by Amanda Scott
“I don’t want to race,” she said. “I want to hear about Will.”
The look he gave her then warned her that she was not going to like hearing what he would say.
“Will was in Jeb’s grave,” he said.
She felt as if he had knocked the air out of her. He said nothing further, giving her time to think. When she could, she said, “H-how can that be?”
“Will lived violently, lass, and he died the same way,” he said. “Afterward, whoever killed him took advantage of the grave dug earlier that same evening for Jeb. He tipped Will into it and covered him with just enough dirt to hide him from view the next morning whilst they lowered Jeb’s shrouded body to rest atop his.”
“I’d think someone would have noticed him there even with a layer of dirt on top,” Fiona said, shuddering at the thought of the two men in the same grave.
“Jane told me that that day began with as heavy a mist as the morning we buried Old Jardine,” Kirkhill said. “She said that most folks were thinking more about breakfast and the warmth of the hall fire than aught else. After all, to most Borderers, burial is nobbut a chore that needs doing. Unless a priest is at hand to speak words over the grave, only the immediate family ever thinks to linger.”
“I expect you’re right, sir,” she said, scarcely remembering Jeb’s burial.
“Jane said you were there that morning, Fiona-lass. She said you looked almost as sick as Old Jardine was but that you got up whilst he stayed in his bed.”
She grimaced. “I was not sure I’d get there, but I thought Will would be there, since he had never come to bed that night. I… I did not want him to know how badly he had hurt me. He was always apologetic after something like that, and I… I didn’t want to hear it. Flory tried to keep me from going. She said that no one would expect me to be there. But in the end, she went with me. In troth, it was easier standing up and walking than I’d expected it to be. Getting out of bed was the hardest part.”
When he did not comment, she said, “How did you find him?”
“Your dream suggested the likeliest place.”
A shiver of fear touched her. “But how could it?” she demanded, aware that she spoke too loudly. More quietly, she said, “I did not recognize the place at all.”
“Even so, when you described the hole into which you dreamed you had pushed him, it sounded like a grave and made me wonder if mayhap someone else had died around the same time. When I learned that Jeb had died the evening before and that they had buried him at dawn, just as they did with Old Jardine, simple logic suggested that they had most likely dug Jeb’s grave the night he died.”
“But I swear to you, I never thought of that, not for a moment!”
“Sithee, I’d been trying to imagine how a killer could have kept Will’s body hidden so long. Dropping him in the river was one way, except that by now, his body would have surfaced and word of it would have sped up and down the dale as fast as the rumors about you did. If he had lain where he was, someone would have stumbled over him long before now. You had the information about Jeb in your memory, lass. I suspect that your dream simply put the pieces together for you.”
“In a most dreadful way,” she said, grimacing. “What did you do with Will after you found him? Surely, you did not leave him in there with poor Jeb.”
“Joshua and some of my men shrouded Will properly and moved him to a decent grave of his own near Old Jardine’s,” he said. “We’ll have to report finding him, of course, because people throughout Dumfriesshire and Galloway—and heaven only knows how much farther in every direction—know that he has been missing. But I saw no reason to raise such a dust about him before we must.”
“Good sakes,” she said as a thought occurred to her. “Do you think Will might have just fallen into that hole and broken his neck or otherwise died of it?”
“Nay, lass, I don’t think anything of the sort. Nor will anyone else.”
“But he may well have done that. He had been drinking, Dickon, heavily. Sakes, he was as ape-drunk that night as I’d ever seen him.”
“Nevertheless, he did not fall into that hole,” he said. “Someone shoved his body in there and took the precaution of covering it with just enough dirt to hide him from casual view. The likelihood of anyone’s peering down into the grave—”
“But, mayhap some of the dirt they’d dug out of it just fell on top of him!”
“Someone clouted him hard enough to crush the back of his skull, Fiona.”
