by Barbara Bard
William’s teeth shone under the light of the stars as he grinned. “Aye, I be asked where in Ireland I be from.”
Greer chuckled. “Just keep yer head low and yer eyes and ears open. If Primshire dae ride out at night, try tae follow him, see what he is up tae.”
“I wi’ when I can, laird. I often hae guard duty o’ nights. This night I be off, fortunately.”
“If ye hae duty when ye be needed tae meet me,” Greer said, his tone thoughtful, “ride out here and stack three stones. That way, we ken ye be safe and cannae meet us.”
“I wi’.”
“Now, get oan back afore ye be missed, William.”
William offered him a quick salute, then trod quickly around the base of the hill and disappeared. Though it was late in the evening, Greer decided it was too risky for themselves and for William to remain in England, even in this secluded spot. Tightening loosened girths, the three of them mounted up and rode north to Scotland.
The eastern horizon over the rolling moors had tinged pink as Greer, Jared and Gavin clattered into the bailey of the MacEilish Clan’s castle. Both Greer and Jared yawned continuously while Gavin rode slumped in his saddle, all three exhausted. Turning his horse over to the grooms, who had just awakened to begin their day’s work, he pondered a quick bite in the kitchen and then a nap for a few hours in his chambers.
That plan died in infancy, however. No sooner had he entered the castle proper when his father’s close friend and cousin, Leith, trotted across the main hall toward him. “Thank God ye be back, lad,” he said, his breath hurried. “Yer da be taken ill.”
Fear sank into Greer’s gut like a sword blade. “Ill? What happened? Da be strong as a bull.”
“I ken.”
Leith took his arm to hustle him up the stairs toward the upper levels of the castle where the apartments where Greer’s parents resided. “He fell ill shortly after dining last night,” Leith told him as they took the stairs two at a time. “Yer maw and the Sassenach lass be wi’ him all night.”
“What is wrong exactly?”
“Fever, chills, he vomited up his meal but none since. Very weak.”
Greer stopped at the door to his parents’ chambers, his hand on Leith’s arm. “Could he be poisoned, Leith?”
Leith grimaced, dragging his hands through his short dark hair. “I be thinking it, Greer. As dae yer maw.”
Greer knocked on the door, then opened it before anyone could answer. His sire’s manservant offered him a short bow as Greer and Leith stepped into the ant-room, seeing his mother and Myra seated in chairs in the bedroom. Both glanced up as he and Leith entered, relief spreading across their tense, worried countenances. Walking softly across the flagstone floor, partially covered in thick hides and woven rugs, Greer stepped into the bedroom and glanced at the bed.
Kerr lay in it, covered to his chin in a light blanket. He slept, yet his skin had waxed pale, and sagged off his cheekbones. His breath came and went in ragged gasps, his hand atop the coverlet clenched into a fist as though he were in pain. Greer swallowed hard, seeing him in such a condition, his heart wrenching at the thought that Kerr might actually die.
“The apothecary from the village is on her way,” Fiona said, her tone hushed. “We suspect poison, Greer.”
He nodded shortly. “Aye. No one else took ill?”
“None.”
Finding a vacant chair, Greer sat down, and took Kerr’s hand within his own. It felt cold, as though the life were already leaving him. “If this be poison,” he said slowly, “how did he come by it?”
Fiona answered. “We think in his wine, lad. We searched last night and intae this morning, but one o’ the servants be missing.”
Greer raised his head to stare at his mother. “Which servant?”
“A man named Silas,” she answered, watching Kerr’s face. “He be new tae the household, but a Scotsman.”
Knowing how an accent might be feigned, Greer wondered if the man was planted in the household for just this purpose. To kill the Scottish laird closest to the Primshire estates. He glanced at Leith. “Find him. Bring him to me, alive if possible.”
Leith nodded. “We already hae riders searching, Greer. But I wi’ join the hunt.”
“I wi’ as well,” Greer said, standing. “I be o’ no use here. By yer leave, Maw.”
“Find Silas, lad,” Fiona said, staring up at him, her green eyes as hard as emeralds. “He wi’ hang fer this.”
Myra also stood, her large blue eyes on Greer’s as he started to head for the door. “Have faith, Greer,” she murmured, taking his hand. “Your father is strong, and he’s made it this far.”
On impulse, Greer took her in his arms and hugged her tightly to him, her arms creeping around his waist. “Thank ye,” he muttered in her ear. “Look after him fer me.”
“I will. I promise.”
He let her go, taking a moment to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, observing her warm, caring smile, her kind eyes. After briefly touching her moist lips with his own, he strode quickly from the room. With Leith at his side, he ran down the stairs to the main level of the castle’s keep, then out to the bailey. Jared and Gavin eyed him with surprise as they all but collided.
“We be oan the hunt, lads,” he stated as they fell into step with him. “A servant named Silas did poison me da and ran.”
“Poison?” Jared asked. “Why?”
“Primshire.”
