CHAPTER 28
Margaret surreptitiously wiped her tears away as she packed, hoping Ella would not see them. She wanted to be ready to leave when Finn returned.
Ella tugged at her skirts. “Why do ye weep?”
“Because it makes me sad to say goodbye to our new friends here,” Margaret said, stooping down to talk to her daughter. “We’re going to go live with my sister.”
“Don’t want to!” Ella said and stamped her foot.
Margaret was taken aback. Ella was always so compliant. She’d hoped that Ella would feel safe enough to throw a tantrum like other children did on occasion, but now was not the best time.
“I know, sweetling,” Margaret said. “But sometimes we must do things we don’t want to.”
“Want to stay here!” Ella shouted, clenching her little fists.
“What’s all this blathering about?” Una said from the doorway.
Ella ran to Una and wrapped her arms around her leg. When the old woman picked her up, Ella buried her face in Una’s chest and refused to look at Margaret.
“I see you’re packing again.” Una narrowed her eyes at the satchel, then turned her glare on Margaret. “You’d leave Finn now? Ach, I thought better of ye.”
With that, she turned around and took Ella into her chamber.
Margaret swallowed back her tears over Ella’s rejection and took several deep breaths to calm herself.
Before she lost her will to leave, she reminded herself of the long, dark hair she found in the bedclothes, a hair too long to be Finn’s.
She was not mistaken as to whose it was. Even the pillow smelled of Curstag.
When she finished packing, Margaret carried the satchel beneath her cloak down to the stables, where she hid it beneath some straw. She did not want the household to find out she was leaving before Finn returned, but having her bag packed and waiting helped her feel committed to her plan.
She went back upstairs and rapped on Una’s door to fetch her daughter.
“Hush,” Una said, sticking her head out. “The poor dearie has cried herself to sleep.”
Margaret sighed. Why not just stab me in the heart, Una?
“Enough of this,” Una said under her breath. Then she came out, shut the door behind her, and signaled for Margaret to follow her into the other chamber. “Now, tell me what foolishness has gotten into your head this time.”
When Margaret told her about finding Curstag’s hair in their bed, Una dismissed it with a wave of her hand, as if swatting at a fly.
“Curstag was probably snooping,” Una said. “She’s a nosey lass, that one.”
“Snooping in the bedclothes?” Margaret said. “I’ve seen her in Finn’s arms more than once. I tried to dismiss it as comforting the widow, but I don’t believe Curstag is grieving all that much.”
“That’s true enough,” Una said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she poisoned Bearach herself.”
“Don’t say that,” Margaret chided.
“Curstag goes after what she wants, which is a lesson ye could learn from her,” Una said. “But this isn’t really about Curstag, now is it? Tell me what’s truly troubling ye.”
Margaret hesitated to unburden herself and share her pain and shame.
“I can’t give him children,” Margaret finally said in a small voice.
“I knew from the start that ye didn’t give birth to Ella because the two of ye were still learning each other’s ways,” Una said, her tone gentle now. “But tell me about these babes ye lost.”
“How did ye know about them?” Margaret asked.
“I saw them when ye were in the healing waters of the faery pool.”
Margaret blinked. Before she could ask how, Una began pressing her with questions about the times she was with child.
The old woman clucked her tongue as Margaret admitted how very thin she became during her marriage, how she’d lost a babe during the stress of a raging battle, and how her husband had not waited for her to recover from that miscarriage before she became pregnant that last time.
“I’m an old wise woman, so pay attention,” Una said. “Ye were not meant to have a child with that devil. But that doesn’t mean ye can’t have one.”
“I can’t go through that again,” Margaret said, shaking her head. “And I can’t put Finn through it, either.”
“You’re a strong and healthy lass now,” Una said. “You’ve meat on your bones and a glow to your cheeks.”
She had gained weight, it was true. And she had not felt so well in years.
“At the faery pool, I saw the children ye lost,” Una said in a hushed voice. “And they were smiling because, like me, they saw ye with a babe in your arms.”
Margaret took the handkerchief Una handed her and blew her nose.
“Even if ye don’t believe ye can have children,” Una said, resting her hand on Margaret’s arm, “ye ought to let Finn make his choice.”
“What he chooses now will be different from the choice he makes later.” Margaret turned to face Una. “I know he’s heir to the earldom. I heard Gilbert tell him.”
“He should have told Finn long ago,” Una said. “Finn is like his true father. Once Robin found the lass he wanted, he was true until death.”
