.

  There had always been a bitterness in Margaret, the first seed undoubtedly planted by Beaton. As the years had passed and her health and beauty had begun to fade, the flattering lovers slowly becoming just men with an ache in their groins and a few coins in their pockets, that bitterness had become deeper and harsher, possessing Margaret completely. Maldie could not help but wonder if she had been sent to murder Beaton not to avenge lost honor, but stung vanity.

  She hastily shook those thoughts away as she kissed Eleanor on the cheek and went to her bed. Her mother may well have been at fault for a lot of the things that happened to her after Beaton had deserted her, but it was still Beaton who set her mother on that path of debasement and destitution. If he had not seduced Margaret away from her family, she would have probably been married off to some laird and suffered her unhappiness within the holy bonds of matrimony, all her children legitimate, and with no need to sell her body just to have enough food to survive.

  There was a part of Maldie, a large part, that wanted to confess everything to Eleanor. She really needed someone to talk to, to discuss it all with, from her growing doubts about why her mother had sent her on a mission of vengeance to her concerns about young Eric. Maldie knew that Eleanor would listen with sympathy and understanding, but she had to fight the temptation. If anything went wrong, if she was captured by Beaton either trying to save Eric or trying to fulfill her vow to her mother, she wanted Eleanor to be able to honestly swear that she knew nothing about it.

  Although she was so tired her whole body ached, Maldie found sleep slow in coming. She knew that the dawn woul
d mark an important day. She could not shake the conviction that tomorrow she would act. She was just not sure if it was going to be against Beaton or for Eric, or even if that was one and the same. As she closed her eyes she wished that the insight which was making her so certain of these things would give her some hint as to whether she would face victory or bitter defeat.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Inside of the huge kitchens of Dubhlinn it was hot, and the air was choked with the smell of cooking food and unwashed bodies. Maldie wiped the sweat from Mary’s little boy’s forehead and frowned darkly. She had expected to see far more improvement in the boy. Little Thomas was not so desperately ill he was in any real danger, but he would not get better quickly under such dire conditions. She had already decided to send Mary and Thomas to Eleanor for safety, and Eleanor was more than willing to take them into her tiny, clean home. Now she knew she could tell them that it was for the health of the little boy with complete honesty.

  “He isnae going to die, is he?” Mary whispered as she wrung her hands and looked at her child with tears clouding her eyes. “He is my only bairn. God has already chosen to take three to His bosom. I pray He hasnae chosen this one, too.”

  “Nay, he isnae going to die,” Maldie reassured her. “I am verra sorry that my frown has alarmed you. I wasnae scowling o’er his ill health, but o’er the ill surroundings he must lie in. Ye need to get him out of here, away from the smothering heat and the smells.”

  “But where can I take him? This is where I abide near all the day and night.”

  “I have a friend in the village, Eleanor Beaton, a recent widow.”

  “I ken the woman. Nay weel, but I have spoken to her a few times.”

  “She will take ye in until the boy is strong and hale again. ’Tis a nice, clean wee cottage with a wee bit of land, so that the boy can sit out there when God blesses us with a wee bit of sun.”

  “That would be lovely and most kind of her.” Mary lightly ruffled the boy’s soft chestnut curls. “Ye are verra certain that she willnae mind?”

  “Verra certain,” Maldie replied. “Ye take the laddie there as soon as ye can and I promise ye, he will begin to look hale and happy in a verra short time.”

  Maldie smiled as the woman immediately picked her child up, muttered a brief but heartfelt thank you, and left. The health of her only child was obviously of far more importance to Mary than any of the other duties she had. It was nice to see such maternal love, and Maldie was a little ashamed of the brief twinge of jealousy she felt. As she left the heat and stench of the kitchen she decided that she needed to stop grieving for what she had never had and learn to control her childish envy.

  When Maldie caught sight of George just outside of the doors to the great hall, she cursed and pressed herself into a tiny shadowed alcove cut into the wall beneath the stairs. The man had been lurking around every corner since the moment she had arrived at the keep. After two long hours of trying to elude him and his unwanted attentions, she was tempted to do him some serious harm.

  “Why are ye cowering in the shadows, lassie?” asked a soft deep voice to her left.

  She cursed under her breath again and looked at the man who slouched against the wall next to her. This man was at least pleasant to look upon, she mused, being tall, lean, with long brown hair, and soft brown eyes that painfully reminded her of Balfour’s. Maldie was swiftly growing to dislike men, however. She had very important things to do and lusty men seemed to be impeding her at every turn. Dubhlinn clearly needed some more women.

  “I am hiding from that foul-smelling lump of a mon down there.” She nodded toward George.

  “Ah, George. Aye, he is hard on the eyes and the nose. I am Douglas.” He thrust out his hand.

  “And I am Maldie.” She briefly shook his hand. “Now, I should like to continue with these idle pleasantries and say that I am pleased to meet you, but, today, that would be a lie. I havenae been here verra long, little more than a day, and I am already sick to death of men, false flatteries, and guiling smiles.”

