The stable’s interior was dim, and without the sun’s heat, much cooler. Dair led the horses to one side and immediately removed Nettle’s bridle and started on Mist’s.
‘We appreciate your help,’ Keila said, stopping beside Nettle and stroking her nose. ‘But we can see to them now.’
Dair sensed a brittleness about her and his concern doubled. ‘It’s nae bother and the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.’
‘I only did what anyone else would have done.’
He shook his head. ‘Few are as skilled or as caring as you.’
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. ‘My business is done.’ She glanced away.
‘I hope all went well.’
Her gaze wandered over the contents of the cart. ‘The innkeeper’s name is Euan.’ She looked directly at him. ‘I wish you well and hope he can help you.’
‘I’m counting on it.’ Her words sounded like a farewell. Something was wrong. He kept his observations and his goodbyes to himself and bade Keila and Moira a good night. They’d cross paths again. He’d see that they did.
Adair left the stable and found Demon still standing untethered and at ease beneath the pine. If his horse attracted any unwanted attention, Demon was free to escape. He headed around to the front of Mortlach’s inn, with its thatched roof and numerous narrow windows evenly spaced in the uneven stone walls. The blood in his veins flowed more swiftly than normal and he wasn’t certain if it was due to him finally having a chance to discover what had happened on the night he was attacked, or if Keila’s stubborn determination to be self-sufficient was the cause.
The hungry glance she’d given his mouth could possibly have something to do with it, or perhaps it was only wishful thinking on his part. Whatever it was, he would find out what he could and then he would see her again.
The door opened inward, and the same smell of onions swimming in beef stew competing with the scent of unwashed bodies that had greeted him on his last visit did so again now. Loud banter from the occupants dropped to a murmur at his entrance, as heads swivelled to see the latest caller.
Many necks earned cricks and squint eyes took their time assessing him as he closed the door and stood still, returning their stares and allowing them to look their fill. All but the two men to the left of the doorway. Neither bothered to assuage their curiosity, which only captured Dair’s. Or perhaps their two companions, sharing the table, were also sharing their thoughts about the inn’s latest patron.
The black-smoking yellow flames from the squat tallow candles on the tables, and those bleeding wax into the wall sconces, flickered and danced but did little to lighten the interior of the inn. If his bruises were easily seen in the dim light, they weren’t anything new or noteworthy enough for those who, finally having looked their fill, slowly turned back to the company they’d previously kept and resumed their rowdy conversations.
The room he’d entered was only a third of the size of the whole building and Dair assumed the part of the inn he’d walked by with the narrow windows were the rooms where people visiting Mortlach, those like Keila and Moira, might stay. A room like Morag had offered him not so long ago. Adair searched for the older woman, but was disappointed not to see any sign of her now. He’d welcome the sight of a friendly face.
Adair walked to the pockmarked slab of timber that separated the large man with greying dark hair from his patrons and watched as his brown eyes appraised Dair’s face.
‘Trouble isnae welcome inside my inn,’ the man said quiet and low.
Dair’s first thought was to ask if trouble was permitted outside his inn, for that’s where it had found Dair the last time he’d been here. It seemed the man named Euan didn’t recognise him with his face all covered in bruises, but Dair had only caught a glimpse of the other man too. Had the innkeeper played a part in the attack, or hadn’t he a clue it had even happened?
‘I’m not here looking for trouble. I have a thirst for good ale, the best you have, and was told this is the place to find it.’
Euan glanced over Dair’s shoulder and then settled both forearms on the scarred timber. ‘If ye have the coin, I can offer ye good ale.’
‘But nae the best?’ Dair asked with a smile, and placed enough coin on the bar to cover the cost.
‘I’ve none.’ The innkeeper looked at the coin. ‘I can also offer ye a meal.’ He straightened. ‘And a room if’n yer after that too.’
‘A meal and good ale will suffice, for now,’ Dair said, adding coin to the bar to pay for his meal, silently thanking Moira for returning his coin to him.
