Her husband was a big man and heavy, and the rope burned as it tightened around her skin, but she set her teeth and began to drag him out of the barn. By the time she reached the door, she was less concerned with their attacker than how far the village was.
Chapter 12
Annabel opened her eyes to find Seonag standing at the foot of the bed. Her hands were on her hips, her head was tilted, and she was eyeing Annabel and Ross with pursed lips. When the maid saw that Annabel was awake, she gave a “hrrumph” and said, “Yer a pair o’ bookends ye two are, with yer bruised faces.”
Grimacing, Annabel sat up and turned to peer at the man she’d dragged, for what had seemed like miles, to the safety of the village last night. The sun had long set and the cottages were dark, their inhabitants apparently sleeping, when she’d finally arrived. She had stopped at the first cottage, intending to roust the people inside and ask for assistance for their laird, but even as she started to lower to a kneeling position to remove the ropes around her arms and shoulders, the sound of pounding hooves caught her ear. Stilling, she’d stared worriedly toward the opposite side of the quiet village until Gilly and Marach rode into view, leading a party of at least twelve men.
Within moments she’d been surrounded, her burden removed, and Ross, who had long ago lost his covering of hay, raised up to lie on his stomach before Gilly on his horse, while Annabel was lifted up before Marach. It was on the ride back to the castle that she explained what had happened and learned that Jasper had returned to the keep hours earlier. No one had been terribly concerned at first, but when night fell without Annabel and Ross returning, a search party had been organized. Sixty men had been divided into four groups and had ridden out in different directions. Gilly and Marach had headed to the village because that was where they’d last seen their laird and lady.
Annabel now scanned Ross’s pale, unmoving face and asked, “Did he wake up at all in the night?”
“Yer asking me?” Seonag asked dryly. “Ye were the one who insisted on watching over him.”
“Aye, and I did,” she assured her. “The sun was coming up when I finally laid down next to him. I did not intend to sleep. The chair was just so bloody uncomfortable after so long in it …” She shrugged unhappily and brushed the hair from Ross’s face. “I should not have risked lying down.”
“ ’Tis just past dawn now,” Seonag said soothingly. “Ye’ve naught to feel guilty for. Why do ye no’ go rest a bit? I’ll watch over him now.”
Annabel hesitated, tempted by the offer, but then shook her head. “Nay. But if you will stay with him for a few minutes, I will go below and break my fast. Perhaps that will wake me enough to keep me up until he wakes.”
Seonag opened her mouth in what Annabel suspected would have been another suggestion that she rest, but then closed it again and simply nodded.
“Thank you,” Annabel murmured pushing herself from the bed and heading for the door. “I will only be a couple moments.”
“Take yer time,” Seonag admonished. “I’ll call ye does he wake.”
Annabel didn’t comment. She didn’t want to be called when he woke. She wanted to be right there, holding his hand and peering into his eyes. With her luck, however, he’d open his eyes the moment she left the room and think she hadn’t cared enough to sit by him while he was injured.
Grimacing at the thought, Annabel pulled the door closed and then stood for a moment, listening. When several minutes passed with no sudden cry of joy or even a wry, “So ye’ve decided to wake, have ye,” from Seonag, Annabel reluctantly turned away and headed for the stairs.
The great hall was full with servants and warriors breaking their fast, and every single one of them seemed to turn to peer at her as she descended the stairs. Questions rode on every face, and Annabel considered whether she shouldn’t make some sort of announcement about Ross’s state as she walked to the table, but there was really nothing to tell. He hadn’t woken yet, and she didn’t know if he would.
She sighed at that thought as she settled at the head table, and then sighed again when Gilly and Marach immediately stood and moved to sit on either side of her.
“There is no need to guard me. I promise you I will not be leaving the keep so long as my husband is unconscious,” she said with grim dignity.
“So he hasna woken yet,” Marach said morosely.
Annabel shook her head and picked up a piece of bread, but only tore at it absently, her gaze drifting back to the stairs.
