“Are you done?” Rowan asked Jeanette.
“Nay.” She reached into the basket that sat by her feet and pulled out a small glass vessel. An oiled leather scrap was secured with a thong about the wide neck. She opened it and the sharp scent of vinegar mixed with something herbal made Rowan wrinkle her nose. Jeanette slathered some of the salve over the wound. As soon as the salve touched it, a hiss escaped Rowan’s lips.
“That burns!”
“Aye, but auld Morven swears it keeps a wound from festering. Hold still.” She blew on the cut and a cooling sensation radiated from the salve, dampening the pain. “Better?”
Rowan nodded. “Now can I dress?”
Jeanette chuckled. “I need to put a dressing over it first.” Minutes later Jeanette had covered her work with a fresh linen pad and wrapped a long length of more linen tightly about Rowan’s ribs to hold it in place.
Scotia came back into the room, a kirtle hung over her arm. Jeanette glanced at their mother, who had drifted into one of her many naps.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Scotia,” Jeanette said quietly, taking the undergarment from her and handing it to Rowan. “ ’Tis bad enough to ignore your duty to your mother, but to put Rowan and that stranger in peril, too.” She shook her head at her sister. “What were you thinking?”
The stubborn glint was back in Scotia’s eyes as she glared at Jeanette. “I did not ken the wall was about to collapse. How should I ken such a thing?”
The moment the wall had started to fall was etched in Rowan’s memory… a memory that included a terrible headache that had plagued her up until that very moment.
And then it had ceased, leaving only the echo of it behind.
Another memory tickled her mind, flitting just out of reach—a terrible headache, a wall falling—but she couldn’t grab the memory and pull it close.
A shiver sent goose bumps over her flesh.
“You’d have likely been crushed beneath the stones if Rowan hadn’t come in search of you.” Jeanette was wagging a finger, scolding Scotia, something they all seemed to do more and more of these days.
Scotia stared at her for a long moment, then huffed and quickly climbed back on the bed next to her mother, whose eyelids flickered open. “And Rowan would have never had cause to be rescued by such a braw man as Nicholas of Achnamara if she had not needed to come find me.” The girl smiled like she’d eaten something sweet.
Rowan’s face and the rest of her body went hot, except for the oddly still chilled wound. “Do you think Uncle Kenneth will let him stay?”
Elspet’s face went from sleepy to serious. “He helped you and Scotia. I expect he will be allowed to bide a while at least, though it will depend upon what impression he makes upon the chief.”
Rowan had a strong impression of Nicholas of Achnamara. He was a stranger, yet he’d done a service to the clan this day. Surely that spoke to his character. And then there was the fact that he was a strong man who looked able to wield a sword or an ax in defense of the clan. Saints and angels, they needed men for that. But there was still the lingering question of why he had been there just when-the wall fell. Where had he come from? She tried to hang on to her doubts about him, to ignore the memory of him holding her hand, tucking her hair behind her ear. When he touched her, she’d gone breathless in a way that had naught to do with running up the hill.
“See, Mum?” Scotia leaned her head close to Elspet like two girls trading secrets. “Rowan’s cheeks are bright. She does notice braw warriors. It is only necessary to distract her from her duties long enough for them to make themselves known to her.”
Rowan scowled at her cousin until she noticed the twinkle in her aunt’s eyes. She wished to see more of that familiar teasing glint.
“I will admit,” she said, letting her mind wander to the man in question, “he is very well built, with hair as dark as Scotia’s, but unruly.” The sudden thought that it would be soft sent her stomach pitching and a new wave of heat to her face.
“Is he as braw as Rowan describes?” Elspet asked Scotia, as if they were gossiping in private.
“Och, aye. And more so. He is broad in the shoulder, narrow in the hip, and his plaid showed off his finely muscled calves. I think he may even have a dimple in one cheek”—Scotia leaned her head upon her mother’s shoulder as if in a swoon—“though Uilliam had him scowling most of the time so ’twas hard to tell for sure.”