‘The name’s Euan,’ the innkeeper said, sweeping the coins into his palm, ‘find a seat.’
‘I’m surprised you have any rooms left with all these people.’
‘I have a few left. Half of this lot are locals. The other half have come for market day the morn.’ He jiggled the money in his hand. ‘Be sure ta let me ken if ye change yer mind about the bed.’
Dair turned and searched the room, taking in the hallway behind the bar that was cluttered with wooden boxes and foodstuffs and likely led to the inn’s kitchen. In the darkened shadows at the end of the hall was the door he’d watched Keila leave by. Would she and Moira enter through the same door when they came to find their room?
He walked to the empty table close by the corridor, the same table he’d sat at before, and took a seat. From this vantage point, he could view those coming in and going out of the inn’s front door as well as hear anyone using the rear entrance.
He cast his eye around the room that looked to be filled with mountain mist from head-height and above, and noticed the two men who hadn’t turned at his entrance remained in their chairs and still didn’t look his way. His instincts told him they were regulars. His gut told him they had something to hide and he couldn’t help wondering if they’d had something to do with his attack.
Euan approached and delivered his ale.
‘It looks like this is the place to be,’ Dair said, lifting his ale and taking a swig.
‘It’s always busy the night before market,’ Euan looked about the bar. ‘I’m hopin’ the morn brings more thirsty travellers through my door.’
‘Ahh,’ Dair released an appreciative sigh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘That is good ale,’ he said and set his empty cup onto the table. ‘But I’d come in hopes of testing the finest.’
Euan glanced at the men at the table closest to the door. ‘It’s good ale.’ He lifted the cup. ‘Care for another?’
‘Aye.’
‘I’ll bring your meal along with it.’
Dair watched Euan head behind the bar and down the corridor. Had he not had time to bring the casks of ale he’d bought from Keila into the bar? But then, wouldn’t he ask Dair to wait while he fetched the requested ale? Dair looked at the table by the door, willing the occupants to turn his way so he could determine if he’d seen them here or elsewhere before. Instead, all four men drained their cups and stood at once, the two who dared to look at Dair nodded to Euan as he entered the bar room once more, carrying Dair’s meal. The other two men kept their faces averted.
Euan delivered his bowl of steaming beef stew and his ale. As Dair ate, his instincts shouted that the two men had purposely avoided showing him their faces, had definitely played a part in his attack. The problem was, even if he had seen their faces now, the first blow had been thrown from behind and Dair had no idea of what any of his attackers looked like.
Chapter 10
For the hundredth time throughout the long night, Keila turned over, attempting to find a more comfortable position. But it did little good. The timber boards of the cart had no softness about them, for either her hips or her shoulders. She turned onto her back, and with the smell of straw and horses infusing her indrawn breath, she blinked open her eyes and frowned up into the darkness at the stable’s thatched roof.
She knew from experience that the beds inside the inn offered little more comfort, but she suspe
cted that not being granted their usual room only made the straw-covered cart she now lay on appear harder than it was. Not selling even a single barrel of ale to Euan turned her stomach and made her wish she was sleeping soundly. And then her mind wandered to the man she’d tried and failed not to think about. Had he discovered who his assailants were? Was he safe and well?
Less than an arm’s length away from where she lay, the rhythmic sound of Moira’s even breaths reached her. Keila turned her head toward where Moira slept, but the cracks and spaces about the doors were still filled with the night and she couldn’t see her. At least one of them was getting some sleep.
‘Have you managed even a wink of sleep, lass?’
Keila started at Moira’s quietly spoken query. ‘I have,’ she lied. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed yours.’
Moira scoffed. ‘And here I’d been thinking you’d be too worried about things to sleep at all.’
‘I … what things?’
‘Everything. Things like selling the extra casks of ale you made this time round. May the vermin from the fields eat Euan’s stores and the fleas from their fur test his flesh.’
‘Nae, Moira. It’s nae Euan’s fault.’
