Her poor father, she thought, and closed her eyes to push back the tears. How had such a sweet, gentle man come from such a family? A man who could carve such beauty into a piece of wood most would have just used for kindling should have had a better lot. She thought of him showing a fascinated Andrew about carving and then smiled. His second family had given him a better life.
Robert had stolen it, ended it before its time. For that alone Robert had to pay. Even if she could not escape the trap she had walked into, she would do her best to make sure Robert paid dearly for the innocent blood on his hands.
“Here ye go, lass,” said Hilda, holding a large tray while her husband unlocked the door. “A nice full meal and dinnae try to say ye are nay hungry. Nay matter what is happening one should always remember it could change.”
“Things could get better?” asked Mora in a disbelieving tone as she looked over what was on the tray Hilda set down on the bed beside her.
“Ye can ne’er ken and ye willnae want to be swooning with hunger just when ye should run.”
“Och, nay, that would be bad.”
“Hilda, what are ye babbling about?” asked Manus.
“Nary a thing, love. Someone will be by in a while to take away the empty tray.”
Puzzled by the woman, Mora shrugged as the door was locked again and the couple walked away. She tasted the chicken and found it very palatable. Then the sound of a disturbance echoed down the stairs.
She watched as Hilda came running down the stairs, then thrust her hand through the bars. Mora frowned at what the woman was holding out to her. What game was the woman playing?
“Take it,” hissed Hilda, and Mora took what revealed itself to be a piece of parchment, a pen, and a tiny bottle of ink. “Write out what has happened to ye and hide it in the napkin. Ye have about an hour at best before some lad is sent to collect the tray.” Hilda then dashed back off up the stairs.
Mora set it aside, tucking it just under the very thin blanket on the bed, and ate her meal as she thought on what to write. When she finished the afters of stewed apples, she turned her full attention to writing a letter. She had no idea what Hilda planned to do with it, but the woman was acting very secretive, so she would just do as she was told and see what happened. Carefully folding the letter into the napkin, she prayed it would not smudge badly.
A young boy, perhaps just entering his teens, came to take the tray. She wondered if she should feel insulted that they believed she was not worth a bigger, well-armed guard. It would not be too hard for her to trick or overpower the thin lad but she did not. It would humiliate him and she could not do that. She simply hoped she would not deeply regret that restraint later.
Lying down and wishing she was bold enough and felt safe enough to strip for bed, she stared up at the ceiling, studying the shadows cast by the torches. She was not sure what her uncle had planned for her but suspected it would not be good. The anger and mean spirit in the man appeared to have been strengthened or freed by the poisoning. Yawning, she closed her eyes and forced herself to stop thinking so hard. What was happening made no sense, so she needed to cease trying to sort it out or understand it.
Instead, she thought of Gybbon. He was going to be so angry about this. And, if her uncle and cousin physically harmed her, she could be certain they would pay very dearly. Slowly, feeling oddly reassured by that, she fell asleep.
*
A loud clattering startled Mora awake. She sat up and stared at the bars. A sneering Robert stood there with a stick, running it along the bars. Behind him stood his three brothers. He obviously kept them on a very tight tether, she thought. None of them looked happy. She did not think she had ever seen such a sullen, miserable lot.
“Ah, Cousin, weel met. Ye decided it was time for ye to torment the prisoner?”
“I thought we could have a wee talk before ye are hanged.”
“I cannae think of anything ye could discuss that I would be interested in. But, hanged? Ye dinnae believe I will win at the trial?”
“Trial? What trial? Why should time and effort be wasted on such a trial?”
“The law?”
“Did ye forget? My father is the law here. He was declared so years ago. He is also the laird and rules this land.”
She studied him for a moment. “’Tis a shame that I willnae be around on that day when he discovers all your lies. Just how many people do ye consider an obstacle or an enemy and have ye managed to get the mon to kill them all for you?” There was a flash of shock on all three of his brothers’ faces, and she felt sad, for it was confirmation that he had done just that.
“What does that matter? And, the mon is dying.”
“He didnae look like it when I saw him and he spouted all your lies at me.” Robert looked so proud of that she was tempted to spit on him.
“Enough talk.”
“Oh, dear, and it was all so riveting,” she murmured, and while his brothers quickly grinned, Robert glared at her.
“I will be standing right up in the front of the crowd when ye hang.”
She watched as he strode away. His brothers looked at her before following him, and the sadness in their eyes told her she would get no help there. Murdoch looked close to tears. And she prayed he had the wit to hide that quickly.
Mora laid back down and sighed. There was nothing she could do. Her uncle was not interested in hearing the truth about his heir, so he listened to only lies. She had been a fool to think she could cut through that kind of blindness just because she was armed with the truth.
She should just go back to sleep, she thought, but that seemed a waste of what little time she had left. All she could do was keep stating the truth and pray there was at least one person at Wasterburn who would be bold and step up to at least cause the laird to wait until he made absolutely certain that she was guilty of what she had been accused of. Mora knew it was foolish to rest any hope on that. Her mother had often complained that her brother by law too often thought he was a king and not just a laird.
Closing her eyes, she thought on Gybbon. She really wanted to go back to him but feared she never would. Nor would she see Andrew or Freya ever again. It seemed odd to her that when she faced the end of her short life, all she could think of was the people she would miss.
Or never know, a soft voice whispered in her mind. That made her eyes burn with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She would never know her child, never be blessed with one. The fact that the child who came to mind was a lovely boy sired by Gybbon made her even sadder. That would never happen. She would never even learn if he cared for her as more than a bed warmer.
Mora decided she would pray for whatever scheme Hilda was so happy about to actually work. The woman appeared to think she could do something that would help, but Mora did not know her well enough to judge if that confidence was warranted. Hilda could be one of those people who always thought they had a good plan only to watch it fail and then they would come up with another one. Whatever the woman thought she could do, Mora feared there would not be enough time to do it, but she had some time to pray that the kitchen maid had really come up with an idea that would work. She would add the hope that her uncle could be deterred long enough to make that happen.
Chapter Sixteen
Gybbon looked around the keep and wondered why people were keeping their eyes down and others appeared to be looking for something. He followed Harcourt to the door and a frantic Annys met them in the hall. Then he heard a strange scratchy yowl and frowned.
“What is that noise?”
“It is Freya. She is shut in Mora’s bedchamber and is nay happy about it.”
“Where is Mora?”
“I dinnae ken. Harry in the stables said he saddled that mare for her yesterday as she said she was going to practice her riding and she ne’er came back. We sent men out to look but there was nary a sign of her. We were just about to begin the search again when ye returned. I shouldnae have let her go. She has trained, but she wasnae trained enough if there was trouble.”
“She wanted to go. I doubt ye could have stopped her. She just would have found another way.”
“That cat has been in a frenzy since she left.”