Chapter Thirty
“Sit down, lass, for the love o’ God. Ye will drive me mad.”
Annista paused in her third—or perhaps fourth—circuit of the solar. She could not keep still. Too many thoughts teemed in her head.
She’d ducked away to her chamber where Bonnie—seeming much recovered—had helped her change into dry clothing. Now returned to the solar and her mother-in-law’s company, she yet shivered.
She thought of Alan, still wet. Wet he had been when he suckled her, his hair dripping. Wet and hot and hard—
She arrested her thoughts there. She, like Lady MacKallan, would go mad.
She had never really expected she would enjoy what passed between a man and a woman. Endure it, aye. Gain somewhat for it—a child—though she’d never envisioned herself as a doting mother. Most women came to that in the end.
Only one way to get a child. A dire necessity.
Only—it was not that. Neither dire nor a necessity. What she’d met with in the lodge was desire.
Her feet stumbled, and abruptly she sat down. It must be that or fall.
Lady MacKallan sighed. “I will no’ say I am comfortable wi’ all this intrigue.”
Annista turned her head to look at her mother-in-law. The seat where she’d ended was not far from that lady’s, and she could see the distress in the woman’s eyes. Aye, Lady MacKallan might possess more self-discipline than Annista, but she was no less uneasy.
“Intrigue?” she repeated.
Lady MacKallan shrugged unhappily. “All this business between Catholic and Protestant. Why can we no’ each attend our own kirk and leave it be?”
“’Tis about the monarchy, is it no’?”
“Aye. Unfortunately. Men make decisions, and those such as we maun follow along. Nay—” she stretched out a hand as Annista went to rise again—“pray, do not.”
“Where d’ye suppose Evan is now?” Annista cared far more for the answer to that question than for whatever might be happening in the main hall—though that did concern Alan. Her husband.
The distress in Lady MacKallan’s eyes turned to something more like fear. “Only the Lord Almighty knows.”
“Should he return here”—drunk or otherwise, though surely he must be sober by now—“wha’ will ye do wi’ him?”
Lady MacKallan hesitated, weighing Annista with that unhappy gaze as if wondering how to answer. “My husband plans to confine him—if we can.”
“And then?”
“Lass, I know nay more than that. Should I ring for some refreshments to help us pass the time?”
“I will choke if I take anything. They are like Cain and Abel, your sons. The one o’ them tried to kill the other.”
“Evan has a troubled mind. He always has. And the drink does no’ help.”
Annista swiveled on the bench where she’d landed. “D’ye think he killed my sister?”
Lady MacKallan’s eyes widened. “Wha’ makes ye ask that? Yer sister took a fall on the stairs.”
“Aye.” Those bleak, oaken stairs that she herself had so often climbed. “But why?”
“She had a fever, and was no doubt confused and wandering.”
“She was fleeing him, ye mean. God alone knows what he did to her.”
“Nay. I tell ye, she had been ill.”
“Did he torment her? Confine her? Did he pursue her when she left their chamber? Perhaps gave her a push at the top—”
“Do no’ suggest it! That is wicked.”
“Evan is wicked.”
Now it was Lady MacKallan who got to her feet. “Your sister was young and timid and perhaps no’ so happy here. She fell—”
“Ye may tell yoursel’ that in order to live wi’ what ye ha’ foisted upon the world.”
“Wha’ a cruel thing to say!”
A noise at the door interrupted their quarrel. Seumas stood there. He was wet through—was everyone soaking?—and he looked troubled.
“Mistress MacKallan,” he said, “there is a man at the door. A neighbor, William Duncan. He wishes to see the master, but I ken fine the master and the young master are in a meeting o’ gey importance.”
“Nay, do not interrupt the master. Wha’ does Farmer Duncan want?”
“He says Master Evan was at his place and—there was trouble.”
Lady MacKallan caught her breath. “I will see him. Pray, show him in.”
As soon as Seumas backed out, she glanced at Annista. “Hold yer tongue, for the love o’ God.”
“Maybe this Duncan has captured him.”
“Maybe he has not.”
A clatter of hasty feet heralded the arrival of the neighbor, who lapped Seumas and entered the solar with speed. A man of middle years, he was soaking wet, to be sure, with brown hair, a workman’s clothing, and desperate eyes.
Though he burst into the solar, he paused when he saw only the two women, both of whom leaped to their feet. “Mistress MacKallan! Where be your lord husband?”
“Master Duncan,” Mistress MacKallan returned. “Wha’ is the matter?”