“Well, that just makes no sense,” Gilly burst out after a moment and when Annabel peered at him uncertainly, he added, “He’s a big braugh lad, strong and sure and yer a weak, wee woman, yet ye’ve come around after two blows to the head, but one lays him low?”
“Head wounds are—” Annabel began automatically, only to be interrupted.
“A tricky business. Aye, I ken,” Gilly said with disgruntlement. “Still, it makes no sense.”
Annabel patted his hand soothingly. “I am sure he will wake up soon. As you say, he’s strong. We must just give him time.”
“Lady MacKay?”
Annabel was slow to turn at that name, mostly because she was not yet used to hearing it and it took a moment to realize she was being addressed. When she did turn and glance over her shoulder, it was to find Father Gibson standing there.
“Oh, Father,” she murmured, getting to her feet.
“I just wanted to say, I understand that after this latest incident, you most likely would prefer to be at your husband’s side than at mass.”
Annabel winced guiltily, for here she was willing to leave him to break her fast, but he was right and she hadn’t intended to attend mass. But mass was soooo long.
“So I thought to offer to give mass in your bedchamber,” the priest went on. “That way neither of you will miss it at a time when prayer is surely needed most.”
“Er …” Annabel said uncertainly, not sure Ross would be pleased to wake up and find everyone gathered around his sickbed for mass.
“A private mass,” Father Gibson clarified and Annabel relaxed.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “That is very kind.”
“Not at all. ’Tis my place to minister to those in need, and the two of you are surely in need what with these continued attacks.”
“Aye,” she agreed and then agreed again when he suggested he join her and Ross in their room after he’d done the usual mass in the chapel.
Annabel thanked him again, watched him walk away and then dropped onto the bench and said grimly, “We must sort out who is behind these attacks.”
Marach and Gilly exchanged a glance, but it was Marach who said, “That is what Ross was doing in the village yesterday when ye tricked us and slipped away on yer horse.”
“Was he?” she asked with interest. “What was he doing exactly?”
“Talking to Fingal,” Gilly answered. “The blacksmith.”
“The illegitimate son of Ross’s grandfather who tried to claim a right to the title of clan chief?” she asked, and when both men looked surprised she rolled her eyes. “Giorsal told me all about it.”
“Oh, aye,” Marach said.
“Did he find out anything?” she asked.
Gilly raised his eyebrows. “Yer asking us? We did no’ speak to him after that. He was with you.”
“Oh, right,” she murmured. Ross hadn’t mentioned anything about it. Would he have if he’d suspected the man of anything? She wasn’t sure.
“Then I should probably talk to this Fingal myself,” she decided.
“Did ye no’ just promise us but moments ago that ye’d no’ leave the keep while Ross is ill?” Gilly asked with exasperation.
“Aye, but I have changed my mind,” she said apologetically.
“Well ye can change yer mind all ye want, but the laird ordered us no’ to let ye leave the keep and I fer one intend to follow orders.”
Annabel scowled at him. “Gilly, who am I?”
“The laird’s la
dy wife.”
“And who is in charge when my husband is unwell or away?”
He cursed under his breath and looked away, refusing to answer, which was answer enough for Annabel. Gilly and Marach, and everyone else, had to obey her orders now.
“I will not leave the keep do I not have to, but I will get to the bottom of this. I want one of you to go down to the village and ask Fingal to come up here so that I can speak to him,” she said, and then added, “And the uncle too … Eoghann, I think Giorsal said?”
“Aye.” Gilly nodded. “Eoghann.”
“I want to talk to them at the same time,” she decided.
“Why?” Gilly asked. “Ye can no’ watch both o’ them at the same time and may miss a telling expression from one while looking at the other.”
“I might, but not if I have you two there while I talk to them,” she said and then pointed out, “They may give away more together than apart. They may exchange a glance at a certain point, or one may show surprise or disbelief if the other lies.” She shrugged. “Each of you can watch one of them the whole time and then we can share what we saw.”
“That’s a good idea,” Marach said with admiration.
“Aye,” Gilly agreed with a grin. “The lad did well marrying ye.”
