“I can remember that. It could be that she may have an idea of what Sigimor looks like.”
“My mother most assuredly told her about him, but I think just his name, size, and red hair will be enough.”
“Then we should be successful.” He reached out and held her hand because what he had to say next might prove hard for her to hear. “If we cannae find your Aunt Maggie and the boy has been left alone, where would be a likely place for him to hide?” He felt her hand clench on his but could see she was thinking hard.
“There is an old oak at the back of the rear garden at the manor, looks half dead. It is hollow inside and Andrew can climb way, way up into that hollow part and stay there. All of us had to swear on his soldier that we wouldnae ever tell anyone about that as he needed a safe place and that was it. But I might be better in the morning and ye can take me with ye.”
“Ye ken ye are a little feverish, right?”
“Aye. Just a wee bit though.”
“Weel, having suffered a few wounds in my time, I believe it will get worse before it starts to get better.”
“Oh. Damn.”
“Exactly.” He stood up and lightly brushed a kiss over her mouth. “Get a lot of rest. Sigimor and I ken how to hunt someone.”
“Good night,” she said as he walked to the door, and he just waved back at her.
Mora sighed and closed her eyes as she settled herself flat on the bed. The moment her pet curled up next to her she put her arm around the animal and closed her eyes. She prayed Andrew had no need to go to his secret safe place. That would mean Aunt Maggie had been killed.
Despite her best efforts to stop them, a few tears slid down Mora’s cheeks. She was losing too many of her loved ones. If she lost little Andrew, too, she was not sure how she could bear it.
But ye will, a voice whispered in her mind, and it sounded so much like her father she actually looked around the room expecting to see him. The fever was clearly disordering her mind, she decided, and closed her eyes. They would find Andrew, she told herself firmly. The boy would have at least two strong knights hunting for him and protecting him.
She wished hard for her fever to fade so she could go with them, but her heart did not really believe that would happen, so she prayed. A rough tongue went over her cheek and she knew she was still crying a bit, which always upset Freya. She fumbled a bit before she could scratch her pet’s ears, and the animal’s purring was enough to help her sleep.
Chapter Seven
Gybbon stretched, then reached for his clothes. It had been good to sleep in a bed again. It had taken so long to be free of Mora’s cousins that he had feared he would be making himself a bed on the hard ground again, and it would probably have been damp as well after all the rain they had gotten. He was not fond of that.
He had been spoiled, he thought, and grinned as he pinned his kilt. Too much of the soft life, he decided as he stepped out of his room. Hearing Sigimor talking, he headed down the small hall to the stairs. He frowned as he passed the room Mora had been given. He heard a faint scratching and quietly opened the door to find Freya staring at him. Glancing toward the bed, he saw that Mora still slept soundly.
Freya stepped out to sit by his feet and he quietly shut the door. By the time he reached the dining hall he became all too aware that he still had the little cat at his side. This is what comes of feeding an animal, he scolded himself. Sighing with resignation, he walked in and took the seat on Sigimor’s left when the man pointed to it. The cat hopped up to sit beside him.
“I see ye have brought your cat,” Sigimor drawled, making no attempt to hide his amusement.
“Mora still sleeps and this isnae my cat.”
“Oh, hush, you two,” said Jolene. “She is a sweet cat. And so dainty and small.”
“A runt. If ye like a runt, sort through the next litter or three. Ye will find one.”
“I tried that before and I picked out one you thought was a runt, but it grew. And grew some more until it was nearly as big as a dog. It also did not wish to sit with me but go out and kill things.”
“Aye, George was a fine rat killer,” Sigimor agreed.
“He was, but he did not need to parade around with his kill as he so often did.”
Sigimor just grinned and Gybbon nearly laughed, but Freya distracted him. She sat up, put her paws on the table, and started looking over the food there. He tugged her back down onto the bench beside him. He glanced at Sigimor’s wife but she just grinned. Gybbon thought she might be spending too much time around Sigimor.
“I will make her up a plate of food,” Jolene said.
“Ye intend to feed that cat our food at our table?”
“’Tis clear she is accustomed to sitting at the table,” Jolene replied to her husband as she cut up some meat and put it on a plate. “Does Mora allow it?”
“Aye. Freya is a verra tidy eater, tidier than many men I ken.”
“And I suspicion you cut up the meal for the wee thing?”
Gybbon sighed and nodded. “I put aside some of a rabbit I caught to use it as her food as we traveled.” He shook his head and poured himself some cider as Sigimor laughed.
Jolene set a plate in front of the cat and then slapped Sigimor on the arm. “Hush.”
“Where is this son of yours?” Gybbon asked. “He was sleeping when we arrived, but I thought for certain a child that young would be up at this time of the day.”
“And then we would not have a very comfortable breakfast, would we?” said Jolene. “He is awake and has broken his fast, but his nurse is with him.”
“Ah.” He frowned toward the door. “I wonder why Mora is late to rise.”
“She was very tired when you arrived.”
“Is that what she wanted your healing skills for?” Gybbon asked, wanting to be certain Mora had told him exactly what ailed her.
Jolene winced. “I got the feeling she did not want you to know and, perhaps, worry.”
“So, it was her wound? The one she always claimed was nay more than a scratch?”
“I told ye last night. Aye, it was as though her fall worsened it. It was far more than a scratch. It looked as if some fool tried to gut her.”
Gybbon growled and Freya rubbed her head against his arm. “Robert. She told me of that incident but said the point of his knife just scratched her a bit, although I could tell it pained her from time to time.”
“That does not surprise me. It should have been stitched up immediately, and when your ill-tempered horse tossed her to the ground the wound opened wider than it had been, but I can certainly understand her reluctance to stitch up herself. The bleeding had ne’er really stopped.”
“I wondered. When we stopped at the cottage I found a few small spots of blood on the blanket. I dinnae understand why she just suffered and didnae tell me.”
“Weel, the wound can only be reached and treated if she sheds her clothing,” Jolene said as she sat on the edge of the bench and shook her head.
“Ah, of course.” Gybbon grimaced. “Modesty.”
“Silly thinking, I know, but I am no good at suffering with pain. I would shed my clothing before a whole army if it meant someone could stop my pain.”
“And I would wear myself out killing all those men who looked at ye, so we best hope ye are ne’er pushed to that point,” drawled Sigimor. “Come to me if ye feel a pain.”
Gybbon shook his head and laughed softly. “And what would ye do?”
“I would do a lot of patting her on the back and saying ‘There, there, stiffen your wee backbone and grit your tiny teeth.’”
Grinning at the way Jolene rolled her eyes, Gybbon looked at Sigimor as Jolene said, “Aye, and that worked so very well when I had the girls.”
Something in Sigimor’s eyes told Gybbon that his friend had suffered every moment his wife was in pain during a birth but that he loved the results of it so deeply he would not stop fathering more.