By God's Grace (26 page)

****

Grant found Alan in his father's study. The young man gazed longingly at a plume of smoke coming from the nearby wood. Alan would be glad to hear of Lyall's departure. It would mean his wife and child could come home. It would also mean he could stop pretending he was just the leader of the men and start acting as he truly was, the son of Rab Burns.

Grant cleared his throat so Alan would know he was no longer alone. Alan barely glanced around before speaking in a wistful tone, “Did ye know my son is almost ten months old, and he hardly knows me? Is Lyall ever going to leave?”

“Aye, she is.”

He spun on a booted heel. “When? When I am old and gray? When my son is running through the woods on his own? When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Shock covered his face. “Tomorrow, ye say? Please tell me this is not a jest or a cruel joke.”

“Nay, it is not. Duncan has ordered us home, and it seems Lyall is going with us.”

“I'm sorry.”

Grant understood his meaning. “So am I, but not for ye. Now ye can lead without fear.”

“I still think she murdered my father.”

“She probably did. She has doubtless committed a multitude of sins, and be assured they will find her out.”

“I guess that is all I can hope for.”

“Aye, it is.”

****

While Grant and Alan spoke of Lyall's impending exit, Lyall disappeared to her rooms. Stalking inside, she slammed the door. How dare Duncan get married without her!

Sori had been absent for weeks, and Lyall had started to feel happy. She had planned this whole celebration on her own without Sori. For a brief time she believed she didn't need Sori, but now she wasn't so sure. Maybe, just maybe, if Lyall asked nicely, Sori would come back, and they could plan one more great caper before she left home for good.

****

Everyone in the village, from the lowest servant to the laird, was in the great hall for the assigned festivities. Lyall had done an excellent job with the food and the arranging. Bards lined the main hallway. A doorman stood at the door and announced each person as they entered. The servants would always remember this night as having a magical quality.

Darla walked into the main hall alone. A feeling of royalty assailed her as she was announced to the room. “Darla of the Burns's Keep.”

The footman announced her but refused to glance in her direction. It'd been like that for years. Ever since Lyall had seen fit to displace her from the keep, she'd had to live as a kept woman. No one decent would dare have her. It would have been better for her had Lyall banished her from the land altogether. By keeping her in the village walls, she had had no chance of ever making a good match.

Many years ago when Grant arrived with Cainneach Sinclair to fetch Lyall, Darla felt hope. Grant was a man of great influence, not only in his own clan, but in the Sinclair clan as well. A man free of feminine responsibilities, having no wife. Darla deliberately sought him out in the hopes he would see her as a woman unblemished with great potential, a woman he would wish to have by his side. But Grant used her like all the others, and shamefully, she had let him.

A small part of her had believed that type of relationship would lead to another more permanent one. Then one day he was just gone. The only good thing that had come of his departure was Lyall's leaving. Darla would no longer be plagued with her looks or disparaging comments, which was a small blessing. Her happiness at Lyall's departure didn't last long, as there were plenty in the village willing to take up the slack. Taunts and jeers were a daily part of her life.

The music flowing from the main hall drew her attention back to the people in front of her. Women raised their hands to their mouths and snickered in whispers to their partners. They couldn't believe she would show her face. Part of her couldn't believe it either. Darla had considered skipping the whole event; it would serve Grant right if she failed to show, but she had an ulterior motive for coming, and there was safety in numbers. Lyall would be hard-pressed to take her life in a crowded room full of people. At least Darla thought she would be safe. That is, if she refrained from eating the food.

Grant was spotted. The man sauntered over to her side, pulling her in close and whispering against her ear. “I didn't think ye would come, but I am glad ye did.”

The smell of ale covered him, the liquid dripping from his chin. Wasn't it a little early in the evening to be so drunk? “Grant, ye are besotted!”

His feet tangled and he came close to falling, toppling Darla with him before she stopped their descendent.

“Nay, I'm not drunk,” he said with a hiccup.

Darla glanced around the room. A look at the Sinclair men revealed them all to be in a drunken state. Each of them hung on the arm of a Burns's woman. All but one had a lewd expression dotting their face. It was Grant's cousin, the one they called Bryce. He was the only one who seemed to have his head about him. Darla dragged a staggering Grant toward him.

“Where are we going, lass?” said Grant, his speech slurred. Adding, “Ooo, the room seems to be spinning, I think I will just sit here and rest a bit.”

