“Robert is dead, and the harder we make that death for him, the better. Now we go speak to Sigimor and find out what has happened to Mora and Andrew.”
“And see if we can find out who the devil this Murray lad taking care of Mora is.”
David grunted in the affirmative.
Chapter Fifteen
Mora had watched carefully as the men had ridden off. They had all been going to see Nigel at Glencullaich. They thought they would be gone for two to three days. Once she had heard that, she had stopped listening closely. All she could think of was that she could slip away to talk to her uncle. If she was very lucky she would be back before they would, with all her troubles solved. Her hope was not high for that, but she had to try.
As she made her way back to her bedchamber, she wondered if she was being too reckless. She had waited one day to make certain they had gotten there so she would not meet them on the road, and to think of what she needed for such a journey. She had only been recovered from her last fever for a week and Gybbon had made it clear he thought she needed longer. She also knew he would insist she not go or only go with a troop of men at her side.
Slipping into her bedchamber, she fought a strong sense of guilt as she collected up what she thought she would need and put the items in a small sack before grabbing her cloak. She stopped by the bed to stroke her cat. It would be the first time she had ever left her pet alone since she had held that soaking wet, too small kitten down by the burn, but she knew she was leaving her with good people and Andrew would love her.
“I cannae take ye with me this time, Freya. If Robert sees ye, he will kill ye.”
Even though she told herself she was being silly, tears stung her eyes, so she dashed quickly to the door and hastily shut it behind her. She heard a soft, scratchy yowl and saw a little gray paw sticking out under the door. Resisting the strong urge to take her pet with her, Mora turned and hurried down the stairs.
Getting to the stable proved to be easy. She walked there with no more interest from others than an occasional greeting. There was only one man inside the stable and he hurried to saddle the mare she had been practicing her riding on before she even asked him to. She patted the horse, hooked her sack onto the saddle, and then mounted.
“Ye sure ye are ready to be riding all by yourself?” the man asked.
“Aye.” She frowned. “Nay. I dinnae ken. I have to try at some time though, dinnae I?”
“Aye, ye do. Good luck, lass. Where is your wee cat?”
“I thought I would leave her in my room until I am certain I can ride around by myself.”
“She isnae going to like that.”
Mora laughed, but it was not really funny. No, Freya was not going to like it at all. All Mora could do was get as far away as possible before her cat made enough fuss to rouse everyone, who would then wonder where she was. If she got out of this alive it was going to be a long time before Freya forgave her, she thought as she rode out through the gates.
As she rode along, she took out the scrap of paper she had written all the directions she had gotten. It had been a long, slow process to gather the information she needed, and the need to be secretive had worn on her. The slow process of getting a little piece of information from each one she had a talk with had also been irritating, but she had finally gotten enough.
Mora wondered why the men had not heartily complained or even mutinied when they had been made to take such a long, winding route home while toting her, Andrew, and a cat in a cart pulled by sturdy ponies. If they had gone the straight route they could have done it in a day, as Geordie had said. She had not realized her family had lived so near to so many clans.
In the hope of remaining unseen, she kept off to the side of the path, using the trees and shadows to hide her. She could only pray no one from Glencullaich or Dubheidland was out for a ride. As she passed by a lot of open land on the other side of the small, rutted road, she wondered if that was the land Harcourt and Gybbon had discussed. It was beautiful and a nice manor would look equally as beautiful set in there. If she got back to Glenfeurach she would have to tell Gybbon.
Nibbling on a cake, she decided riding slowly along was enjoyable. Avoiding a cairn that she suspected was a boundary marker, she noted that she was coming to a building site. Not seeing anything to indicate any of the workers were around, she trotted by. What little was there suggested someone was having a small church built. She grinned; putting one of them between two large keeps and a short ride to two others told her someone hoped to tempt some of the guard to attend services. It was the only explanation for why it was not being built in the village, the more usual choice for a church.
It was growing late, the light failing by the time she reached the trail she needed to follow. She was not surprised Geordie had known exactly how to reach the Ogilvy keep as the men had done a lot of complaining about the habit of theft the clan had suddenly developed. It appeared Robert was already taking control, and Mora worried about how ill her uncle had grown. She wondered if she should go back home, then gritted her teeth and turned down the trail by the cairn and the crooked rowan tree.
For just a moment, she wished her brothers were with her. She could almost see the three of them riding up to the keep, perhaps with a small force of Murrays and Camerons behind them. It was a splendid thought, but she shook it away. She fixed her eyes on the large stone keep in the distance and rode determinedly toward it, knowing that her only shield was that she was a woman and the laird’s niece.
When she reached the keep the gates were wide open, which struck her as odd for they should be shutting them at this late time of the day. As she rode through them, a man ran up to take her reins, then held out his hand to assist her in dismounting. She was glad of the aid when she was finally standing on the ground for it took a moment for her legs to cooperate. Looking at the man, she suddenly recognized him and smiled.
“Greetings, Manus,” she said, wondering at his dark frown and noticing how he kept casting worried looks at the other men. “Something wrong? Is the laird worse?”
“Nay, lass. He isnae hale but he is awake and can move about with aid. Laird Cameron’s English wife came to tend him and he has improved every day since then.” He handed her horse over to a stable boy.
“Oh, good. I have come to speak to him.”
He sighed. “This isnae a safe place for ye now, lass. Half the fools here believe ye killed Old William and have been poisoning the laird. About all they dinnae believe is that ye stole Robert’s sword. Fool still has it.”
“Do ye believe it?”
Manus leaned closer. “Nary a word but things are wrong here, lass. ’Tis a bad time for ye to come for a visit.”
“I have to. I have to make Uncle listen to me. Andrew and I are all that is left.”
“All? Ye had twa other brothers.”
“They went to France to fight for coin.” She ignored Manus’s swearing. “We havenae had a word of their fate in about three years. Robert strongly implied he kenned they would ne’er be coming home.”
“Ye talked to Robert and still live?”
“Weel, I ran and got Andrew away. We are now with the Murrays. Laird Cameron helped us, too.” Mora was not sure why that news was making him more nervous. “I have to talk to the laird. Nay, to my uncle. I have to get him to see what is happening.”
“I will let ye talk to him. Just hope I can get ye out safely,” he muttered.
She had to move fast to keep up with his long strides. He marched to the keep all the while keeping his men back with a fierce look or a flick of his hand. Mora did not understand why all the men glared at her. How could they believe Robert? How could they believe she had done the things Robert tried to blame on her?