Highland Destiny (6 page)

“How do ye come to ken that?” demanded Balfour.

“I was searching for my kinsmen in and around Dubhlinn.”

“Ye are the kinswoman of a Beaton?”

The way Balfour said that, as if she had just told him that she had the plague, reaffirmed Maldie’s decision to never tell him her true parentage. “Nay, my kinsmen are minstrels. I had followed their trail to Duhblinn and lingered in an attempt to discover which way they had traveled upon leaving the place. The Beatons who kindly took me into their home were an aging couple in the village.”

“Why did ye say naught? Ye kenned that we were fighting Beaton.”

“I am no warrior, Sir Balfour. I didnae ken that ye would be interested in what little I saw or heard. I wasnae there when your young brother was taken, either.”

Balfour sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then tried to rub away the sudden stiffness in the back of his neck. “I beg your pardon, Mistress Kirkcaldy. I didnae mean to insult or accuse you. With each day that Eric lingers in that mon’s hold, I grow more concerned for his safety and, aye, mayhap see betrayal where it doesnae exist. Even now, I have found myself wondering how the mon kenned where and when to wait to capture the lad, and that has made suspicion set itself deep in my heart.”

“No need for such a humble apology,” she said. “Ye are at war and I am a stranger.”

“Balfour,” Nigel drew his brother’s attention away from Maldie, “do ye really think someone has betrayed us? That someone here actually helped Beaton gain hold of Eric?”

“Aye. I wonder that I ne’er thought of the possibility before,” Balfour replied.

As the brothers discussed who could possibly have betrayed them and why, Maldie idly tidied the room. She was heartily relieved that Balfour’s interest in her and what she knew had been diverted. She had spoken too quickly, without thought. Minstrels, she decided, were a good choice of kinsmen, however, for few knew many by name, and
their wandering ways meant that even fewer could be expected to know where they were. All she had to do was think of a name for them. There was a good chance that Balfour would never ask, but she wanted to be prepared with an answer.

The tangle of lies had begun to twist around her. It both alarmed and dismayed Maldie. She had rarely lied before. It was apparent that she had some skill in the art, but she felt no pride in that. Even though she did not want it to be true, she had to admit that lying to Balfour was especially painful. That he accepted her lies without question, even apologized for having reasonable suspicions about her, only made her more disgusted with herself. Deceiving someone was not something she liked to do. She was sure that deceiving someone who had taken her into his home and easily trusted her was a sin that could well stain her soul for a long time.

Maldie was pulled from her dark thoughts by the stealthy entrance of Grizel. She would not have known the woman was even in the room except that she was in between the ill-smelling woman and the tray she had been sent to retrieve. As Grizel brushed by her, Maldie had to clench her hands against the urge to wipe herself off. It was as if that light, swift touch had left her soiled, almost as if some of Grizel’s filth and smell had clung to her. Maldie noticed that the moment she had looked at Grizel, had acknowledged the woman’s presence, she had ceased to move so quietly. The two men talking so intently about forthcoming battles and possible betrayals were still completely unaware of the woman.

Grizel picked up the tray, turned to leave, and glanced toward the two men by the bed before marching out of the room. Maldie shuddered, chilled by the look on the woman’s face as she had watched Balfour and Nigel. It had been a look of pure hate, a feeling so strong that it had briefly touched Maldie, leaving a sour taste in her mouth. She tried to tell herself that she was being foolish, that she had simply been infected by the brothers’ talk of betrayal, but she could not make herself believe that. Even though she did not know the Murrays very well, she could think of nothing they could have done to inspire such hatred. But she could not ignore or deny it, either. Grizel loathed the brothers. Maldie wondered if she had just found their traitor. She then wondered if she could make them see it.

“Ye look weary, Nigel,” Balfour said. “Rest. We but talk round and round and find no answers. I at least have the comfort of kenning that ye share my suspicions about a traitor at Dunn-coill.”

