Highland Destiny (14 page)

“We saw her,” Balfour replied as he poured himself a large tankard of hearty wine and took a deep drink.

“What do ye mean—ye saw her?”

“Just that. We saw her—running straight for Dubhlinn.”

“Nay.” Nigel vigorously shook his head. “Nay, I willnae believe it.”

“Do ye think
I
want to believe it?” Balfour snapped, then took another drink to try and calm the emotions raging inside of him.

“Ye already did or ye wouldnae have locked her up.”

Balfour sighed and shook his head as he sat on the edge of Nigel’s bed. “I dinnae ken if it is because ye dinnae listen or ye dinnae want to, but I did what I had to. Somehow Beaton was discovering our little secrets, and since Grizel was no longer able to tell him anything, it had to be someone else. Maldie was the only other one it could be, or, at least, there was a verra strong possibility that it was her. I simply couldnae risk trusting her, no matter how dearly I wished to. Yet, in my heart I prayed that I would be proven wrong. It gives me no pleasure at all to be proven right.”

“Nay, she wouldnae take Beaton’s side.”

“Nigel, she ran straight for Dubhlinn. Three men saw her. More men than that found her tracks leading that way. She left here and walked directly to Dubhlinn. What else can it mean?”

“I dinnae ken,” Nigel snapped. “I just cannae feel that she would e’er have anything to do with a mon like Beaton. There is too much kindness in her.”

“So I thought.”

“There could be an explanation. Aye, it does look as if she is helping Beaton, but we dinnae ken how much and we certainly dinnae ken why. Until I have learned all the reasons, I cannae believe, nay, I
refuse
to believe that the woman who healed me was nay more than a traitorous whore.”

It made Balfour wince just to hear the words, even though he had thought them when his men had returned and told him what they had seen. That had been three hours ago. It had taken him that long to calm down enough to come and tell Nigel the bad news. He had not expected Nigel to be so adamant in his refusal to believe it. What made it all the more difficult to listen to him was that he desperately wanted to believe Nigel was right.

“I am eager to feel as ye do, brother, but I dinnae think it would be wise. It is hard enough to think that I have been made a complete fool of. I refuse to hold on to any hope so that she can make me look an even greater fool.”

“She cared for you, Balfour. I am sure of it.”

“Nay.” Balfour jumped to his feet and began to pace the room.

The nearly crippling pain he had felt when his men had told him what they had seen was still there, tearing at his heart like some carrion bird. He knew that, if he allowed it to, this betrayal could destroy him. He did not want to talk about her, did not want to discuss any possibility that she may yet prove innocent even in some small way. He did not want to even think about Maldie, although he suspected that could prove to be impossible. There was a part of him that hated her, hated her for making a fool of him, hated her for betraying him, but especially hated her for making him love her. He still loved her, and he wanted to bury that feeling so deep that it would never be able to rear its head and blind him again.

“I would prefer to talk about the coming battle,” he finally said.

“Ye are still going to battle? Hold,” he held up his hand when Balfour began to speak. “Now, I dinnae want to believe the lass is working against us, but this news has at least made me see the wisdom of your argument. One has to consider the possibility. If she is with Beaton, she is telling him all of your plans at this verra moment. If ye ride out to battle ye will be slaughtered, for he will ken your every move and be ready for you.”

“He will be ready for what I
had
planned to do, but nay for what I am now planning to do.”

“There is a new plan?”

“Aye, and e’en James thinks it has an excellent chance of success.”

“Do I have a few more days to gather my strength and ride with you?”

“Three. Weel, we will ride out on the morning of the third day, today being the first of the three.” Balfour smiled faintly, able to be pleased with his plan despite the pain he was in. “We are going to market, Nigel.”

It took Balfour over an hour to explain it all to Nigel, but his brother’s enthusiasm for the plan had been uplifting. He felt more confident of victory as he made his way to the great hall. The only dark cloud on his horizon was that Maldie was somewhere inside of Dubhlinn. Balfour prayed he did not find her on the day of the battle. It would be best for all of them if she fled and never returned to the area.