‘You’re too soft, lass.’ Cool, bony fingers grasped Keila’s where she clenched them on her stomach. ‘If it’s nae Euan’s fault, then who’s to blame?’
‘The fault is mine. I brewed extra ale, and foolishly assumed we’d sell the lot.’
‘Hoping isnae a fault, lass and a burden feels less when shared.’
A lump of emotion rose in Keila’s throat and prevented her from responding straight away. Instead she clenched Moira’s hand tightly, once again amazed at how fortunate she was to have this wonderful, wise woman by her side.
‘You’re a strong lass, Keila, but we’re stronger together. There’s nae need to keep your concerns from me. I ken life doesn’t always go to plan.’
‘Oh, Moira. I am forever grateful to Lady Euphemia.’
‘As am I, lass. As am I.’
With a final squeeze of her fingers, Keila released Moira’s hand and sat up in the pile of straw that poked her flesh through the fabric of her skirts. ‘Please don’t blame Euan, Moira.’
‘Was it nae Euan you dealt with concerning the ale and our room?’ The cart shifted beneath her as Moira sat up, too.’
‘Aye, but,’ she stopped a moment and wet her lips as she tried to put into words Euan’s troubled expression. ‘He wanted to buy our ale and he wanted to give us our usual room, I’m sure of it, but something, or someone, has given him reason not to have any dealings with us.’ Only the stirrings of tiny creatures in the straw-laden ground could be heard as Moira absorbed Keila’s words. When more time had passed than Keila thought necessary, she broke the silence. ‘Moira?’
‘Aye, lass. I’m trying to think of a good reason for someone to warn Euan away from us.’
Amidst her tossing and turning, Keila had spent the whole night trying to find a reason too. They’d done everything the same as they always did. Even making extra casks of ale wasn’t something she hadn’t done before, and on those occasions, they had sold every single one.
The only thing that was new and different, the only thing that repeatedly popped into her mind, was the injured stranger she’d tended, the man who’d accompanied them as they’d travelled to Mortlach, the man they’d named Mac.
She didn’t want to lay blame at anyone’s feet and she didn’t want Moira to think badly of him when she’d only recently begun to soften toward him, or their memories of him as they’d likely not see him again.
‘It doesn’t matter, Moira. We’ll simply sell more ale at market. Speaking of which,’ she said, shuffling forward and climbing down from the cart, ‘if we leave now, we can ensure we set up our cart in the best place before anyone else even wakes.’
With Moira’s agreement, they opened the stable doors and hitched the horses to the cart before leading them outside into what remained of the night. Thankfully, Nettle and Mist didn’t resist. The moon sat at the edge of the dark star-spattered sky, heralding the dawn wasn’t far away.
They walked beside the cart through the town’s slumbering streets toward the kirk’s graveyard, the wooden wheels stirring up the gritty sound of crunching dirt and crushing stones. Gravestones jutted up from patches of grassy ground and cast long shadows across the resting place of many souls. They found an open space beside a cluster of trees that would afford some shade for the horses if the coming day proved hot. The prime position would also do them well as anyone following the path from the town would have to walk by them to reach the church for the morning service and for the return journey back into the town.
By the time the sun cast its brilliance over the horizon to the east, Keila and Moira had their goods sorted in the best possible positions for potential buyers to see their wares. They sat on the edge of the cart sharing a loaf and a carrot to break their fast. And waited. The town folk and the visitors, whether they’d come to sell or buy, would walk by with a wave and a smile for them both, for many knew them from previous market days. They’d then crowd into the small kirk for the service that always took place before market day began.
Would Mac be one of them? Had he discovered his true name? As she’d done a thousand times while she’d lain on her straw-filled cart, she told herself now that he was no concern of hers, but her traitorous mind and a pinch of her heart said he was.
She slid off the cart and shook out her skirts as the first of the local people began wandering by. She barely noticed. ‘Are you alright if I take a short walk?’
‘Aye, lass. But don’t wander too far.’
