The Traitor's Daughter

by Claire Robyns

  The Macfarlane place, a larger cottage with its mismatched extensions that had been added over the generations, was set farther back on the far side of the potted rows of medicinal herbs and root plants. Mr Macfarlane was a wizened old man with creaky bones, and arcane knowledge dripping from his gnarled fingertips that he liked to proclaim was a gift from the gods and could not be learnt from any book.

  I sincerely hoped he was wrong. Jamison had tended our vegetable gardens with Anna and had a green thumb, but he knew next to nothing about growing herbs and extracting their uses. With Jarvis’ spies to pilfer ready-processed medicine straight from the infirmary stores, we’d never bothered.

  The howling wind covered our arrival and we took Jamison clear by surprise when we trooped onto his porch. He glanced up from his desk by the window and almost fell out of his chair when our eyes connected through the glass.

  He hurried to open the door, then stood aside with a wide grin.

  “Hello Jamie,” I said, greeting him with a warm smile. “Did you not receive word I was coming today?”

  “Yes, I think I…of course I did, it’s just… I was…” He waved a hand toward the disarray of opened books on his desk. “I got distracted.”

  His eyes popped when he saw Amelia swoop inside behind me, and I didn’t think it was because of her striking beauty or the way that riding ensemble hugged her figure. He’d been present when she’d been so extremely vocal about her objections. He’s just a pup. Perhaps you don’t realize the high regard of this profession. I’m sure he’s perfectly trustworthy, but he has yet to earn it. I’m sorry, absolutely not!

  “L-Lady Hunt,” Jamison stammered, his cheeks reddening as he backed himself up against the wall.

  “Don’t mind me,” she declared, and somehow managed to drape herself in a rickety chair with her usual flamboyance. “I’m just here to observe.”

  “Seriously, do not mind her,” I said to Jamison with a conspiratorial wink to set him at ease. “She’s not nearly as vicious as she likes to appear.”

  “You wound me,” Amelia drawled.

  I sent her a look to play nice or I’d toss her out the door.

  Markus and David stepped inside to crowd the tiny front parlour. What little space there was, was mostly taken up by the teetering bookshelf and desk.

  Jamison’s gaze skittered nervously to Amelia. I hadn’t seen him this uncomfortable since my father had offered to castrate him if he needed any help keeping his hormones in check. “Um, maybe we should move into the sitting room. It’s, um, bigger.”

  “This is fine,” I said. “I want to see what you’re working on. But…” I turned to the others. “It is a little cramped inside here.”

  Markus took the hint and slapped David on the back. “Come on, let’s go see what Jamison is hiding to slake our thirst. Kitchen?” he asked and Jamison pointed him through an internal door.

  Amelia stayed put, calling after them, “While you’re there, be a dear and brew us a pot of tea.”

  I rolled my eyes. She’d been spending far too much time with us and what she referred to as our savage ways. At the beginning of the week, she’d been horrified at our informal invasion of each other’s homes. Now look at her.

  Markus swept her a low, mocking bow on his way out. They’d developed this prickly, mocking relationship during the course of the week that I was resolved to ignore.

  I wandered over to the bookshelf, my finger trailing the spines of well-preserved hardbacks as I scanned the titles. The Encyclopaedia of Natural Remedies. The Alchemy of Herbs. “Did Mr Macfarlane lend you these?”

  “Gosh, no, he’d flay me if I went anywhere near his library,” Jamison said, joining me. “This all came with the cottage.”

  I arched a brow at him, lowered my voice. “You do know it’s his duty to take you under his wing and school you, right? That’s why he’s the herbalist and you’re the junior assistant.”

  “He is trying,” Jamison said. “I don’t think it’s easy for him.”

  “Don’t let him intimidate you,” I said. “There’s a reason we’ve always had two independent herbalist families.”