The chill that she had felt earlier was as nothing to the ice that entered her veins at the vivid picture those words produced in her mind. Could she have—?
Kirkhill knew what she was thinking as surely as if she had spoken the words to him. Although he had assured her that she could not have murdered her husband, unless and until she knew all that had happened, she would go on wondering.
As if she were suddenly aware of his presence again, she looked at him and said, “Are you sure that I could not have done that, sir?”
“No one could know the answer to such a question absolutely,” he said honestly. “I wish I could say that I’m certain you could not have struck him hard enough to kill him, but I cannot. I do think that with the injuries you had sustained, it is most unlikely that you could have picked up something heavy enough and struck him hard enough to do the damage I saw. But when the will is strong enough, people can do extraordinary things.”
Her face paled and she swayed on her saddle, so he added hastily, “What I can tell you is what I said before. I could never believe that you moved him from that hill above the river around to that grave. Few women are strong enough to move a dead body so far. And no woman within a fortnight of birthing her child could accomplish that feat. Think back, lass. How easily could you bend over?”
For the first time in such a discussion, she smiled, albeit wanly. “Sakes, I could not even put my shoes on without Flory’s help. Moreover, I keep forgetting the horrid pain I endured. Sithee, I don’t remember feeling it that night, because I lost consciousness so soon after he knocked me down. But the next morning, trying to get out of bed for Jeb’s burial… As bad as it was then, it must surely have been worse the night before. I doubt that I could even have got—”
When she stopped abruptly, he looked at her more closely. “What is it? Did you remember something new?”
“Nay,” she said, but he could tell that she had somehow managed to distract herself. Whatever had just occurred to her was something that had occurred to her before and something that still worried her.
He let her ponder while his own thoughts roamed, seeking answers.
Fiona was afraid to look at him, lest he somehow realize exactly what fears had sped through her mind. The pain in her ribs where Will had punched her that dreadful night had been extraordinary. Without Flory’s help the following morning, she was sure that she would have found it impossible to get out of bed.
Yet, somehow, the night before that, after Will had knocked her down and she had lost consciousness, she had somehow managed to get to her feet again and not only walk back to the tower but also up two flights of stairs to her room. And there, she had got undressed, climbed into bed, and slept until just before dawn.
How on earth, she wondered, had she managed to do all that without help?
The plain and obvious fact was that she hadn’t.
So, who had helped her?
Flory was the one most likely to have done so, but she had not even seen Flory after supper that night. Old Jardine had angered Will even before they had supped. Afterward, Will had wanted to talk to her, and then Jeb had had his accident.
“Tell me, Fiona-love.”
Only as her head snapped up did she realize that she had allowed it to sink nearly onto her chest as if her memories had grown too heavy to bear. But his voice steadied her as it nearly always did, and she turned toward him, seeking comfort.
“What is it, lass? You can tell me anything. Is it about that night?”
“Your argument with Will?”
“Aye, because Will was already angry. Sakes, it seemed as if he was always angry about something those days. But that evening before supper, his father had said something that irked him. I don’t know what it was, but I think Old Jardine may have told him that he had been spending too freely. They fratched often about money, because Will liked to spend it and Old Jardine liked to keep it. That evening, Will wanted to walk his anger off, and he said I should go with him, that it would be good for me. I think he wanted someone to tell him he was right or someone to blame. But when we got to the yard, one of his men told him that his favorite horse had got thorns in its hoof and Jeb was trying to pull them out.”
“So you saw what happened to Jeb?”
“We did, aye. Will was practically running, pulling me along with him, and he shouted at Jeb, demanding to know how bad the damage was. Jeb’s head jerked up, and the horse reared. A flailing hoof knocked Jeb headfirst into a post.”
She shut her eyes, but the disturbing vision of that moment just grew clearer.
“Then what happened?” he asked, his calm voice banishing the image.
