Chapter 4
Aiden strode across the inner close toward the central fire pit.
Every weary face he passed tightened the knot in his gut.
His people deserved better. Bringing Isabail Macintosh here was an additional risk to their welfare, and the weight of that decision sat heavily on his shoulders.
He’d done his best to obscure their trail, but if luck went against him and the earl’s men succeeded in tracking her here .
. . By all that was holy, why couldn’t the woman simply have given him the names?
The group gathered in front of the central fire parted to let him pass, and Aiden stopped abruptly.
In their midst was a lovely redheaded woman—a woman he had last seen in the market square at Duthes.
Ana Bisset. The healer who had been tried and convicted of killing John Grant, the earl of Lochurkie. Isabail’s brother.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “What is she doing here?”
Niall flung an arm around the woman’s shoulders and tucked her close—a protective stance that said far more than his next words did. “Hold off, brother. She’s no more guilty of killing the justiciar than you are. We’re all victims of the same plot.”
Aiden grimaced. “By God, I never thought to see the day when you’d be gulled by a beautiful woman.”
“She aided me at great personal risk,” Niall argued.
“To prevent you from apprising the constable of her dubious history, no doubt.” How dare Niall bring a murderess home to live among his kin? “She cannot stay.”
The woman slipped out of Niall’s embrace. She smiled sadly at his brother. “I feared as much. This isn’t meant to be, Niall. I’ll find my own way.”
“You’ll go nowhere. Not without me.” Then his brother turned to him. “Do you trust me?”
“You, aye. Her, nay.”
“If you trust me, then you must trust my judgment. I know this woman through and through. She is no murderess. She stays, or I go. It’s as simple as that.”
Aiden ignored Niall’s threat. “Why are you so sure she’s not capable of murder? Beneath many a sweet lamb hide beats the heart of a wolf.”
“Because she saved my life, not once, but twice. When it would have been easier to simply let me die,” Niall said quietly. “She could have walked away, with none the wiser about her past. Instead she cured me and, in so doing, drew the attention of the constable.”
The woman met Aiden’s gaze easily, no hint of guile.
Was it possible? Had she been falsely accused of killing the earl, just as he’d been falsely accused of killing the king’s courier?
It seemed a stretch. Or perhaps he was just angry because she’d managed to further tarnish his honor?
When Niall had rescued Aiden from Lochurkie’s dungeon, he’d rescued this woman, too.
Unfortunately, in so doing, he’d linked the murder of Earl Lochurkie to Aiden.
He’d been accused of masterminding all of it—the murder of the king’s courier, the theft of the queen’s necklace, and the murder of the earl.
Which, of course, led to the loss of Dunstoras and the outlawing of all MacCurrans.
Damn the man in black. If his objective had been to torment the clan MacCurran, the wretch had certainly been successful.
Aiden favored Niall with a long, hard stare. His brother could be quite stubborn when he chose. If he said he’d leave with the lass, then he’d leave. “Fine. She can stay. But any hint of trouble, and you’ll both feel the weight of my boot on your arse. Now, come. We have much to discuss.”
His half brother nodded and followed him.
As they toured the camp, inspecting the defenses, Aiden said, “Tell me the whole tale of your adventure. Leave nothing out.”
Niall proceeded to share a madcap tale involving a fire, a traitor, and a harried race for freedom.
“Great mystery still surrounds the theft of the queen’s necklace, but Baron Duthes is not the man in black.
I know that much. He was unaware of the necklace’s history.
I believe his seneschal knows more, but I was unable to query the man while I was there, and I cannot easily return to do so now. Our best hope lies with the merchant.”
“Then we’ll pray he is swiftly found.”
Niall nodded. “What of the Lochurkie lass? I trust you had good reason to kidnap her? The earl’s men will expend considerable effort to look for her.”
“It was a risky decision,” Aiden acknowledged “But she knows the name of the man in black, and she’ll give it to me or face my wrath.”
Niall shrugged. “Well, you’d best work quickly. MacPherson has stepped up his patrols this past sennight, reaching farther and farther up the glen. It’s only a matter of time before they find us.”
“And only a few short days before the king announces a new lord of Dunstoras.”
His brother grimaced. “I hope to God it’s not MacPherson. The man is a layabout. Not once has he been spied sharpening his skills in the lists or even walking the ramparts. He sits in the castle and eats. Nothing more. Dunstoras deserves better.”