“ ’Tis sorry I am that I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting such a fine specimen of a man.” Elspet’s teasing smile brightened the room and Rowan realized they were all smiling back at her aunt. A different kind of warmth infused her heart, seeping deep into her bones. What would the three of them do if Elspet didn’t get better? How would they go on?
Rowan had lost both of her parents years ago and now she was faced with losing her beloved aunt, too. Grief threatened to overwhelm her but she pushed it back. There would be time enough for grieving. For now, they were here, safe, and together.
If this happy moment required that Rowan was the focus of their collective teasing, so be it, for the sunny smile that lit up Elspet’s face was worth any embarrassment her impish cousin Scotia would rain down upon her.
“I notice braw men,” Rowan said with a wink at Jeanette, “ ’tis only that I never have a chance to catch their eye before Scotia bats hers and addles their wee brains.”
“I do not!” Scotia said, sitting up on the bed, ire snapping in the air between them.
“Aye, my lassie, you do,” Elspet said with a more wistful smile. “You do, but this one—what did you say his name was?”
“Nicholas of Achnamara,” Scotia said.
“Nicholas, he had eyes for our Rowan, aye? Only for our Rowan?”
“Nay, he did not!” Rowan said with a laugh.
Scotia gave a huge sigh. “Aye, only for Ro.” She snuggled up next to her mother and laid her head back on Elspet’s shoulder. “Mum, as I left to find Jeanette he knelt beside her and took her hand into his.” She looked over at Rowan again, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. “You should have seen how startled Ro looked. Silly lass could have leaned forward and kissed him but she just sat there, staring into his eyes.”
“Not all of us are used to throwing ourselves at men,” Jeanette said quietly, partly teasing but clearly from her tone not entirely.
“And I was injured!” Rowan added an extra thick layer of indignation to her words.
Scotia tried to sit up again, but Elspet held her in place with a hand on her arm. “I can see why one might want to throw herself into such a man’s arms.”
All three girls giggled.
“What? You think me too old to throw myself into a braw man’s arms?” Now it was Elspet’s turn to act indignant, arching her brows at them, her eyes wide. “How do you think I got Kenneth?”
“Mum!” Jeanette and Scotia both squealed her name. Rowan leaned back carefully on the bench, resting her back against the wall. Work would wait. She’d not miss the opportunity to enjoy this rare moment.
DUNCAN HAD SHOWN Nicholas where to stow his travel sack and they had taken a quick meal in the great hall. Now as they made their way slowly across the cramped bailey toward the remains of the fallen wall where Uilliam had instructed them to meet him, Nicholas kept an eye out for Archie and his telltale ginger hair in case he’d made his way inside the compound. He surveyed the people moving about the cramped open space, greeting each other, hauling water from the well, on their way somewhere. He was also noting the quickest way out of the castle. Should the need arrive there was the main gate, and a small postern gate tucked between two wood and thatch buildings pent up against the southern curtain wall. And of course the rubble pile of the northern section of the curtain wall was a great gaping hole in the castle defenses and thus a good way in or out of Dunlairig Castle.
He noticed that nearly everyone except the smallest of the children carried at least one knife in plain sight. Who knew how many were c
oncealed.
Nicholas nodded at a young woman carrying an empty bucket and tools for cleaning hearths, turning to watch as she made her way to the tower that stood to the east side. It was situated across the small bailey from the hallhouse—Duncan had called it the great hall—where they’d taken their meal.
“What is in the tower?” he asked Duncan.
“The chief’s family’s quarters.”
“Is that where they took Mistress Rowan?”
Duncan slanted a look at him and nodded.
Nicholas had been watching the movements of the people of the castle since he had walked through the gate, taking note of any patterns he could discern, watching for any sign of extra protection that might indicate something precious, like the Highland Targe, being guarded. But he had seen nothing so far.
He turned his attention back to his surroundings, craning his neck, looking up the length of the square, grey tower. The sky was bright behind it, making it difficult to see any detail other than the dark holes that marked windows. Would the chief keep a protective talisman in the place where his family slept? It seemed likely, especially since there were precious few places to hide anything in this castle made up of an ancient hallhouse, an old tower, and a small array of sheds and huts along the less than sturdy curtain walls.