Taking a breath, she let it out and said, “Will flew into a rage. He said Jeb should have controlled the horse better, should have tied it more securely. I… I took Jeb’s side and… and I snapped at Will. He was livid, but I was terrified for Jeb.”
“Rightly so, as it turned out.”
“Aye,” she said with a sigh. “Neither of us realized that Jeb was so badly hurt, but as we argued, one of the men shouted that Jeb was not moving, that they did not think he was breathing. By the time they knew that Jeb was dead, Will was ready to blame me for everything that had happened.”
“You!”
“Aye, sure. He said that my skirts, and not his haste or his shouts, had startled Jeb and spooked the horse. I lost my temper then and said that if he had trained his horse out of its ill manners… aye, well, I doubt you need to hear the rest.”
“Only if you want to tell me,” he said.
“Nay, it was nowt but a spat. But like most of our spats, it soon grew worse. Will said his men could look after Jeb, because he had things to say to me and that I was going to hear every one of them. With that, he dragged me out onto the hillside path by the river. He dragged me along so quickly that it was all I could do to stay upright. In troth, sir, I don’t recall all he said, or all that I said to him, but he slapped my face, and he must have kept hitting me, because I remember fearing for the babe. The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed the next morning.”
“Is that all?”
She nodded before she realized that she had not mentioned what had come to her earlier, just before the disturbing memory of Jeb’s death.
“You still don’t recall going back to your room?”
“Nay,” she said. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she did not think she could have gotten back on her own when a shout from ahead drew their attention.
Five riders approached, waving. She recognized her sister, her cousin, and Nan, followed by Sir Hugh and Rob Maxwell. The women were grinning.
Nan cried excitedly, “The men on the ramparts saw your advance party with Tony and warned us, so we ordered horses and came out to welcome you properly.”
Fiona felt a surge of relief. Before she began exploring with Dickon the question of who might have aided her that night, she wanted to think carefully about what the consequences might be.
Chapter 17
Their reception at Dunwythie Hall was a merry one, including music from minstrels in the courtyard and the sight of Sir James Seyton emerging from the keep with the lady Phaeline smiling beside him. The minstrel troupe included not only musicians, Nan told them, but also glee maidens, dancers, jugglers, and even actors.
Kirkhill knew that he would have little opportunity for privacy with Fiona at the Hall. One way and another, they had taken many such opportunities at Spedlins, but he was sure that the various members of her family would look dimly on such private moments between them at the Hall.
Moreover, Hugh and Rob clearly wanted to talk about news they had had from friends east of Annandale, where English raids had escalated. They told Kirkhill and Tony that Northumberland was gathering an army on the English side.
“The Douglas has sent for Archie to meet him and March soon,” Rob said when the men adjourned to a room near the great hall that he’d claimed as his own.
“In Selkirk, aye, so it won’t be long now,” Hugh added. “Most of my men and Rob’s are camped in woodlands southeast of here, as we had planned. You doubtless noted the minstrels’ camp in the woods below the main gate.”
Kirkhill nodded. “Your lads to the southeast have hidden all sign of their passage well. I saw nowt of any large company’s tracks, and I looked hard.”
Sir James said, “I’ve sent for the rest of our lads, Dickon. They’ll arrive late tomorrow or by midday Tuesday. The English won’t surprise us here.”
“Most unlikely,” Kirkhill agreed.
The Hall, sitting as it did on a hill above a sharp bend in the river Annan that faced west and north, and overlooking a long stretch of the Roman road a mile to the east, enjoyed a strategic location that precluded any surprise military attack.
Woodland covered much of the sloping hillsides around the Hall, but every approach remained visible from the ramparts, and a wide clearing separated the woods from the wall on every side. Moreover, signal fires would warn them of any significant attack from other dales or from England.
The Solway Firth protected most of south Dumfriesshire and Galloway, because its coastline was rugged and protected, too, by notoriously dangerous tides, and perilously unstable sand and shingle beaches where there were any at all.
