This village was like most others in the area. The people were desperately trying to get by, doing whatever they could to feed their families and provide a shelter over their heads.
Many of them were either hoping for their loved ones to return from the fighting, or more probably, were grieving the death of them.
He walked slowly around the watering trough where he had tied his horse. There were several other horses there also, drinking their fill. He nodded to a few villagers, then finally, walked up to an older woman, rather rotund and wearing some sort of apron over her tattered dress. She was placing her vegetables on a table, no doubt hoping to sell some of them before they rotted. He picked up one of the apples, paid her for it, and then began to ask her about a healer in the area.
"Oh, aye. We had one, and a fine one she was. A young woman, with that fiery hair of hers!" She laughed.
"But, mind ye, she knew her business fer sure. She tended many of the soldiers returning from Culloden, and pleased we was to have her."
"Is she still about here?" asked Alex.
"Oh, now, that I can't answer, ye see. She usually came in a day or two a week, but we no have seen her for a couple of weeks now, and we haven't seen her friend either, the black wolf." She laughed again, revealing the few teeth she had left.
"You shoulda seen the look on the soldiers' faces when the healer would come to their beds with that wolf by her side. They would agree to anything she said! Ha ha! But they learnt quickly she could ease their pain and help them get back to their people. Yes, a fine healer she was."
Alex ambled back over to the trough, untying his horse, ready to move on. As he was about to mount up, a frail old gentleman, moving along with the help of a walking stick, came up to him and nodded in his direction.
"I hear ye asking about the healer. Ye ain't a soldier are ye? Ye ain't wearing no uniform, I see."
"Nae, my soldiering days are over. I'm just a sheep farmer headed back north to my home."
"Be ye a friend of the healer?"
"Well, yes, ye might say that. She tended my young brother and now he's doing well, thanks to her. But I can't seem to find her anywhere."
"There was another man looking for her too, some days ago, now. A soldier it was, with a lot of ribbons an' such on his uniform. He was certainly in need of a healer, what with blood dripping from his neck and covering the top of his uniform. He asked about the healer, the one with the red hair. Seems he wanted her to treat him. But, we didn't much like the look of him, so we sent him on, told him to look for a healer in the next village. Not a pleasant one, that man."
"Do you know which way he might have gone?" asked Alex.
"Let me see, now." The old man removed his old tam, scratched his head, and then placed it back on his sparsely sprigged pate.
"As I recollect, he left here headed north as it was, same as the healer. She said she was headed north looking fer a friend of hers. But, more than that, I can't tell ye. But, back to that soldier, it could be he may not have made it very far, ye ken. He was in pretty bad shape.
"Oh, she be riding a very fine horse, too. Red it was, just like her hair! Hee!" He slapped his knee with his worn tam, laughing at his own bit of humor.
"Thank ye, friend. I'll keep looking for her, then. But, if she should return here, tell her MacKinnon is looking for her. She'll know who that is." With that he mounted and started out as a fast pace, thinking to get on to the next village and see what he might discover there.
CHAPTER 30
With Millie gone, Warwick spent his evenings sipping his wine or mead, and remembering scenes from his childhood, some of which were better not remembered.
"You're not worth very much, dear brother. The first son gets everything, so you'll end up a pauper." These words were etched in Warwick's mind as if they were written in stone. His older brother had spoken them when Warwick was just a young boy, but he had not forgotten them. Warwick's retort was etched there as well.
"Come on, you bully! You think you can push everyone around, but I'll find a way to send you to hell and laugh when you get there!" Warwick stood with his blade drawn, having placed the point of it in his brother's cheek.
"Put that blade away you imbecile!" Their father had shown up at that point and shoved Warwick down the hall.
"And stay in your quarters until I say you can leave!"
Warwick had learned early how to fend for himself, seeing as the older brother had indeed inherited most everything. Even when his brother died and Warwick was next in line, he continued to feel he never had enough, no matter what it was.
"Well, so much for childhood memories," Warwick uttered and poured the last of the wine into his cup. He sat down before a blazing fire and watched as the cinders drifted up the overly large chimney. He had thought that if everything was bigger in his castle, then that meant it was better. He had grown used to the unending nightmares that had haunted him since his brother's death. Why couldn't his brother be satisfied that he had made Warwick's life miserable when he was alive! Must he continue to invade his dreams too?
Gazing into the fire, he pondered how he was going to take care of his little problem up in Scotland. But, he had managed more difficult situations than this.
A very large looking glass had been mounted on one of the walls in Warwick's castle. In his drunken state, he looked into the glass and addressed the face that returned his stare. Was that his face? Somehow it looked a lot like his dead brother! Why, the face even had the scar on the cheek where Warwick had nicked him with his epee, just shortly before their father had stopped him from more damage. Well, then, it had been some time since he had talked to that pompous ass!
"So, now, dear brother, just who is here and has more holdings than you ever thought about! And now, I'm about to have a grand estate in Scotland! Too bad you can't be here to see it."
The face remained still — never even moved an inch.
"It's just as well you remain silent. Wouldn't listen to you anyway."
