‘People recognise us and know what we’re about,’ Keila said into the prickling silence. Her gaze touched on Moira and then settled on him. ‘People do not know you. Until you remember your name and where you are from, you are a stranger here.’
He was a stranger here and to the Highlands, but not once since he’d left the Borders at summers end the year before had he struck any trouble. Wariness, for certain, and rightly so. But never in his life had he been attacked for no apparent reason.
‘Then I can only hope I find some answers at Mortlach’s inn.’ Once he saw the inn, he’d be able to determine whether it was the last place he’d visited before he’d been attacked.
Adair looked to where Demon stood alert by the bank of the burn. The attack wasn’t a robbery, for he still had his horse, the coin he’d carried as well as his sword. The further they travelled, the more certain he was that whoever was responsible for his beating had then left him on the doorstep to Drummin House. But why?
‘If we’re to reach Mortlach before dark, we’d best leave now,’ Keila said, offering Dair the skin of ale she and Moira had both drank from.
Dair took a swig and returned the skin as Keila rose to her feet. ‘Where do you spend the night?’ He stood as the women began packing away the blanket and foodstuffs.
‘At Mortlach Inn.’
Chapter 9
As always, the rest of the journey to the kirktown of Mortlach went as smoothly as the outset. But Keila wondered again if her association with Leith and paying him protection money was the reason they travelled the same path to market yet had never been accosted. She didn’t dwell on the matter. All that was important was that they’d arrived safely, as always. Except this time they weren’t alone.
Keila drew Mist and Nettle to a stop on the final small rise and took in the kirk’s long-standing walls as she waited for Mac to draw alongside. ‘This is Mortlach. Does anything look familiar?’ He exuded an air of tension, a sense of rigidity she’d not noticed before and she found herself having to will her own jaw to relax.
‘Not from here.’
She wanted to summon the man of mirth she’d glimpsed every now and again since they’d met, but could think of naught the least bit humorous to say. She doubted her next words would inspire laughter either.
‘Moira and I will take our usual path on the right to the inn.’ She indicated the route with her hand. ‘But I would ask you to wait until we’ve driven over the ridge and are out of sight before you ride into the town, using the path that follows around to the left of the kirk.’ Entering the town from different directions would ensure no one knew they’d travelled to Mortlach together.
Mac slowly turned his head and looked at her. His stare weighed more heavily than a mountain on her soul. She straightened where she sat, having no intention of explaining herself, but the words escaped her mouth anyway. ‘We do not know why you were beaten, Mac. But if the attack did take place here in Mortlach, I cannot risk failure to sell our goods due to knowing you.’ Keila braced herself for his reaction, pretending it didn’t matter.
He gave a slow nod. ‘I will wait here. Once you’ve gone, I’ll take the other path.’
Keila clenched her hands in her skirts and slowly released them. She gathered the reins and with a nod to Mac, she steered the horses down by the graveyard and up the gentle slope into the town.
‘I don’t like change,’ Keila said quietly. ‘And I will not risk our home or aiding future callers to Drummin House for one man.’ Even if that man was like no other she’d ever met. Moira’s silence beside her was unsettling. ‘Have you naught to say, Moira?’
Her companion inhaled deeply. ‘Nothing. Except I agree.’
The weight pressing down on Keila eased at Moira’s acceptance. She’d believed Mac was trouble from the start, but Keila had seen signs that her friend was softening towards him. She had allowed him to assist her down from the cart, and for Moira that was telling.
The inn was a long, grey stone building and was located to the east at one edge of the town. Keila steered the horses to the rear of the inn and drew them to a stop between the inn and its stable. They’d made good time and still had a measure of daylight left before the gloaming took hold.
She turned to Moira. ‘I’ll not be long.’ With a nod from her friend, she climbed down from the cart and headed toward the rear door to the inn, the only entrance she ever used. They’d become known over the last eight years and although they garnered regular customers of both their goods and their ale, other than a smile and some banter with locals, buyers and other sellers, they didn’t socialise at all. It was safer not to risk any trouble that might affect their sales. Too much rested on their selling success.