He would have to look for an opportunity to get inside the tower soon to search it. Perhaps Duncan would take him there to see Rowan? It was worth a try once he had the man’s trust. For now, he’d settle for learning what he could about the wall and any defenses they might have planned until it could be rebuilt. Any knowledge could prove useful.
“Uilliam, we are here.” Duncan shouted at the bear of a man standing atop all that was left of the wall. A thin cloud of dust still hung in the air, washing out the color of the man and everything around him.
“Aye, I can see that,” Uilliam replied but didn’t pay any more attention to them.
“Are we supposed to just stand here, then?” Nicholas asked his companion.
Duncan shrugged, but motioned to a large squared-off stone that had tumbled into the bailey instead of outside of it. The stone was easily the size of a man and made an ample bench for them.
They sat there for a long time watching Uilliam pick his way carefully over the tumbled remains of the wall, muttering to himself. He’d stop to pick up a stone now and again, only to turn it over in his hand, then toss it back onto the pile. After a while Nicholas leaned toward Duncan.
“What is he doing?”
“He told me he wanted to take it in as it lies, that the stones might talk to him. I think he is daft, myself.”
“I am starting to agree with you.”
Duncan actually smiled at him and they sat in silence a while longer. The sound of a door opening behind them had Nicholas turning to look toward the tower. Raven-haired Scotia stepped out of the shadowed doorway into the bright bailey, a wad of bloody material in her hands. The image of the stone in Rowan’s side flashed through his mind and he found himself hoping the injury was as minor as the healer-lass had said.
Duncan waved at Scotia and she gave him a little smile and a half-hearted wave. The man smiled back and almost disguised a sigh.
Nicholas shifted his attention to his companion, watching Duncan watch the lass as she crossed to the far side of the bailey and disappeared inside a small hut.
“You sigh over Scotia,” Nicholas said.
“I do.” Duncan didn’t take his eyes off the hut’s door, clearly waiting for another glance from the lass. “She is determined to get into trouble and it is all Rowan and I can do to keep her out of it.”
A weird twisty feeling grabbed Nicholas’s stomach. “You and Rowan? Are you married to the lass?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. There had been nothing obvious between the two of them outside the castle. Surely if she had a husband, he would have rushed to her side. If that husband was Duncan, he should be beaten for not taking care of the lass when she was injured.
Duncan stopped watching the hut and looked at Nicholas with a considering eye. “Would it matter if I was?”
It wasn’t an answer so likely he was not. Nicholas shrugged. It would not do to appear too taken with Rowan when Scotia was the more likely source of information. “I could not help but notice that she is a bonny lass. It would seem likely that she is wed.”
“She is not.”
“So you and she are keeping an eye on Scotia?”
“Someone has to. The irritating lass can find trouble in the most unlikely of places and ways. I have known her since she was a bairn in her mum’s arms. She used to be such a sweet lass. I watched over her like a big brother when she was little. But she’s gotten spoiled and, since her mum’s been sick, she has gone a bit wild.” He shook his head. “She is fiercely good at finding trouble.”
Nicholas knew an opportunity when he saw it. No matter what Duncan said, he could see the way the man’s gaze kept drifting back to the door where Scotia had disappeared. He might not realize it yet, but he was taken with the difficult lass, and that might come in handy somewhere in this mission.
“You are kin?” Nicholas carefully looked away from the man, hoping he’d reveal something useful about Scotia if he didn’t feel too pressed.
“Everyone who lives in Dunlairig Castle is kin at some level. We are not close kin, though. Distant cousins at best.”
Nicholas leaned back on his hands, watching the enigmatic Uilliam pace along the rubble, his shadow following him as it rippled over the fallen stones. It wasn’t much information, but it was a start.
“Och, you laggards!” Uilliam finally summoned them to join him on the wall.
“At last,” Nicholas said, noting Duncan’s quick glance back at the hut where Scotia had disappeared.
The two of them made quick work of climbing the pile to join Uilliam at the top.
“It looks as if it burst from within,” Duncan said as they arrived at the highest point of the rubble pile.
