Highland Devil

by Hannah Howell

  “That it did, aye. A wee bit of fancy done by the woman who lived there.”

  “Did she get out?”

  “Cannae say and, if any can, they are nay talking. She had a wee lad with her for a wee while and no one will say what has happened to him, either. A sad thing.”

  “And no idea of who did it?”

  “Nay that any are speaking of. That poor woman ne’er did anyone harm. She used to bring me flowers for my shop. To keep away the smell of death, she would say.”

  “Was anyone verra close to her?” asked Gybbon.

  “Lady in the house two doors down from it—has a green door.” He pointed in the direction they had just ridden in from. “The two of them often came in here together chattering like magpies and looking o’er what I had. I would often hear them talk of meals they had shared. So, aye, Morag Sinclair would have been close to her, I am thinking. Sheriff talked to her though and he didnae look happy, so I be thinking she didnae tell him much. ’Course those Ogilvy men were with the sheriff, too, and he didnae look too happy about that either.”

  “Thank ye,” said Sigimor. “I will be certain to tell my wife about the pig.”

  Gybbon looked at Sigimor once they were back outside. “Do ye think we ought to talk to the sheriff?”

  Sigimor frowned and rubbed his chin. “Let us speak to this Morag Sinclair first. She might already ken what he thinks about the house or what he may plan to do about it.”

  “I hope she has some information as I would like to be able to give Mora some news.”

  “E’en if it is bad?” asked Fergus.

  “Aye, e’en then. Kenning something is usually better than kenning nothing.”

  Leaving the youngest to watch over the horses again and keep an eye on the smoldering cottage, Sigimor, Gybbon, Nait, and Nanty walked up to the door of the tidy little cottage. Gybbon wondered why the man who owned the land was so tight-fisted about the land he allowed the cottages to be put on. None of the ones in this row had much at all, not even enough for a proper kitchen garden. He had seen ones like this in the smoky, bustling towns that he thought had far too many people crowded into them.

  “This is all Ogilvy land,” said Sigimor. “Old mon clung to every patch of land he had. Mayhap that is where his grandsons got their idea that it should all be theirs again.” He looked up and down the road. “They are rather, weel, fancy for field workers though.”

  “Because they were built to hold his lemans,” said a woman’s voice.

  They all looked at the black-haired woman standing inside the now open door. Gybbon was relieved that he was not the only one who had not heard her open the door. Even Sigimor looked surprised. Quickly counting the buildings in the row of cottages, he decided the old laird had been a randy old goat. There was a dozen, if one included the burned out one. Looking at the older woman’s still very pretty face surrounded by a thick fall of curly black hair, he also decided the mon had had very good taste.

  “The old laird?” Sigimor asked.

  “Aye. The son is a bit of a pious fool. His sons, though, are nay so good. Eldest is pure evil. I willnae let him cross my thresh stone.” She looked them all over and grinned. “What can I do for all ye fine lads then?”

  “We were told that ye might ken something about Maggie, the woman who lived in the cottage. The butcher said ye were her friend.”

  “Aye.” Tears glistened in her eyes and Gybbon felt his heart sink as she shook her head and waved them inside. “Take a seat and I will fetch some cider for us. Dinnae sit on my dog,” she called out as she disappeared into another room.

  Sigimor stood in front of one of the settees and glared down at a mottled gray ball of curls. “That isnae a dog. ’Tis a furry rat.”

  “I heard that!” the woman said as she came into the room with a tray of tankards. “Impudent boy.”

  “Boy? Havenae been called that in a long while.” Sigimor nudged the dog out of the way and sat down right after the woman did.

  “When ye are my age near every mon who isnae gray and bent is a boy. Do the lads with your horses want anything?”

  “Nay, they are fine. Ye dinnae need to serve them.”

  “I wasnae going to. I was going to make ye do it.”

  Gybbon saw her mischievous grin, then looked over to see Sigimor’s surprise quickly change to a narrow-eyed look with a strong hint of laughter behind it. “Ye stayed with the old laird the longest.”

  “I did indeed. How do ye ken that?”

  “Ye picked up some of his bite.”