Whoever it was, it was better than just talking to himself. So, he addressed this image once again, knowing he would have the last word.
"Ha! It'll be so easy! I'll have someone sneak into the castle during dead of night and see to it that those two women never wake again! It will need to be done very quietly, of course, and after it's done, then I'll insist that Millie go visit her family. Once the babe is born, that'll be a good excuse. Of course, when we arrive, we'll be told of the unfortunate deaths of the old woman and the aunt. Millie will be heartbroken, and I'll pretend that I am distressed over the losses, too.
The story will be that both apparently had been smothered to death by an unknown person, most probably a highwayman who sneaked into their rooms looking for jewels or money!"
"Why, I do believe this story is plausible, don't you brother?" Warwick lifted his glass to his image and toasted himself.
"And then the estate and lands will come to Millie and ultimately to me. Yes. This is a good plan." Now he needed to find someone to execute this diabolical scheme.
* * *
The next evening, Warwick found his way down to the shipping docks where the odor of rotting fish and old, dried up seaweed greeted him. He was familiar with the odors as he came down to this end of town occasionally, especially when in one of his depressed states. He placed his handkerchief over his nose and mouth for a moment, then walked inside the tavern that still stood in spite of the rotten timbers that held it up. The smoke was so thick in the room that he could hardly see, and he walked over to the bar.
"Looking for Henri. Is he here?"
Warwick had addressed the bartender. The lord's face was known here, and the locals knew him to spend some coin and drink a lot of whiskey. So, they were more than happy to accommodate him if possible.
"Gimme a minute. See if I can find him. He was here earlier."
Warwick wound his way to a small table at the back of the tavern and brought a bottle of whiskey with him. Certainly wasn't wha
t he was used to at home, but would suffice for this event. No sooner had he poured his first glass than he was greeted.
"Lord Warwick. At your service, sir."
The small man removed his beret and bowed from the waist. Henri's English was heavily accented but understandable. He had hurriedly left France some years earlier in order to escape some rather unpleasant issues that seemed to forever hound him. He was always just one step ahead of authorities whatever country he was in .
Henri was a very slight man, on the short side, with arms that seemed just a tad too long for the rest of his body. But, the muscles of these long, hairy arms revealed that he had done some manual labor sometime in his life. He was always dressed in dark clothing, scruffy boots and his ever-present black beret. His greasy, lank hair was pulled back and tied with a dirty string. Bathing or shaving should be done on occasion, Henri thought, but certainly not very often, and his daily intake of alcohol helped camouflage his personal odor.
The Frenchman put his beret back on and pulled out a chair from the table, then had a seat. He was always pleased to see Warwick as that meant his pockets would be jingling more than usual.
"Ah, Henri. Glad I found you. Like a drink?"
"Can't say not to that, milord."
Warwick poured the liquid and watched as Henri tossed it back in one large gulp.
"Another?"
"Well, if you insist, sir." And he polished off the second one.
Knowing he must get down to business before Henri was totally addled, Warwick leaned back in his chair and sipped his whiskey.
"I need your services — again. It's not much of a job, but one that you can handle easily."
"What did you have in mind, sir?"
"Well, there's a small problem up in Scotland that needs to be handled immediately. It's important to me, and I expect to pay you well to make it go away."
After another couple of drinks, Warwick had made his deal with Henri and left the dingy tavern to return to his castle. He would almost rather stay at the tavern than return home to that empty edifice. He found it irritating to realize he actually missed his wife, and wasn't sure what to make of those feelings.
* * *
Warwick was anxious to get his plan underway, so made his way back to the docks the next morning. Certainly his head ached, so he knew Henri would be in even worse condition. He could care less about Henri's head, but he wanted this job done now.
Henri slept above the tavern in a room that was barely more than a closet where the bartender kept his supplies. The Frenchman was rudely awakened this morning by two men who forced their way through his door, which never had a lock anyway. They burst into his room and jerked him from his bed, causing him to land on the floor with a thump.
"Well, Henri. I see you're still able to find enough coin to drink yourself into oblivion. Then, you must be able to pay back what you owe us also, huh?"
That pronouncement was followed by the two men throwing Henri up against the wall and jamming a pistol just beneath his chin.
"So, where's our money? Huh, Henri?"
"I can get some of it today. Just give me a couple of hours! I promise!" Henri had planned to be long gone before these men caught up with him. Leaving town was his usual way of repaying his debts. When excited or angry, Henri's English became mixed with French and no one could understand him.
Just as the men were about to convince Henri that they meant business, a loud voice rang out.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, gentlemen." Lord Warwick stepped inside the room with his own pistol pointing in their direction.
"What does this man owe you? Ten pounds, twenty, what?"
"He owed us twenty-five pound and was to have paid it last week. But, he had some lame excuse for not paying. And now he's in debt even more after last evening. He should learn not to gamble after a couple of drinks. He's not a very good gambler when sober, and even worse when drinking. So now that twenty-five has become thirty pound. And we mean to get it from him or if not, then take it out of his hide!"
