Her appetite had vanished from her stomach and she stood. “Are ye ready to go now?”
“Aye,” he said. “Let me get some food from the kitchens first before we go, we might be hungry on the way,” he said, leaning his head to the kitchen’s door. “Get dressed and I will meet ye at the stables.”
Nodding, she headed off to her room with the newest revelations about this blue-eyed woman circulating in her head like carriage wheels. They had to find this woman. If she was both the lure and the one who had made the sleeping potion, she was the only one who could tell them who had killed Finley. No wonder she was in hiding.
She slipped her dagger into her boot and then hurried to the stables. If the next village was as far as Ethan had said, they would have to ride hard. Thank God she had carried the set of breeches. She entered the musty room to find Ethan securing a saddle on a horse with a flinty face. He stood and she grimaced at the pain edged in his face.
“Ethan…” She came closer, “…tell me what’s wrong.”
He faced away and tugged the pommel to make sure the saddle was straight and his mouth was a thin line. She dared to rest her hand on his shoulder and tug him towards her. “Ethan, please look at me.”
“I hate it when this happens,” his words were tight and clenched. “I hate it when me uncle and father fight. It never ends well. Either me uncle disappears for a while, sometimes a week or even a year, or me faither becomes a slab of stone. When they dae work together, it’s the best, but when they fight it feels like…” He cut off his words with a tight look and a shake of his head. “…. it feels like me family is falling apart. Me maither is already ill and now…”
His hands dropped to his side and then clenched to fists. His body was a tense rod of steel and the cords of his neck were standing out. Then, like a swift breeze shifting a tree form east to west, Ethan’s body folded into itself and he shot out a hand to grab on her nearest wall.
She slid her hand from his shoulder up to his face and to his eyes that were bracketed by tight lines. He was worried, and it showed. “Ethan, I ken ye are worried, but we can ease his pain by daeing our part and finding this woman. I ken it’s hard and I wish I could dae more, but this is the best we can dae now.”
His eyes fluttered closed; he sucked in a deep breath and then nodded. “Aye, we must dae our part.” He nodded to a stall behind him. “Yer disguise is inside there, change and we can head out.”
Nibbling her lip, Violet sighed and then went to change. Ethan’s pain, that she felt so dearly, was like a steel band around her heart. She swallowed over the ache while changing quickly. She stepped out while fixing her wig and saw Ethan staring blankly into the distance, a mask of strength in place of the one of pain. His lifted his chin and his defiant stance had her hoping that he was committed and focused on finding this woman.
“I’m ready,” she said quietly.
His gaze was calm, “Yer horse is ready, and I have food in case we do get hungry on the way or in Turren.”
“Before we go,” she said, fishing something from her pocket, a woolen Monmouth cap, big enough to hide his hair, “Here, wear this.”
Ethan ducked his head. She used her fingers to comb his thick locks back, silently surprised at the softness she felt, before she placed the brim over his head and tugged it down to his ears. Stepping away, she smiled. “Perfect.”
His crooked smile was fleeting but it still pleased her. Violet grasped his shoulders as he lifted her on her horse, and then watched as he mounted his. They took the same hilly path and, as before, the surroundings were beautiful. The hills had a deeper shade of green and the sky shimmered a light azure. There was silence between them until Ethan broke it.
“Faither is giving me a year to transition into the Lairdship position,” he said. “But I keep fearing that I will never scramble up to the level Finley was on.”
Violet's mind flew back to when her mother died. “Ethan, when me maither died, there was a gaping hole in our home. As a devoted daughter, I tried to take on what she would dae in the home. I learned to cook at an early age, I cleaned, I made sure there was nothin’ to frustrate Faither when he came home.”
He was looking directly at her, with deep apprehension, and she continued, hoping to allay his fear, “Even with all me efforts, I learned quickly enough that nay one can equally measure up to the person who filled the spot before them. I never filled me maither’s space and that was just in a home. Ye now will have to take care of a whole Lairdship. Ethan, the hard truth is ye cannae fill Finley’s boots. What ye can dae is forge yer own path and make the people love ye for ye.”
His head swiveled, “How old were ye were ye came to that realization?”
“Four-and-ten,” she said as her mount began a quick trot. “Before that, I floundered, wondering what I was doing wrong. The food did not taste the same, the house always felt cold, me faither was distant. When I finally realized that I would never be me maither, the burden became lighter.”
They were nearing in on the first town, but they kept straight on the main road and soon sped past it. The land was level enough for them to kick their pace up to a canter. Speaking between them became difficult as the wind stole the words between them. They maintained their silence while they rode to the next town. The path to that town took them down a hill into a village nestled in a picturesque valley. On the crest of the hill, Violet stopped her horse just to look.
A vee of grassy hillsides, dotted with scrubby bushes at the bases, bracketed a village of golden wooden houses. A thick line of blue snaked its way through the middle, bisecting the town in two, both halves connected by a large black-stone bridge that shimmered under the sunlight.