Hugh said, “The men you brought should camp with the others, Dickon.”
Rob added, “We have plenty of room inside the wall for your serving women and their bairns. Our people will be glad of their help in the kitchen and with the serving, and they can dine with ours in the lower hall, so they’ll see the minstrels. The troupe will also provide an outdoor performance during our Lammas Day feast Saturday afternoon, so the local folk and the rest of our men can enjoy them, too.”
“You will meet the fellow who leads this troupe after supper tomorrow evening,” Hugh said. “He is called the Joculator, which means that he is skilled in nearly every art of minstrelsy. My Jenny and I met him before we married. In troth,” he added with an infectious grin, “he arranged our marriage.”
Kirkhill shook his head at him. “’Tis a grand tale, that, but we’ve all heard it, Hugh, even Tony here,” he said. “At present, I’m more interested in hearing when you and Rob think Archie will want us to join him with all of our men.”
“Nae doots ye are, but God alone kens that,” Hugh said, switching abruptly to the common accent of the area.
Raising his eyebrows, Kirkhill looked at Rob Maxwell. “Sakes, does the man still mimic nearly any accent as quick as look at you?”
“Aye, sure,” Rob said, grinning. “When Hugh tells a tale, you can hear the voice of every character that has a part in it.”
“’Tis nowt but a bairn’s trick,” Hugh said. “And one that got me into trouble as often as not. However, it did allow me to serve Archie in some strange and fearsome places a few years ago, and it served well when I won my Jenny, too. But for those older tales, you’d be wiser to ask my man, Lucas Horne.”
Rob chuckled. “Aye, Lucas delights in telling tales of his master.”
To Kirkhill’s surprise, since he had never before thought highly of any Maxwell, he was rapidly coming to like Rob as much as he liked Sir Hugh.
That Hugh trusted Rob was plain to see, and Kirkhill had great respect for Hugh’s insight into people’s characters. He knew that that ability, as well as his mimicry, had helped keep him alive in the days before he had won his knighthood, serving Arc
hie the Grim.
The five men discussed their plans, but when Kirkhill realized that the others agreed with him, he let his thoughts drift back to Fiona. He wondered if she would confide her worries about a possible part in Will’s death to her cousin or her sister.
It occurred to him that she might be more worried that he would confide all that he had learned from her to Rob Maxwell and Sir Hugh.
Fiona was trying to decide whether to be amused or annoyed with Nan. Since their arrival at the Hall, the younger girl had been doing her best, without any success whatsoever, to draw the attention of Sir Antony MacCairill.
Sir Antony, having arrived before them with the vanguard, had seen to his men first and then had retired with the other men to Robert Maxwell’s chamber to discuss whatever it was that men discussed at such times.
After supper, abandoning the other four men, Sir Antony had sent a gillie to Mairi’s solar to ask if he might pay his respects. She had welcomed him and had introduced him to Jenny, but Nan soon interrupted their conversation to ask him with fluttering eyelashes what had induced him to join the ladies rather than the men.
“Simple courtesy, my lady,” he had replied with a disapproving look. “Something that you ought to strive to achieve. You have just interrupted your hostess in the midst of her sentence. Do try for a little conduct, lass.”
Flushing deeply, Nan put her nose in the air, but when Sir Antony went on talking politely with Mairi, Jenny, and Fiona—and ignoring her—she finally declared that she was going to bed, bobbed a curtsy to Mairi, and left the room.
Sir Antony excused himself moments later, saying that he had better find the other men, lest they had received word from Archie and left without him.
“As if they would go without him,” Jenny said on a gurgle of laughter when the door had shut behind him. “What goes on there?”
“God may know, but I do not,” Fiona replied. “Kirkhill was negotiating a marriage with Sir Antony for Nan, but she swears she will have none of him. He seems to remain constant, but his notion of courtship is to tell her what she should wear and how she should behave, so I warrant it will come to naught.”