The Bard

by Greyson, Maeve

  The longer they all chatted, the more certain Sorcha became that she had been quite blessed to have these two kind souls as sisters-in-law. Sutherland hadn’t told her she would like them as a caring lie to put her at ease. He had spoken the truth.

  “When will ye be joining us at Tor Ruadh?” Catriona asked.

  “And Jenny is most welcome to come, too,” Mercy said. “I never had a sister before I married Graham, but after living at the keep with Catriona and Ian’s wife, Gretna, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere without them. I’m sure you feel the same about Jenny.”

  Jenny caught her bottom lip between her teeth and remained silent but gave Sorcha a wide-eyed look. Sorcha was impressed. Such silences for Jenny were rare. She mulled over how exactly to explain her wish to stay at Greyloch castle until the matter of Lady Culane was resolved. Would they think her some over-indulged daughter, overrun with selfishness and spite? Surely they wouldn’t. They both seemed so kind and understanding.

  There was no delicate way of explaining herself, so she decided just to say it as it was. “I dinna feel comfortable leaving Da alone until our previous guests finally decide to leave.” She supposed she should’ve left out the word finally, but it was too late now.

  “Hmm,” Catriona purred like a cat lapping up cream. “I smell a story begging to be told. Just who are these guests that have overstayed their welcome?”

  “Lady Delyth Culane and her son, Garthin Napier,” Jenny said, her ability to remain silent completely gone.

  “She’s looking for her fifth husband,” Sorcha supplied. “And I dinna want Da to be her next victim.”

  “Fifth?” Mercy sang out. “I thought she was still on her third.”

  “Nay,” Catriona said. “I told ye her third had died, and she had married a fourth.”

  Mercy shrugged. “I must have forgotten. One needs a ledger to keep track of that woman’s spouses.”

  Catriona grinned at Sorcha. “Ye will discover that woman’s none too fond of either of us. I’m surprised she didna leave once she heard we were coming.”

  “She’s claimed an infirmity prevents her from traveling.” Sorcha moved to the sideboard in the corner of the room. Mama would be ashamed of her. She should’ve offered the ladies something to drink as soon as they had entered the room. “Forgive my terrible manners. Would ye care for some honeyed wine? ’Tis Cook’s finest mix and quite refreshing.”

  “That would be lovely,” Mercy said, waving aside the offer as if drinks were the least of her concern. “You do well to protect your father. I once heard it said that the Lady Culane is known at court as Deadly Delyth.”

  “D’ye ken how she killed all her husbands?” Jenny asked with an awestruck look.

  “No one knows for certain.” Mercy smiled and nodded as Sorcha pressed a glass into one of her hands. “Some say poison. Others say curses. Some of the husbands died after surviving several odd accidents. It’s as though the mishaps kept happening until she finally succeeded in ridding herself of the men.”

  Sorcha nearly dropped the tray. “Mishaps? Sutherland has had several mishaps here that could have been deadly. And they didna start until right after we said our vows.”

  “But why would she try to get rid of Sutherland?” Jenny asked. “Ye said she told ye she wanted him. He wouldna do her any good if he was dead.”

  “It could be the son has learned the tricks of the mother,” Catriona said. “I know that’s what Alexander thinks since Magnus told him all that has happened.”

  Mercy lifted her glass in agreement. “Yes, and Graham, too. Everyone feels its Master Napier setting the snares for Sutherland.” She shifted in her seat, inclining herself toward Sorcha. “I understand why you wish to protect your father, but Tor Ruadh would be so much safer after so many accidents with Sutherland.”

  “I fear I am torn,” Sorcha confessed quietly. “I want both my husband and my father safe from that conniving woman and her irritating son.”

  “Aye, it’s a hard choice to be sure,” Catriona said. “But know this, whatever ye decide, whatever the two of ye decide, whether to stay here or return home with us, we shall help ye any way ye can.” A wicked grin curled one corner of her mouth. “Who knows? We could even help rid the place of the wicked wench. As I said, she’s met both of us before and doesna like either one of us a bit.”

  Someone rapped on the door. They all hushed and looked around like a gaggle of wee lassies caught whispering in the back pew at church.

  “Lady Sorcha?” A maidservant called out from the other side. “Mrs. Breckenridge needs a word with ye.”