“Nigel didnae want to believe it,” said James as Balfour sat down next to him and helped himself to some food.

“Nay. Does that surprise you?” Balfour asked.

“Not as much as it should.” He shook his head. “I had hoped that he would see reason now. He has been most unforgiving about how ye treated the girl.”

“Oh, he is more understanding of that, does in truth see the need to be cautious now, that one cannae always rely only on what one feels. Now all he prays for is that there is a good reason for what she has done, one that will allow him to forgive her.”

“Is that what ye hope for?”

“I dinnae ken. Mayhap. At the moment I am trying verra hard not to think of the lass at all. Thoughts of her only rouse my fury and remind me that she has played me for the greatest of fools.”

“Then I will say only one last thing about her. Try to calm that fury ere we go to
battle. There is a chance ye will see her at Dubhlinn, and it would be unwise to act with heedless anger. Not only will ye then be distracted from the battle, which could prove fatal, but ye may do something ye will later regret.”

“Are ye also about to tell me that there may be a good reason for what she has done?”

“There could be. Aye, she ran to Dubhlinn, but we dinnae yet ken exactly why she did that. I but wish ye to nay leap to judgment. If ye allow yourself to think that there may be some reason, some opportunity for forgiveness, then ye willnae go into a rage if ye see her at Dubhlinn.”

“Ah, I see. Ye are afraid that, if I see her, I will hie after her, leaving my men leaderless. That I will run her down and cut her down in some vain attempt to restore my monhood and bruised pride.”

James shrugged, smiling faintly at the sarcastic tone of Balfour’s words. “Aye, mayhap.”

“Weel, dinnae fear. Fool that I am, e’en now I ken that I could ne’er hurt one unruly hair on her head. What I am hoping is that she really does have the strong instinct of survival that I think she has, and will be off and running the moment the battle begins.”

“And speaking of the forthcoming battle, what did Nigel think of the new plan?”

“He thought so weel of it that I left his room feeling quite confident of success.”

“Not too confident, I pray,” James drawled.

Balfour laughed softly. “Not heedlessly so. Nay, I just feel that, for the first time in thirteen long, bloody years, we have a chance of ending this feud.”

“Then, at least one good thing will come out of this mess. That and having wee Eric back with us.”

“Aye,” was all Balfour could say, and he turned his attention to his meal and talk of the battle ahead of them.

It was not until he was alone in his room that he allowed himself to think of Maldie. In truth, he had little choice, for she pushed her way into his mind as brazenly as she had stepped up to him on the road to Dubhlinn. He sank down onto the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands.

He felt as if someone had died, so powerful was his grief. In a strange way, he realized, it was as if she had died. The woman he had thought she was had never existed. It had all been a lie. He had been taken for a fool, shamed by his own trusting nature. What he had seen as the great love of his life had been no more than a well-played act by a skilled whore in Beaton’s service.

Maldie cursed as she felt the thorns of the bramble thicket she hid in poke into her. It was already the middle of the day and she still had not reached the village outside of Dubhlinn. For hours all she had been able to do was scurry through the wood and low brush for a few yards, and then quickly hide again. Murrays were everywhere she looked. She could not believe they would come so close to Dubhlinn. It was clear that Balfour truly thought she was one of Beaton’s slinking dogs, and that hurt. She was also furious at him because his groundless suspicions were the reason that she had spent so long in a slow torturous crawl toward Dubhlinn.

She looked toward Dubhlinn and recognized the line of trees mere yards away. They marked the far end of the fields around the village. Instinct told her that the Murrays had gone as far as they would go in their search for her. They were already risking being seen by a Beaton, any closer and that risk became a certainty. All she had to do was get to those trees, and she would be safe.

For a little while longer she watched the three Murray men who had sent her diving into her extremely uncomfortable hiding place. They rode back and forth, never crossing some line that only they could see. Maldie knew that that was the point where they would go no further. Cautiously, she began to inch her way out of the bramble thicket. She could run fast; all she needed was a minute when they were not looking in her direction.

