“How long did she stay on him?” asked Harcourt, smiling faintly.
“She didnae e’en get the chance to pick up the reins. He didnae toss her hard though, but she was wounded at the time and that made it a bit worse.”
“Your horse tosses people off?” David asked in surprise.
“Unless ye are properly introduced and approved, if ye get in the saddle, he will toss ye to the ground.”
“What wound did she have?”
“When she first ran from Robert he tried to stick a knife in her. Jolene said it looked like he was trying to gut her. ’Tis closed now and healed. Jolene”—he raised his tankard of cider to the woman in a silent toast—“is a skilled healer.” He could see the fury on the brothers’ faces and nodded in approval.
“I think we had best get over to Wasterburn. We dinnae ken when the laird will rise and make his decision.”
“He doesnae get up until after the noon meal is served,” said Aiden, then blushed deeply when all the adults looked at him. “They say ’tis because he was so sick,” he added, looking at Jolene. “He got better after ye saw him and gave him that potion. Colin still moans about being stuck in the room while it did its work.” He grinned and Jolene laughed.
“Aiden!” called Hilda from the door. “Ye shouldnae be sitting there.”
“Oh, ’tis fine. Are you the woman who got the letter from Mora?” asked Jolene.
“Aye. I thought it might help the lass.”
“Come here then.” Jolene indicated the seat next to the little bench she and Aiden shared, then looked at Sigimor. “This woman has seen Mora.” She then nodded toward Niall and David. “The young men across from us are her brothers. And, you are Hilda?”
“Aye, m’lady.”
Jolene poured the woman a tankard of cider. “Sigimor, this woman can probably tell you a lot of useful things about what is happening, who is trouble, and maybe e’en the best way to get Mora out.”
Sigimor frowned at her. “Jo, ye are the wife. I am the one who goes about all matters of battle. I am the one who makes the plans.”
“Of course, love. I understand,” she murmured, and was not surprised when he stole the sweet cake she had just put on her plate.
Gybbon hid his grin by sipping his cider, then listened as Sigimor gently questioned the woman. She was nervous at first and hesitant to answer until he assured her he had no plans to wantonly slaughter the garrison since some of them were related to him. Gybbon was a little amazed at the questions Sigimor asked, revealing that the man well understood the ways of battle. He glanced at Harcourt, who was watching and listening carefully to the exchange. When he was done, Sigimor dismissed the woman, who was going to take the boy with her, and Jolene made certain they both had a small sweet cake before they left.
“Sometimes I forget how clever and sneaky ye can be,” said Harcourt.
“Then ’tis a good thing we are allies.”
Then Sigimor laid out his plan and Gybbon felt the hint of hope. Glancing at Mora’s brothers, he could see they did as well. It was indeed good that they had such a man as an ally, he thought. Sigimor planned for everything, every step that needed to be taken, and even for what might go wrong. He planned in a way to bring back as many of his own people as possible, all while destroying the enemy. It was easy to see why Sigimor still lived, despite his tendency to make people angry, and all his siblings were still hale.
“So, when do we ride out again?”
“Soon, Gybbon. Verra soon. I want us all in place when the judgment is given. Then we can make our judgment and bring the lass back.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mora woke to Manus opening the cell door, a wide awake and somewhat flushed Hilda standing behind him with a tray. “Is it morning already?” Mora asked as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“This is when the laird says all working in the keep must eat. Prisoners too,” Manus answered in a voice sharp with annoyance. “I think he hopes it will keep us out of his way once he hobbles down to break his fast.”
She widened her eyes a little. That was the angriest Manus had ever sounded when talking about the laird. It was almost a complaint about the man, and the man had always been careful never to say anything bad about his laird. As Hilda set down her tray, Mora could see the laughter in the woman’s eyes.
“I will tell ye this much, lass,” said Manus as Hilda walked out of the cell and he began to lock the door, “rest and think because naught will happen until midday or later. Laird doesnae do any business till then.”
“Ah, weel, he is still fighting to get his strength back after the poisoning.”
Manus nodded and shuddered a little. “Aye, but he began improving after Lady Cameron made him, er, gave him a potion so he would, weel, throw it off.”
“Expel it. She said expel.” Hilda crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “He expelled all over the place. Didnae ken a body could hold that much. Colin looked as if he would join him and Matron didnae look much better e’en though she has taken care of the ill many times. It was truly a horrible time.”
“Cameron’s English lady called it cleansing.” Manus shrugged and sighed. “Messy, foul business. I was surprised it didnae finish the mon off.”
“It worked. That is what one must keep in mind, that it worked.”
“True, but I dinnae think he came back right.”
“Nay.” Mora sighed. “I am nay sure he did, either, but I am nay sure that is from the illness. How he is behaving could be the anger I saw in him, a fierce anger, and I think he cannae, or willnae, expel that. It taints all he does and thinks.”
“Ye think he does ken what Robert is and has done, dinnae ye?” said Hilda.
“Aye, I do. There is a big part of him that has already accepted that Robert is wrong. He recognized that enough, at some point, to do what he could to keep Murdoch safe. I would wager he kenned why he was ill, as weel. The mon is nay weak-minded. It has just proven too much. He doesnae want to see it, doesnae want to hear about it, doesnae want to admit it.”
“Weel, the old fool will have to soon or he will be condemning all of Wasterburn because we will have to live under Robert’s rule.” Hilda shrugged her shoulders and rubbed at her arms as if she had suddenly been buffeted by a chill wind.
*
“Robert! Stop! Stop now!” cried Murdoch as he rushed across his brother’s bedchamber and pulled him away from the girl he had been beating. “She is little more than a child.” He avoided looking at the naked girl when she crouched down and tried to cover herself.
Robert swung toward Murdoch, a knife in his hand. Murdoch tensed for the pain of it piercing his flesh. To his surprise, Robert stopped, the knife point embedding into his shirt and tickling his flesh, but he did not push it in. He just stared at it with a blank look on his face that chilled him, and Murdoch signaled to the girl to run. A quick glance showed her picking up her clothes, then running to the door.
“Why hesitate now, brother?” he asked as he tried to think of a way to disarm Robert without being killed.
“’Tis nay time,” Robert said, a distant look in his eyes. “Need to keep the order straight and there are still two left.” He sheathed his knife and gave Murdoch a sharp slap on the cheek. “Your time will come. Shame ye sent away the lass. Now I shall have to find another one.”
Murdoch watched Robert leave, then ran to the pot in the corner and emptied his belly. He finally had to accept that his eldest brother was mad. It had long appeared to be simply a deep meanness and an easily stirred anger, but the last year it had settled in hard and his thoughts and actions had become less precise or clever.