“’Twould be better if we kenned who it is,” Nigel murmured as he slumped against his pillows.

“’Tis Grizel,” Maldie said, deciding that the simple truth was not only the easiest way, but nice to indulge in for a change. It was hard, however, not to take a defensive step backward when both men suddenly stared at her.

“What is Grizel?” asked Balfour. “Was she just here?” He grimaced slightly. “God’s teeth, I think I can smell her.”

“Ye may do so. I keep these chambers verra clean. ’Twould be easy to smell such filth when it enters now.”

“Are ye saying that my chambers werenae clean before? I am wounded to the heart,” Nigel jested weakly.

“They are but much cleaner than they were,” she said. “Howbeit, I wasnae speaking wholly of Grizel’s dirt or odor, just her hate. ’Tis so strong I could taste its
bitterness.” She smiled briefly at their identical looks of confusion. “Grizel hates ye and Nigel, Sir Balfour, truly loathes you.”

Balfour rubbed his chin as he carefully weighed her words. “I ken that the woman is ill humored and appears to deal weel with no one here, mon, woman, or beast. ’Tis a long stride from that to hatred. And of what worth is it to me if she does hate me or Nigel?”

Maldie shook her head. “Thus speaks a mon raised in the palm of wealth and ease. Those surrounded by ones who serve them are oftimes too blind to see either their worth or their threat. Ye both feel certain that someone had to have aided Beaton in the stealing of your brother, yet can think of no one with a reason to betray you. Weel, I give ye a good reason—hatred. Ere ye dismiss Grizel as a threat, mayhap ye should ponder what might have caused her hatred. Therein may lie the answers ye seek.”

“Our father bedded her once.” Nigel shrugged gently, still favoring his wound. “She was fair, and cleaner, once, years ago.”

“And your father cast her aside?” Maldie asked, fighting not to let her distaste for such behavior divert her.

“Aye, when he fell in love with Eric’s mother. I fear Grizel’s fair looks swiftly left her so, e’en when his new lover died, our father felt no desire to return to Grizel’s arms.”

“So, Grizel was once the laird’s leman and fair of face. Then she is cast aside for a new lover, watches that woman’s child raised as the laird’s son, and watches her beauty fade. Not only do I see a verra good reason for the woman to hate Murray men, but a verra good reason indeed for Grizel to wish to harm Eric.”

“’Tis certainly enough reason to watch her more closely,” Balfour said as he moved toward the door. “I will do so. I need more than words and suspicions to call Grizel a traitor. She has been at Donncoill since her birth. Her kinsmen helped mine gain and hold this land.” He paused in the open doorway and sighed. “Although they have naught to do with her nor she with them, she does have kinsmen here. I need hard proof of her betrayal. And, now, I need ye to ready yourself to come to the great hall and dine with me.”

“But Nigel—”

“I will send Jennie up to tend to him.”

He was gone before Maldie could offer any further argument, and she cursed. For one brief moment she considered simply ignoring his command, then sighed. He would just come and fetch her, she was sure of it. It was going to be a long meal, she mused, as she found a brush and began to fix her hair.

Balfour bit back a smile as he watched Maldie enter the great hall. She wore a dark blue gown, worn, carefully mended in a few places, and just a little too small, hugging her lithe body in a way he truly appreciated. Her thick, unruly hair was held back by a strip of leather, several heavy curls already slipping free to tumble around her small face. He stood up and waved her toward a seat on his right.

“This is too high a place for me,” Maldie softly protested, hesitantly taking the seat he offered her. “I should be below the salt, as I have neither title nor proper birthright.”

“Ye have saved Nigel’s life,” he replied as he sat down and signaled a page to pour her some wine. “That deserves a place of honor, more so than any title or weighty purse.”

“He was wounded and I had the skills needed to help him.” She shrugged. “I did as anyone would.”