There was, she admitted, a problem or two with her plan. She could never outrun a horse if they decided to risk it all and run her down. A skilled archer could easily stop her, although she could not believe that Balfour would order her killed. Then again, she mused as she crouched behind the thicket waiting for her chance to run, Balfour had done several things lately that she had not thought him capable of, so she should probably not be so confident in her opinion of him. The final problem was that she would be seen to be running straight for Dubhlinn. The men searching for her already suspected where she was going or they would not be there, harassing her every step of the way, and she was sure that she had not covered her tracks very well. Once they saw her, however, they would have proof and so would Balfour, she thought sadly. She quickly pushed aside that moment of sadness, telling herself that she was going to enjoy proving them all wrong, as she bolted for the trees.

The cry of discovery that cut through the air sent her heart into her throat. For a brief moment she heard the pounding hooves of horses in pursuit and feared that she had been wrong, that the Murrays were indeed willing to risk all just to stop her. Then there was a lot of shouting and the sound of a hard chase came to an abrupt halt. She waited in cold terror for an arrow to slam into her back, but it never came. Once inside the trees she stumbled to a halt, clung to a tree as she struggled to catch her breath, and looked toward the Murrays. For one long, silent moment, she stared at them and they stared at her, while she waited tensely to see if they would do anything. Then they turned their horses sharply and galloped back to Donncoill.

“And back to Balfour,” she whispered, slumping against the rough bark of the tree for a moment.

She was exhausted and she had barely begun her adventure. Ahead of her lay the hunt for Eric and trying not to be discovered while doing it. Then she and the boy had to escape and get all the way back to Donncoill without being recaptured. As she started toward the village, Maldie wondered why her obviously disordered mind had not given
her a less impossible way to prove her innocence.

“Lassie, what has happened to ye?”

Maldie smiled wearily at the tiny gray-haired lady who stood in the low doorway of her tiny wattle and daub cottage gaping at her. Eleanor Beaton was clearly shocked by her tattered, muddy condition, but there was no condemnation in the woman’s light gray eyes. Concern softened the woman’s lined face as she tugged Maldie inside and, although she needed the help, Maldie felt like the basest of traitors. She was there to help destroy the woman’s laird, to throw Eleanor’s tidy little life into complete chaos.

All the while Eleanor helped Maldie clean up and put on the gown she had left behind the last time she had fled Dubhlinn, the woman kept up a constant stream of talk. By the time Maldie found herself seated at Eleanor’s tiny, well-scrubbed table, she was sure she had heard every tiny scrap of gossip about Dubhlinn and all of its people. When Eleanor sat down across from her, her work-worn hands clasped on top of the table and her bright eyes fixed firmly upon her, Maldie had to laugh.

“Ye are fairly bursting with questions, arenae ye?” she asked, grinning at the little woman.

Eleanor grinned back briefly and nodded. “Aye, but I ken that ye like to keep your own counsel.”

Maldie sighed and tried to put some order into her thoughts as she chewed on the bread Eleanor had given her. “I am verra sorry that I just left ye without even a word of thanks.”

“What else could ye do, dearling, with those men chasing after ye like starving hounds after a hare?”

“Ye kenned that?”

“Aye. These eyes may be old, but they still see a lot. I just prayed that wherever ye had run to, ye were safer than ye were in this sad place.” Eleanor shook her head. “Matters worsen here by the hour. I begin to think the laird has truly lost his mind, that mayhap the disease which twists his body has twisted what little wit he had too.”

“I didnae e’en ken that he was ill.”

“’Tis kept a verra close secret, lass. The mon fears all who live around him, and with good reason. There are many who hunger after this land.”

Maldie wondered how Nigel had found out about the man’s illness if it was so secret, then decided it was probably best if she did not know, for it undoubtedly concerned a woman. “What has your laird done?”