  The woman’s laugh carried a strong hint of bawdiness. She shook her head and retorted, “Och, nay. Nay. He got that from me. I will fetch ye some tankards and the jug for the other boys.” When she stood up, so did all the men. “Ye dinnae need to do that or ye will be bouncing up and down all the time. I am nay one who can sit still for long. Come along,” she said, signaling Sigimor to follow her.

  Sigimor did and then went to serve some cider to each of the men watching their horses. Watching closely, Gybbon saw Sigimor give Fergus a rap on the head, then hand him some cider. When Sigimor stepped back inside, the woman rushed to meet him and hand him a tray with four little tarts on it.

  “Go on. Give them to the boys.” She nudged him outside and dashed off again.

  With a heavy sigh, he walked over to give each of the men a tart, then paused to glare at the smoldering pile that used to be Maggie’s home. “Hate to reward that brat Fergus for whining about food,” he said as he came in and sat down.

  “He is fore’er hungry. Dinnae ken why he isnae so fat ye could roll him along the road to spare the horse,” said Nait. “Fire still smoldering?”

  “Aye, and it troubles me that no one has done a thing about it.”

  “Well, there are four men out there,” said Nanty.

  “True enough, but we dinnae have any water.”

  “Ye need water for something?” asked Morag as she came back in the room with a tray of tarts.

  “That fire is still smoldering under the wreckage and it troubles me. Could just go out but could also flare up of a sudden.”

  “Aye, it could. Could take down this whole row if it did. If ye have the men, I have barrels of water at the side of the house. I collect the rain when it falls. Use it to water the horses and all.”

  “I have men.” He stood up and walked toward the door and then strode back to grab a tart, wink at Morag, and go out.

  “Oh, that is most certainly a Cameron.”

  “I apologize, ma’am,” Gybbon said. “I cannae believe we ne’er told ye our names. Aye, that was Sigimor Cameron, Laird of Dubheidland. Those men outside are his brother Fergus and three MacFingals of Scarglas. Here we have Nait Cameron and Nanty, Sigimor’s brother by marriage. I am Sir Gybbon Murray.”

  “Oh, I once met a Murray at the king’s court. Lovely man. All the lassies sighed after him.”

  “I would wager that would have been Payton Murray.”

  “Aye, that was his name. Had a bit of trouble, but it must have been sorted out as he married. Many a lass wept over that, I can tell ye.”

  Gybbon sighed. “I imagine so.” The door opened and Sigimor started to walk in, but the man with him hesitated. “Sigimor?”

  Looking at the man behind him, Sigimor grabbed his arm and started to tug him into the house. “I got the lads to toss some more water on the fire and met this mon. Think he might have a few things to tell us, Gybbon.”

  “Hello, Iain!” Morag leaned forward, waved and smiled at the mon.

  “Ma’am,” Iain said, and nodded at her.

  “Ye ken what happened to Maggie and the boy?”

  “I do, ma’am.”

  “Did ye tell the sheriff?” asked Gybbon.

  “I wasnae about when he came, so nay, havenae told him anything. I hadnae told my wife what I saw, either. Maggie was in the house, ye ken. Ran back in after she made the boy wait outside. He was watching her through the door, but then the ceiling fell in and he ran. Ma
ggie came out after he fled and looked for him, then got in the cart. I ran up to toss some water on her skirts because they were burning a bit. She told me to nay say a word, but if the Laird of Dubheidland asked questions, I should answer and be sure I tell ye she was headed for her sister’s.”

  “Good. Dinnae tell him,” said Sigimor.

  “I willnae. Is Maggie in trouble?”

  “The sheriff has been told she stole and is hiding a child, and also a killer. Those fool Ogilvy brothers are trying to make him believe little Mora killed Old William and has tried to kill their father with poison. ’Tis the excuse they use to justify the way they are hunting the lass.”

  “Little Mora? The one who totes around that cat most others would just drown? And to think of Maggie stealing anything is laughable.” Iain suddenly stood up straighter. “They did it, didnae they? They want that bit of land taken out of the estate for David.”

  “They do. They killed David and Rona for it,” Morag said.