Keila paused at the back entrance to shake her skirts into place and to tug her plait forward over one shoulder. With a final pat of her right leg to check her small leather purse was still strapped to her thigh, she drew a breath and felt her chest swell with anticipation. She enjoyed the routine of securing their room, for it was a regular occurrence that led them closer to selling their goods.
Her knock was firm enough to rattle the wooden panel and it wasn’t long before the door was pulled open from inside. A mixture of voices, raised in conversation and laughter, rushed out to greet her, along with the closer noise of clanging pots and pans. ‘Ah, Mistress Fearn. ’Tis, ah, good to see ye.’ Keila heard a strange note in Euan’s voice, but ignored it as he stepped to one side and with a sweep of his hand, invited her in.
‘And you, Master Euan.’ Keila stopped a few steps along the slim corridor cluttered with wooden boxes overflowing with all manner of vegetables and casks of another brewer’s ale. Though she’d wager neither would be as tasty as hers. She watched as Euan stepped outside and peered about the rear of his inn, before stepping back inside and closing the door.
With the door now shut, the ruckus within spiked louder. ‘How is your wife’s foot healing?’ His portly wife had stepped on a sharp stone that had pierced the underside of her foot the last time Keila had travelled to market. Since the wound had already been stitched by a local, Keila had given Euan a pot of salve to hopefully prevent infection and quicken the healing.
‘Ma wife’s foot is almost fully healed.’ Euan cleared his throat. ‘Now, what can I do for ye, Mistress Fearn?’
A flash of heat rushed through her at his query. Only once since they’d started coming to market had Euan asked her such a question and that had been the very first time, eight years before. Her mouth dried as she stared at the innkeeper. The silver smattering the darker hair about his ears and face made Euan appear older, as did the deep lines scoring his forehead and about his round, unshaven jaw. He was older than Keila, but younger than Rory; could Euan be suffering a similar condition to the older man since last she’d seen him?
She softened her voice. ‘I’ve come to secure the usual room for Mistress Denune and myself,’ she said with a smile.
Euan exhaled a long breath, and while one meaty hand found his hip, the other rose up and rubbed along the back of his neck. ‘Well, ye see, yer usual room isnae available, Mistress Fearn.’
The smile froze on Keila’s lips, much like an icicle clung to a branch in the dead of a Highland winter. She cleared her throat. ‘Another room will do, then.’ They’d just have to sell more goods to afford the extra cost of a better room.
‘Ah, well, ye see,’ Euan said, swapping hands so the one was doing what the other had been. ‘I have nae rooms left for ye.’
Something clenched inside her chest and her smile fell as her mouth opened, but for several breaths, no words emerged. And not once in that time did Euan look at her. Keila didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. But something must be wrong, though for the life of her she didn’t know what it could be.
As she searched her mind for reasons, Euan shifted from foot to foot and finally looked at her.
‘I ken it’s nae much,’ he glanced further along the corridor and then back at her, �
��but ye can still keep yer cart and horses in the stable as ye usually do.’ Euan’s voiced dropped lower still. ‘Ye and Mistress Denune can stay inside with them.’
Keila searched his face and the troubled lines that deepened with every passing moment. Something was wrong, but she consoled herself with the fact that at least they had somewhere to stay for the next two nights. ‘My thanks, Euan. The stable will be fine.’ She forced a smile and moved on to another, more important matter.
‘I’m happy to set aside an extra cask of ale to sell you, at a special price, of course, to cater for the extra guests you have staying.’ Keila was watching Euan closely so it was impossible to miss the loss of colour and the look of uncertainty that crossed his face. ‘Euan,’ she stepped forward and pressed her palm against his upper arm. ‘You do not need to buy any extra ale. I just wanted to offer it to you before anyone else.’ But her show of understanding only seemed to cause the innkeeper a greater dilemma. She dropped her hand to her side and clenched her fist. ‘Euan, is everything—?’