Annabel smiled faintly at the praise, but then asked, “What is your opinion of Derek’s mother?”
“Miriam?” Marach asked with surprise.
Annabel nodded, and then said, “Giorsal said she hated Ross for killing Derek, blamed him for the whole thing.”
“Aye, she did, but—”
“Was that hatred enough for her to seek revenge?” she asked.
The two men exchanged a frown, and then Gilly shook his head. “Nay. I mean, aye, she may have. But then she would be attacking Ross, no’ you.”
“Mayhap,” she agreed, “Unless her revenge took the form of taking something or someone from him.” When the men stared at her blankly, she sighed and said, “In her mind, Ross took away the son she loved. Is it possible she decided her revenge should be—”
“To take away someone Ross loves from him,” Marach finished with understanding.
“Well, mayhap not love,” Annabel murmured. She didn’t think her husband loved her. At least he had never said anything of the like. He liked her though. She was pretty sure about that. And he seemed to enjoy bedding her, and he was caring and—
“That’s clever, that is,” Gilly said slowly, considering her suggestion. “And sneaky like a woman.”
Annabel scowled at the insult and he grimaced.
“Sorry, I mean sneaky like some women,” he muttered.
“Hmmm,” she said with displeasure, and then sighed and added, “Ask around and see if you cannot find out where Miriam has got to and if anyone has seen her in the area.” She paused briefly and then added unhappily, “Although not seeing her may not mean she is not behind this. After all, ’tis a man doing the attacking. It could be someone she hired. She would not need to be in the area at all if that is the case.”
“I heard she went back to her kin,” Marach said thoughtfully. “If she did send someone, it’s most likely kin. We can ask if anyone has seen members of her family about, or if any of her kin fit the description of the man that chased ye in the clearing,” he suggested.
“Aye. Good thinking,” Annabel praised, and then stood. “I am going back up to check on my husband.”
“But ye’ve no’ broken yer fast,” Gilly pointed out with a frown.
Annabel glanced down at the bits of bread littering her spot. She’d torn her bread to shreds but had not eaten a bite. Shrugging, she said, “I am not really hungry anyway.”
“I’ll ha’e a maid bring ye up some cider and food,” Marach said quietly. “Ye must keep yer strength up. Ye may need it in the future.”
“Thank you,” Annabel murmured and turned for the stairs. But as she walked, it suddenly occurred to her to wonder what he’d meant. Did he mean she needed to keep her strength up in case of another attack, or in case Ross died? Her mind shrank from the second possibility. Annabel simply didn’t want to think about that. She liked her husband. Perhaps even was coming to love him. He was caring and concerned in his treatment of her, and he made her blood burn and her body sing. She didn’t want to think of never experiencing any of that again.
“LIKE I TOLD the laird, Ainsley, Eoghann and I were drinking the night we decided to put in a claim to the title.”
Annabel nodded to encourage the man to continue, and then glanced over her shoulder to be sure Gilly and Marach were each paying attention. A snort from Eoghann brought her gaze back around.
“We weren’t just drinking, we were sotted,” Ross’s uncle put in. “We were supposed to be playing cards, but instead the three of us were yammering on about Derek.”
“Aye,” Fingal agreed. “We all three were annoyed with the little idiot blathering on about his being four years older, and how it would make him the wiser and better chief than Ross.” He scowled. “And some folk were falling for it.”
“Can ye imagine?” Eoghann asked with dismay. “After all Ross had done to prove himself, stepping up repeatedly and takin’ the reins when his father, God rest his soul, was away or unwell. The lad is a born leader.”
“Aye, and what had Derek done?” Fingal asked, and then answered in unison with Eoghann, “Nothing.”
They both nodded together, looking like the brothers they were, and then Fingal muttered, “The lad’s ridiculous yammering made us fair froth.”
“Froth,” Eoghann agreed.
“So, we decided if he wanted to play the age card, we could beat him there and we’d all put ourselves forward as runners for the title,” Fingal continued. “Give the little bastard a scare.”