  “Nay. I willnae say a word to the sheriff. Doubt he will recall me anyway, or he will think because he talked with my woman, I have nothing to say to help him. Thinking we should ask for a new sheriff if he can be made to listen to such lies. Bribed, I suspect.”

  “Most likely,” Gybbon said. “Do a lot of folk in the town ken anything or think like ye do?”

  “Most of them, I suspect, and if they kenned it was those Ogilvy brothers who killed David and Rona, they would hang them themselves. Those two were verra good to the people in this village.” Iain glanced back at Sigimor and smiled faintly as he said, “He would heed the Laird of Dubheidland.”

  “And so he should,” Sigimor said as he walked to the settee and sat down.

  Iain looked at Gybbon, his eyes a little wide, and Gybbon just shrugged. “We will have to go hunt down the lad,” he said to Sigimor.

  When Sigimor reached for a tart, Morag slapped his hand, then held the tray out to Iain. When he chose one and thanked her she held the tray out to Sigimor. He was watching her with that narrow-eyed look that held a hearty laugh in its depths.

  Sigimor pointed at himself. “Laird.”

  “Not of this place.” She smiled sweetly as he took a tart and she settled the tray on the table.

  “Oh, ye really must meet my wife.”

  “Arenae ye afraid I will teach her all manner of naughty things being that I was a leman?”

  “Nay, hoping perhaps.” He grinned when both Iain and Gybbon laughed.

  “Rogue.”

  “I do my best.”

  “Weel, if ye are done flirting with our hostess, Sigimor, I think we should try to hunt down the laddie. If he thinks he saw Maggie burn up in the cottage he will be terrified.”

  “I was just making certain I gave the lads enough time to put out the last of the fire,” Sigimor said as he stood up. “We will go find the lad now. Ye ken where this safe place is, aye?”

  “Do ye want me to go with ye?” said Morag. “The boy kens me as a friend of Maggie’s.”

  “That would be good, but then we would have to bring ye back and we need to get him away from here as fast as we can,” said Sigimor. “Ye could help by delaying the sheriff if he and his men come looking. I had the understanding that the boy doesnae tell many about his safe place, but ye can ne’er be sure of that when ’tis only a child.”

  “And I will keep a close watch on the fire,” said Iain. “Cannae believe the fools left it smoldering as they did.”

  “Thank ye.”

  Sigimor strode to the door, the other three men followed, and Gybbon moved to follow them. “Sir Murray?” Morag smiled when he turned to look at her. “When ye see wee Mora again, tell her Morag says hello and to ne’er forget to reach for the fruit that is highest on the tree or vine. It is often the sweetest.”

  “Aye, I will tell her,” he said, even as he wondered what she meant.

  He nodded a farewell to them both and hurried after Sigimor. All of them were on their mounts and ready, so he quickly mounted Jester and started toward Mora’s home. It was not very far from the town and he got angry when he got there and had to sit tensely, hiding in the trees with the others as they watched the sheriff, his men, and the Ogilvy brothers search all around. He leaned forward on his horse a little as he watched the sheriff argue with Robert, but then they all went to their horses and left.

  “Wait a bit,” Sigimor said quietly as they all tensed to move.

  “It looked as if the sheriff is getting weary of Robert,” said Gybbon in an equally quiet voice.

  “Aye. Fool boy is too arrogant to understand that the sheriff sees his place as one who only answers to the laird and Robert isnae sitting in that chair yet.”

  It was several minutes later before Nanty suddenly slipped into their group. Gybbon was annoyed that he had not even realized the younger man was gone. All Nanty did was nod at Sigimor and that was enough to tell the man they could ride to the manor house. Gybbon tried hard to keep the slower pace the other men did until they reached the rear yard. He then dismounted and raced to the old oak that was hollow inside.

  Sigimor came to stand beside him. “Why are ye looking at a rotting tree?”

  “It is hollow inside and the lad can tuck himself up inside that hollow. Mora said he insisted it was his safe place and they should never tell anyone.”

  Sigimor stuck his head inside and looked up into the darkness. “Cannae see a thing but I can hear something,” he said as he backed out.

  “What?”

  “Breathing. Lad,” he called up the tree, “your sister sent us to collect ye.”