  Balance of power. There was a small hot house for the exotic plants. A fenced cage that could lock for the opiates and potentially poisonous roots. Everything from the headache powders to the penicillin antibiotics that our medicine relied on came from these gardens.

  A flash of bright colour caught my eye, drawing me closer to the window. The splash of red was the apron tugging at the waist of a woman as she marched across the field, head down against the brutal wind.

  “Oh, okay, that’s not good,” Jamison mumbled, peering over my shoulder.

  “Why not?” My eyes tracked the woman as she neared. She was grey-haired, broad-boned, and that’s as much as I could make out. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Jamison!”

  “I really don’t, Rose. But she’s not really happy about me being here.”

  Intrigued by the mystery, Amelia strolled over to take a look. Her feigned indifference sharpened to wariness. “Has she been bothering you?”

  “No, n-not really,” he said, his slight stammer returning beneath Amelia’s attention. “It’s just, with Rose here, and y-you, of course—” He cut off to look at me. “There isn’t much more to see here. We should go into the sitting room.”

  Deciding Amelia knew more than I could get Jamison to tell, I nudged her shoulder. “Who is that woman?”

  “Beatrice Jones.” Amelia moved back to perch on the edge of Jamison’s desk. “Her husband is Allen Jones. He was the junior herbalist and Jamison is right. She wasn’t happy to lose her home and lifestyle.”

  “Her husband was the previous junior herbalist?” I glanced at Amelia, back to the woman. “Did he pass away?”

  “Worse,” she said curtly. “He used his privileged position to trade herbs to susceptible civilians for extra ration cards.”

  “Why would anyone give up their rations for medicinal herbs?” We had a town doctor and the castle infirmary, and everyone was treated free of cost.

  “Some roots and leaves have pleasurable mind-altering properties,” Jamison explained quietly. “They can be addictive, and harmful if used incorrectly.”

  “Precisely,” Amelia said. “Allen Jones is a dangerous man. He was found guilty of crimes against the crown and spent six months in the dungeon. On his release, he was demoted, naturally.”

  Which meant he’d lost his job and his home. He and his family would have been relocated to Sandtin, the mining village on the other side of the western ridge. It wasn’t a prison camp and it wasn’t exile, but it was a two day walk to the narrow pass through which the sand and ores were carted.

  “I knew Beatrice returned to town for the royal wedding,” Amelia went on. “She petitioned the Mayor for her husband to be re-instated the day after, practically accosted one of my staff in the street. I didn’t know she’d stayed.”

  I pressed my palm flat to the window, watching as the woman reached the copse of oaks. Her gaze lifted to look as she stomped around the trees, but the horses hitched there didn’t falter her stride.

  Jamison groaned beneath his breath. “I thought she’d stop when she saw I had guests.” He moved toward the front door. “I’ll send her away.”

  “Jamison, don’t.” I turned my head to look at him. “Whatever she has to say to you, I’d like to hear.”

  “She doesn’t say anything, not with words,” he muttered. His hand went to the doorknob. “Rose, stand back from the window.”

  “What?” I turned to peer out the window again. Just in time to see the woman had reached the foot of the porch steps and the rock hurling toward me. Not in time. Too late. I ducked and the rock missed my head by inches, but the glass shattered and I felt the bite above my brow.

  “Rose!” Jamison screamed, rushing to me.

  Amelia reached me first, yanking me backward and inserting herself between me and the window.


  “She’s only thrown eggs before. And a tomato once.” Jamison put a hand out to touch my forehead, dropped it. He paled visibly. “I didn’t know she’d…why did she do this? I didn’t think she’d do this.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I said. “I’m okay, Jamie. It’s just a scratch and it’s certainly not your fault.”

  The inner door burst open, Markus storming in. His gaze swept from the broken window to me and stuck. “What the hell—”

  “I’ve got Rose,” Amelia told him calmly. “Outside. Detain that woman.”

  He flashed her a look, back to me, then he sprinted across the room and out the front door. His booted falls thumped the planks of the porch and then fell away.