“Not anyone.” He tried not to stare at the amount of food she was piling on her plate. It was obviously not a lack of appetite that kept her so slender. “Ye have acted with dedication and kindness, yet have asked for nothing.”

“I have a soft bed, a roof o’er my head, and all the food I need or could want. ’Tis payment enough.”

He said nothing, just watched her eat for a while. Although it amused him to watch such a tiny woman eat so heartily, it also pained him. There was the faint hint of hurried greed to her manner of eating. It was plain that she had often gone without, and he hated to think of how many times she must have gone to bed hungry. He realized that he had rarely thought of how hard life must be for those lacking the blessings he had been born with. At times he had savored a sense of pride over how well he cared for the people of Donncoill but, aside from the occasional giving of alms to the poor, he had never tried to extend that largesse to others. It shamed him to think that, for the lack of a helping hand, people like Maldie suffered. He knew his sudden concern for the plight of the poor was born of his feelings for Maldie, but he swore to himself that he would no longer be so blind to the needs of others.

“Mayhap ye would like a new gown,” he suggested, then inwardly grimaced when she slowly turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. He should have weighed his words more carefully, for it was clear he had just delivered an insult.

“If ye find my gown too poor, I can return to dining in my room,” Maldie said, a little surprised at how cold her voice was. If what he had just said was an insult at all, it was a small one, yet even the hint that Balfour might not approve of her attire struck her to the heart.

“’Tis a lovely gown and ye look verra bonny in it,” Balfour said. “Methinks ye take offense too swiftly, m’lady, that ye see insult where none exists. My words were but clumsily said. And I think ye have wit enough to ken I would be speaking pretty lies if I cried your gown the bonniest I have e’er seen. I ken naught about the fashions of ladies, but I can see that ye have but two gowns and have had them for many a year. There is no shame in that. I but searched for some way to reward you for Nigel’s life, and thought ye may need or just wish to have a new gown.”

Maldie sighed and smiled crookedly. “Ye are right. At times I can bristle like a wee hedgehog, hearing what hasnae been said, sensing scorn behind the most innocent of words. I thank ye for your kind offer, but I must refuse it. Aye, these gowns are old and much mended, but I cannae accept gifts for doing something I would have done for
anyone. God granted me the skill to heal people. It doesnae seem right to accept payment for doing his work.”

Balfour decided not to press the matter. He would speak to Una, the finest seamstress in the clan. That woman could make a gown for Maldie and had the wit to do so secretly. He would not ask Maldie what she wanted for a gift, for a small reward for all her work, but simply present her with one. Maldie had clearly been raised as a gentlewoman despite her poverty, and courtesy alone would make her accept it.

“How long were ye lurking about Dubhlinn?” he asked.

“I wasnae lurking and I was there for little more than a fortnight,” she replied, ignoring his grin.

Maldie had expected the questions, but they made her uncomfortable. More lies, she thought with a touch of despair. He was right to use the word lurking, too. That was exactly what she had done, grasping each and every opportunity to spy on the Beatons. She might still be there except that too many men had begun to take too strong an interest in her. She still felt guilty about leaving the old couple who had befriended her, stealing away in the dark of night with no word of farewell or, worse, gratitude.

Suddenly she was angry at her mother. Maldie wondered if her embittered parent had given any thought to what sins she would have to commit, what low trickery she would have to stoop to, to fulfill the vow of vengeance she had been made to swear. Then she felt swamped with guilt, silently cursing herself yet again as an ungrateful child. Her mother had shamed herself time and time again just to keep food in their bellies. That sad circumstance had been brought about by Beaton’s cruelty. Was it really asking too much to want the man to pay for his heartless desertion, to expect her only child to extract that debt? A small voice in her head said
aye
but Maldie stoutly silenced it.

“Ye have grown most solemn,” Balfour said quietly, lightly touching Maldie’s tightly clenched fist where it rested upon the table. “Did ye have some trouble at Dubhlinn?”

