There was, she admitted, a problem or two with her plan. She could never outrun a horse if they decided to risk it all and run her down. A skilled archer could easily stop her, although she could not believe that Balfour would order her killed. Then again, she mused as she crouched behind the thicket waiting for her chance to run, Balfour had done several things lately that she had not thought him capable of, so she should probably not be so confident in her opinion of him. The final problem was that she would be seen to be running straight for Dubhlinn. The men searching for her already suspected where she was going or they would not be there, harassing her every step of the way, and she was sure that she had not covered her tracks very well. Once they saw her, however, they would have proof and so would Balfour, she thought sadly. She quickly pushed aside that moment of sadness, telling herself that she was going to enjoy proving them all wrong, as she bolted for the trees.
The cry of discovery that cut through the air sent her heart into her throat. For a brief moment she heard the pounding hooves of horses in pursuit and feared that she had been wrong, that the Murrays were indeed willing to risk all just to stop her. Then there was a lot of shouting and the sound of a hard chase came to an abrupt halt. She waited in cold terror for an arrow to slam into her back, but it never came. Once inside the trees she stumbled to a halt, clung to a tree as she struggled to catch her breath, and looked toward the Murrays. For one long, silent moment, she stared at them and they stared at her, while she waited tensely to see if they would do anything. Then they turned their horses sharply and galloped back to Donncoill.
"And back to Balfour,” she whispered, slumping against the rough bark of the tree for a moment.
She was exhausted and she had barely begun her adventure. Ahead of her lay the hunt for Eric and trying not to be discovered while doing it. Then she and the boy had to escape and get all the way back to Donncoill without being recaptured. As she started toward the village, Maldie wondered why her obviously disordered mind had not given her a less impossible way to prove her innocence.
"Lassie, what has happened to ye?"
Maldie smiled wearily at the tiny gray-haired lady who stood in the low doorway of her tiny wattle and daub cottage gaping at her. Eleanor Beaton was clearly shocked by her tattered, muddy condition, but there was no condemnation in the woman's light gray eyes. Concern softened the woman's lined face as she tugged Maldie inside and, although she needed the help, Maldie felt like the basest of traitors. She was there to help destroy the woman's laird, to throw Eleanor's tidy little life into complete chaos.
All the while Eleanor helped Maldie clean up and put on the gown she had left behind the last time she had fled Dubhlinn, the woman kept up a constant stream of talk. By the time Maldie found herself seated at Eleanor's tiny, well-scrubbed table, she was sure she had heard every tiny scrap of gossip about Dubhlinn and all of its people. When Eleanor sat down across from her, her work-worn hands clasped on top of the table and her bright eyes fixed firmly upon her, Maldie had to laugh.
"Ye are fairly bursting with questions, arenae ye?” she asked, grinning at the little woman.
Eleanor grinned back briefly and nodded. “Aye, but I ken that ye like to keep your own counsel."
Maldie sighed and tried to put some order into her thoughts as she chewed on the bread Eleanor had given her. “I am verra sorry that I just left ye without even a word of thanks."
"What else could ye do, dearling, with those men chasing after ye like starving hounds after a hare?"
"Ye kenned that?"
"Aye. These eyes may be old, but they still see a lot. I just prayed that wherever ye had run to, ye were safer than ye were in this sad place.” Eleanor shook her head. “Matters worsen here by the hour. I begin to think the laird has truly lost his mind, that mayhap the disease which twists his body has twisted what little wit he had too."
"I didnae e'en ken that he was ill."
"'Tis kept a verra close secret, lass. The mon fears all who live around him, and with good reason. There are many who hunger after this land."
Maldie wondered how Nigel had found out about the man's illness if it was so secret, then decided it was probably best if she did not know, for it undoubtedly concerned a woman. “What has your laird done?"
"Stolen a child from the Murray clan. As if that isnae shameful enough, he has stolen the verra child he set out upon the hillside to die years ago. The Murrays have already tried to take him back, but, alas, they failed.” Tears sparkled in the woman's eyes. “I lost my beloved Robert on that sad day."