‘I cannae …’ Both his fisted hands settled on his hips and he half turned sideways in the limited space they shared. He looked down and then straight at her. ‘I’ll nae be buyin’ any ale from ye this visit, Mistress Fearn.’
Her chest clenched tighter, as an image of Drummin House showed clearly in her mind. He wasn’t purchasing any ale when he always bought two, sometimes even three. ‘Nae even one cask, Euan?’ She hated to beg, but one was better than none at all, and they still had the chance to sell the rest of the ale at market.
‘Nae even one,’ Euan said, without meeting her eyes.
The vision of her home faded. She tried to swallow but her mouth and throat were too dry. ‘Very well, then. I know you must have your reasons.’ She could see how much it pained him to not buy ale from her and she didn’t want to make him suffer more by pressing him to explain why. She’d find out another way.
‘I’d best go and tell Moira so we can get settled for the night.’ Turning side on, she stepped around the vegetable boxes and headed for the rear entrance.
‘I’ll have a meal brought to the …’ Keila glanced back over her shoulder, but Euan did not look at her as he spoke. ‘I’ll have a meal brought out to ye, Mistress Fearn.’
Keila stilled at the door as a strange humming seemed to infuse her blood. ‘That is kind of you, but unnecessary, Master Euan. We have more than enough to eat.’ With a final look at the casks of another brewer’s ale lining the corridor, she opened the door and stepped outside into fresh air. Air she hadn’t known she desperately needed to feel against her face. Air she drew in as she carefully closed the door and leaned back against it. She looked to her right and found Moira standing before the horses, feeding them each a carrot.
How would Moira take the news? Should she keep it from her and make up excuses, like she believed Euan had done? Or had been forced to do. A confusing and frightening thought.
Moira scolded Nettle, making Keila’s decision for her. She pushed away from the door. She loved Moira and would do anything for the older woman, who had been like the mother she’d never had. As much as she wanted to save Moira from worries and uncertainties, she knew her friend wouldn’t appreciate having such concerns kept from her. She had a right to know, for they were her concerns too.
‘I see Nettle is being her usual greedy self,’ Keila said, as she stopped beside Moira.
‘Aye, and I doubt the old nag will change her ways now.’
‘I still think she didn’t take kindly to being named Nettle.’
‘But the name suits her so well,’ Moira smiled.
‘Our usual room isn’t available, Moira.’
‘Why ever not?’ Moira frowned.
Keila shrugged and drew a long breath. ‘And Euan didn’t buy any of our ale.’ There. She’d said it, and she was privy to Moira’s changing expression as her news slowly registered.
‘Competition is obviously fierce,’ Moira said with a thoughtful nod. ‘But we know your ale is the finest and we’ll just have to sell more at market the morn.’
Keila threw her arms around Moira and clung tight to the woman who always met a challenge head on and had taught Keila to do the same. That she was worried was evident when her arms tightened about Keila in return, but together they’d see this through.
‘Now, finding a place to sleep is a different matter,’ Moira continued, holding Keila at arm’s length.
‘Euan invited us to sleep in the stable.’
Moira’s wide-eyed stare told Keila how odd she found Euan’s offer, but her words spoke otherwise. ‘Then let’s get these stubborn beasts settled before dark.’
***
Adair watched Keila drive the cart up and over the next slight ridge, but once they’d disappeared from view he remained where he was. He wanted to give them time to reach the inn and conduct their business without his presence hampering her efforts. Her uncertainty about whether he’d done anything to deserve a beating scratched a raw nerve, but she was protecting her interests and once he’d concluded his, he’d move on.
The thought pulled at something inside his chest. He put the odd feeling down to his failure to turn up anything in regards to his origins. He was starting to believe he’d never know who had sired him or why his mother had abandoned him.
‘God above. If Duff and Cal could see me now.’ Demon shifted beneath him. ‘Forgive me, lad.’ A quick smile relieved the strain about Dair’s mouth. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find out why someone felt the urge to beat me senseless.’