Keila smiled absently at Moira’s concern, believing that her friend had forgotten Keila was no longer ten years old, but a woman grown. She strolled up the slight slope to the north side of the kirk and paused a moment to stare at the grey stones that formed Saint Morluag’s Well. She’d never tasted the water from the holy well, but many had. A gentle breeze from the west touched her cheek and she continued her leisurely walk in that direction.
Where had Mac slept? She inhaled a quick breath that tasted of disappointment. Her wandering and the fresh air were supposed to be cleansing her mind of all unwanted thoughts, but her efforts were obviously not working. She hurried her steps down toward the southern side of the kirk, and slowed them again as she came upon the place where many gravestones, surrounded by tufts of long grasses, a few sprinkled with moss, marked the long-passing of many men, women and sadly, even children.
It wasn’t the first time she’d walked this path, but she always experienced the same tightening in her stomach and higher into her chest. Death was so final, she knew, and though she’d lost both her father and then her mother, she’d been spared the suffering, having never known either of them. But it didn’t mean she didn’t miss them or long to have known them.
She stopped and stared at the battle stone that she’d viewed on her first trip to market. The stone represented King Malcolm Canmore’s defeat of a force of Danes led by Sweyn. Her gaze scanned the meadow below where the battle took place and returned to the stone and the symbol of the cross, decorated with spiral designs and a pair of sea monsters and another beast she didn’t recognise. The other side boasted a huntsman with a hound, beneath a bull’s head, a snake and an eagle, but as she’d seen it numerous times before, she didn’t stop to look again now. The sun was reaching higher in the sky and the priest would soon deliver his sermon.
‘You’ve timed your return well, lass. The priest has just entered the kirk.’
Keila stood close beside her friend before searching the faces of the crowd now filling the church grounds to the north, west and east. Despite King Malcolm Canmore enlarging the kirk by three spear lengths after his victory, it wasn’t large enough to hold all who flocked to market. Keila recognised many familiar faces, but she didn’t find the one bruised face she was looking for.
She dipped her head to hide her inner frustration as
the mob bowed their heads in prayer. Keila didn’t pray. She had as a child but none of her pleading had been answered or made any difference. In the end she’d been given her greatest wish by a woman she’d never met and had seen her dream fulfilled with the help of the woman who now stood by her side. Moira did pray, and out of respect for her wise friend and mentor, she pretended to do the same each time they visited Mortlach.
Keila did, however, hope, and she poured her heart into hoping this market day would be their best yet and see them sell all their goods. For then, Keila’s greatest wish and fondest dream of keeping her home would remain true.
The moment the service ended, the crowd dispersed to finish setting up their wares in whichever spot they’d chosen, while others, wanting to have the first pick of the freshest or best choices, began to purchase what they’d come for. Keila always enjoyed selling at market and she knew Moira did too. It gave them a chance to converse with others and discover any news the distance and isolation of living in Drummin House created. Not that Keila would change a thing.
Keila’s eyes rounded at the sight of Meg MacTier’s swollen belly, and she smiled at Meg’s husband Busby’s proud grin. Tears threatened when she witnessed old Graeme Leslie walking the kirk grounds without his beloved wife, Aileen, by his side. But by the time the sun reached its peak on a delightful summer’s day, Keila’s hopes of having the most successful market day ever started crumbling like a mason’s mortar left to waste for three days in the sun.
They hadn’t sold a thing. Not one carrot, nor a cup of ale or a pot of salve. As if Moira’s thoughts mirrored her own, they turned and looked at one another for a long moment.
‘Nae one’s even come to say good morn.’
Keila turned from the troubled sadness lurking in Moira’s amber eyes, lest she revealed her own. She looked out upon the milling horde and suffered a feeling of being apart, as if a long solid wall of steel separated her and Moira from everyone else. Countless people walked by where they stood but few looked their way, and when they did they quickly turned away. It was as if they were outcasts, there but not to be acknowledged. She swallowed the ball of thickness that had suddenly formed in her throat.
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