"Oh, Eleanor.” Maldie reached out to clasp the woman's hands in hers. “I am so verra sorry. He was a good, sweet mon. The Murrays?"
"Nay. ‘Twas a Beaton mon who cut him down. Those low hirelings our laird surrounds himself with dinnae ken who we are, cannae tell a Beaton from a Murray. My mon saw the Murrays retreat from the field and was walking back to our wee hidey-hole to tell me it was safe, when one of our laird's dogs saw him. They cut him down ere the other villagers could stop them. Robert was an old, crippled mon who had no sword, and yet they killed him. I curse them all. I ken we have been told that the Murrays are our enemy, heartless bastards who wish to steal all we own and leave none of us alive to squawk about it, but I cannae believe that they would have killed my sweet Robert."
"Nay, never.” Maldie realized she had spoken with a suspicious firmness when Eleanor's eyes narrowed.
"Lass, ye arenae a Murray, are ye?"
"Now that is a question I can answer with complete honesty—nay. I am truly a Kirkcaldy, although ye may find it difficult to get one of them to admit kinship to this bastard child. But, dinnae fear, ye arenae harboring one of the enemy."
Eleanor shrugged her thin shoulders. “I wouldnae care, but I would be afraid for meself and all of my kin. Our laird found a Murray mon in the keep and killed him. He has since hanged two other men because he thought they, too, worked for the Murrays. If ye e'en look at the mon wrong ye risk a hanging or, God forbid, the horrible death that poor Murray fellow endured. Some of the villagers swear that they could hear his screams in the night.” Eleanor shivered and rubbed her thin arms.
"This may not have been a good time for ye to return here, lass,” she continued. “A dark cloud hangs o'er us and the wolves are drawing near. I swear our laird makes a new enemy with every word he spits out of his rotting mouth. And, now, this madness. Trying to claim as his son a child he tossed out years ago, threw aside like scraps he feeds his hounds? He claimed far and wide, and verra loudly, that his wife had betrayed him with the old laird of the Murrays and that the child was a Murray bastard, fit only to feed the wild beasts that roam the forests. Now we are all to believe that this poor lad is his heir. That sad child willnae live one day past the laird's death, and I am fair sure of that."
"What has he done with the boy?” Maldie asked, fighting to keep any hint of her keen interest out of her voice.
"Sorcha, who works in the kitchens at the keep, says that the laddie was too spirited for Beaton's liking, and so has been thrown into the dungeons until he comes to his senses.” Eleanor's voice dropped to a whisper of amazement. “She said the boy laughed when Beaton tried to call him his son, said that he would rather be the spawn of the devil hisself. Beaton then said something insulting about the old Murray laird, and the boy attacked him. I fear the laddie suffered a beating for that."
Inwardly, Maldie grimaced. That did not bode well for how the boy would take the news if he did prove to be a Beaton. “But the lad is alright?"
"Aye. Beaton certainly doesnae want the lad crippled or dead, just quiet and tame. Why are ye so interested in the boy?"
Maldie shrugged and busied herself trying to cut a neat slice off the block of hard cheese on the table. “One cannae help but feel some sympathy for the boy."
"I may be old, lassie, but my wits are still sharp. Aye, and my nose is sharp enough to smell out a lie when it wafts by.” Eleanor held up her hand when Maldie started to speak. �
�Nay, dinnae tell me a thing. Just answer me one wee question—should I be making sure that my wee hidey-hole is clean and comfortable?"
"Aye.” Maldie smiled sadly. “I will take a risk and tell ye one other thing. Make sure that all the ones ye can trust and care about are ready to flee to their little warrens at the first alarum. Aye, at the verra first hint of trouble."
"The Murrays are going to try and get that boy back again."
Maldie smiled. “I thought ye didnae wish to hear about such things."
Eleanor chuckled. “Nay, I dinnae, but, being the curious old woman that I am, I also want to hear it all. Ignore this old fool. If I pester ye with questions just remind me that, sometimes, ‘tis far safer to ken naught."
"I will, for I dearly wish ye to stay safe and alive. Now, I have only one question, but ye need not answer if ye feel it will put ye in danger in any way. Where is the dungeon inside of Dubhlinn? When last I was here I ne'er did find that out."
