Chapter Thirteen
T hirteen
W HAT ARE WE to do with her?”
Brie backed against the side of the Tinklers’ wagon, refusing to cower before the people gathered around her.
She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, meeting their accusing stares.
She’d known this moment would come, when they’d discover she’d hidden herself in their wagon and confronted her for her actions.
But knowing didn’t make it any easier. And it certainly wasn’t her fault that pitiful little minstrel dancer had been frightened enough to jump from the wagon and hurt herself.
“Return her. She belongs to the MacGahan.”
Brie cut her eyes to the woman who’d spoken and the woman took a step away. As she should. Brie belonged to none save her own self.
“There’s no silver to be made in backtracking. I say we leave her here and go on,” one of the minstrels said.
Not exactly a caring man, that one. And people claimed it was the Tinklers who were not to be trusted.
“I say we punish her.” The minstrel girl sat on the ground several feet away, her eyes wet with tears, a cold, wet cloth held to her face. “Beat her with a stick and leave her here by the side of the road.”
Brie lifted her chin and stared the girl down. She’d like to see any of them try what the weak little scold dared suggest.
“Hush, Eleyne. Yer face and foot will heal.” The Tinklers’ leader spoke up at last. “What say you, lass? Why have you hidden yerself in our wagon? What are you running from?”
“Yer mistaken in yer question, William.” His wife, Editha, moved closer, her hand outstretched as if she caressed a passing breeze. “It’s where she’s running to, no from, that puts her here with us. Is that not so?”
Brie studied the other woman’s eyes, searching for any sense of accusation, but she found no malice there. No judgment. Nothing to draw her ire.
“It is true that I have a need to travel north. When I learned that yer wagons headed in that direction, I decided to join you.”
The woman who wanted to take her back to Castle MacGahan responded, “Hiding in a pile of woolens is no joining us. Yer but a shameless woman who’s run from her home, leaving us to be heaped with the blame for stealing you away against yer will. We must return her, else they’ll send men after us.”
“Calm yerself, Esther. The MacGahan is unlikely to think us responsible for—”
“Leave her and be done with it,” the minstrel interrupted. “She’s but a witless, troublesome wench who thinks to gain herself the adventure of a market day in Inverness, hunting for pretties. There’s no a single silver to be made in taking her there.”
“I’ve no interest in market day or in Inverness.” Brie had contained herself as long as she could. “It’s no pretties I seek, but a man. The man who murdered my father.”
“Revenge, is it?” The minstrel laughed, his mouth drawn into a cruel, mocking line. “Revenge is the business of men. Best you keep yerself to yer man’s warm hearth, woman.”
“Have a care for yer tongue, Hugo,” William warned. “She’s but a lass.”
“I belong to no man. I am Bridget MacCulloch, daughter of the House MacUlagh, descended from the Ancient Seven who ruled all this land upon which you trod. I’m more than capable of seeking my own revenge.”
“Oh, my apologies, yer highness,” Hugo mocked. “I’ll grant you appear to be fit enough for a woman. I’ve no doubt yer chores are but little effort to you, and you obviously had no problem in tossing our poor wee Eleyne out on her arse. But yer hardly a fit match for a man. For a fact you—”
With a speed matched by only a well-trained few, Bridget leapt at the man, unsheathing the knife she wore at her waist as she moved to hold it to Hugo’s throat, abruptly ending his words in a sharp, hissing intake of breath.
“Hardly a fit match for a man, am I? Then what are you, minstrel? No a man by yer own definition, I’d say. Here I’ve bested you, and I’m no even breathing hard for doing it.”
“You see? She’s wicked!” Eleyne screamed.
“Hold yer weapon down, Bridget MacCulloch,” William ordered. “If, that is, you’d have us give any consideration to taking you where you want to go.”
“What?” Hugo exclaimed, stumbling away from her, his hand at his neck, as she resheathed her weapon. “By what good sense would you think even once upon allowing this savage wildling to travel with us?”
“You claim birthright from the houses of the Ancient Picts, do you?” Editha approached to stand close to Brie, speaking to her as if no one else were around them.
“I do.”
“Then I will rely on the honor of yer ancestors for yer absolute honesty with us. Where is it you’d hope to go?”
“Toward the northern coast.” To a place she hadn’t seen since she was little more than a bairn. “To Tordenet Castle.”
“I dinna ken a place called—” William began.
“Thunder Castle,” Editha interrupted. “Gleaming white upon the shore. Deandrea’s home.”
“A gleaming white castle, is it? There is wealth in this place of which you speak?” Hugo seemed to have overcome his distrust at the mention of Brie’s destination.
“There’s wealth aplenty,” Brie confirmed. If Torquil MacDowylt had stolen from others as he stole from the MacGahan, he must have storage rooms filled to the bursting with treasures.
“We willna go to the Thunder Castle. We would no pass through the gates of Tordenet for a wagon filled with silver.” William crossed his arms. “No Tinkler would.”
“But you can go near to Tordenet, even if you dinna go inside, true?” That was all Brie needed. She’d find her own way in.
“Indeed,” Hugo agreed. “This Tordenet of yers sounds to me to be a place in dire need of the entertainment we can provide. Especially since you say no one goes there.”
“Just get me close. That’s all I ask.” Begging didn’t come easily to Brie, but she was willing to make an exception for so important a cause. “I will be in yer debt.”
“I suppose we are long overdue for a visit to Rowan Cottage.” William looked to his wife, waiting for her nod of agreement.
“It is settled then. We travel to the Thunder Castle.”