"Hold on. Here, take this. It's more than enough to pay his debts." And he tossed over a bag of coins — whose weight satisfied the two men. They let go of Henri and he dropped, instantly, to the floor. They slipped out leaving the door wide open.
Warwick walked over to where Henri had fallen to the floor.
"Oh, Lord Warwick. You saved my life, sir." Henri took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure.
"Yes, I probably did, Henri. But then you and I made a deal and I expect you to complete your part of it. I want you to leave today and get this business we discussed finished. It's important to me."
"Yessir. I'll leave right now. Just let me get my horse and I'll be on my way."
Warwick walked out and had no doubt the man would do what he had asked. Henri might be a drunk, but he had done a few other jobs for Warwick, and they understood each other. Henri always thought of these events as "jobs," and this was how he survived. Not once had he thought of himself as an "assassin," but that was precisely what he was.
CHAPTER 31
Jack had kept himself busy, which was easy to do on a working sheep farm. Da, Uncle Andrew, and old Jamie still carried as much of the workload as they could. But this was a large farm, and caring for it was a constant job for many hands.
But, farm or not, Jack was not comfortable with letting Alex go back down the mountain looking for that red-haired healer. Heaven knows she had brought Ian back from a sure death, but Jack could not ignore his feelings about Alex going alone to find her.
So, after much gut-wrenching thought, he informed Hector and the others that he would leave in the morning. He was also going back down. For all they knew, Alex could be in trouble and there was no one at his back. Of course, Alex had said to wait a fortnight, but Jack was not planning on waiting another day.
Very early, the moon still giving off a soft light, Jack went to the stables and brought out his favorite steed, Goliath, the largest gelding in the entire place. His dark brown coat was beginning to thicken, anticipating the coming of winter, and he was full of energy, ready to go. Jack was a tall, heavy load, so it took a horse with some bulk and stamina to carry him. And these two had been friends a long time. Goliath lowered his head to receive a pat on the forehead. He actually preferred being out of the stable and being of use around the farm. He was bred for this job, carrying a heavy load, and Jack used him often.
Traveling alone gave one a great deal of time for thinking, something that Jack preferred to leave to Alex. However, he certainly was capable of some deep thought himself, and found himself thinking about Mam. She had been such a unique woman, always finding the best in everyone, it seemed. Her greatest joy had been raising her sons, and never did she complain about the work it took to keep them all fed, clothed, and in line. She was soft spoken, but they all knew when she said jump, then you best ask how high! She ran the house with an iron fist, and sometimes her voice made you think perhaps she was soft, as she was when caring for small animals or babes. But, she expected her sons to make her and Da proud of them, and so they had. Still, she had left such a void in their home and no one to fill it.
"Ah, git on with ye, ye maudlin man!" he said to himself. "Mam would kick yer arse and tell ye to find something useful to do!"
After traveling several days, Jack knew he was close to the Black Isle. From there he would move farther south and through the village to Caitlin's cave. In another day or so he should be there. But, for tonight, he and Goliath both needed to rest. Goliath was tied to a tree, with enough rope to allow him to graze on the plentiful reindeer moss that grew at the base of the trees. There was also some grass, not quite brown yet, that he could nibble on. Jack had some of Hector's brew, or what Hector called coffee, but Jack was not sure you could call it that. Still, he was glad to have that and a couple of oat cakes. That would fill his belly for a while, and he would feel like moving on tomorrow. The earlier, the better.
CHAPTER 32
Commander Campbell tried to open his eyes, but they didn't want to respond to his wishes. He was so, so sleepy, and drifted back to sleep again. The old healer watched him from the rocking chair where she was sitting, stroking Regina and continuing with her knitting.
"A most evil one, Regina. But, I've kept him as long as I dare. He'll no be pleased to know he's been here for three days. But, he's alive and maybe he'll consider that fact when he realizes his difficult situation."
The old woman had stitched his neck and cleaned several other cuts on his hand. She was sure his neck wound had been caused by an animal of some sort, but she didn't know exactly what.
"He's lucky to have made it this far. He had lost a lot of blood," she said to Regina. The fuzzy white cat enjoyed the stroking and rubbed her head again the healer's hand.
She, too, sensed the blackness in this man and would be glad to see him leave. She thought that a good swipe of her claws would be just the thing!
"No, my pretty one. Let him be. He'll bring about his own demise in his own time."
When next he opened his eyes, Commander Campbell looked around the room and had to think a moment. He tried to remember where he was. And why was he here in this room?
Suddenly, his memory came into sharp focus, and he quickly started to get up, but was somewhat dizzy. He slowed his movements and sat on the side of the bed. His throat was throbbing, but he could tell the bleeding had stopped.
"Hey! Old woman! Where are you? Where are my clothes? Bring them to me!"
The old healer entered the small room and placed the commander's uniform on the end of the bed. She had done what she could to clean it, but blood stains were most difficult to remove.
"Here they be. I've repaired a couple of ripped places and cleaned it the best I could, but it's seen better days." Regina hopped up on the bed and sniffed at the man.
"Get off here, you mangy cat!" He struck out at Regina, but she quickly leapt off the bed and disappeared from the room.
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