Highland Destiny [Murray Brothers Book 1]

by Hannah Howell

  "I came to give ye another chance to tell me the truth,” he said.

  "I have told ye the truth.” Maldie decided that the reason that lie did not bother her was because she was so angry at him.

  "Mayhap, but there has been little of it. The more I have thought on the matter, the more I have come to realize that, although we are lovers, ye are still a stranger to me. I ken none of all the little things one usually learns about a lover."

  "And I have ne'er met people who are as concerned about such things as ye Murrays are. I am what ye see. What else matters?"

  "When ye stand accused of helping our enemy, of even aiding in the murder of a good mon, a great deal more is needed than I am what ye see. Can ye nay see the danger ye are in, lass?"

  "Do ye mean to hang me then?"

  She was pleased to see him pale. It meant he was not without some feeling for her. His accusations and his absence had made her begin to wonder if he had lost all interest in her. Since she would soon leave Donncoill and probably him as well, it was a foolish thing to worry about, yet this sign that he still cared for her in some way, no matter how small, was comforting. It also made her more confident in her judgment that she would face no punishment until he had irrefutable proof of her guilt, something he could never get for it did not exist.

  "Nay, of course not. If naught else, ye havenae actually killed anyone with your own hand, as Grizel had. But why willnae ye try to prove my suspicions wrong?"

  "Because they are insulting and unfounded and dinnae deserve my time or my interest. If I proceed to try and prove my innocence, then I justify your accusations and I refuse to do that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and coldly stared at him, silently challenging him to continue the argument.

  "Ye are a verra stubborn woman, Maldie Kirkcaldy,” he said and shook his head. “Mayhap ‘tis justified. I dinnae ken anymore. But, ye might take some time to consider how dangerous blind pride and stubbornness can be. I pray it willnae come to it, but silence in a matter such as this could cost ye dearly."

  The moment the door shut behind him, she collapsed on the bed. His last words had been a threat, but Maldie felt no fear. Balfour would not harm her. And if by some chance she was letting her heart lead her astray in her judgment of the man, there was always Nigel to turn to. That man would never let his brother harm her. She had been determined not to get Nigel mixed up in the troubles between her and Balfour, but if her well-being or her life was in danger, she would not hesitate to pull him in on her side.

  Balfour's visit had shown her one thing, however. It was time she got out of Donncoill. She did not think she could endure one more time of hearing the man she loved demand that she give him proof of her innocence. No matter how well she understood the awkward position he was in, how he had to do just what he was doing, that hurt.

  He was right to warn her about the folly of too much pride and stubbornness. She did have too much pride and many thought it was sadly misplaced. After all, they would mutter, what did she have to be so proud about? She would not, however, swallow that pride just to soothe his groundless suspicion.

  Maldie was just not sure how long she could hold to that determination. When she saw him she wanted to do whatever he asked, so that they could be together again. She wanted to be back in his arms, back at his side, and back in his confidence. She knew that, if she did not flee Donncoill soon, that want could grow too strong to resist.

  She waited for one full hour, hoping that Balfour would then be too busy or too far away to come to her, then started to groan. It only took three hearty groans to bring the guard to the door. She knew he was listening because she heard his sword thump against the wood. One more loud groan opened the door. Maldie fought not to smile at the look of extreme concern on the man's scarred face. She clutched at her stomach, rocked back and forth on the bed, and moaned softly.

  "What is wrong with you?” the guard demanded, edging into the room.

  "I need a woman's aid,” she replied, pleased with the unsteady, raspy tone of her voice.

  "Ye are ill?"

  "'Tis a woman's ailment and I need a woman to help me, ye great oaf,” she yelled, then moaned, acting as if simply raising her voice was enough to increase her great pain. “Get me one of the maids."