Margaret refrained from pointing out that Robin Sutherland had died young and before he gained the earldom.
“You’re still afraid Finn will fail ye,” Una said.
“How do I know he won’t?” Margaret asked.
“Faith,” Una said. “Ye must decide to trust him.”
###
After wasting half the day fretting and stewing over what to do when Finn returned, Margaret decided she may as well be useful. She had not visited Gilbert as she had intended to earlier, so she picked up the same pitcher of water and headed down the stairs.
“Kind of ye to visit me,” Gilbert said as she fluffed his pillows for him. “You’re a surprise. Not at all the sort of lass any of us thought Finn would marry.”
“I suppose not,” she said, hoping he would drop the subject.
“Doesn’t follow his head, but his heart,” he said in a faraway voice. “I should have known he would.”
She did not want to hear it now. “Is there anything I can get for ye before I go?” she asked. “How about something from the kitchen?”
“My blood’s gone thin.” He pointed at the large trunk at the bottom of the bed. “I believe you’ll find an extra blanket in there.”
It was a chilly day. Margaret should have thought to ask if he was cold. The lid of the chest was so heavy that she had to kneel to lift it.
“Here it is,” she said, happy to find the blanket right on top.
“And if ye don’t mind,” he said, “I slipped an extra flask of my brother’s best whisky in the bottom before we left Dunrobin.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. This was what Gilbert had really wanted her to open the chest for. She felt uneasy about rummaging around Isabel’s gowns and stockings and tried to move them as little as possible as she reached down along the sides in search of the damned flask.
At last, her fingers touched the smooth, hard surface of the whisky flask. When she pulled it out, however, it was not a regular flask, but a wide-mouthed jar with a stoppered top.
She opened it to see if he’d poured whisky into it. Instead of a liquid, it contained the long stems of a dried plant with distinctive yellow flowers. Her blood ran cold.
Henbane. Had she found the killer? Her hand shook as she quickly replaced the jar deep inside the trunk.
“The whisky isn’t here,” she said as she smoothed the gowns back into place over the jar. “Ye must have already drunk it.”
Gilbert would not have asked her to look in the trunk if he had put the henbane there. That meant the murderer had to be…
Her heart leaped to her throat when she heard the door opening.
She dropped the lid of the trunk closed and looked up into Isabel’s piercing black eyes.
###
Finn pulled the worn cap low over his eyes, slumped his shoulders, and led his peddler’s mule and cart up to the gate of Dunrobin Castle. As he passed under the arched entry, he glanced up and wondered if his head would soon be displayed on a pike there, just like the father he never knew.
He pushed aside Gilbert’s revelations about his true parentage and his troubles with Margaret, which had plagued his thoughts all the way here, to focus on the problem at hand—and not a moment too soon.
Across the castle yard, he saw two familiar figures headed straight toward him. They were none other than George Sinclair and his daughter Barbara. What bad luck. Saying a silent prayer that a peddler would not draw their attention, he turned the cart with slow, plodding steps.
Before long, he had a line of people waiting to buy or trade.
Apparently, he had given his first customers too fine a bargain.
How was he supposed to know how much to ask for a spoon or a ribbon?
When he recognized two lasses he had slept with in the line, he pulled his cap low and regretted his pride in insisting on bringing the message into Dunrobin himself.
But whether it was the ragged clothes or the false belly he’d given himself, the two lasses barely looked at him when they paid their pennies.
The line was gone, and he’d still not caught a glimpse of Alex when a rough-looking man with a real potbelly dragged a wee dog up to his cart.
“Lost my eating knife,” the man said. “Will ye trade this dog for one? He has a good nose for hunting vermin.”
The dog was a yappy terrier with one eye and matted fur. Finn had never seen such a pathetic looking creature.
“Shut up!” the man said, and tried to kick at the dog, but the terrier was too quick.
“Kick my dog again, and I’ll flatten ye,” Finn said, grabbing the rope from the man. “Now pick out your damned knife.”
The dog attracted another customer. Finn hid his excitement as Alex approached the cart. Finn chose his moment when Alex leaned down to pat the dog and his face was hidden from anyone passing by.
“Don’t look up,” Finn said. “’Tis me, Finn.”
Alex froze a moment, but then he had the sense to rub the dog’s ears as Finn quickly told him of the danger he was in and the plan to rescue him.
“I knew you’d come for me,” Alex said in a choked voice. “I’ll leave supper early and meet ye while the others are still eating.”