Dair kept Demon to a slow pace as they headed around the left side of the kirk and into Mortlach. Despite the sun being close to setting, there were numerous people tending animals or gardens belonging to the cottages he rode by and the smell of meat and vegetables stewing scented the air. Dair’s stomach growled and he wished he’d accepted the gingerbread Keila had offered him on the last leg of the journey.
The locals all gave him a cursory glance, but he wasn’t the only one riding into the town. Several mounted men rode in using another track from the north, while others drove their laden carts in from the east, the path Dair now recognised as the one he’d taken when he’d first visited the kirktown of Mortlach, five nights past.
His heartbeat hammered like a smithy hurrying to shape his iron before it lost its glowing heat. Dair’s gaze lingered on every man within his sight as he wiped his sweat-slick palm dry on his plaid and curled his fingers about the hilt of his sword. He searched faces, appraised features and listened for any sound of a familiar voice. He would never be caught off guard again.
Most travellers were heading in the same direction as Adair, but the moment he sighted the familiar, long grey stone building, he steered Demon in a wide arc around to the rear of the inn, knowing those inside couldn’t see him with the stable between.
He drew his mount to a halt on the same gentle slope, beneath the same tree he’d stopped at the last time he’d visited Mortlach, and slowly dismounted. With a slide of his hand down Demon’s nose, he left his horse untethered under the pine and walked up to stand in the same place he’d stood less than a sennight before, and turned to gaze out over the valley he’d admired not so long ago.
Adair searched the kirk and graveyard he’d recently ridden by, and then the green and golden hills he remembered admiring as the setting sun cast them aglow, as it did now. This time, the view failed to hold his interest.
His heartbeat doubled, though he was standing still. The hairs at his nape stood on end and his fingers curled and flexed about his weapons. The muscles across his back and his shoulders and his arms tensed. His thighs hardened and braced. He was ready, but despite his preparations, he stood alone. He had the last time too, and his mind seemed to be waiting for the blow from behind that had split the flesh beside his eye and sent him to his knees. The blow never came, but a horse’s whinny and the sound of a voice had him spinning about on his heel.
He climbed the rest of the way up to one
end of the stable and searched for where the voice was coming from. But the sight of Keila emerging from the inn’s rear door, and then sagging against it, stole his attention. Disappointment weighed heavy on her slender shoulders and Dair’s sudden need to protect her and ensure she was alright set his feet in her direction a moment before she gathered her strength and pushed away from the door.
Too late to turn back now she’d recovered, he slowed his approach as Keila and Moira, the one whose voice he’d heard, shared a short conversation and then a swift embrace, followed by an exchange of words he didn’t hear. He did hear …
‘Then let’s get these stubborn beasts settled before dark,’ Moira said, as she tried to coax them to move. ‘It’s time we got new horses. Smart ones,’ Moira continued.
Conscious of eavesdropping for a third time, Adair spoke as he neared. ‘Horses can be stubborn, but they are also clever beasts.’
Moira looked up and frowned. ‘And you’d be an expert on clever, when you don’t even ken your own name.’
Dair heard the mounting frustration in Moira’s tone and smiled as he stopped before the horses. ‘They respond to praise and a gentle touch.’ His hand slid down Mist’s nose, but before he could stroke Nettle, Moira spoke.
‘This beast’s the troublesome one.’
‘Nettle is yours, isn’t she?’ He knew she was. He continued before she could add words to the glare she gave him. ‘Are they bound for the stable?’
‘Aye,’ Moira said.
Dair shifted his hand to the leather bridle about Nettle’s head. ‘Come. Let’s get you two settled for the night.’ The horses stepped forward.
‘Moira, help me open the stable doors,’ Keila said quietly.
Adair watched her walk toward the stable beside her friend, but something had stolen the purpose from her step. The women lifted the beam holding the doors closed and set it aside before pulling the doors open wide in time for Dair to lead the horses and cart inside.
The Rogue Page 10