  He quickly backed out the door and barred it. Maldie allowed herself a brief grin over his swift retreat. Just as she had suspected the words a woman's ailment had silenced all questions. They could put the fear of God into even the bravest of warriors, men who would not even blink as they looked upon the most gruesome of battle wounds or inflicted them. When she heard footsteps hurrying back toward her door, she quickly returned to clutching herself and groaning. It was a little hard to keep up the pretense when poor Jennie was shoved into the room and the door barred behind her. The guard was clearly desperate not to learn any more about it all, did not even want to accidentally overhear anything.

  "What ails ye, mistress?” Jennie asked as she moved to the side of the bed and placed a comforting hand on Maldie's arm.

  Maldie cursed Balfour as she looked into the young, brown-haired maid's soft blue eyes. It was his fault that she was going to have to hurt Jennie. Even though she had no intention of doing the girl any real harm, she hated the thought of hitting her. Jennie did not deserve it, nor did she deserve the trouble she might get into for letting the prisoner escape.

  "What ails me is that I am locked away like a mad aunt,” she muttered, then swung her fist, hitting poor Jennie square on the jaw.

  It greatly surprised Maldie when Jennie was felled by the first blow. She had expected a little bit more of a struggle. Then she grew concerned and quickly looked the young maid over, relieved to discover that the girl was alright. Despite having had little practice at knocking someone down, she had obviously hit Jennie in just the right place with just the right amount of strength. She felt a brief surge of pride, then was angry. Balfour was the one who deserved to get punched in the jaw, not poor shy little Jennie.

  As she hefted the girl onto the bed, Maldie hoped that Jennie would not suffer too lurid a bruise or ache for too long. She gently tucked the girl up in her bed, pulling the covers up high to hide her lighter hair. The guard would probably not step into the room, afraid he would somehow become involved in female problems, Maldie thought with a faint sneer, but he would still be able to see the wrong color of hair from the doorway.

  She softly cursed as she tried to hide all of her hair beneath the linen scarf she had taken from Jennie. It was a little warm for a cloak, but Maldie put one on, pulling the hood up to further hide her hair and her face. If Grizel could get all the way out of Donncoill and to the other side of the village so often with no one paying her much heed, then it ought to work for her. Maldie stepped up to the door, took one last look toward Jennie to reassure herself that nothing could be seen, and softly rapped.

  Her heart stood still as she stood in front of the guard, fighting to keep her face averted, and her voice slightly higher, as Jennie's was. “I need to go into the village for a few rags and—” She choked to a halt when the guard tugged her out of the room and nudged her down the hall before locking the door again.

  "Just go, lass,” he muttered. “I dinnae need to ken the what or the why."

  Maldie tried not to let the ease with which she walked away from the guard make her too cocksure. It was a long way to the front gates. If too many people spoke to her, or someone found Jennie, she would never make it. With every step she took, Maldie prayed that she would not meet up with Balfour, James, or anyone Jennie was close to.

  As she neared the gates, Maldie had to fight the urge to run. That would certainly draw attention to her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Balfour and James talking near the stables and she took the chance of slightly quickening her step. It was not until she was yards away from the high walls of Donncoill that she released the breath she had been holding. Her body was soaked in sweat and she knew it was not all because she wore a dark, hea
vy cloak on a sunny day. She was not surprised that she was already exhausted. Keeping her cloak clutched tightly around herself, she began to walk faster. Until she was on the far side of the village there was still a chance that someone could discover her.

  The moment she stepped into the thick wood bordering the village fields, Maldie flung off her cloak. She allowed herself a brief respite to dampen her linen scarf in the cold water of the brook which meandered along the edge of the wood and bathe the sweat from her face. Since it was already late in the afternoon, she knew she would not make it to Dubhlinn before the sun set. She would have to spend the night in the forest. That did not frighten her as much as the possibility that Balfour would be hunting her down. Maldie doubted she would get much sleep. She would either be listening closely for sounds of pursuit or running from it.

  "And once I am within the walls of Dubhlinn I will be safe from Balfour,” she said, then grimaced. “I will only have to protect my back against the Beatons who live there. I surely have gone mad if I thought this would work."