Jared muttered choice oaths under his breath as they returned to the barn to saddle their horses. As the horses they had ridden the night before were spent, they selected fresher mounts, and Greer saddled up his father’s dappled grey. “We try sooth first,” he told them. “If Silas dae owe his allegiance tae Primshire, he be headed there first.”
“I ordered riders tae search all directions,” Leith added. “In case he would suspect we’d ride sooth only, hoping tae catch him afore he scoots across the border.”
“Good thinking. He may hide fer a day or two, then try sooth. He may only travel by night.”
“Nay, Greer,” Gavin said, leading his saddled roan out of the barn. “He be a servant, nae a warrior. He be afraid o’ the wolves that run by night.”
“I agree,” Jared added. “I met this Silas, he nae hae a courageous bone in his body.”
“Very well,” Greer replied, bridling the grey. “That then makes our hunt the easier.”
“He be oan foot as well,” Leith said, mounting up. “He cannae be far, e’en wi’ a night’s head start.”
The sun had risen halfway over the horizon by the time Greer and his three companions rode out of the bailey at a swift gallop. Acting on a hunch, Greer led the way south and east, knowing the terrain in that direction had both water and an easier way of traveling with fewer hills to cross. Hoping to discover tracks in the tall grass where the passage of feet would have bent the blades and disturbed the night’s dew before the sun’s warmth both lifted them and dried the moisture.
Discovering what may be evidence of a man’s travel across the heather, Greer loped the horse along its path, his friends following behind. Even as the sun’s power evaporated the dew, he continued on the same trail as it vanished before his eyes. Gazing ahead, he saw nothing to indicate a man traveled ahead of them, saw no fleeing servant.
Crossing a shallow stream, Greer pointed out the footprints of a man in the soft earth beside the running water. “We be oan his trail,” he said, his tone grim. “He be nae far ahead.”
Putting on more speed, Greer galloped the horse hard, his cloak flowing out behind him from the wind of his passage. Gazing into the distance, he thought he saw the figure of a man on the top of a hill. The man stood still, was not fleeing.
“What?” Gavin asked. “He get tired and be waiting fer us tae catch him?”
“I dinnae,” Greer muttered, peering closer. “This be strange.”
Sure enough, as they drew closer to the hill, the man standing there seemed to watch them approach, not moving,
garbed as a peasant in a dark grey tunic and lienes, heavy boots on his feet. Greer slowed his pace to approach more cautiously in case this proved to be an ambush.
“Silas,” he called, “come doon.”
The man atop the hill made no reply. “Gavin,” Greer said quickly, “Ride around tae the left, Jared tae the right. Find out if he is alone.”
Drawing their swords, Gavin and Jared reined their horses around to flank the hill and nudged their horses into a quick trot. Giving them a few moments to flush out any potential enemies, Greer studied the man, who still had not moved a muscle. Half hidden by a few trees at the top, Greer saw little save his legs and up to his waist. “Why is he nae running?” he asked Leith.
“This nae be natural,” Leith admitted. “Almost be as though he be dead.”
“If he be dead, how can he be standing?”
As no alarm was raised by either Gavin nor Jared, Greer set his heels to the grey’s shaggy hide and cantered the beast to the top of the hill.
In shock and horror, he reined in, sitting in his saddle to stare at the dead man.
The servant stood upright with the aid of a rope around his neck, the end tied into the branches where it could not be seen until one stood close. His arms hung loose at his sides, his head canted to the right in dead. The stench of blood and death lingered in Greer’s nostrils, he observed the deep cuts in his arms and legs where he had been bled out.
“We just missed his killer,” Greer said, dismounting. “The blood still be fresh.”
Jared and Gavin trotted their mounts toward him, muttering either curses or prayers, Greer could not tell. “His master nae wish him tae talk,” Greer said grimly, handing his reins to Leith and strode across the hill to gaze southwards. Too many hills stood between his eyes and his quarry, and he knew Primshire would be mounted and riding hard for the border. “And he be leaving us a message.”
“What message would that be?” Leith asked him.
“He dae plan tae kill us all.”
“Dae we cut him doon?” Jared asked, gazing at the servant’s body.
“Nay.” Greer strode past the corpse to mount his horse. “Leave him fer the ravens. It be what he deserves.”
Chapter 10
The apothecary administered the third dose in as many hours of what she said was a common antidote to the most common poisons. “It be good he vomited,” she said, sitting back in her chair, the empty cup in her hand. “He got the worst out afore it did its evil work.”
“Will he live?” Fiona asked, and Myra heard the distinct tremble in her voice.
The apothecary, an aging woman with thin grey hair to her shoulders, and an emaciated frame, smiled, and patted Fiona’s arm. “If he was tae die, he would hae. What I give him will dilute the rest o’ the poison and wash it from his body.”
Relief spread through Myra as Fiona offered the old woman a wan smile. “Thank ye, Ella. Would ye care fer a meal? I think I be hungry now my worry is eased.”
Myra stood up. “I will go to the kitchen and bring food back, Fiona.”
