Chapter 1 #3
"About a quarter hour ago."
"And you are a witness?"
"I did not see everything. I heard it. And then I saw him covering the body with straw to hide it."
"Mayhap the guard is not dead." Even as he said it, he knew 'twas not the case. Even if the guard was only badly injured, he would not live long after a stab wound.
"I hope not, but... since I heard the stabbing sound and his cry of pain, he has been silent."
"I'll go see if he lives." Although it would put his own life in danger, Darack could not let a person lie suffering. "But if he is dead, I have to get you out of here before the body is discovered."
She nodded. "I fear if he finds out I know what he did, he will kill me, too. I thought I knew him well, but I know him not at all." In the low light, more tears gleamed in her eyes. "I have no friends here, no one from my own clan."
"Damnation," Darack muttered. Of course, he had to help her.
He couldn't abandon her to Alec and his kin.
"Hide here for a while longer and I'll slip you out later tonight.
But first, I'm going to check on the guard.
" He prayed that being in the vicinity of the body would not implicate him in the murder.
***
"AYE, HE IS DEAD," DARACK whispered through the cracks between the stalls.
"Saints preserve us. I knew it." Terror twisted in Marianna's gut.
How could Alec do such a thing to his own man, a lad really, who had done nothing to him?
'Twas true he had helped steal the dagger and sell it, but he didn't deserve to die for that.
Life was far more valuable than any jewels or weapons.
She heard Darack slip from the stall, latch the door, then push the wheelbarrow away over the straw.
Trying to remain calm and keep her dread at bay, Mairiana quietly petted her mare... well, Fern was not truly her mare. She was one Alec had allowed her to ride. But Mairiana had become attached to her during the past couple of weeks. She was a sweet, gentle animal.
"I'll miss you, Fern," she whispered softer than a breath.
O'Quigley paced up and down the corridor of the stables, demanding that Darack hasten his stall mucking.
Why on earth was Darack employed here, and in the stables, no less?
He would be considered a gentleman of his own clan and not expected to do menial labor.
Besides, he was from much further north.
As the son of the long executed chief, he was in fact the rightful chief, but since King James had outlawed the MacGregors, he could not claim that title.
Times were hard for his clan. Obviously, he'd been forced to assume the name Grant.
She remembered he was the cousin of the Grant chief from when they had visited her brothers a few years before.
Mairiana would owe Darack a grand debt of gratitude if he helped her make it safely back home. She would convince Dugald to pay him, even if it took part of her dowry. She never wanted to marry now anyway.
What a fool she'd been, proclaiming to her brothers how much she loved Alec.
They had rolled their eyes and indulged her, allowing her to choose her own husband.
'Twas highly irregular but she loved them for it.
But now, since her judgement was so obviously flawed, no doubt Dugald would try to force her to marry some cantankerous old laird of his choosing.
The thought made her nauseous. She would refuse.
In regards to Alec, Dugald would tell her I told you so in that arrogant and superior way of his. She deserved no less.
The stall door swung open, startling her, and Darack stood there, tall and imposing, his expression as dark as his eyes. "Get in," he murmured and motioned to the wheelbarrow crusted with manure mixed with straw.
She frowned down at it. "Are you mad?" she whispered. Not since she was a wee lass had she done such, and received a severe scolding from her mother for ruining her clothing. "This is one of my best gowns."
"Do you want to leave this place or not?"
"I'll walk out before I'll let you hide me beneath a pile of fresh manure. I'm sure they would hear my retching and gagging all the way into the great hall." Her voice was low but fierce.
"I'm going to throw this old canvas over you. No one is about, but if the guards should be watching from the ramparts, this will conceal you. Then I'll put you on the wagon."
"The manure wagon?"
"Aye. I'll drive it out beyond the portcullis toward the fields, where they use the moldering horse dung to enrich the soil for their crops."
She blew out a sharp breath. What the devil had she gotten herself into?
"Forget it then," he said with a dismissive shrug. "I was only trying to help you."
"All right." It appeared she had no other choice. She huffed and crawled onto the wheelbarrow while he held it steady.
"Lie down and draw your legs up close to your chest," he whispered. When she did, he threw the oiled, blackened canvas over her and tucked it around her.
"Grant!" O'Quigley yelled from the stables' entrance. "What are you doing?"