Uilliam didn’t look at Duncan, but he nodded. “Aye, it does. It is almost as if something trapped inside the wall forced its way out except for this part here, where it looks as if something pushed back, keeping the wall from falling outward or inward. It collapsed on itself. ’Tis a good thing, too, for look—” He pointed down the embankment toward the area where Rowan and Scotia had been standing when the wall went down.
“It would have crushed them,” Nicholas said quietly.
“Aye, it surely would have. ’Tis dumb luck that this part did not tumble down the hill as the rest did. If it had I do not think we would have Rowan or Scotia, or even you”—he nodded at Nicholas—“still with us today.”
“Has this happened before?” Nicholas pretended to examine the remains of the wall, but he knew nothing of building or masonry so it was really just a show of interest.
“Nay. It has stood nigh on twoscore years.” Uilliam shook his head. “I ken not what is wrong. Perhaps when we remove the rubble it will become clear.”
Nicholas turned his attention to the stones beneath his feet. “Is there a burn that runs beneath here?” He lifted a stone as if he spied something.
“Nay, the rock ledge is dense and stable.” Uilliam sounded like he spoke to himself. He pulled on the right side of his night-black beard as if that helped him think. “There is a wee bit of a slope to this area, but nothing that would cause the wall to topple.”
“I felt the ground tremble before the wall exploded.” Nicholas was trying to remember exactly what order things had happened.
“Are you sure? I did not,” Uilliam said.
“’Twas slight. I do not think ’twas enough to topple such a wall. You are sure none of your enemies have sabotaged it, or weakened it by attacks?” Nicholas asked.
“I suppose that is possible. We will see.”
Nicholas considered the wall, or what was left of it. “Are you a mason, then, Uilliam?” he asked.
“Nay, but I expect we will l
earn something as we clear the rubble. We shall build it ourselves, anyway. No reason to spread the word that our wall is breached. The damn Diarmids would leap upon that news like hounds on a bone.”
As would King Edward. Perhaps Archie was already on his way to their contact in Oban to send word to England. That would explain his disappearance, though Nicholas thought it would be better to wait until they had the Targe. It would be better if Archie had stayed here and stuck to their original plan.
“Is there another way to shield the bailey from this direction?” Nicholas let the words hang in the air for a moment, letting the idea of a shield wiggle its way into Uilliam’s thoughts even as he might learn about some other defense this clan had that would be of use to the king.
Uilliam cast him a sidelong glance, his eyebrows drawn down so low his eyes were but a dark pool beneath them. “Why?”
“It seems likely word will spread, though you are isolated here so it may take a while, but all it will require is one person passing by. ’Tis not as if you can hide a missing wall.”
“Are you going to be the one to spread the tale?” Uilliam stepped close enough to Nicholas that Nicholas had to look up, but only a little.
“Nay, not me,” he said, raising his hands palms out. “I plan to stay right here for a while. I will not be spreading tales to anyone.” Not if Archie was taking care of it, at any rate.
“Good.” Uilliam stepped back from Nicholas and turned his attention back to the rubble pile. “We’ll figure out a way to protect the castle and the clan, never you worry.” Uilliam’s face was like a thundercloud, the black hair and beard sheltering eyes that crackled like lightning. “Never you worry.”
Nicholas had no wish to antagonize the man, so he turned his attention to the task before them.
“Well then,” he said, “no matter why this fell, or when word gets out, it wants cleaning up.”
He gazed to the outside of the wall, looking out toward the azure loch far below, keeping a lookout for a shock of ginger hair in case Archie hadn’t gone back to Oban and was still out there. At the same time he wondered how they could clear the debris when the hillside dropped off so close, and so steeply just beyond where they stood. He looked left toward the gate and the corner of this wall that still stood, then to his right toward the tower and the other corner of the ruined wall, which was still standing. Just past that corner, outside the standing wall and beyond the rubble field he spied a rough meadow, less pitched than the hill, with a lone flowering tree in its midst, and dotted with rusty-colored shaggy cows. It was the most likely place to take the remains of the wall.
Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) Page 5