  She cursed and flopped onto her back, wishing she was in the mood to enjoy the shade and the cool grass. For a moment she decided she was safe enough. She could rest for a little while and try to think. The wisest thing she could do was get as far away from Donncoill and Balfour and Dubhlinn and Beaton as she possibly could. Maldie told herself that again and again, but herself was not feeling inclined to listen.

  It was vitally important to her to prove her innocence to Balfour. She was not sure if that was because of her strong pride, or her deep love for the man. Whichever emotion pushed her, she knew she could not and would not leave until the matter was resolved. Either she gave Eric back to the Murrays and proved her innocence that way, or she got caught, Beaton killed her, and the Murrays realized through her death that she had been falsely accused.

  There was one other thing that prompted her to continue with her plan. Eric could well be her half brother. If he was a blood relation, then she had a duty to try and rescue him. She also had a deep need to see the truth with her own eyes. If she fled now, ran away from it all, she might never know.

  Maldie stood up and brushed herself off. It was clear that she did not want to listen to the voice of wisdom. She started the long walk to Dubhlinn. The gates would be closed tight long before she could get there, and that left her with two choices. She could sleep on the hard ground and pray that it did not rain or grow too cold, or she could return to the tiny cottage of the kindly old couple who had first taken her in and hope that they would do so again. Maldie decided to try her luck with the old couple, although she hated herself for using them.

  Life, she mused, had become far too complicated since arriving at Donncoill. She had walked away from her mother's grave with but one plan, to get to Dubhlinn and kill William Beaton. Now she was accused of helping the very man she wanted to kill, had one brother not so secretly in love with her and one who was her lover, and the boy they all fought so hard to save from Beaton's clutches could well be her half brother. If she tried to tell someone about all of this, Maldie was sure that he would never believe her.

  Her thoughts turned to young Eric as she walked through the thickening trees. No one at Donncoill had ever had a bad word to say about the boy. She wondered sadly if that admiration and love would continue if he did prove to be Beaton's son. It was one of those secrets that would be best kept, one that should die with anyone who knew it. Unfortunately, she herself was the reason it would soon no longer be a secret. Balfour had seen the mark upon her back, soon he would learn that she was Beaton's daughter, and thus he would learn the truth about the boy he had called brother for so many years. Beaton, she thought angrily, had a true skill at destroying people's lives. She swore that, if Eric was left alone, cast out by Beaton and Murray alike, she would take him with her. It was the least she could do for inadvertently causing his life to shatter, and it would be nice to have family again.

  It occurred to her that she had lost that blind need to kill Beaton. Maldie suspected that her hatred for the man still rested in her heart, for it had been nurtured within her by her mother from the day she had been born. It could probably flare up in a blinding glory if she set eyes on the man, but it was no longer the only thing in her heart or her thoughts. Even now, as she marched straight toward the lion's den, she barely thought of revenge at all. It was Balfour and an undoubtedly frightened boy named Eric who held all of her attention. She found it a little strange that thoughts of Balfour, which caused her a deep pain, were more welcome than ones of a well-earned and long overdue execution.

  "Weel, mayhap fate will smile upon me,” she muttered as she climbed over a moss-covered, fallen tree limb. “Mayhap I will not only free Eric and thus prove my innocence, but be able to rid this land of the curse of William Beaton as weel.” She grimaced and softly cursed as a branch tore a small hole in her skirt. “All I must do is get to Dubhlinn in one piece."

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  Chapter Thirteen

  "Where is she?” Balfour yelled, then cursed as the trembling maid grew as pale as the fine white linen sheet she was sprawled on.