  All of them laughed. “Can we be any sillier?” Mercy whispered with a shake of her head.

  “Lady Sorcha?” The maid called out again, sounding more than a little confused.

  “Excuse me,” Sorcha said. “I’m sure it’s something about the meal, although I canna imagine what. Mrs. Breckenridge is a true force to be reckoned with.”

  “We understand completely,” Catriona said. “Preparations are never done. Just when ye think ye’ve handled everything, something else wiggles loose and needs tending.”

  “I’ll come along and see if I can help,” Jenny offered. “I’m sure the ladies wish to have a lie down before supper. Two days on a horse can wear on a soul and an arse.” Jenny gave them a wicked look and rubbed her behind.

  “A lie down does sound heavenly,” Mercy laughed. “Thank you both so much for making us feel at home.”

  “Aye,” Catriona chimed in as she followed Sorcha and Jenny to the door. “Thank ye for all yer kind hospitality, sister, and welcome to the family.”

  Sorcha turned and hugged her. “I feel so blessed to have been gifted with two more sisters.”

  Catriona hugged her back, then patted her arm. “And when ye meet Gretna, ye shall love her, too.” She gave a teasing wink. “Try not to weary yerself overmuch with the feasting preparations. Ye’re still a newlywed, and both Mercy and myself know how the MacCoinnich men can be. After a braw evening of food and drink, Sutherland will need the warmth and comfort only his wife can provide.”

  “I shall bear that in mind,” Sorcha assured as she closed the door behind her. She turned to the maid. “Ye say Mrs. Breckenridge needs me? Whatever for?”

  The maid shook her head. “I dinna ken, m’lady, but she’s fit to be tied. I’ve never seen her so upset. She’s a waitin’ for ye at the bottom of the stair. I’m off to freshen the water in all the pitchers on this floor.”

  “Thank ye, lass.” Sorcha didn’t blame the girl for not wishing to return to Mrs. Breckenridge. If the woman was as upset as reported, something dire had to have happened.

  As soon as the servant was out of sight, Jenny poked her in the arm. “See?” she chided. “I told ye they’d be nice and would like ye just fine.”

  “That ye did.” With meeting Sutherland’s kin no longer a worry, Sorcha tried to envision what in the world could’ve gone wrong with the feast preparations. “I canna imagine what Mrs. Breckenridge needs. The woman fairly ran me out of the kitchens earlier, telling me all was done and managed, and I didna need to worry about a thing. And the maid said she was distraught. Can ye ever remember seeing Mrs. Breckenridge in such a state?”

  “I’m sure the whole thing just grew with the maid’s telling of it. Ye ken how that can be. Like Catriona said. One thing or another always comes up. It canna be anything serious.” Jenny followed close on her heels.

  As soon as they reached the main floor, Mrs. Breckenridge blustered over to them, more shaken than Sorcha had ever seen her. “Oh, dear, m’lady, oh, dear. Things have gone awry, and I fear ’tis all my fault. Please, can ye ever forgive me?”

  “Mrs. Breckenridge, what on earth is it?” Sorcha caught the woman’s icy hands in her own, concerned about her pallor. “It canna be all that bad, now can it?”

  “Aye, it is, m’lady. Badder than bad, it is.” The older woman heaved out a great sigh and pulled a hand away to press it to her chest. “I canna find th
e key to Himself’s own whisky cave, and every single decanter at the back of the chief’s table has been completely emptied. I dinna understand it. I checked them all myself earlier today, and each of them had been filled neat and tidy to their brims and corked tight.” The fretting housekeeper wrung her hands, completely inconsolable over failing her chief and Sorcha. “This canna be happening. Not today when Himself wishes to toast yer new life with only the finest of his whiskies. I canna imagine what’s become of it.”

  “Now, now,” Sorcha soothed as she gently turned the woman toward the stair leading to the cellars. “Ye know there’s not a lock in this entire keep that can stand against me.” She turned aside and winked at Jenny, then gave Mrs. Breckenridge her full attention. “Choose a lad to send down for one of the untapped casks. Jenny and I’ll gather up an armload of extra bottles in the meantime. Once all the drink is set, just be sure and block the door to protect Da’s favorite stock.” She laughed as she gave the housekeeper a quick hug. “Once I force the lock, it may not lock again, and we canna let a drop of Da’s good stuff go missing, now, can we?”

