Chapter 4
Chapter Four
MORRIGAN
At Searc’s house between Maggot Green and the Citadel Quay docks, the Mackintosh men were tying down tarps on the loaded wagons.
Morrigan nudged her horse a few yards down the lane toward the river.
With her hat pulled low on her forehead and the collar of her coat turned up, she was doing her best to hide her face.
In the alleyway, she’d held her own and delivered more than the rogue had expected.
Still, the cobblestone had left its mark.
She couldn’t tell the extent of her injuries, except it hurt to move her jaw.
The bloody handkerchief tucked into her sleeve bore the evidence of the cut inside her lip.
She ran her tongue along her teeth. She was lucky none of them had come loose.
She’d been careless, but even now she felt the heat rise in her face.
A sudden rage had possessed her, and, hot for revenge, she’d been paying no attention to what was behind her.
She was unaware of the two men following “Robert Sparrow.” They had to be the same two who’d been speaking with him by the green.
Morrigan took a few deep breaths to calm herself, forcing her mind clear of his face, his voice. The blackguard was in Inverness, but for how long, she didn’t know. Perhaps the next time she came into the city, she’d search him out and finish what she’d intended to do today.
One way or another, she would finish it.
She’d killed once. The day they were fleeing their house on Infirmary Street in Edinburgh, she’d driven a knife into a man’s heart to save the life of Maisie, Isabella’s sister.
She could kill again. Vengeance called for it.
Justice demanded it. She’d do it if only to stop her nightmares.
But would she be free when she left him lying in his own blood?
Her neck was already stiffening, and Morrigan rolled her head from side to side, stretching the muscles and thinking about the clash in the alley.
Morrigan was a skilled fighter. Since arriving at Dalmigavie, she’d been going to the training yard an hour before the men showed up four or five times a week.
Some days Blair worked with her himself.
Other days he put one of the Mackintosh fighters in charge of training her.
Knife, pistol, even hand-to-hand, she could hold her own.
She had the blessing of Isabella and Maisie.
Both of them—and their husbands—agreed it was important that Morrigan be able to defend herself.
Their enemies were numerous and too close to ignore.
And being inside the walls of Dalmigavie didn’t guarantee their safety either.
Only two months ago, Maisie had been stabbed in a stairwell of the castle.
She’d recovered fully, thank God, but all of them were far more cautious as a result.
A screech behind her startled Morrigan, and she reached down to find the empty sheath in her boot. Blast, she’d need to have the blacksmith make her another sgian dubh. Two urchins raced up the lane in a running battle, using sticks for swords.
Searc barreled out of his house with Blair on his heels. He stomped around the wagons, pulling at tarps and ropes. With a grunt of approval, he climbed onto his horse and scowled back at Morrigan.
Black eyes peered from under his tall hat and bristling brows, and she fought the inclination to look away.
Searc saw, heard, and knew everything and everyone.
If he found out what she’d done—chasing a man into an alley and getting into a fight—he wouldn’t be happy.
Not that he was ever happy, but it would be detrimental to the trust she’d established with the Mackintosh clan leaders.
They were ready to depart for Dalmigavie. A dozen Mackintosh men—their weapons handily concealed inside coats and saddlebags—lined up behind the wagons.
“Ready, lass?” Blair called to her.
Her jaw ached, and she didn’t trust her swollen lip to form any intelligible words. She nodded and nudged her horse, joining the line behind the carts.
A steady rain began to fall as they left Inverness and started the winding climb into the mountains toward Dalmigavie.
The riders around her pulled their collars up and filed along, mostly in silence.
The relative solitude of the ride suited Morrigan perfectly.
If the men around her noticed the bruising on her face, they said nothing.
She welcomed the drops of rain that cooled her heated skin.
Before they got back to Dalmigavie, however, Morrigan knew she’d need to come up with a believable story to explain her face. Telling the truth wasn’t an option.
Night had fallen by the time they dismounted by the stables inside the curtained wall of the castle.
Torches lit the courtyard, sizzling and hissing in the falling rain.
A stable hand offered to take her horse.
Morrigan handed the mare off reluctantly.
She wasn’t looking forward to facing Isabella and Maisie.
Six years ago, the three women had become a family, of sorts, when Isabella married Morrigan’s father and brought Maisie, her sister, with her.