Aiden glared at the other man. “None but a MacCurran will rule Dunstoras. If necessary, we’ll retake the keep by force.”
Niall said nothing.
Both men were well aware that they had less than three dozen trained men at their disposal, compared to MacPherson’s two hundred.
The castle had been taken while Aiden was locked in Lochurkie’s dungeon and Niall had been preparing to set him free.
Numerous good men had died defending the keep, including the seneschal and the castle’s senior man-at-arms.
Taking it back would likely be a vain cause.
Still, Aiden could not let Dunstoras go without a serious fight. His father had built that castle stone by stone, some days with his own hands. Aiden had been born inside those walls, his father had died inside those walls, and his mother had—
“Where is my mother?” he asked, glancing about.
Niall grimaced. “Why ask me?”
“Because you know everything that happens in this camp,” Aiden pointed out.
“I’ve given my oath to protect all who dwell here,” Niall said, with a short nod. “But that doesn’t include putting myself in range of Lady Elisaid’s venomous barbs.”
Aiden’s mother had a longstanding grievance with Niall—he was the baseborn son of her husband, brought by him to live under her roof.
Aiden’s father had also praised Niall’s prowess as a warrior to her face several times while implying that her son was a weak-willed incompetent.
Untrue, of course, but Aiden’s father believed that strong competition would make both his sons better men.
But Niall’s troubles with Lady Elisaid would never interfere with his duty. Aiden was confident he kept tabs on his mother . . . if only to know where not to wander.
“Where is she?” he asked again.
“Down by the burn with Master Tam.”
* * *
Aiden left the camp enclosure, descended the rocky slope, and crossed the rock-studded field to the edge of the burn, wet snow accumulating on the toes of his boots.
His mother was enjoying a leisurely stroll in the late-afternoon sunshine.
Refusing to give up any of the amenities of her station, despite their current outlawed state, she insisted on a full entourage as she walked about—Master Tam held her arm and engaged her in conversation, two maids followed behind carrying the hem of her cloak, and two young pages brought up the rear, carting a flagon of wine and some refreshments.
“Aiden,” his mother exclaimed with a smile. “You’ve returned. Have you secured the ownership of Dunstoras? May we now return to our rightful place?”
He took her proffered hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Nay. We are still outlaws.”
She pouted. “This abode is unacceptable. Your father built me a stone castle; I expect no less of you.”
“You waited years for that stone castle,” he reminded her. “You must be equally patient now. How do we fare for stores and supplies? Are we running short?”
“Why ask me?” His mother waved a hand. “The seneschal is taking care of those details.”
Aiden frowned. “The seneschal died during the siege, Mother. You were going to appoint a new one. Have you done that?”
“No,” she said, “Nor will I, not until we are settled once more in the castle. When can we return?”
“Perhaps never,” he told her honestly. “Manage this camp like it is our true holding. If we are to survive the remains of winter, we must carefully oversee the distribution of our supplies.”
A melancholy look stole across her face, and she sighed heavily. “I miss your father.”
“You must make the best of the current situation.”
“Nonsense. If I settle for what we currently have, there’s no incentive for you to produce better. You are the chief. Reclaim our castle.”
He loved his mother dearly, but she either did not understand how dire the situation was, or she purposely chose not to acknowledge it.
He was an outlaw with a price on his head.
If he were caught, his head would be publicly displayed on a pike in front of the very castle she wanted him to reclaim.
His priority had to be clearing their name. And keeping his people alive.
“My plans are my own,” he told her brusquely. “Do not presume to make them for me. I will see you anon.”
He nodded sharply to Master Tam and left the stream. By God, women were difficult. His life would be a good sight less complicated without them.
* * *
When Isabail was satisfied her chamber was as clean as she could make it, she went in search of someone who could add to her comforts. A pillow or two, a small chest, and a brazier. Surely that was not too much to ask.
“Where is the seneschal?” she asked Beathag, who stood next to the cook, peering into a huge iron cauldron.
“There is no seneschal,” the big woman said without looking up. She scooped several handfuls of dried peas from the bowl in which they were soaking and tossed them into the pot. The cook stirred.
“Who is in charge of the stores, then?”
Beathag thought for a moment, her head cocked to one side, her finger tapping her chin. “Lady Elisaid, I suppose.”
“The chief’s wife?”