Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
MORRIGAN
Searc agreed to take Morrigan to Inverness for the day, but only conditionally.
She needed to get Isabella’s approval. So the night before the trip, she gathered up the collection of caricatures and went to the medical room and found her brewing a purplish decoction of roots and leaves.
The brew looked and smelled foul, to say the least, but Isabella didn’t seem to even notice.
“My intention is to speak to the women at Barn Hill. They might know the person responsible for these.” She showed her the caricatures. “Based on what we see, the artist is a woman and is somehow connected to that estate. There can’t be too many people who fit that description.”
“What happens if the people at Barn Hill do know who drew these? Suppose they give you a name? What will you do, then?”
Find her. Hold her feet to hot coals. Break her fingers.
Honestly, Morrigan didn’t know what she was going to do. After locating the artist, she fully intended to get some understanding of the woman’s circumstances. And there was only so much she could accomplish in the time she had. They were leaving at dawn and returning very late in the day.
“I’ll give the name to Searc,” she said instead, hoping that was a satisfactory answer.
The incredulous look Isabella gave her spoke volumes. She didn’t believe her. “I’m angry and I know you feel the same way. But I don’t trust you. You like to take matters into your own hands.”
“I admit I want to find her myself.”
“For the purpose of stopping her?”
“Exactly.” Morrigan had a feeling she knew where Isabella was going with this. “Once I locate her, I want to find out why she is doing it, who is paying her, and how we can make her stop.”
“And you think you can do all that with a cool head?”
“I can be reasonable.”
“You can, on occasion. But not always.”
Morrigan had a temper. She’d be the first to admit it.
During the years following their return to Scotland from Wurzburg, Isabella had witnessed more than a few tantrums. Those years had been difficult for her.
Coming back to Scotland brought back the nightmares.
Too many times, the corridors of their Infirmary Street house rang with her angry and frustrated outbursts.
She knew even then that she was not an easy person to live with.
Her father and other members of the household had borne the brunt of it.
Isabella, however, had always been a pillar of self-control.
She never allowed herself to be dragged into the arguments.
Morrigan felt she’d outgrown a great many things since then, and she also knew that much of her unhappiness at the time was caused by the forced silence about the past.
“Losing my temper with this artist, if I can find her, won’t end their campaign against either Cinaed or the reform movement,” Morrigan said. “They’ll just go out and find someone else to create their falsehoods.”
“You’ll need to remind yourself of that when you find her.”
“These days, I’m always in control. Well, mostly in control.” Morrigan let out a sigh, looking at the unconvinced quirk of Isabella’s lips. “Very well. I admit I still lose my temper occasionally.”
“And hurt people, however inadvertently.”
“I haven’t hurt anyone.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Morrigan realized her error. On Saturday, she’d fetched Isabella to inspect the cut above Aidan’s eye. “I take it back. You’re thinking of the accident in training yard.”
“The man could have lost his sight.”
She felt terrible enough without being reminded.
She’d run all the way to Isabella’s room.
Everything about that morning kept coming back to her.
Regardless of him holding back, despite her complaints, Morrigan enjoyed battling with Aidan.
The competition wasn’t only about skill, it was a battle of temperaments, of personalities.
She felt a warm glow even now as she thought about it.
“We were sparring good-naturedly and—”
“Did your blow to his eye have anything to do with what happened between you two in Inverness?”
Numerous accounts of what had occurred continued to circulate within the castle walls, mostly as a result of Sebastian’s enjoyment in deviling Aidan.
She didn’t think a supper passed when she wouldn’t hear a new version of the story.
She knew the younger brother was the source, for neither Aidan nor Morrigan spoke of it.
And regardless of how they behaved toward each other, the teasing continued.
“Absolutely not,” Morrigan assured her. “I was learning how to fight with a dirk, and he was showing me a few defensive moves. I hit him very much by accident with the butt of the handle. Everyone gets hurt in the training yard at one time or another.”
“That’s exactly what he said. He took full blame for it, of course. Said it was entirely his own fault.”