“Thank ye kindly, lass.”
“Lass,” the apothecary asked, her grey eyes bright, “bring back hot broth fer the laird. He be needing his nourishment.”
“I will.”
She gave the old woman a quick bob of a curtsey, then went out of the apartments past Kerr’s manservant. Upon opening the door, she found Idina just outside, pacing with worry. The blonde girl rushed to Myra as she came out, and closed the door softly behind her.
“Wi’ he live?” she asked, her anxiety clear in her expression and blue eyes.
“The apothecary thinks so,” Myra replied, giving her a hug. “Will you help me bring food up for Fiona and the old woman?”
“Aye, and ye need tae eat as well. Ye be looking rather skinny.”
“Food has been the last thing on my mind,” Myra said as the two walked down the corridor. Several servants and men-at-arms in their brigandines and swords lined the walls, stepping forward to inquire as to the health of their laird.
“He should be recovering soon,” Myra told them as she passed them. “The apothecary is confident he will live.”
“Thank God and all his saints,” a woman exclaimed, reaching for Myra’s hand. “Thank ye, Myra, fer watching over our laird.”
Myra squeezed it. “It’s the least I can do.”
One of the men at arms offered her a half salute, then raised his voice to the others. “Nae need tae loll about now. Get oan back tae yer duties.”
With the small crowd dispersing behind them, Myra and Idina made their way down the stairs, only to run smack into Greer, with Jerod, Gavin and Leith behind him on their way up. Greer grasped her arms, appearing exhausted and disheveled.
“How he be, Myra?” he asked, gazing down into her blue eyes. “He be – nae dead?”
Myra took his hands. “The old woman, Ella, gave him what she said is an antidote. She thinks he will be fine.”
Greer closed his eyes and muttered a prayer as the others grinned, and slapped him on the back.
“Go up and see him,” Myra said. “Idina and I are going to the kitchen to fetch Fiona and Ella food. We’ll bring enough for you as well.”
“Aye, lass,” Greer replied with a smile and brief nod. “Thank ye.”
“Did you find the servant?”
“Aye,” Greer breathed, a grimace replacing his smile. “His master got tae him first.”
Myra went still, her mouth dry. “He was killed?”
“Aye.”
As Greer suggested Jared and Gavin get their own meal and rest, Myra stared into space, the news that the Earl of Primshire so cold bloodedly murdered his own agent had struck her hard. If he can do that, can he not get to me, as well? Will his long arm reach out across the miles and slay me even inside the safety of this castle? Her stomach quivering with fear, she tried hard to hide it as Greer turned to watch her closely.
“Ye be all right, Myra?” he asked.
She feigned a smile. “We’ll just go get the food. Go on up.”
He nodded and ran up the stairs, Leith as his side. On feet she barely felt, Myra went to the vast, hot kitchen with its many ovens and stoves to ask for food for the laird’s wife and hot beef broth for the laird. Under the stern eye of the cook, the assistants loaded platters of warm roast beef, leg of lamb, fried chicken, hard cheese, bread, butter, the broth, and a pot of tea with cups.
Glad to have Idina help her, Myra look one of the laden trays while Idina bore the other, and returned up the broad staircase to the laird’s apartments. Once inside, she and Idina set their burdens on tables. Though Fiona insisted she not, Myra and Idina served up the food to her, Greer and Leith as Ella place a cup of the broth to Kerr’s lips.
He drank it down, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I be feeling a mite better,” he said when she took the cup away. “Weak as a babe.”
“Do you wish for food, Kerr?” Myra asked him.
Smiling a little, he nodded. “A wee bit o’ bread and cheese wi’ gae doon nicely, lass.”
Setting the food in his hands, she made her own meal of the chicken and the bread, and took a chair beside Greer to eat it. In the short time she had delivered the food, he had devoured half of his plateful and reached for more from the tray. He grinned sheepishly at her lifted brow.
“I be hungry.”
“I expect so.”
“Did ye catch the servant who did this tae me, Greer?” Kerr asked as he slowly chewed his bread.
“Nay, Da,” he replied, his mouth full. “Primshire executed him, left him fer us tae find.”
Though she had already heard about it, Myra inwardly quaked anew. Then, recalling her conversation with Idina, she reached for the courage Idina told her she had deep within her. Stilling her inner trembles, she glanced up to find Greer’s eyes on her, and gave him a smile and slow wink. I must be confident. I must be brave. I must not let him control my fears, or what is in my heart. He cannot win.
“Riding?” Fiona asked.
Greer nodded. “That and how tae handle that knife she carries.”
“Wi’ all that be happening,” Fiona said, “perhaps many lasses should be learning tae defend themselves.”
“I would like tae learn,” Idina added.
“Gie any lass who wishes tae carry a blade the know how tae use them,” Kerr said to Greer. “Organize teachers for them, lad.”
“I wi’.” Greer stood up, giving his sire a small bow. “I need a wee bit o’ sleep first, Da. By yer leave.”