Her eyes drank in the sight with relish. It felt so charming that she voiced that is should be immortalized in a painting or a tapestry.
Ethan came close enough that his thigh brushed hers. “Many of our woodworkers and masons come from this town. As we pass through, you’ll see their handiwork.”
“It’s stunning,” she remarked. “The people must be happy to live here. It looks so peaceful.”
“It is,” he confirmed. “Sadly, the river passes through salty rock under the mountain, so no fish live in it. They get fish from us and our loch and sometimes beef from our herds.”
Spurring her horse forwards, Violet began the rest of the decent. They came to the base of the hill and began to trot towards the entrance of the township. “Where dae ye ken we might start to search?”
“The same as before, the market and then a tavern, that is, if we have time,” Ethan said. “The town after this one has an inlet dock of a very large loch where ships do come in from the lowland; we might start looking there too.”
Violet heard him, but her attention was locked on her surroundings. The houses were mostly quaint one-story wooden cottages with thatch and slate roofs, but in the middle of the town was a tall stone church with an arch for the entrance and steeple.
“The market’s over there.” He inclined his head to the west. “I dinnae ken if we can find much, as the market days are before the sabbath where they stock up on food for the evening, and it’s the middle of the week now. The culture here is that all except children and feeble adults fast for the day and while they go to church. They hold fast to the rule of six days shall ye labor.”
Nodding with his clarification, Violet headed to the market with Ethan’s horse plodding along beside her. The market had no sign or post but the tents and stalls made it clear what it was. A few people were lingering there, standing near their stalls with food piled on them.
Violet slid off the saddle and looked around, feeling concerned. Had they come all this way for nothing? Perhaps after this, they would have to go door-to-door with the villagers. There were only two to question here and she felt that nothing would come from them. Still, they had to try.
She handed the leading rein to Ethan who secured it to a hitching post, then went to the first person. It was a woman, middle-aged w
ith thinning dark hair and bright green eyes.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Ethan said. “I’m from Clan MacFerson, I’m sure ye might have heard about Master MacFerson’s death—” the woman nodded, “— but before that, he left some orders. A woman he had pledged to help through her troubles is naywhere to be found and we’re trying to find her. Dae ye ken of a woman with dark hair, light blue eyes, and a scar on her forehead? She has the skills of a healer, making potions and such healing draughts.”
The woman shook her head, “I dinnae ken anyone with those features or such occupation, good sir. The healers we have here are elderly cottage wives that grow herbs in their garden. A physician from Clan Hofte comes around three times per year or when we send for him.”
“Are there any women here with a child and nay husband?” Ethan asked again. “He might have died suddenly or left without a word?”
“Nay,” she shook her head, “The closest thing to that I can ken of is a woman whose husband left the village, but then he sent for her and they make a life in Edina now.”
Ethan shot her a disappointed look before nodding to the woman, “Thank ye for yer time.”
The other two vendors had similar stories, and Violet could see frustration deepen in his face when they were constantly let down. As they went back to the horses, Violet's eyes met those of a thin redhead lad quickly before he ducked away. Thinking nothing of it, she got on the horse and they went back to the center of the town.
“A tavern now?”
“Aye,” he said, “Luckily for us, it is in the lone inn they have here and mayhap we can find more people there to question.”
She stopped her horse and reached out to rest a hand on his forearm. “We’ll find this woman, Ethan, I am sure of it.”
He did not look comforted, and a cold hollowness began to settle in her heart at the feeling that their quest was turning out to be somewhat pointless. The only thing she was relying on was her instinct, and if she was wrong, Violet felt that there would never be enough apologies she could give him.
If this doesnae work….are there enough words to apologize with?
The inn was nondescript, with dulled wooden walls that showed its age and scrubgrass on both sides of the cobblestone pathway to the entrance. A square of the yard, near a west wall, was made of dirt and a row of hitching posts was there. She slid from the saddle and looped the reins over it. Guilt that she was wasting Ethan’s time had her looking everywhere but to him as they climbed the short steps to the front door.
It was loose, so she pushed in and a warm, somewhat stale air met her nose. There was a front room but, peering down a short corridor, she saw the tavern where a man with a face full of knotty whiskers sat at the long bar. The man sounded to be at the bottom of his cups already but, by peeking further, she saw there were three more people there. Guests of the inn, most likely.
Entering the room, she saw more clearly. A man was beside himself nursing a tankard, and two other people, a man and woman, were talking to each other. A barmaid was in the corner wiping down a table and another was behind the bar.
She took a seat in the corner and watched Ethan get cups of water for them. When the barmaid came back, Ethan spoke to her briefly and she shook her head. The hollow feeling in her heart began to throb. Another rejection. He placed the cup before her, but she felt emptiness sink further. There was a good chance she might lose her stomach contents if she even tried to drink this.