“Stolen a child from the Murray clan. As if that isnae shameful enough, he has stolen the verra child he set out upon the hillside to die years ago. The Murrays have already tried to take him back, but, alas, they failed.” Tears sparkled in the woman’s eyes. “I lost my beloved Robert on that sad day.”

“Oh, Eleanor.” Maldie reached out to clasp the woman’s hands in hers. “I am so verra sorry. He was a good, sweet mon. The Murrays?”

“Nay. ’Twas a Beaton mon who cut him down. Those low hirelings our laird surrounds himself with dinnae ken who we are, cannae tell a Beaton from a Murray. My mon saw the Murrays retreat from the field and was walking back to our wee hidey-hole to tell me it was safe, when one of our laird’s dogs saw him. They cut him down ere the other villagers could stop them. Robert was an old, crippled mon who had no sword, and
yet they killed him. I curse them all. I ken we have been told that the Murrays are our enemy, heartless bastards who wish to steal all we own and leave none of us alive to squawk about it, but I cannae believe that they would have killed my sweet Robert.”

“Nay, never.” Maldie realized she had spoken with a suspicious firmness when Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.

“Lass, ye arenae a Murray, are ye?”

“Now that is a question I can answer with complete honesty—nay. I am truly a Kirkcaldy, although ye may find it difficult to get one of them to admit kinship to this bastard child. But, dinnae fear, ye arenae harboring one of the enemy.”

Eleanor shrugged her thin shoulders. “I wouldnae care, but I would be afraid for meself and all of my kin. Our laird found a Murray mon in the keep and killed him. He has since hanged two other men because he thought they, too, worked for the Murrays. If ye e’en look at the mon wrong ye risk a hanging or, God forbid, the horrible death that poor Murray fellow endured. Some of the villagers swear that they could hear his screams in the night.” Eleanor shivered and rubbed her thin arms.

“This may not have been a good time for ye to return here, lass,” she continued. “A dark cloud hangs o’er us and the wolves are drawing near. I swear our laird makes a new enemy with every word he spits out of his rotting mouth. And, now, this madness. Trying to claim as his son a child he tossed out years ago, threw aside like scraps he feeds his hounds? He claimed far and wide, and verra loudly, that his wife had betrayed him with the old laird of the Murrays and that the child was a Murray bastard, fit only to feed the wild beasts that roam the forests. Now we are all to believe that this poor lad is his heir. That sad child willnae live one day past the laird’s death, and I am fair sure of that.”

“What has he done with the boy?” Maldie asked, fighting to keep any hint of her keen interest out of her voice.

“Sorcha, who works in the kitchens at the keep, says that the laddie was too spirited for Beaton’s liking, and so has been thrown into the dungeons until he comes to his senses.” Eleanor’s voice dropped to a whisper of amazement. “She said the boy laughed when Beaton tried to call him his son, said that he would rather be the spawn of the devil hisself. Beaton then said something insulting about the old Murray laird, and the boy attacked him. I fear the laddie suffered a beating for that.”

Inwardly, Maldie grimaced. That did not bode well for how the boy would take the news if he did prove to be a Beaton. “But the lad is alright?”

“Aye. Beaton certainly doesnae want the lad crippled or dead, just quiet and tame. Why are ye so interested in the boy?”

Maldie shrugged and busied herself trying to cut a neat slice off the block of hard cheese on the table. “One cannae help but feel some sympathy for the boy.”

“I may be old, lassie, but my wits are still sharp. Aye, and my nose is sharp enough to smell out a lie when it wafts by.” Eleanor held up her hand when Maldie started to speak. “Nay, dinnae tell me a thing. Just answer me one wee question—should I be making sure that my wee hidey-hole is clean and comfortable?”

“Aye.” Maldie smiled sadly. “I will take a risk and tell ye one other thing. Make sure that all the ones ye can trust and care about are ready to flee to their little warrens at the first alarum. Aye, at the verra first hint of trouble.”

“The Murrays are going to try and get that boy back again.”

Maldie smiled. “I thought ye didnae wish to hear about such things.”