  “Oh, m’lady, I am so verra sorry to have failed ye and father so. Can ye ever forgive me?” Devoted Mrs. Breckenridge looked on the verge of tears.

  Sorcha didn’t think she could stand it if the poor old soul broke down and cried. “All is well, and there is nothing to forgive. Off with ye now. Run and send a lad down for a cask while I see to the door, aye?”

  Mrs. Breckenridge nodded. “Thank ye, m’lady.” She turned and headed off to the kitchens.

  “God bless her,” Jenny said. “I dinna think anything like this has ever happened under her watch before.”

  “She is getting older,” Sorcha whispered. “But we willna dwell on it, aye? No harm done, and we’ll make sure Da is none the wiser about any of it.”

  They hurried down to the level of rooms beneath the kitchens, rushing past the root cellar, larder, and rack room housing the Greyloch wines. The last room at the end of the long dirt-floored hallway was her father’s pride and joy, the special room housing Chieftain Greyloch’s private whiskies, selected by the man himself.

  “How do ye mean to pick the lock? I thought the chief had it special made, and the smithy said it would stand against anyone.” Jenny peered around Sorcha at the thick iron door.

  “The smithy is unaware of my talents.” Sorcha pulled her sgian dhu from inside the lining of her jacket. She’d taken to keeping the knife on her person ever since Sutherland’s accidents had started. Who knew what Garthin Napier might decide to try next. She grabbed hold of the latch, pulled with all her might, and wiggled the blade in the lock. True to her talents, a metallic chinking soon announced her victory, and she yanked the heavy door open. “See? Easy enough.”

  “I’ll light a torch.” Grabbing one of the cloth wrapped sticks from a nearby pitch barrel, Jenny lit it from the sconce in the hall.

  “Take care, Jenny. We dinna need to blow the keep off its foundation. Ye know how burnable Da’s whisky is.” Sorcha returned her blade to the inside of her jacket as she squinted in the flickering light at the labels on the bottles and the dates burned into the wooden casks. “I forgot how he said they’re stored. I think he stacks them by their date.”

  The heavy door creaked behind them, then slammed shut with a heart-stopping rumble. “Why did ye pull the door to?” Sorcha spun around, only to find Jenny staring at the entrance as though it were possessed by demons. “Tell me ye shut the door, Jenny.”

  Jenny shook her head, nearly hugging the sputtering torch as she edged closer to Sorcha.

  Refusing to panic, Sorcha grabbed hold of the latch, bore down on it, and shoved. The door didn’t move, nor did the handle’s mechanism respond. “This be shite sure enough.” Sorcha tried again, even taking out her knife and working it in the lock to no avail. The sudden need to breathe fresh air threatened to overcome her. “It’s not opening.” She rattled the latch again. “Hello! The door’s got jammed. Run fetch help! Is anyone out there?” Surely, the lad Mrs. Breckenridge was sending down had to be in the cellar by now. He’d soon hear them and run for help.

  “L-look,” Jenny stammered, pointing at the floor.

  Rags and reeds, lit and smoldering with thick dark smoke, inched their way into the room from under the door. As quickly as Sorcha stomped on the burning debris, more replaced it. A constant digging and scratching sounded like a pack of vermin on the other side. “Who is out there?” she shouted, pounding on the door. “Stop it, I beg ye!” More red-hot bits slid in underneath the door, igniting into flames and smoking as soon as they cleared the threshold. “We’ve got to smother them and close that crack, so they canna shove more inside. Quickly! Help me grab dirt out from the corners and from under the racks.”

  “If we put out the flames and block the opening, won’t we smother, too?”

  Sorcha froze. Jenny was right. The more they blocked the crack under the door, the more they closed off their only source of air. “We need to pull them the rest of the way inside and douse the fires in the middle of the room. Scrape up as much dirt as ye can whilst I drag them to ye.”

  Jenny sprang to action, wedging the torch into a peg hole in the wall.

  Sorcha banged on the door. “Whoever ye are, stop this! I beg ye! If it’s money ye want, it’s money ye’ll have!” Why else would anyone do such a cruel thing as this?

