Chapter Eighteen Murieall
Dawn crept through the narrow window of my chamber.
I hadn’t slept more than a handful of restless moments.
I was kept awake by my mind replaying Munro’s accusations and my failed pleas to the guard outside my door.
My body ached as if I’d been beaten, though the only blows I’d suffered were the words Munro had hurled at me and the sight of betrayal in his eyes.
I rolled to my side and stared at the shadows that clung to the corners.
God’s blood, how had everything gone so terribly wrong?
I pushed myself from the bed, my legs unsteady beneath me as I crossed to the window. The courtyard below was stirring with early-morning activity. Soon, Munro would come to send me away, and I would never see him again.
That thought drove me from the window to pace the confines of my prison.
Seven steps to the door, seven steps back to the window, turn and repeat.
My fingers raked through my hair, wincing as they caught in a tangle, and I wrestled with the same question that had plagued me all night.
Why would Munro think I’d conspire with James?
For what purpose? I recalled the blind rage in his eyes when he’d accused me and James of plotting against him, of trying to make him appear mad to the clan.
The memory of his face, contorted with fury and pain, made my breath hitch.
I paused at the door and pressed my hand against it, hoping my attempts this morning to get Dalton to open my door, which he was assigned to guard, would yield better results than the previous night. “Dalton,” I called. “Please let me out.”
“Nay,” he bit back. “And if ye start pestering me as ye did last night, I’ll open the door and stuff yer mouth, so I do nae have to listen to ye beg.”
I scowled at the door, then pressed my forehead to it. “Isabella,” I whispered, my voice breaking on her name. “I beg of ye to speak to me, please. Munro’s sending me away this day. If there’s truth ye would have me tell him, I must ken it now, or all is lost.”
It started as a whisper in my mind, but her voice gained intensity quickly.
Speak with the chambermaid, Francine. She heard my boy cry, too. He was nae stillborn. Prove I did nae jump.
The words rang with such clarity that I gasped, my head jerking up as if I might see Isabella standing before me. The chamber remained empty of any visible presence, yet the weight of her message settled on me like a physical thing.
My mind raced with the implications. If Isabella’s son hadn’t been stillborn as Munro had been told, then who had—
A sharp knock at the door interrupted my thoughts, startling me so badly I nearly toppled over.
“Who is it?” I called, my voice still thick with emotion.
The door swung open to reveal James, his clothes travel-worn and dusty, his face grim with purpose. A glance behind him showed no sign of Dalton.
“Where’s the guard?” I asked, bewildered by his unexpected appearance.
“I told him Munro had sent me to escort ye from our stronghold, so Dalton went on to train with the others, thinking his duty here was done. What’s happened?” James asked. “I returned from border patrol a short while ago only to find the whole castle buzzing about yer impending departure.”
The words poured from me in a desperate flood.
I told him of Munro’s accusations and his anger at both of us.
I paused. “I do nae ken why he thinks we’re conspiring against him,” I said.
My fingers twined together anxiously. “He’s sending me away today.
But James, Isabella spoke to me moments ago.
She told me to speak with a chambermaid named Francine, who apparently heard Isabella’s bairn cry after birth. ”
James’s face darkened as I spoke, his expression shifting from confusion to grim understanding. “Francine,” he murmured. “Aye, she assisted Magdalene during the birth.” His jaw tightened. “Magdalene swore the child never drew breath.”
“If the child lived,” I said slowly, the terrible realization dawning, “then Magdalene—”
“Aye,” James finished for me, his voice hard as iron. “Either killed him or felt she’d be blamed when he did nae live, so she lied that he ever drew breath.” He extended his hand toward me, his gaze intent. “Follow my lead. We need to find Francine before Munro sends ye away.”
I followed James through the corridors, my heart hammering against my ribs with each careful step.
Every time we turned a corner, I tensed, expecting to meet disaster.
James moved with the confidence of a man born to these walls, his shoulders drawn up, but his steps sure as he led the way.
Whenever footsteps echoed from around a corner, or voices drifted toward us, he would raise his hand sharply, bringing me to a halt as we pressed against the cold stone walls, waiting for the danger to pass.