Eleanor chuckled. “Nay, I dinnae, but, being the curious old woman that I am, I also want to hear it all. Ignore this old fool. If I pester ye with questions just remind me that, sometimes, ’tis far safer to ken naught.”

“I will, for I dearly wish ye to stay safe and alive. Now, I have only one question, but ye need not answer if ye feel it will put ye in danger in any way. Where is the dungeon inside of Dubhlinn? When last I was here I ne’er did find that out.”

“The door to it is in one of the walls of the great hall, set just below a large shield with a rampant boar on it.”

“How apt,” Maldie drawled, and Eleanor giggled.

Suddenly the woman took Maldie’s hands in hers and gently squeezed them “Be careful, lass. Be verra, verra careful. Ye are a brave lass, far braver than any I have met before and I have met a lot of women in my long life, but bravery cannae stop a sword or a fist. Walk softly, keep your bonny head down, say little, and ne’er look a mon in the eye.”

An hour later, all the way to the gates of Dubhlinn, Maldie carefully repeated Eleanor’s advice. It was very good advice, she could see that clearly, but she was not sure she would have the wisdom to make use of it, not unless she thought about it carefully. It was all completely against her nature. Eleanor was telling her how to be totally self-effacing, and that was something Maldie had never done.

Not look a man in the eye? She would not hesitate to spit in it if he deserved it. Keep her head down? After a brief attack of shame at a young age when she had first discovered what her mother was, she had been cowed, but she had quickly refused to ever bow her head to anyone again. As far as saying little, she had always had a problem keeping quiet, especially when she felt something needed to be said. Eleanor was a dear woman who cared about her and had given her some very sound advice, but Maldie suspected that the only piece of it she would be able to follow was the one that told her to walk softly.

“Weel, my bonny lassie, where have ye been?”

Maldie cursed softly as she heard that chillingly familiar rasping voice. A fat-fingered and very filthy hand was curled around her arm and the man turned her around to face him. Maldie wondered yet again where, in all of Scotland, Beaton had found such an ugly, squat man. She was not one to judge a person by appearance alone, but she knew from sad experience that this man was ugly all the way through. He was one of the reasons she had fled Dubhlinn long before she had wanted to.

“I am a healing woman,” she replied. “I go where I am needed, and sometimes it takes a very long time for someone to mend.”

“I had wondered if ye had run away from me.”

“Nay, I run away from no mon.” She inwardly cringed when he rubbed his hand up and down her arm.

“Oh ho, a spirited lass. I like a wee bit of fire in my women.”

She tried to pull her arm free of his hold but he just tightened his grip, smiling at her and revealing a mouthful of rotting and broken teeth. “I havenae time to flirt with ye, sir. I came to Dubhlinn to see if anyone has need of my skills.”

“I do.”

The sharp-nosed woman who spoke tried first to just push the man away, but he
would not let go of Maldie’s arm. Clenching her hand into a fist, the woman brought it down hard on the man’s wrist. He bellowed in pain and released Maldie. The way the man looked at the woman before he stomped away made Maldie shiver. She hoped the woman had the sense to watch her back.

“I dinnae think it was wise to make that mon angry,” she murmured, feeling a need to warn the tall, thin woman.

“George will do naught to me unless he can catch me alone in a dark corner, and I will be certain that he ne’er does. He is afraid of my mon.” The woman stuck out one long, boney hand. “I am Mary, Mistress Kirkcaldy.”

Maldie shook her hand. “What do ye have need of me for?”

“My son is ill.” Even as Mary replied she began to drag Maldie along toward the keep.

Maldie carefully questioned the woman as they made their way to the rear of the keep. It sounded as if her child had little more than a mild chill and a touch of the wind, so Maldie allowed herself a small twinge of satisfaction. The need to tend to the child would give her a good reason to come and go from the keep. She did not need to worry the woman by treating the child as if he was close to death either. All she needed was a few close looks at the great hall to see when it was most in use and by whom, just enough to tell her when she could slip down to the dungeon unseen and, if not immediately free Eric, at least visit with him.