“Nay. I but realized that, by aiding you, I could weel be endangering the kindly old couple who sheltered me.” She smiled as she thickly spread honey on a slab of bread. “Then I recalled the old woman complaining about how Beaton ne’er waits for the ones in the village to seek shelter at the keep. The minute the mon thinks there is some danger approaching he shuts the gates, and cares nothing for who is left outside. She claimed he would lock his own mother out if the woman wasnae quick enough. She also said that the people in the village dinnae e’en try to run to the keep anymore. They hide and pray that whoever has come to kill Beaton willnae come hunting for them.”

“Ye may ease your mind about them. I am nay planning to slaughter the Beatons. All I wish is to bring young Eric home and seek a reckoning from their laird.” He shook his head as he mopped his plate clean with a piece of bread. “Mayhap the clan will live better and more peacefully without that fool leading them.”

He said no more but became intent upon swishing the half-eaten piece of bread over his already clean plate, and Maldie wondered what odd mood had suddenly seized him. Then she realized that he was covertly watching something at the far end of the great hall. Carefully, she followed his gaze and was not overly surprised to see Grizel. The woman crept along in the shadow near the tapestry-draped walls until she reached the men at arms, and then sat on a chest near the wall. Although she appeared busy with her mending it did not take too long a study to see that the woman was listening to
everything Balfour’s men were saying. It was there to see in the way Grizel leaned toward the men, one ear cocked in their direction, and how she kept glancing at them. She even occasionally sent Balfour a nervous look, but did not seem aware of how closely he was watching her. Maldie decided that Grizel was not particularly skilled at spying, had simply succeeded because no one paid her any heed. It was also possible that the ease with which the woman had accomplished her treachery thus far had succeeded in making her careless.

“I cannae believe I havenae seen it before,” muttered Balfour, revealing that his thoughts echoed Maldie’s.

“Ye rarely e’en saw the woman until now,” Maldie said, and saw by the scowl that darkened his face that her words had not comforted him at all. “And, as ye have said, she and her family have been with the Murrays since the beginning. She would be the last one ye would suspect.”

“Which is why she was such a good choice. Yet, I should have wondered. Ye are right. She hates us. I can see it clearly now. And she has reason to do so. My father treated her poorly as, I fear, he treated many women.”

“Nay. That isnae enough reason to betray one’s clan, one’s family, and one’s ancestors. Aye, hurt the one who has hurt and shamed you, but not all who are his blood or his clan, and that is what helping Beaton will do. I begin to feel most sorry for poor Eric.”

“Aye, it cannae be easy to be Beaton’s prisoner.”

“In truth, I was thinking of how Beaton hated him when he was born and tried to kill him. Now there is Grizel who also hates him and doesnae care if the lad lives or dies. Both acted upon anger over sins that poor lad had naught to do with. It must be hard for him to ken that, simply by his birth, he has made two strong enemies. Aye, and now the verra mon who tried to kill him wants to call him son. Your wee brother must think the whole world has gone mad or, worse, he has.”

Balfour grimaced and slowly nodded. He hated to admit it, but he had not given much thought to how Eric might be feeling. His concern had been to free Eric, to get the boy away from the danger Beaton wanted to thrust him into and the poison the man could whisper in his ears. Maldie was right, however. The boy had to be finding it all very hard to understand and could easily be wondering what it was about him that drew forth such hatred and trouble. Although Beaton now tried to claim Eric as his son, Balfour doubted that the man’s hatred or anger had lessened. Eric was very quick-witted, probably the smartest of them all, yet he had to be confused. Such confusion, the inability to understand, was one of the few things that could unsettle the usually calm, sweet-natured boy.

“Aye, poor Eric must be near to pulling his hair out,” Balfour said, and smiled faintly as he thought of the boy. “Young Eric loathes it when he cannae understand something. If Beaton hasnae told the lad much, at least not enough for Eric to sort this tangle out, the boy is probably ready to kill Beaton with his bare hands. What Beaton has done will make no sense to the lad and, if he is given the reasons for it all and they match what we believe, Eric will see it as a verra dull-witted thing to do. That will certainly irritate him.”