  He grinned but did not go away, ignoring her blunt invitation to leave her alone with high good humor. “I havenae flattered you.”

  Maldie was surprised into a laugh. “And, thus, with but a few words, he delivers the fatal blow to my poor wee vanity.” She looked back toward George and muttered a few harsh insults. “Doesnae he have any duties to perform?”

  “Aye, he bellows and waves his sword about whene’er our laird feels threatened.”

  “Ah, the laird. I havenae set eyes upon the mon yet. Not the last time I passed this way or this time.”

  “He doesnae show his face verra often. ’Tis for the best, I am thinking.”

  “Oh. So, he is verra ill. There have been whispers about it. Mayhap I can help him. I am a healer.”

  Douglas nodded. “I have heard that. A good one, too, so all say. The mon is beyond healing, lass. About all the good one can say is that he isnae a leper, although he looks as poorly as any I have e’er seen.” He grimaced. “Ye cannae stomach looking at the mon when his skin is at its worst. Then it eases away for a wee while. But it always returns and is usually worse than before. ’Tis as if he rots from the inside. He willnae survive much longer. Weel, now that I think on it, none who kenned of his illness thought he would live this long, either.”

  “How long has he been ill?”

  “Three years.”

  “Then, mayhap, he just has some ailment of the skin.” She smiled slightly when his eyes widened. “’Tis nay only lepers who suffer such things, although I believe theirs is much more than an illness of the flesh. Believe me when I tell ye that I have seen some stomach-turning skin ailments. If your laird had something that was truly fatal, I think he would have died by now, dinnae ye?”

  Maldie felt a little relieved and was briefly afraid that some blind, foolish part of her actually cared for the man. She looked deep into her heart and, although there was the stirring of distaste over her plan to kill the man, there was certainly no sense of kinship with him. The relief she felt was because, if she got a chance to fulfill the vow she made to her mother, she would not be killing a man who was already dying, one who might even be too frail to defend himself against anyone. From the moment she had heard talk of Beaton’s serious illness, she had feared that she would face the hard choice of killing a man on his deathbed, or breaking the oath she had sworn to her dying mother.

  “Why are ye so interested in our laird’s health?” Douglas asked.

  “I am a healing woman. Ye are a warrior, are ye not? Do not all battles and weapons stir your interest, and nay just the ones ye have fought in or owned?”

  “Aye, but heed me weel, lass. This is nay a good time for anyone to be asking too many questions at Dubhlinn, not even a wee bonny lass such as yourself.” He nodded toward the doors of the great hall. “Your besotted courtier has left.”

  She nodded and quickly left the man, glancing back only once to see that he was gone. In truth, he was gone from sight so swiftly and so completely that she wondered if he had been there at all. Maldie shook away that fanciful thought. His warning against showing too much curiousity had certainly been real. There had been no hint of a threat in his voice, but she took it as one. Douglas might not have any intention of harming her for simply asking a few questions, but others would willingly do so.

  As she walked by the heavy doors of the great hall, she looked inside and her heart skipped with a mixture of hope and anticipation. The great hall was dark, every window draped with a heavy cloth. It was also empty. Maldie could not believe her luck as she slipped inside. For hours she had practiced her explanation in case anyone asked why she was descending into the dungeons, but it did not appear that she would have to use it.

  It was not until she touched the latch of the door which would lead her down to Eric that Maldie realized she had erred. A great hall had many shadowy corners and she should have peered into them harder. A few soft whispers were her first sign of trouble,
then light filled the room as someone yanked down one of the cloths hiding the windows.

  “Ah, ’tis the wee healing lassie from the village,” drawled a deep hoarse voice. “I dinnae believe I called for ye to go and tend to my prisoners.”

  Very slowly, Maldie turned and looked around the great hall. A tall, lean man stepped out of one of the still darkened corners of the room and started to walk toward her. Behind him walked an even taller, even leaner man, but aside from a quick look at that man’s too narrow features, Maldie had no interest in him. It was the first man who held her gaze, and from the way he had spoken she guessed he was Beaton.

  Her mother’s description of her seducer was almost useless, Maldie decided as the man stopped in front of her. The woman had recalled the man of twenty years past, and Beaton had not aged well. Maldie knew that some of what made him appear to be such an ugly old man was the disease that left his skin raw, open and scabbed-over sores interspersed with skin stretched so tight that it had a shine to it. The bonny blue eyes her mother had claimed had captured her heart were trapped between deep red lines and were rheumy. The thick brown hair she had sighed over was no more than a few filthy wisps of white hair poking out of his head at odd angles.

  Only Beaton’s form was still as her mother had described it, holding both strength and grace. Whatever was destroying the man’s skin was not yet harming his body, although Maldie suspected it could cause him great pain at times and even steal his strength when it was at its worst. It was probably then that his body became twisted, as Eleanor had claimed it did. And maybe Eleanor was right when she said that Beaton was rotting, his evil manifesting itself upon his body so that all who looked upon him could clearly see what he was. Maldie just wished that she was not looking upon the man now, not when she was so close to helping Eric.