“The servants are gathered in the kitchen for their morning meal,” James whispered over his shoulder. “We should be able to reach my chambers without being seen.”
His words did little to calm my nerves. If Munro found us together now, it would only confirm his suspicions of conspiracy.
I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders, as much for comfort as for warmth in the chilly morning air.
The risk we took now was great, but the promise of justice for Isabella and her bairn drove me forward despite my fear.
James paused at the junction of two corridors, his head cocked as he listened for any sound of approach. I held my breath, straining my own ears in the silence. After a moment, he gestured for me to follow once more, and we continued our cautious progress.
“How do ye ken where to find Francine?” I whispered to James.
“Because she always cleans my chamber about now,” he replied. “’Tis her usual task each morning.”
A servant girl appeared suddenly from a side passage, and James pulled me roughly into an alcove, his body shielding mine from view.
My pulse roared in my ears as we waited, frozen in place, until the girl’s footsteps faded down the corridor.
James released his grip on my arm with a small nod of apology, and we pressed on.
Finally, we reached a heavy oak door which James pushed open without knocking.
Inside, a young woman with mousy brown hair tied back in a simple kerchief was polishing a wooden table, the rhythmic sound of her cloth moving across the surface filling the otherwise quiet room.
At our entrance, she startled badly, nearly dropping her cleaning rag as she spun to face us.
“James!” she exclaimed, smiling as her gaze fell on him, but her smile faded as she noticed me. “What’s afoot?”
James closed the door firmly behind us, and I stepped forward, careful to keep my movements slow and unthreatening. “We need to ask ye about Lady Isabella,” I said, watching her face closely.
At Isabella’s name, the color drained from Francine’s cheeks, and her hands began to tremble. James and I exchanged a quick look.
“What do ye need to ask me about?” she said, her voice shaky like her hands.
“Ye were there when her son was born,” James pressed, moving to stand beside me. “Ye assisted Lady Magdalene.”
Francine’s gaze dropped to the floor, her shoulders hunching inward. “I, I barely recall the day,” she mumbled, but I knew the lie for what it was. She was fearful and covering the truth.
“Francine,” I said, stepping closer until I could see the fine tremor in her eyelashes as she blinked rapidly. “We ken the bairn was nae stillborn. Did ye hear the child cry?”
Her head jerked up at that, lips parted, and nostrils flared. “Nay, I—I did nae hear anything. The bairn was stillborn. That’s what Lady Magdalene said.” Her gaze darted toward the door again. “Please, I must finish my work. The housekeeper will be angry if—”
“We can protect ye from her,” James interrupted, his voice low but firm. “But we need the truth. What happened that day?”
Francine shook her head frantically, tears welling in her eyes. “I can nae. She’ll have me cast out. My family depends on me.”
“Lady Magdalene threatened ye?” I asked gently.
A tear slipped down her cheek, quickly followed by another. “Please,” she whispered. “Do nae ask this of me.”
James moved closer, his expression somber. “Francine, I swear by all I hold dear that nae harm will come to ye or yer family if ye speak the truth now. As the laird’s oldest friend, I give ye my word.”
Something in his tone must have reached her, for she stilled, her frightened eyes searching his face. After a long moment, she drew a shuddering breath and nodded once, a barely perceptible movement.
“I was in the birthing chamber,” she began, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear her.
“Lady Magdalene sent me away as the bairns started to come, but I did nae leave. I, well, I loved Lady Isabella, and I wanted to be there in case she needed me, so I lingered just outside her door, in the outer chamber. I was there when I heard the bairn’s first cry.
” She swallowed hard, her hands now wringing the cloth as if trying to wring truth from it.
“It was weak but clear. A living child’s cry. ”
I exchanged another glance with James, seeing my own horror reflected in his eyes. If the child had lived, if Isabella had been right all along…
“Lady Magdalene found me there when she came rushing out of the door in search of something,” Francine continued, her voice dropping even lower, forcing us to lean in to hear her.
“She snatched me by the arm and told me if I did nae do exactly as she said, she would ensure I was driven from the clan lands with only the clothes on my back. And I would nae ever see my family again.” Tears flowed freely now, streaking down her pale cheeks. “I believed her.”
“What happened to the bairn?” James asked, his voice tight with controlled rage.