“Ye make the lad sound as if he has little tolerance,” Maldie said.

“Nay, ’tis not what I meant to do. Although, I would wager that Eric will ne’er
have much patience for fools.”

“That I can understand.”

“Eric is a clever lad, sometimes frighteningly so, but he does understand that his quick, sharp wit is God’s gift. He ne’er faults those who havenae been blessed in the same way. Howbeit, if he thinks ye ought to ken something and ye dinnae, and he thinks ye are acting foolishly when ye have the wit to ken the danger of it, he doesnae show much tolerance. That may be something he still needs to learn. I think ’tis his only fault.” Balfour smiled crookedly. “In truth, Eric is even bonnier and sweeter of tongue and nature than Nigel.”

“And therein lies a great danger for all of the lasses of Scotland.”

She grinned when he laughed and nodded in agreement. It was clear that Balfour loved his half brother and was very proud of the boy. It touched her, said a lot about the man, yet, to her shame, it also stirred the faint hint of jealousy in her heart. Eric was a bastard, just as she was, yet he was loved by his father’s family. That was something she had never known. No father, no family. Only her mother and, at times, Maldie had felt that her mother had not truly cared for her, had actually been angry that she was alive.

Maldie quickly shook away that thought. It hurt. She knew that the reason she found such thoughts so painful was because, deep in her heart, she knew they were the truth. It was better to turn her mind away from that truth before it made her bitter.

“Ye look sad, wee Maldie,” Balfour said in a soft voice as he gently covered her clenched hand with his. “Dinnae fear. We shall win this battle and bring young Eric home to Donncoill.”

“Aye, I am certain ye will.”

She turned her attention to finishing her meal. He began to talk of defeating Beaton and gently prying information out of her. Maldie told him all she had learned, but was cautious in answering. She knew she needed to let him think she was unaware of the importance of what she knew, that it was simply his skillful questioning that brought forth such useful knowledge. There was some pleasure in knowing she was helping to bring Beaton to his knees, hopefully to his death, but that pleasure was severely depleted by the trickery she needed to employ to accomplish it all.

When Balfour signaled James to join them, Maldie inwardly grimaced. That man watched her, closely and often. The way his dark eyes were fixed upon her as she answered Balfour’s questions began to make her uneasy. James was not as trusting as his laird. The more the man watched her, the more unreadable his expression became, the more nervous she got. If he mistrusted her he could easily arouse Balfour’s suspicions. Unless she told the full truth, something she could not do, she could be seen as a spy, as someone working for Beaton and not against him. The very thought of that made her shiver, as much from distaste as from fear.

“Ye look weary, Maldie,” Balfour said as he stood up and held out his hand. “Come, I will walk ye to your bedchamber.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she was quite capable of finding her own way, but Maldie quickly bit back the words. That would begin a discussion that could last a long time, and she was suddenly eager to escape James’s steady gaze. It could also be to her advantage to pull Balfour away from James while that man’s suspicions were still so sharp. Given a little time to think things over, James’s suspicions could ease. At least she prayed they would, Maldie thought as she allowed Balfour to escort her out of the
great hall.

For a moment she felt trapped, pressed from all sides by the corner she had backed herself into. There was no place at Donncoill where she could completely hide from James’s watchful eye. Balfour was increasingly underfoot, clouding her mind and confusing her heart with passions neither of them seemed able to control. The only place she could go to escape Balfour and James was to the tiny bed she had slept in since arriving at Donncoill, a tiny bed tucked in the corner of Nigel’s room. Yet another place where she was constantly under the watchful eye of a Murray. There was no chance of escaping a Murray that she could see. That made lying and keeping secrets all the harder, and very tiring.