“It wasn’t entirely his fault,” Morrigan retorted. “I mean, I did actually strike him. But it was not to hurt him or blind him.”
She didn’t know why Aidan was continuing to do this to her. Being so blasted nice. Two days had passed, and she continued to think of him. They’d stood so close, his hand holding hers, and she’d seen the look in his grey eyes as he studied every flaw in her face. It was disconcerting.
She’d tried to avoid him since. He needed no stitches, but from what she’d heard from others, his eye looked quite bad.
“Well, you two will have plenty of time tomorrow to decide whose fault it was,” Isabella told her.
“Is he coming too?” She didn’t want to be happy at this news, but she couldn’t help it.
“Aidan Grant is going to visit his clients in the Inverness jail. So I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Don’t hurt him, and come back in one piece yourself.”
The sky in the east had barely begun to lighten from diamond-studded black when Morrigan stood in the courtyard, running her hand over the shoulder of her mount. As the others prepared to leave, she thought again of the conversation with Isabella. She was determined to honor her promise.
More Mackintosh fighters than the last time were accompanying the group going to the port city.
She wondered if these trips were for the purpose of bringing back weapons.
The rumors of an imminent attack by British forces from Fort George or Fort William were no worse than before.
But with Cinaed gone, not every item of news reached her family’s ears.
The excitement in the castle and the village was focused more on the upcoming celebration of Samhain, only a fortnight away.
The festival, marking the end of the harvest season, was the time for taking stock of the clan’s supplies of food, grain, and livestock before the winter cold set in.
This was Morrigan’s first autumn in the Highlands.
She’d been hearing that the festivities at Dalmigavie were legendary.
Eating and drinking, music and dancing. And of course, games of skill.
Lachlan, Cinaed, and Niall were expected to return before then.
Looking at the line of carts now, Morrigan thought it was quite possible they were simply conveying supplies for the holiday.
Morrigan spotted Aidan speaking with Searc near the castle gate.
She led her horse to a safe place at the rear of the column.
Carrying a torch, Blair strode along the line until he found her.
As usual, he needed to check on her before their departure.
He was still approaching when he launched into his well-rehearsed speech.
“Ye know how this goes, lassie. No riding off. No shortcuts. No lagging behind. No unexpected stops. Ye stay with the rest of us. Yer but a wee link in this great chain. Are ye listening?”
“I’ve sworn all of this to Isabella and to Searc.”
“And now ye’ll swear it to me.”
“Again?”
“Aye. Again.”
“I swear,” she huffed.
“And when we reach Inverness, two of the men come with ye when ye go to Barn Hill. No abandoning them.”
“No abandoning them,” Morrigan repeated. She would, however, leave them outside. She wasn’t about to have these brutes frightening a house full of old women.
“Searc sent a message. Said if ye run across any new barristers while we’re in town, yer to leave them with their faces unmarked and with the use of both eyes, if ye please.”
Smirking as he turned away, Blair moved past her to the men at the very end of the line. In the flickering torchlight, she saw him gesture toward her as he gave them instructions. No doubt the Highlander was putting every deuced eye on her.
She sighed. She’d have to prove herself and earn their trust all over again.
Morrigan knew they were only showing concern for her.
What happened the last time she was in town could have turned out a great deal worse if Aidan hadn’t been the one in that alley.
When she thought back over that day, Morrigan knew that running into a couple of armed dragoons or a gang of drunken locals would have meant serious trouble.
As angry as she’d been, next time she had to think first, act smarter, and be more aware of her surroundings.
The carts and riders wound their way through the narrow lanes of the village.
Smoke from cooking fires already hung in the crisp dawn air.
As they reached the end of the harvested fields where the lane disappeared into the forest, Morrigan became aware of a rider who’d left the caravan and sat waiting astride his mount.
Even from a distance in the greying dawn, it was not difficult distinguishing Aidan Grant from everyone else. In his tall hat and city attire, he was better dressed than any of the Mackintosh men, including Searc.