“Aye,” Eoghann agreed, and then added quickly, “But none o’ us really wanted it. I’m a farmer at heart. Always ha’e been. Can’t be bothered with all that political nonsense. Give me some good, fertile soil and I can feed the village. Give me a sword and I’d most like poke meself by accident,” he said with a grimace. “I’d rather slop me pigs than kowtow to the English and our neighbors … and our father kenned that. Set me up with a fine bit o’ land to till when I was still a boy, and I’ve made fine work of it. I’m content.”
“And I like being blacksmith,” Fingal assured her. “Always had a temper, and I can beat that out hammering me metal. I’d forever be at war were I clan chieftain.”
“Aye, he would,” Eoghann said with a grin.
“And that’s no’ a good thing,” Fingal assured her. “I can hammer a fine sword, the best in the highlands, but wielding it?” He grimaced and shook his head. “I’d get meself stuck through, the first battle.”
“Aye,” Eoghann agreed. “As would I.”
The two men were silent for a moment and then Fingal said, “I ken yer trying to find out who is behind these attacks as Ross was doing ere he was hurt, but if yer looking to us, yer looking in the wrong direction. Ross is a good leader, and bad as I am with a sword, I’d take one up in his defense, but I’d ne’er turn one against him.”
Eoghann nodded solemnly and then asked, “How is the lad? Has he stirred at all?”
“Nay,” Annabel admitted quietly.
Eoghann sighed, looking suddenly old. He shook his head. “It’s no’ fair. The lad’s had a tough row o’ it the last five or six years.”
“Aye,” Fingal sighed. “And it was just starting to look like he was comin’ out o’ it. He handled Derek and things were settling here and then he fetched ye back. It seemed things had taken a turn.”
Eoghann nodded. “We were expecting the squawl o’ bairns soon and a contented laird. A happy laird makes for happy people.”
“I am sure he will wake soon,” Annabel said soothingly. “He is strong.”
“Aye, but head wounds are a tricky business,” Eoghann muttered unhappily.
Annabel grimaced at the words. They had been repeated often of late, even by her,
and she was sick of them. Tricky or not, Ross had to recover from this head wound.
“Ha’e ye considered Miriam?” Eoghann asked suddenly, and then added, “She did no’ take Derek’s passing well, and blamed Ross despite her boy starting this whole business.”
“Hell, she was probably the one prodding Derek to claim the title,” Fingal said with disgust. “That way she would be mother o’ the laird and live in the castle.”
“That’s more than possible,” Eoghann decided, and then added with disapproval, “Miriam always aspired to grander things than village life. She wanted to be Lady MacKay as a lass, chased our brother, Ranson, Ross’s father, and was furious when the boy’s mother won him over instead.”
“Really?” Annabel asked with interest.
“Aye. That’s a fact,” Eoghann assured her. “I wouldn’t put it past the woman to try to make trouble for Ross for dashing her last hope o’ being the grand lady o’ the manor.”
“Do you know if she—” Annabel paused and glanced toward the keep doors when they suddenly opened. She recognized the man who entered. He was a MacKay and often guarded the front gate, but she had never been told his name, so she was a little alarmed when he glanced around, spotted her at the trestle tables and headed straight for her.
“Begging yer pardon, me lady,” the man murmured with a slight bow as he reached her. “But there’s a lady at the gate asking to see ye.”
“A lady?” Annabel asked with surprise, searching her mind for what woman in Scotland might want to see her. The only women she knew so far were the servants here and Giorsal, and Giorsal would never be kept waiting at the gate.
“An Englishwoman,” the soldier clarified.
Annabel’s eyes widened and she stood at once.
“Hold on there,” Eoghann said, jumping to his feet and then he eyed the soldier. “Is it Miriam?”
“Miriam?” Annabel asked with surprise. “But she is Scottish … isn’t she?” she added uncertainly.
Fingal and Eoghann shook their heads as one, but it was Eoghann who said, “Nay. Miriam is English. Our father hired her father on as cook here when she was twelve. Her mother was dead, so he brought her along and they had a little room off the kitchens.”
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