Grant sat in the middle of the makeshift dance floor and giggled. Darla tried to pull him out of the way, but he wouldn't budge. She hated to leave him, but it was the only way she could see to help him.

Darla ran to Bryce, who was continuously shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Stupid, foolish men, getting drunk the day before traveling home.”

Darla interrupted his thoughts, whispering, “We have to get the men out of here.”

Bryce was a tad thick-headed and didn't realize Darla was whispering for a reason. He fairly bellowed, “What? Get the men out of here?”

“Shush. We don't want Lyall to hear us.”

Bryce raised a brow; realizing something was afoot, he leaned down. “Who are ye?”

Darla hated explaining who was she, but there was no other choice. “I'm an acquaintance of Grant's, and if ye care for him and the other Sinclair men, ye will help them get out of here.”

Darla sensed Bryce's confusion. She would have preferred to disclose the details away from the crowd of listening ears, but if she couldn't get his help soon, all hope might be lost. “Ye have to listen to me. Ye are all in grave danger.”

“Nay. They are not in any danger. Although they won't be feelin' too good come mornin'.”

This was getting her nowhere. Perhaps a different approach was in order. “How many tankards of ale have they had?”

Bryce thought for a moment then responded, “Just one or two, I believe.”

Darla hit him in the pride. “I thought the Camerons and Sinclairs could hold their ale. So why are they about to fall over already?”

Bryce's brow furrowed. “Ye are right. Why are they drunk already?” He paused for a moment, then added, “Why do ye think that is the case?”

“Not here.”

“Not here?”

“I can't tell ye here. Let's move them first.”

Darla and Bryce worked out a plan. She would dance each man onto the floor; as they neared the front door, Bryce would grab them and whisk them away to the stables. After one man was settled, he would then come back for the next one.

The plan went off perfectly. Darla's only problem was when she had to wrestle the men away from their companions. The women didn't want to release them, and the men didn't want to be released. But one decent look at her face changed most of their minds. It was the one time when her reputation benefitted someone.

After a while, all the men were safely inside the stables. Darla peered around the festivities, spotting Lyall. The mistress lounged in a corner, ten men fawning and fussing over her every move. She paid no attention to her entourage but instead was completely focused on Darla. A glare of hate radiated across the room. Darla knew she could expect retribution for her actions, but she wasn't worried. She finally felt a modicum of respect for herself; all else she would worry about later.

The glare shifted to her back as she slipped through the front door of the keep. Instead of going straight to the stables, she ran to see an old friend.

****

When Darla arrived at the door, she was happy to find her suspicions were true, and the elderly woman hadn't attended the festivities. Seeing the light under the door she knocked softly.

“Aye?” came the answer.

“It's Darla.”

“Come in, lass.”

Darla entered, making sure to open the door only wide enough for her to slip inside. She didn't wish to send Lyall's wrath down on anyone other than herself. Light filtering in through dirty glass panes revealed an elderly woman hunched over a pot of stew, stirring. Glassy eyes looked up, “Do ye need the usual, lass?”

“Nay, nay. I need something different this time.”

“It is about time. It is not good to expel so many children. May make ye unable to have more.”

Darla's shame abounded. Spine erect, Darla reminded herself she was here to help others, enacting a good deed. She wouldn't allow her past to stop her quest. “Aye, I know. But I am not here for me.” Taking a deep breath she opted for the complete truth. “I believe Lyall is poisoning everyone at the celebration with the ale, and I need something to offset it.”

The old hermit woman got a weird gleam in her eye when Darla mentioned poison and Lyall together. She was scary enough without adding such a look. The woman only had one working eye, and it never seemed to look in the right direction. Stringy, gray hair hung down to her waist. Hands were twisted and bony, making every chore look painful. She wore overly large clothing that dragged along the hut's dirt floor.

“She always was such a good pupil,” the old lady whispered.

Darla was afraid to say more. She may have made a vital error in who to trust. Then the old woman ran a curled tongue over her one remaining tooth. “What can ye do for me if I do this for ye? For ye know I will face Lyall's wrath, as well as ye will.”

Darla thought,
What could this woman want that she couldn't obtain by other means?
“I could, could…” She hesitated. Was what she was offering worth it? Aye, it was. “I would like to wash yer hair.”

The elderly lady's eye opened wide, and a single tear slid down her weathered face. “Do ye mean it?”

“Aye, I do.”

The crotchety old hag ambled around the room, gathering this item and that. Mixing them together she explained, “I'm not sure what poison she might have used. How are they actin'?”

“They're actin' drunk.”