  Something wet dribbled into my lashes, down the side of my eye. Maybe more than a scratch. I lifted a hand to feel and Amelia grabbed it, looked into my eyes with a sober grimace for a long moment.

  “You probably shouldn’t,” she said and took charge, ordering Jamison to fetch a clean linen, barking at David to boil a pot of water as he came sliding around the doorway.

  “No need,” Jamison said, his voice shaky as he shoved past David. “I have water that’s already distilled.”

  Amelia tried to guide me into the rickety chair.

  I resisted and instead sank down the wall to sit on the floor, cupping a hand over my eye to shield it from the sticky blood that had turned from a trickle into a river. My fingers brushed against something brittle, hard, cold. The pain came next, a spear splintering to my skull. I clamped my lips, grimaced at Amelia as she dropped to her knees before me. “There’s a piece of glass stuck in me, isn’t there?”

  “A rather large piece.” Her voice was light, her green eyes deeply troubled. She used the cuff of her coat to wipe my cheek. “We’ll take it out in a second. David…” She glanced to where he’d frozen in the doorway. “Fetch something for the pain.”

  “Whiskey?”

  “We’re in an herbalist’s cottage,” she said patiently, almost gently. “I’m sure Jamison has something stronger. Ask him.”

  David skittered off.

  I grinned at her. “So, you do know how to play nice.”

  “They’ll all hear it from me once I’ve stopped you from bleeding out,” she said with a dry laugh. “Your men are a bunch of ninnies, Rose. How did you ever lead them into battle?”

  “Jamison is better with plants than swords,” I said, smiling through the throb at my temple. “River Grodden was David’s first—” and mine “—and look how that turned out. We’re not nearly as cutthroat as our name.”

  “Mountain rebels,” she murmured. “I still like it. It has a nice ring.”

  If my eyeballs weren’t throbbing, I would have rolled them. I rested the back of my head against the wall. “Do you believe in Karma?”

  She thought that through and shook her head. “I believe in man. If you do right, you’ll be rewarded by your fellow man. If you do wrong, you’ll be judged and punished according to the laws.”

  “What if you’re above the law?”

  She gave another dry laugh. “What has Nathanial done now?”

  “I cut him,” I said, scowled unconsciously and the pain stabbed my brow. “We were sword fighting and I cut him on the jaw. It wasn’t an accident.”

  “You’re delirious.”

  “I wanted to hurt him,” I said. “It would have been much worse if he hadn’t realized my intent and rolled out the way.”

  Amelia stilled. “What did Nathanial do?”

  Why was I telling her? I didn’t know. I thought I’d washed all this away in the shower this morning. I’d told myself it was blind rage. I wasn’t anything like Nathanial. I would never wittingly take my blade to a man already fallen and at my mercy.

  I blinked hard, looked at her again. “He threw his sword aside and told me to carve as many scars into him as I thought he deserved.”

  “That sounds like Nathanial.”

  My lips curled in scorn. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?”

  “Every person has more than one side, Rose,” she said, and that’s all she said because Jamison and David were back.

  Jamison kneeled beside Amelia and held a small brown vial out to me. “This will numb your pain. You may feel a little drowsy, but that is normal.”

  “I can’t take that, I have to ride.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Amelia said. “You’re not riding anywhere.”

  Still, I refused the vial and braced myself for the pain. Amelia had a delicate but firm touch and quickly pulled out the glass shard. While she cleaned and bandaged my wound, Markus returned, dragging the broad-boned woman inside by the arm.

  “Your grace,” she sobbed. “Forgive me. Please, your grace…”

  Markus spoke over her, his gaze darkening on me. “You look as pale as a ghost. How much damn blood did you lose?”

  “I have a bit of a headache.” I pushed to my feet, using the wall to steady myself at the sudden wave of dizziness. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” he countered bluntly. “The bandage is soaking through.”