  He could not believe that Maldie had slipped away beneath their very noses, but that appeared to be exactly what she had done. Intending to speak to her one more time, and ruefully admitting that he simply wished to see her, he had brought her her evening meal. When the guard had told him that she had fallen ill, he had been concerned. But, as the man unlatched the door, he complained about how Jennie had never returned with the things she had rushed away to get, and Balfour's concern had turned to alarm. He was infuriated but not completely surprised when he had entered the room to find a barely conscious Jennie sitting up in bed and clutching her head. He had bellowed insults at the guard, then bellowed for James, and was now bellowing at the poor terrified maid. His lack of control was getting him nowhere and he waved James over to the side of the bed.

  "I am about to scare the child to death,” he said, stepping back and letting James take his place. “Ye tend to her and see what ye can find out."

  "Aye, ye need to calm yourself,” agreed James as he checked the bruise on the girl's jaw.

  "What has happened?” demanded Nigel from the doorway.

  "Beside some fool dragging his crippled arse across the hall?” Balfour grumbled as he quickly moved to help Nigel over to a chair set next to the fireplace. “Maldie has slipped away."

  "Ah, so the lass did escape ye.” Nigel could not keep his pleasure over that out of his voice, and he shrugged when Balfour glared at him.

  "Did ye ken what she was planning to do?"

  "Nay, I but suspected it, and, unlike you, I dinnae act upon suspicion alone."

  "Ye didnae want to. Weel, this proves all of my suspicions."

  "Does it?"

  "She has fled. She would only do that if she was guilty."

  "Aye? Mayhap she did it to get away from you.” Nigel smiled coldly when Balfour paled slightly. “Ye accuse her of spying and murder without proof, and expect her to linger here to see what madness will next sieze you? Nay, she did what any other person would do—ran as fast as she could. After all, if ye accuse her and imprison her without proof, might ye not hang her next?"

  "I would ne'er have hanged her. Nay, not e'en if she had proven to be guilty,” Balfour said quietly. “Maldie should have kenned that."

  "After the way ye have behaved these last few days, I think the lass felt that she didnae ken ye at all.” Nigel looked at James when the man stepped over to them. “Did Jennie finally find her tongue?"

  "Aye,” James replied. “It seems that Maldie feigned some woman's illness and sent for the lass. Then, when Jennie came in to tend to her, Maldie hit her. The poor maid recalls naught after that."

  "What about Duncan, that fool of a guard I set outside of the door?” Balfour asked, briefly looking around for the man only to find that Duncan had slipped away the moment James had finished speaking with him.

  "He sa
ys he let Jennie in and thought he had let Jennie out.” James shook his head and laughed softly. “The poor mon was so afeared that one of the lasses would say too much about a woman's ailment that he didnae pay much heed. Once pressed he realized that Jennie wasnae wearing a cloak when she went in, but she was when she came out. Maldie was a clever lass. Ere Duncan had a moment to look closely at her, she spoke of needing things for a woman's bleeding time. He didnae let her say much but nearly pushed her down the hall."

  Balfour stared at Nigel and James, aghast when the two men laughed. They seemed uncaring or unaware of the consequences of Maldie's escape. If she was guilty of all he had accused her of, and he prayed he was wrong, she was headed straight for Dubhlinn to tell Beaton the wealth of information she had gathered. If she was innocent, she was out there roaming the countryside, alone and with little or no provisions. Neither circumstance was something to laugh about.

  "I am pleased that ye can find enjoyment in Maldie's cleverness, but have ye thought of what happens now?” he finally demanded.

  "We search for her or we leave her be,” James replied.

  "If she is the spy we feared she was, she is running for Dubhlinn to fill Beaton's ears with who kens how many of our secrets.” He nodded when James grimaced.

  "She is no spy,” Nigel snapped.

  "She came from nowhere, she told us nothing, and she was verra interested in our fight with Beaton. Too interested,” Balfour said.

  "Aye, laddie,” James agreed. “She left too many questions unanswered."

  "Mayhap the answers werenae any of our business,” Nigel said. “She is a bastard and her mother was obviously a whore. That is not a life one wishes to talk about."