"The door to it is in one of the walls of the great hall, set just below a large shield with a rampant boar on it."
"How apt,” Maldie drawled, and Eleanor giggled.
Suddenly the woman took Maldie's hands in hers and gently squeezed them “Be careful, lass. Be verra, verra careful. Ye are a brave lass, far braver than any I have met before and I have met a lot of women in my long life, but bravery cannae stop a sword or a fist. Walk softly, keep your bonny head down, say little, and ne'er look a mon in the eye."
An hour later, all the way to the gates of Dubhlinn, Maldie carefully repeated Eleanor's advice. It was very good advice, she could see that clearly, but she was not sure she would have the wisdom to make use of it, not unless she thought about it carefully. It was all completely against her nature. Eleanor was telling her how to be totally self-effacing, and that was something Maldie had never done.
Not look a man in the eye? She would not hesitate to spit in it if he deserved it. Keep her head down? After a brief attack of shame at a young age when she had first discovered what her mother was, she had been cowed, but she had quickly refused to ever bow her head to anyone again. As far as saying little, she had always had a problem keeping quiet, especially when she felt something needed to be said. Eleanor was a dear woman who cared about her and had given her some very sound advice, but Maldie suspected that the only piece of it she would be able to follow was the one that told her to walk softly.
"Weel, my bonny lassie, where have ye been?"
Maldie cursed softly as she heard that chillingly familiar rasping voice. A fat-fingered and very filthy hand was curled around her arm and the man turned her around to face him. Maldie wondered yet again where, in all of Scotland, Beaton had found such an ugly, squat man. She was not one to judge a person by appearance alone, but she knew from sad experience that this man was ugly all the way through. He was one of the reasons she had fled Dubhlinn long before she had wanted to.
"I am a healing woman,” she replied. “I go where I am needed, and sometimes it takes a very long time for someone to mend."
"I had wondered if ye had run away from me."
"Nay, I run away from no mon.” She inwardly cringed when he rubbed his hand up and down her arm.
"Oh ho, a spirited lass. I like a wee bit of fire in my women."
She tried to pull her arm free of his hold but he just tightened his grip, smiling at her and revealing a mouthful of rotting and broken teeth. “I havenae time to flirt with ye, sir. I came to Dubhlinn to see if anyone has need of my skills."
"I do."
The sharp-nosed woman who spoke tried first to just push the man away, but he would not let go of Maldie's arm. Clenching her hand into a fist, the woman brought it down hard on the man's wrist. He bellowed in pain and released Maldie. The way the man looked at the woman before he stomped away made Maldie shiver. She hoped the woman had the sense to watch her back.
"I dinnae think it was wise to make that mon angry,” she murmured, feeling a need to warn the tall, thin woman.
"George will do naught to me unless he can catch me alone in a dark corner, and I will be certain that he ne'er does. He is afraid of my mon.” The woman stuck out one long, boney hand. “I am Mary, Mistress Kirkcaldy."
Maldie shook her hand. “What do ye have need of me for?"
"My son is ill.” Even as Mary replied she began to drag Maldie along toward the keep.
Maldie carefully questioned the woman as they made their way to the rear of the keep. It sounded as if her child had little more than a mild chill and a touch of the wind, so Maldie allowed herself a small twinge of satisfaction. The need to tend to the child would give her a good reason to come and go from the keep. She did not need to worry the woman by treating the child as if he was close to death either. All she needed was a few close looks at the great hall to see when it was most in use and by whom, just enough to tell her when she could slip down to the dungeon unseen and, if not immediately free Eric, at least visit with him.
The woman's small son was huddled in a small alcove at the back of the huge kitchen. Maldie dosed him and calmed him, knowing that sleep was really the best and only cure for what ailed him. Nevertheless, sometimes a small taste of medicine made the one who swallowed it think they were being healed. The little boy's stomach pain began to ease very quickly. The way Mary and her son stared at her with such open admiration made Maldie feel uncomfortable, especially since she was using them to get what she needed. Maldie silently promised that she would find a reason to send Mary and her child to Eleanor in the village as soon as she found out what she needed to know. With a battle coming they would be a great deal safer there.