Duncan’s eyes plumbed the room. “My lady, I wish to see your husband.”
“As I am certain our man has told ye, my husband is occupied with other business.” Mistress MacKallan directed a look at the footman, who hovered behind their guest.
“But, Mistress, ’tis gey important.”
“Aye, so I am given to understand. Pray, seat yoursel’. Will ye tak’ a draught o’ ale?”
“Nay…” Duncan reconsidered it. “Aye—’twould brace me.”
Seumas slipped away. Duncan, though, did not sit down. He seemed to choose his words, now, with greater care.
“Mistress, ye ken the young master—Master Evan, that is—has been on to our place before. When he was—no’ himsel’, mostly.”
Drunk, the man meant.
“Aye, so.” Mistress MacKallan looked miserable. “Troubled, my son has been.”
“Troubled, aye.” Duncan repeated it as if substituting it for a far more apt word.
“Well, he did turn up at our place no’ long since.
That is, I discovered him in my hay byre.
Sheltering there, like. Fro’ the rain. I asked him—most politely, I do assure ye, for I had nay wish to anger him—why he was there and if he could please to leave, and he—”
“Go on, Master Duncan.”
“I would far rather tell your husband.”
Seumas had slipped back in behind him. Now a maid appeared with a mug of ale. Duncan took it from her and drank deep.
Mistress MacKallan waved the maid off, though she allowed Seumas to stay.
“He flew at me, Mistress MacKallan,” said their visitor, as if fortified by the drink. “He came at me like a fury. He had a hay rake in his hand—one o’ our own. I thought—I thought sure he would kill me.
“My lad Geoff was there, by the grace o’ God, and tackled him. Took him at the knees and down. But Master Evan struck him and—did my boy a terrible harm.”
An awful silence fell, so profound Annista heard it clearly when Mistress MacKallan drew breath.
“Is your son all right?”
“I canna tell. We put him on his bed, but one o’ the blows took him in the head. My other boy, Oliver, has gone for the physician. But—”
“Where is Master Evan now?” Annista could only be impressed by how steady Mistress MacKallan’s voice remained, though her hands trembled visibly. “I hope ye managed to hold him there.”
“Nay, Mistress. He got awa’. Legged it off while we were caring for our Geoff. No’ before he turned over the lantern and tried to burn down the hay store—wi’ us inside it. Our farmhand, Luke, managed to douse the flames but burned his hands quite badly in the doing.”
“I see. Master Duncan, I much regret—regret the ill that has befallen ye. I hope and pray your son will recover, and I do assure ye, we shall be responsible for the physician’s fees.”
“’Tis no’ that, Mistress!” Duncan’s eyes bulged with his vehemence. “I am that feared for wha’ the young Master may do next.”
Were they not all feared for that? Annista wondered.
“Wha’ if he comes back and fires the house out o’ revenge? And us all inside, mayhap in our beds?”
“I am sure he will no’,” said Mistress MacKallan, sounding anything but.
“I left one o’ our hands on guard and came straight to Master MacKallan that he might deal wi’ his son and thus ha’ an end to it.”
“Just so. Where did Master Evan go when he left your farm?”
“If I knew that, Mistress, I’d be much easier in my mind. He dashed fro’ the shed and out into the rain. We were occupied wi’ all else and did no’ see.”
Precisely why Evan had used the fire—for a distraction.
“To be sure, I quite understand.”
“I maun see the master,” Duncan insisted.
“Quite impossible, I am afraid. But ye may be certain I will convey to him all ye ha’ said as soon as ever I am able.”
“But, Mistress—”
“The best ye can do, Master Duncan, is go back to your family, assure them all is as well as can be, and await the physician.”
“Aye, my lady. But—the Master maun act on this and collar his son. Mistress, I ha’ never seen such a murderous look in a man’s eye.”
For the first time, Mistress MacKallan wavered. She swayed on her feet and Annista feared she would go down. Deep sorrow scored her face.
“I assure ye, Master Duncan, we shall turn all our resources to finding Master Evan. Seumas, if ye would please show Master Duncan out?”
Duncan, seeming struck by the expression on Mistress MacKallan’s face or perhaps grasping the wisdom of returning home, went.
Mistress MacKallan and Annista were left gazing at one another.
“By God,” Mistress MacKallan breathed. “By God, wha’ are we to do?”
Annista reached into her pocket, feeling for the knife stowed there.
She knew what she would do—what she must do—if Evan came within her reach. Fulfill the promise she had made. And she could not allow herself to hesitate.