The relationship between them all had been a curious one.
Sometimes strained, but for the most part defined by a cordial distance.
Everything changed this past spring after they fled Edinburgh.
Their bond now was one of true friendship and sisterhood.
The three were closer than if they had shared the same birth mother.
Searc marched stiff-legged toward her, barking, “Be sure to tell Isabella you’re back. The woman has been fretting since we left, I’d wager.”
Searc was in charge while Cinaed and Lachlan, the Mackintosh laird, were traveling through the Highlands with Niall Campbell, Maisie’s husband.
But walking into the Great Hall with a battered face wasn’t what she had in mind.
Before word reached her sisters that the caravan had arrived, Morrigan needed to get up to her room and inspect the damage.
“Tell her I’ll see her later, if you please. I need to change out of these wet clothes first.”
Morrigan ran off before Searc could argue.
As she left the yard, others were emerging from the keep to help unload the carts.
Over the past month, this was the third trip they’d made to Inverness.
By all accounts, Searc had his hand in dozens of businesses, but he’d also used the opportunity to bring back supplies.
Morrigan knew the “supplies” consisted mostly of weapons, shot, and powder.
It was no secret Dalmigavie was in danger of attack by troops stationed at Fort George and Fort Williams.
Before those regiments were prepared to attack the Mackintosh stronghold, however, there needed to be a build-up of troop numbers in the forts. And so far, Searc’s spies confirmed no additional reinforcements had been sent north.
The noises from the Great Hall became muffled in the stairwell as Morrigan hurried up to her bedchamber. Safely inside, she dropped the latch in place and lit a candle. She peeled off her coat, tossed her hat on a chair, and moved to the mirror.
“Blast,” she murmured, cringing at the sight of her reflection in the glass.
Her bottom lip was the size of a fat mouse.
Dried blood clung to the corner of her mouth.
Her forehead and chin were marked, red and rough, and a shadow stained her puffy cheek and jaw.
She prayed some of it was dirt that would wash away, but she wasn’t particularly hopeful.
“Morrigan?” Maisie called, knocking sharply. “Unlatch the door and let me in.”
Too soon. Too soon. She looked around her in panic. The dried blood made everything look worse than it was. If she could only wash her face.
The rapping on the door grew louder and more persistent. Over the years, Maisie’s sweet demeanor and beautiful face had fooled many into thinking she was quiet and docile. But they were so wrong. Kicking this door open was not beyond her. Morrigan needed to act quickly.
“You didn’t have to come after me. I’m changing into a dry dress.” She moved the candle to a side table where it would shed less light in the room.
“Open. Please. Now.”
“Just a moment.” Morrigan pulled open the wardrobe and grabbed a clean shift and the first dress her fingers brushed against. She tossed it over her shoulder, hoping her face was partially covered and unlatched the door. She turned away as Maisie stormed in.
“What happened today?”
“Nothing. I just returned.”
“Morrigan?”
“I went to Inverness. It rained.” She hurried to a screen standing in the corner of the room. “I need to change out of these wet things.”
“I knew it. Searc was right. Something did happen.”
Morrigan hid behind the partition. “Searc? I spoke to him a moment ago. I told him I had to change.”
“Searc sent me up here.”
Undoing the fasteners on her dress, she winced as she bumped her jaw. Maisie was moving around the bedchamber, and Morrigan heard her lighting the fire in the hearth.
“What’s wrong with him? I didn’t give him a single reason to complain about me today.”
“Exactly. You gave him no reason to complain, and that alarmed him. On the way back, not once did you ride ahead or wander off on your own.”
Maisie fell silent beyond the screen. Morrigan peeked over the top and found the younger woman inspecting her coat and hat.
“He’s certain something must have happened in Inverness that he doesn’t know about.”
Damn that Searc. Such a meddling busybody. Morrigan shoved the wet dress down over her hips and was startled when Maisie appeared beside her, holding the candle up.
She gasped. “Who did this to you?”
There was nowhere she could go. It was useless to turn around. Morrigan was trapped. “No one.”
“Were you attacked?”
“Not attacked. It was an accident. I stumbled. Fell on my face. It’s nothing. Really.”
Maisie tried to reach up and touch her face, but Morrigan pushed her hand away.
“Where did you fall?”
“In Inverness. Where else?”