After accepting a gift of food from Beaton's larder, Maldie slowly made her way out of the kitchen. A lot of people greeted her, some thanking her again for healing their ills or injuries, and some just wished to gossip with someone who had traveled outside of Dubhlinn. Maldie quickly realized when she had first arrived at Dubhlinn, that, as a healer and a woman, she had been considered no threat and had been allowed a great deal of freedom in and around the keep. It still angered her that she had been driven away by foolish, lustful men before she had learned all she needed to. This time would be different. She had no intention of leaving until she had found Eric and rescued him from Beaton.
A very young maid walking to the great hall heavily ladened with food gratefully accepted Maldie's offer of help. Only half-listening to the girl's chatter, Maldie looked over the huge room very carefully. She also noticed that, as soon as the food began to be laid on the tables, the hall filled with people very quickly. The time around and during a meal was obviously not a good time to slip down to the dungeon unseen.
As she walked back to Eleanor's cottage, Maldie briefly felt overwhelmed. The task she had assumed was a huge one and the chance of her succeeding was very slim. She straightened her shoulders and pushed aside the encroaching sense of failure. Eric was in danger, and the boy could easily prove to be her half brother. If Balfour truly believed that she was a spy for Beaton, then he would also assume that she had told the man everything she knew about the battle plans of the Murrays and quickly change them. That meant that she did not know when, how, or where Balfour and his men would come for his brother. Eleanor had said that Beaton did not want Eric badly hurt or killed, but the woman had also said that her laird was going mad. She could not leave the boy's fate in Beaton's hands. There was also the matter of her innocence, which she had to prove.
"Child, I began to worry about you,” Eleanor called from her doorway, pulling Maldie back from her dark thoughts.
"I am fine, Eleanor,” Maldie replied. “There was a young boy who needed some tending to. He had the wind and a tiny touch of the ague,” she continued as the old woman pulled her inside of her home.
Eleanor nodded as she began to set out the evening meal. “Ye have the touch, lass. ‘Tis truly God's gift to you."
"So I have been told.” She set the small bag of food Mary had given her down on the table. “And here
is a gift from the lad's grateful mother."
Maldie smiled at Eleanor's delight over the cheese and the slab of salted pork. Beaton's larder had been full to overflowing with such riches, so many that he would have to have a grand feast every night for months before he used it all. Maldie suspected that there was a lot lost through spoilage. The man obviously had a deep fear of being starved out of his keep during a long siege, but it seemed a heartless crime to let food rot when his people could use it.
"Did ye find out how that boy fares?” Eleanor asked as she reverently placed the food in a small chest set near the alcove that Maldie slept in.
"He is still locked up tightly in Beaton's dungeons, still refusing to calmly accept Beaton as his father and the Murrays as—how does Beaton word it?—oh, aye, as low, thieving, fornicating bastards."
Eleanor giggled and nodded. “Aye, I have heard that one. The mon should be verra wary where he points his filthy finger and attempts to act more pious than they. Beaton used to mount any poor lass who couldnae run faster than he did. Now e'en I can run faster than the mon, and I am nay sure his wee pintle is working as it should."
"Eleanor,” Maldie gasped, amused and a little shocked by the old woman's words.
"Weel, ‘tis true. Some folk think that whate'er the disease is that is rotting him away, it is a punishment from God. ‘Tis a puzzle to me that ye havenae been called to go and have a wee look at him. He has tried some verra foul salves in a vain attempt to stop or cure his ailment. He should have learned that ye are a healing woman by now and wished to see if ye have anything he hasnae yet smeared upon himself."
"Nay, he hasnae called me to him at all, not once since I have been here or when I stayed here before. Either no one has thought to tell him about me, or he took one look at me and decided I was not what I say I am. I have had a lot of trouble with that sort of thing happening to me of late,” she muttered, thinking of Balfour and then quickly pushing him from her thoughts.
Highland Destiny [Murray Brothers Book 1] Page 17