  “Head wounds bleed profusely,” Amelia said. “She needs stitches.”

  “I’ll ride for Doctor Lossing and bring the carriage.” He glared down at Beatrice. “What should I do with this one?”

  “Drop her off at the dungeon,” suggested Amelia. “She assaulted the Queen. That is treason.”

  “No, please…” Beatrice tried to pull free, stretching toward me. “Your grace, I didn’t know you were here. I would never lift a finger to the Queen, I swear on my mother’s grave. I didn’t mean no harm.”

  Amelia made an unsympathetic noise at the woman. “You threw a rock through the window.”

  “That’s enough,” I snapped, putting a hand up to silence the room and narrowed my eyes on the woman. “I feel like a Hummingbird is vibrating against my skull and taking a sharp peck every other second. It’s making me cranky, so I’ll only ask this once and if you don’t speak the truth, I’ll toss you in the dungeon myself.” I paused for effect. “Why did you throw that rock? Why have you been harassing Jamison?” I gestured toward Jamison in case she didn’t even know the name of the man she’d been harassing.

  “Your Grace, I am sorry.”

  “I’m not asking for your apologies, I want a reason.” My tone softened, but nothing else. I wouldn’t tolerate senseless acts of prejudice, not when I’d given up so much for Nathanial’s damnable united kingdom. “I’ve been informed of your history. You lost your home, but what has that to do with Jamison?”

  Her eyes dipped. “My husband did a little harmless extra trading and we lost everything,” she said in a small voice. “I’m sorry, your Grace, but this man took up arms against the King and now he lives in my home and has my husband’s position. It’s not fair, is it? That some should get a second chance and not others, that’s all.”

  “Look at me,” I ordered, and waited for her gaze to lift. I didn’t like this woman, the way she placed blame and detracted from her husband’s crimes, but her limited point of view did have some merit. “For your information, Jamison has never taken up arms against anyone and my people are not guilty of treason. Our kingdom was divided, loyalties split between the King and High Chancellor. Now we are united and our loyalty is shared. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, your grace,” she mumbled.

  I looked at Markus. “Release her.”

  He shrugged and let go of the woman’s arm.

  Amelia released a long-winded noisy sigh.

  “Consider this your second chance,” I said to the woman. “If I hear you’ve attacked anyone or their property again, verbally or physically, I will suddenly remember you assaulted the Queen.”

  The woman nodded, scraping and bowing her way out of my presence.

  “Can I please fetch the doctor now?” Markus said, except he wasn’t asking. He spun about on his heels to go.

  “Markus!”
r />   He threw me a look over his shoulder that brooked no argument.

  “The short ride won’t break me.” I pressed a hand to my throbbing forehead, felt the wetness there. “And it will be quicker if I go to him.”

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  The first fat drops pelted from the sky as we were untying our horses. Markus offered me his cloak and I accepted, not caring about a few drops of rain. I draped it over my head like a hooded cape to hide the damage.

  “Let’s keep this incident between ourselves,” I told everyone as we mounted. “There’s no need to raise the alarm and stir unrest.”

  “I hate to state the obvious.” Amelia twirled a finger at my hooded face. “But don’t you think Nathanial might notice the gash in your head?”

  “I’ll handle Nathanial.”

  There was no sign of him or the King’s Guard at the castle. Likely they were all out watching the qualifying round for the Eagle Trials. Doctor Lossing took great care—and time—stitching me back together. There’d still be a thin scar, he cautioned, but I was lucky. It was just above the line of my brow and not too obvious.

  “If I may be so bold as to ask,” he said. “What happened, your grace?”

  I told him the truth and no more. “I stood too close to a window when it shattered.”

  He sent Markus a questioning look.

  Markus shrugged. “These things happen.”

  When Markus walked me up the private stairway to my bedroom, however, he fumed, “You lived ten years on our mountain without spilling any blood. A couple of weeks in Nathanial’s court and you’re scarred for life.”