“Stop it,” Ethan said. “I ken that ye are over there digging daggers into yerself for. Ye dinnae cause this.”
“Perhaps I led ye wrong,” she sighed, daring to look up to briefly meet his eyes before looking around. “Mayhap I was completely wrong.”
He prodded the goblet to her. “Even so, the time with ye is never wasted.”
His kind words were a soft balm to her smarting soul, but the earnest look in his eyes enforced his words. “Ye believe that?”
Shrugging, he smiled. “Of course, I’ve gotten to ken who ye are. Ye are the most daring woman I have ever met, and yer smarts outshine the stars I see every night.”
Unsuccessfully fighting down a blush, Violet ducked her head. “Thanks.” Her throat felt tied and she was struggling to say something more when she caught something from the corner of her eye.
It was the same lanky redhead lad from the market; his head darted away and she stood abruptly. She briefly marked the confused Ethan’s face before she darted out, and got to the porch to see the lad look over his shoulder and dart off.
She was after him, sprinting agilely, dashing through the corridor he had taken and running through the slender spaces between the houses, down the twisting streets and leaping over a barrel the boy had kicked after him. She had no time to ask herself why he was running but she knew she had to catch him. If he had any information on the woman they were seeking, she was not going to let him go, even if she had to run to the ends of the earth.
Thumping feet behind her told her that Ethan was running behind her. She chased the flash of red hair as she raced along the path, ducking under eaves and weaving through the people who stumbled in her way. Soon her lungs began to burn as if they were set on fire. Her legs felt heavy and her muscles began to cramp, but as long as there was a breath left in her body, she refused to give up.
She could usually run for a long while without any strain, but she had not been this active in a while. Her step faltered while rounding a corner and she stumbled. She would have sprawled headlong, if she had not pivoted and spun around to get her footing.
“The redhead!” she gasped.
Ethan blew past her, and the moment she regained her balance, she was on his heels. The boy was quick, but Ethan was quicker. The redhead attempted to vault over a low wall, but as he leaped, Ethan grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him back. He spun the lad and shoved him against the wall just at Violet caught up to them.
She hunched over and braced her hands on her knees while Ethan growled. “Why did ye run?”
“A-and,” she gasped, “Why were ye at the market then followed us to the tavern?”
The boy’s face was pale with fear and his voice was a stutter, “I-I was in the town before this and word around there is that ye came around asking for a woman with d-dark hair and blue eyes with a s-scar on her forehead? I wanted to come and see if it was true that someone was asking for her, as well, ye cannae trust drunkards or gossips.”
“Aye, it was us,” Ethan glared, “What do ye ken about it?”
He swallowed liberally and fear rendered his face sickly yellow, “I ken because…her name is Gavina and…she’s—she’s—” he broke off and pressed his lips tight.
“Spit it out,” Ethan ordered impatiently.
“—she’s me sister—,” the lad said. “—but I dinnae ken ye would be searching for her as she’s supposed to be dead.”
10
Yanking away from the lad, Ethan stumbled away, “Dead? How is she supposed to be dead?”
“Moreover, ye look nothin’ like her,” Violet said as she came to his side. “We’ve been told she has dark hair and blue eyes, ye have red hair and brown eyes. How can ye be brother and sister?”
The lad shook his head warily, “Why should I tell ye more, and why are ye looking for me sister at all?”
Because even if she had not wielded the blade herself, she was armed with the potion that allowed the killer to do it.
The words were on the tip of his tongue but he stopped from uttering them. Tugging off his hat, Ethan shook his head, “Because I am Ethan MacFerson, the younger brother of dead Finley MacFerson, and ye are?”
“Davidh,” the lad said after tugging his dropped jaw up but the wary look never leaving his eyes. “Davidh O’Bachnon. Why are ye two looking for me sister?”
“Because she was the last person to see me brother before he died,” Ethan said tightly. “And, again, why dae ye nay look like her?”
“We’re nay blood kin, her maither married me faithe
r three years before I was born,” Davidh wetted his lips. “I grew up with calling her sister and I ken about the scar because I caused it. I was six and she was nearly ten at that time and I begged her to race with me. She dinnae wanted to but I pestered her until she gave in. She tripped and banged her head on a rock. That scar, I always kent it was me fault.”
Calmer now, the lad leaned on the wall. “She went to Perth when I was six-and-ten. She was nearly twenty and had nay choice of a husband as most of the young men had left to find work in the coal mines in the hills beyond. We dinnae ken what she was going to do there, but Ma had died and Faither was beside himself. He let her go while I stayed back to see about our smithy.” He shook his head, and stared out beyond them, visibly gathering his thoughts.
“She went off and nay word came for a year. When we did hear from her, five years ago, we were told she had married a trader who went between Perth and England, and had a child and we were happy for her. Then…three years ago, we heard her husband got ill and died and she had caught the same disease, scarlatina. We never got to bury her at home, even though it was relatively close.”
The Highlander's Captured Bride (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 8