  When no one came down, Sigimor stood back a little and frowned. “Mayhap we should have brought Morag.”

  “Nay, what I told her still holds. Nay matter how fast we get her back to her cottage, we would be seen. And then we would run the chance of meeting with the Ogilvy brothers or the sheriff and his men.”

  “Ah, right. So how do we get the lad out of there? None of us could wriggle up there to bring him down.”

  “Weel, she told me a few things to talk to him about that may help.” He went to the tree and looked up. “Mora sent us to get you, lad. She is with us at Laird Sigimor’s place.”

  “Is she all right?” a small voice asked.

  “Oh, she is good enough but cannae go riding about for a wee bit, so she is abed with her silly cat, Freya.”

  “Ye let her take Freya with her?”

  “She wouldnae come without the animal, would she?”

  “Nay. Maggie is dead. I saw the roof fall on her and it was burning. She was going to take me to her sister’s.”

  “I will take ye to the place your mother and father wanted ye to go.”

  “My mother and father are dead, too. Robert killed them.”

  “And he will pay for that. But they cannae get ye, can they? Ye still have the soldier with the broadsword your da made, aye?”

  “Aye. He protects me.”

  “We wouldnae mind a wee bit of added protection, too. It will help us care for your sister and ye as was agreed.” He could hear a soft scrambling noise and hoped it was the boy coming down.

  Glancing back at Sigimor, he nodded, letting him know they would soon have the boy, and the man went to don his large cloak, which he planned to hide the boy under as they rode. He looked back into the tree and came face to face with a handsomely carved soldier, sword in hand. The small, pale hand holding it out was shaking a little.

  “Come on, lad, almost there.”

  “Could ye please hold the Bruce for me? I need both hands to finish getting down.”

  “The Bruce?” he said as he took the finely made soldier. “Very fine name for him.”

  He looked up as the boy dropped to the ground. His clothes were dirty and Gybbon could see a few torn spots, but no wounds were visible. The dirt on his face was well smeared by tears, and Gybbon caught the boy by the hand to pull him outside the tree. Sigimor returned and studied the child, then looked at the wooden soldier. Gyb
bon almost grinned as the child looked up at Sigimor and his eyes widened.

  Sigimor wrapped his arm around the boy’s waist and hefted him up while the wide-eyed Andrew snatched back his soldier and held it in front of him. “Now, lad, while we ride to my home I will have to keep ye covered by my cloak but dinnae be afraid. Ye have the Bruce.”

  “Aye. My da gave it to me. Are Mora and Freya really at your house?”

  “Och, aye. That cat has even eaten at my table like a wee, furry princess.”

  The boy giggled and Gybbon shook his head. Say what one would about the many things that might be wrong with the man, he had a gift of making children feel safe. Andrew did not even protest as he was set up on Sigimor’s large horse, then Sigimor mounted and wrapped his cloak around the boy.

  “Sit hard up against me, lad, so there is no part of ye to see, nay even the shape of ye, and we will go to join your sister.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jolene met them at the door. “Oh, thank God, ye found him,” she said as Sigimor set the boy on his feet and then shed his own cloak.

  Andrew pressed himself hard up against Gybbon’s legs and stared up at Jolene. “She is English!”

  “Aye, laddie.” Sigimor walked over to stand next to Jolene, who was trying hard to hide her irritation, and he put his arm around her, tugging her close to him. “We noticed that but I wed her anyway.” He grunted when she elbowed him in the side.

  “Are the English hunting me, too?”

  “Nay, laddie,” said Gybbon, and he ruffled the boy’s curly hair. “As Sigimor said, she is wed to him.”

  Then Andrew stepped away from Gybbon and gave Jolene a nice bow. “Thank ye, m’lady, for sending your husband to help me. They told me that Mora is here.”

  “She is.” Jolene suddenly gasped and stared wide-eyed at Gybbon. “And she was just awake. If she hears him . . .”

  “She might attempt to do something foolish like try to come hurrying down the stairs,” Gybbon said, even as he ran up the stairs to grab hold of Mora, who stood there clutching the top post. “Easy, lad,” he cautioned Andrew, when the boy ran up to her. “I fear a good hug right now could hurt her.”