Chapter 10 #2
“A fair concern. I’ll have the men assemble a hearth.
” The reason they hadn’t created one already wasn’t the challenge in building a smithy—it was the smoke.
Smelting required a very hot fire maintained for a considerable amount of time—the sort of fire that was difficult to hide.
A small cooking fire or a warming brazier gave off little smoke by comparison.
Cormac nodded and departed, his mission accomplished.
Neither man mentioned the length of time it would take to acquire new arrowheads. It was pointless.
Aiden brushed his horse until its coat was shiny and smooth.
The soothing nature of the task was no longer working.
Time was hounding him. They had already lived in this temporary camp for far longer than he’d originally envisioned.
When he had gathered the clan here, his hope had been that it would be only a matter of weeks before he could ascertain his innocence and reclaim his family’s land.
But almost three months had passed, and he was no closer to identifying the man in black.
Now their supplies were running short. Food and the other necessities were becoming scarce. It wouldn’t be long before the prophecy Isabail had made on her arrival would come true. His people would go hungry and his warriors would not have the strength of arms to protect them.
He tossed the curry brush into a bucket with a loud clatter.
The horse snorted and shifted uneasily.
Aiden gave him a reassuring pat on the neck, then turned away. He had only one clue to the identity of the man in black, and that was Isabail. If he did not soon prove his innocence, his clan would starve.
He marched into the inner close and across the snow to his hut.
When he stepped inside, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dimness.
Isabail was seated on his pallet, her head bent over a piece of cloth.
She continued to wield her needle and thread even though the stiffness in her shoulders told him she was aware of his presence.
“Tell me the names of the men visiting Lochurkie that night,” he demanded.
“Nay.”
Closing the gap between them in three easy strides, he grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “Enough, Isabail. You’ve played this foolish game too long. Give me the names.”
She lifted her gaze. “And what will you do if I give you the names? Seek out each man and force him to confess on pain of death?”
Possibly. He hadn’t actually formulated a plan.
“If I tell you who they were,” she said, “four innocent men might come to harm at your hands. I cannot live with that outcome.”
“You are protecting a murderous villain, a slayer of children. How can you live with that?”
She returned his glare. “I’m not convinced any one of those men is a murderer.”
Which meant, of course, that she still harbored some belief that he was the murderer. “If I were the murderer, why would I trouble myself with searching for the man in black?”
“Who knows? Perhaps he has some other bauble that you covet.”
He thrust her away. “Look around, Isabail. Where is the evidence that I covet pretty baubles? Tell me what a necklace like the queen’s would gain me.”
“Food for your clan, perhaps. I don’t know.”
“I had everything I needed to support my kin before the necklace was stolen. There was no gain for me, only loss.” He raked a hand through his hair. “And what thief who is willing to sacrifice the lives of his own kin then stays to protect and feed and clothe those very same people?”
A frown settled on her brow.
“Should I not have taken my spoils and made for the Continent? Surely I could have lived a fair life in France with the coin such a necklace would have gained me.”
“Perhaps you never anticipated being caught,” she said slowly. “Perhaps you still want the life you had before the theft.”
He studied her. Blond hair flowing loosely over her shoulders, her dress wrinkled and stained. Not the same woman he’d pulled from the carriage a few short days ago. “In your opinion, is a murderer a man of strength or a coward?”
“A coward,” she said easily.
“Cowards do not stay and fight for what they desire, especially when faced with overwhelming odds,” he offered quietly. Then he turned on his heel and left the hut.
* * *
Gorm whined from his blanket by the fire.
Isabail stopped staring at the spot where MacCurran had stood and favored the dog with a wry smile. “Aye, he’s a difficult man. You’ve got that right. Saving you from a horrible death one minute, shaking the life from you the next.”
She scooped some water from the bucket by the door and brought it to the deerhound.
“I’ve no meat for you, lad. Until you’re well enough to try your hand at bringing home a fat hare, you’ll have to eat what the rest of us eat—bread, cheese, and turnips.”
He drank the water, then downed a stale crust of bread in a few hearty crunches.
“There’s a lad,” she said encouragingly. “Since you appear to be faring well, I’ll bring you a bone after the evening meal.”
As she stood, she heard several loud shouts outside and then the pound of numerous boots in the snow.
Isabail raced to the door. The inner close was a jumble of men snatching weapons and running for the walls.
The women doused the cooking fires, gathered the children and their belongings, and scurried for the tunnels.
With surprising speed and economy of movement, each person headed for their designated spot.
“What’s going on?” Isabail asked a boy who was darting for cover.
“Soldiers,” he tossed as he tore past. “Headed this way.”
Soldiers? MacPherson’s men? Isabail chewed her lip.
She was supposed to follow the other women into the tunnels, but the promise of rescue was a sweet ache in her chest. What she wouldn’t give to sleep in her own bed, to visit the graves of her mother and brother, and to wear clean clothes.
If only there were some way to reach Tormod MacPherson without revealing the existence of the hill fort.
She wanted to be rescued, but not at the expense of the people in the camp.
MacCurran’s fierce form appeared out of the crowd of warriors in the close. “Get in the hut and stay there until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”
Isabail hesitated.
His hand cupped her chin with surprising gentleness. “Please.”
She retreated into the dim hut. Wretch. How dare he be kind to her when she was anticipating harshly worded threats.
Sliding to the floor just inside the door, she leaned against the wall and listened.
There were few sounds with which to re-create the events occurring outside—after the first shouts, no one spoke.
Silence reigned.
Isabail closed her eyes and listened intently.
Were MacPherson’s men advancing up the slope to their position?
Was mayhem about to ensue? Over the past few days, she’d come to know a great number of the MacCurrans who called this old ruin home.
Whether the MacCurran had stolen Queen Yolande’s necklace or not, these people did not deserve to die.
She crossed her chest, bowed her head, and prayed.
* * *
MacPherson’s men crept from the trees to the protection of a scattering of boulders.
Aiden watched their progress from his position farther up the slope.
The rugged path leading up to the hill fort was not an obvious one, especially with the extra rocks they’d moved into place.
It would take a very determined man to find them, but he feared today might be that day.
MacPherson must be livid that Aiden had freed his men right under his nose.
He would not accept that loss with grace.
Twelve soldiers inched toward the ruined broch below.
Once they were within striking distance, the leader of the men gave a hand signal, and together they charged toward the ruin with an aggressive roar.
Only to find the broch empty. Clearly disappointed and muttering with undisguised frustration, the men searched the ruin.
They turned over rocks, kicked apart portions of the walls, and examined every piece of loose rubble for clues.
When that got them nowhere, they expanded the search, slowly but inexorably advancing up the slope.
Aiden’s men tensed. He had seven archers deployed among the rocks, two of which were exceptional and the others decent.
More than enough to turn away this group.
Their ability to defend the hilltop fort was, however, limited by supplies.
Fifty-seven arrows would not last long. In an extended battle, they would be at a severe disadvantage.
Two MacPherson spearmen climbed over some rocks and gained another few feet of path.
Giving the order to shoot them would bring an end to their hiding, and Aiden’s thoughts went to the women and children currently under his protection. He couldn’t risk their lives. As satisfying as it would be to engage MacPherson’s men, he had to maintain their secrecy for as long as possible.