Chapter 7
“Brandon!” Heather hissed from the shadowed corner of the stables, where she would not be seen.
The sweet, grassy scent of straw mingled with the earthier aroma of beasts, prompting her nose to itch and trickle.
Having hidden there for several hours, she had had to smother a sneeze on far too many occasions, and she feared her legs would never cease aching after being crouched down for so long.
Brandon blinked in alarm: his head twisting this way and that to try and locate the voice.
“Over here!” Heather urged, poking half of her body out of her hiding place.
His eyebrow arched in bemusement. “What in heaven’s name are you doing down there?”
“Waiting for you, obviously.” She beckoned for him to come closer. “I have been here since just after breakfast. Fortunately, no one has noticed my absence yet.”
As it turned out, Jemima was an exceptionally good source of information.
Or, rather, the gossip of the household was.
A guard had told a maid who had told an ostler who had told a footman who had told a stable hand who had told Jemima, that Brandon was returning today.
The only part they had not been able to say, however, was when.
Heather was just grateful he had come back earlier, rather than later.
Brandon frowned. “Why are you waiting for me? Is something the matter? Has something happened? I have only been gone for four days. Surely, nothing bad has befallen… uh… anyone.”
“With your assistance, I pray it will not,” Heather urged, peering over Brandon’s shoulder to make sure there was no one observing the peculiar scene. “I have spoken with Owen, and I have come to the conclusion that he is not the wretched killer that my father believes him to be.”
Brandon gasped in astonishment. “Pardon?”
“Do not look at me that way, Brandon. It is entirely your fault that I went to see him a second time, for I had intended to go and speak with you, but you were nowhere to be found,” she scolded lightly.
“So, I went to the dungeons, and I allowed him to tell me his side of the tale. I believe him, Brandon, and I think you do, too. At least, that is what he has told me.”
Heather had spent the past four nights in the dungeons with Owen, discussing everything from anatomy, poetry, healing, music, military tactics, to their favorite walks and landscapes and peaceful moments.
Indeed, they had discussed everything in between, too, discovering an entire world of mutual interests and shared sensibilities.
Although, her favorite part of the night was when she had to say farewell, and he would take her hands in his and press them to his lips.
It had stunned her, at first, to feel his bare mouth upon her equally bare skin, but that shock had swiftly given way to a wondrous thrill that continued to linger within her veins.
A thrill that left her wanting more of his tender, warm kiss upon her skin.
“Am I mistaken?” She swallowed uncomfortably, trying to read Brandon’s blank expression.
Have I allowed Owen to cloud my judgment? Did he lie about his unexpected meeting with Brandon?
“No, dear girl, you are not mistaken,” he said, at last, “but you must not repeat anything you have heard to anyone within the castle. I would like to say that your life would not be in danger, but I cannot.”
Heather nodded. “Owen said you would say that. He has also urged me into silence, though I do not see why I cannot use my influence to persuade Father of Owen’s innocence.
” She furrowed her brow. “I understand the effects of grief upon a person, for I feel them within myself, but that does not grant anyone the right to punish a blameless soul.”
“In a peculiar way, your father’s rash actions are protecting Laird Dunn,” Brandon replied.
“As long as he is locked in the dungeons and sentenced to an imminent execution, the true culprit will believe they are safe from discovery. If the culprit finds out what we know, they will seek to do to us what they did to dear William.”
“And if he is executed?” Heather’s words lodged in her throat; the very notion too hideous to bear.
Brandon took hold of her hand and squeezed it tight.
“I will not allow it to come to that, Heather.” He dropped the honorific of “Lady,” as he often did when they were not in company.
“That is why I have been away for the last four days. I have been investigating the truth of what happened to William, though the household believes I have been to visit a potential bride.”
“A bride? Would they believe such a ruse?” Heather was only thinking of Jemima, as it was well known that the lady’s maid and Brandon were fond of one another.
He smiled. “Of course, dear girl. I am the son of a merchant, do not forget, and though my heart might belong to someone else, they would all expect me to wed a lady of station.” He flashed a wink. “There is no other lady, in case you were worried.”
“Is there any other cause for… celebration?” she whispered, though it seemed an odd word for the predicament they were in.
Brandon gave a slight nod. “I spoke with the Baron of Belsay’s men.
They were in an encampment beside us, which William would have had to travel through in order to reach the battlefield, at the hour in which he was supposed to have gone there.
” He hesitated. “They said they saw William, but he was not making his way toward the battlefield. He was heading west, and he was not going there willingly. He was being chased.”
Heather’s heart threatened to stop beating in her chest as she heard that revelation.
With Owen to divert her mind, she had managed to set aside her grief, putting it in a dark box in her head where she did not have to dwell upon it to the point of consuming despair.
Now, the lid of that box had been flung open, and a torrent of sorrow pummeled through her.
You must have been so afraid, William. You must have wondered what you had done wrong. Oh, my darling brother, what did they do to you? Tears welled in her eyes, tumbling over onto her cheeks where they meandered silently down. One trickled into her mouth, and she tasted the bitter salt of it.
“Who chased him?” she rasped, furious and defeated, all at once.
Brandon paused, as if he did not know whether to continue.
“The Baron’s men said they saw the Gallagher crest, pinned to one of the pursuer’s cloaks.
The rest were dressed in plain garments, presumably to disguise themselves.
” He glanced toward the stable entrance, where the imposing, gray castle walls were visible.
“It might have been a ruse, to make any witnesses think they were our men, but we cannot rule out the worst possibility.”
“That there is a wolf among us.” Heather completed the terrible thought, shivering with fear and rage that someone within her own home could have done such a thing.
And might do the same to her, if she spoke out at the wrong moment.
“My brother did say he thought his life was in peril, but I mistook it for nerves. This was before he departed for war.”
Brandon sighed uneasily. “He mentioned the same thing to me, and I also mistook it for anxiety. I cannot make amends for that, but I can bring him justice, and I will not make the mistake of having no witnesses.”
“What do you mean?” Heather frowned.
“I will continue to conduct my investigation here, but if anything should happen to me in the pursuit of the truth, I will tell you where you may find a letter. You must take that letter to your father and persuade him until he sees reason.” He paused. “I just hope it does not come to that.”
“As do I,” Heather murmured, “for the sake of everyone whose life now rests on our success.”
Having already lost a brother to this unknown killer, she refused to lose anyone else. Including herself.