  More burning rags wormed their way into the room. “I’ll be damned if I die in my Da’s whisky room.” Sorcha grabbed hold of the fiery cloths, grinding her teeth against the heat searing her flesh. She pulled them to the center of the room, where Jenny scooped dirt over them. The majority of the space’s flooring had been made of broad flagstones. Thankfully, the edges of the room still contained enough loose soil to extinguish the materials.

  Even with all their efforts, it got more and more difficult to breathe. Both Sorcha and Jenny coughed and choked, dropping to their knees as the small cavern filled with more smoke then breathable air.

  “They mean to choke us, Sorcie,” Jenny rasped, weakly scooping dirt and debris into a pile and patting out the embers.

  “At least we died fighting.” Sorcha yanked the next burning rag into the pile with the others. Her blistered hands throbbed and burned, but not as badly as her lungs and her need for a good gulp of clean air.

  “Sorcha!” Pounding came from the other side. “Sorcha!” Something heavy bashed against the door hard enough to shake dust loose from the rafters. “Tear it off the hinges if ye have to. Get that damned door open!”

  “Please tell me ye hear that, too?” Jenny asked as she sagged over onto her side.

  “Aye, sister. I hear them.” Sorcha slumped forward and lay next to Jenny. “We are saved,” she whispered amidst coughing and gasping. “Sutherland will get us out.” She patted Jenny’s hand. “All we need do is rest now. We are saved.”

  She closed her eyes, just for a moment. The smoke had them stinging so. She listened harder. The voices sounded muffled now. She wondered why. But then the darkness came and swept her away, and she didn’t care anymore.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I want that bastard shackled to a stake and burned! Give me the chains! I’ll do it myself. Then I’ll gather the wood and set him afire for a good sampling of his own wickedness.” Sutherland charged back and forth across the length of the large sitting room. His precious Sorcha had nearly died. He wouldn’t rest until he had meted out justice with his own two hands.

  The bedchamber door flew open, and Catriona rushed out. “I know there’s much to discuss here, but the healer said Sorcha needs quiet!” She fixed a fierce scowl on each of the men, then pointed at the archway leading down to the outer stairwell. Even though her voice was hushed, it vibrated with irritation. “Now, hie yerselves downstairs if the lot of ye canna plot yer revenge without roaring it from the rooftops, ye ken?”

  “I willna leave her unguarded in this place ever again.” Sutherland shot Catriona’s ferocity right back at
her, daring her to challenge him. His good sister could threaten and scold all she liked. Nothing mattered but Sorcha and her safety. “When my precious love is walking at my side, and we’re bound for Tor Ruadh, that’s when I’ll step foot outside this room again. Not a moment before.”

  “The man has an alibi,” Alexander reminded them all quietly after Catriona threw up her hands, then stormed back inside Sorcha’s room.

  “That he does,” Chieftain Greyloch said as he refilled everyone’s glasses. “In fact, he didna return from the village until well after sunset. The runner we sent to fetch the healer met him on the lane.”

  “And I spoke with several folk from the surrounding shops,” Magnus added. “They all remembered seeing him. Some even drank with him at the pub. The fool thinks if he buys drinks for one and all, he’ll buy himself some allies.”

  “Then the sly whoreson had to have paid someone to work his evil whilst he was gone. Surely, ye’ve heard of such treacherous tactics?” The calmness of his kin and Sorcha’s father stoked Sutherland’s rage. This was no time for calm. It was time for revenge and bloodletting.

  “I canna believe no one saw anything,” Graham said, pacing alongside Sutherland. Of the four brothers, Graham and Sutherland shared the trait of little to no patience. They didn’t plan their battles. They charged into them. “None in the kitchens saw a thing out of order, nor did the lad the housekeeper took her sweet time in sending down to bring up the casks. At least, not until he smelled the smoke.”

  “Thank God for that lad’s nose,” Greyloch said. “Got wind of the evil before he even went down into the tunnel and kept his wits about him to sound the alarm and fetch help.”

  “Then who was in the kitchens? Who was close to the area? It had to be someone no one would notice.” The longer they talked about the disgusting mess, the more Sutherland felt the murderous bastard slipping out of his grasp. “Bring them up here one at a time. I want to talk with every servant in this damn keep.”