The mixing ceased. “Are ye jesting me, gel?”

“Nay, they are acting besotted on only one tankard of ale.”

Still she didn't move. The elixir ingredients awaited mixing, and Darla realized she still didn't understand. “Listen lady, I'm not talking about younglings here. We are talkin' about seasoned warriors. They are Camerons and Sinclairs! They drink ale all day long and don't get this drunk. Ye know Lyall better than most, and ye said yerself she was capable of causin' this. I just need yer help to sober them.”

“How come? What benefit are ye going to get from it?”

“They will be leavin' tomorrow, but if they are too drunk to ride, then they won't.”

“Don't seem like ye. Ye are going to help a man escape ye.” The lady snickered.

Darla ignored the comment. “All I know is they are in danger. I don't know what Lyall has planned for them, but I know it can't be good. Now I offered to wash yer hair in exchange for yer help, so are ye givin' it or not?”

The old woman paced. Finally she handed a bottle of putrid-smelling liquid to Darla. “Give them only one spoonful, then step back.”

“I don't think stoppin' them at one spoonful is going to be a problem.”

“Don't let the smell fool ye, lass. It tastes like honey.”

“I will take yer word for it.”

As Darla walked out the door the woman could be heard bellowing, “Don't forget my hair.”

Darla rushed back to the stables. Bryce was having a horrible time keeping all the men inside. A few of them lay unconscious in the corner. Some of the others tried to fight their way out and back to the celebration and their waiting women.

The rowdy ones were treated first. With Bryce's assistance, the smelly liquid was plied into their mouths. When the first man ingested the spoonful, he grabbed the bottle to drink more. Darla snatched it back and jumped away from the grasping hands. She jerked right in time, just barely missing his stomach contents as they spewed across the stable. Now Darla understood the old woman's warnings.

Darla and Bryce worked tirelessly, plying the elixir into the men's throats. Once they had all received the brew, and spewed, they lay down on the floor of the stables and writhed in agony. Bryce stared at Darla as if she'd done something to deliberately hurt the men, but before he had a chance, they all started making noises from their hind quarters. Gas rolled from their backsides in a rhythmic sound almost like a type of music. Bryce and Darla used the back of their hands to fan away the stench, but it was no use. It was as if they were in the middle of a plume of smoke with a foul odor.

The stable door was cracked to acquire fresh air. Darla gulped. Lyall was coming their way. Every footfall shook the ground as she marched toward the door on the war path. Darla didn't want to be on the receiving end.

The door pulled close, Darla rushed to Bryce's side. “Lyall is coming. She mustna know I helped ye, do ye understand?”

“Aye. I won't reveal ye. Go hide.”

Darla crouched down inside the last stall. A creak was heard as Lyall opened the door. Cold chills ran down her spine as Lyall spoke. “Where is she?”

Bryce played his part to perfection. “Who is where?”

Lyall's grin pulled her eyebrows downward, tending toward an evil look. “Verra well. So ye don't know who I'm speaking of? That is all right. But why are all yer men out here in the stables when the fun is inside? Isn't this what the men have been missin' because Grant wouldn't allow them to visit Aberdeen? Well, I have brought it to ye, and ye still are not enjoying it. There is ale and women a plenty. I say again, why are ye out here?”

Bryce spoke plainly, “The men are ill.”

“Oh dear. Ill, ye say,” crooned Lyall, her voice laced with fake concern.

“Aye, ill. Don't ye smell the odor? I have to nurse them back to health so we will be ready to travel on the morrow.”

“Oh, Bryce dear, that is so noble of ye. Why don't ye come with me, and I will fetch ye something to drink.”

“Nay, Mistress Lyall. Ye don't know me well enough, but my lass back home prefers I refrain from strong drink, and even though I am away from her, I like to be respectful of her wishes.”

“Aye, I see. Verra well. I guess we will just enjoy these times without yer clan.” Lyall's voice rose in pitch. Perhaps she hoped to gain the attention of the men and draw them back to the festivities, but it was of no use. They lay like lumps littered across the ground. There was an affectionate pat to Bryce's head. “Ye just get them well. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Bryce didn't say a word as Lyall sauntered away. The men weren't going to be too happy when Lyall returned to the Sinclair keep with them.

While Bryce stood there staring at this kinsmen, Darla came out of hiding. A finger graced her lips to keep him silent while she made hand motions to indicate she was leaving. Bryce mouthed “Thank ye” before turning to the men and seeing if they needed anything more.