The sun hadn’t begun to nudge the half-moon from the sky when Keila walked out into the night, carrying a basket filled with loaves of brown bread. The loaves would be two days old by the time they sold, but Keila had learned that many people had little to eat and bread filled many a growling belly.
In all the places she’d lived as a child, she’d never suffered the pain of a pinching belly, but she’d seen hollow-cheeked children of similar years to her, clinging to their mother’s tattered skirts, their watery eyes peeking at her. At the end of market day, the loaves they hadn’t sold were left for those who had no coin to buy them or had naught to trade.
The single stable door opened with a creaking groan loud enough to wake the creatures in the small cluster of pines nearby. She stepped inside to the feel of warm, still air and the smell of horse and hay. Keila lowered her burden to the earthen floor, and by the moonlight filtering in through the open door, she found the flint and lantern and struck a flame.
As she lifted the lantern high, the stable came alive, splashing the cluttered shelves, bowed with their burdens on one wall and the partially loaded cart with a pale muted light. A soft whinny, quickly followed by another, let her know that Mist and Nettle were awaiting her. Her smile slipped at the thought of Mac’s wild horse waiting too.
Keila placed the lantern on the highest shelf, left bare for such a purpose, and lifting her basket, headed further into the stable. She reached the end of the cart and added the basket of loaves to the goods Rory and Mac had loaded the day before. She retrieved the three carrots she’d placed in the basket and then turned and walked toward the double doors at the far end, stopping when she reached the stall Mist and Nettle shared.
‘Rory will be here soon to see us off.’ He always saw them on their way before market. Well, when he remembered. She fed them a carrot each, and withholding the last, turned to peer into the furthest stall. The last empty stall. Where was Demon?
She hurried to the front of his stall and found the gate closed and latched. She turned about and searched the dimly lit stable, but found no sign of the wild beast. Keila placed the treat on top of the barrier’s wall and strode to the double doors. With practiced ease, she raised the wooden beam braced across both doors and set it aside before pushing the doors wide.
The night’s cool breath once again washed over her face and neck. She welcomed the feel of it as she scanned the moonlit surroundings for any sign of Demon. She saw none. Her heartbeat quickened. Now she wished she had looked in to see if Mac was awake before she’d ventured outside. If he was still here.
Had Mac fetched his horse and ridden away sometime during the night? Had he been offended by her refusal to patch him up again and he’d simply left? Or now he knew where he needed to go for answers, he’d upped and gone without saying goodbye?
Keila had experienced many partings during her early years and shed more than a well full of young tears as she’d farewelled numerous relatives she’d gotten to know and grown to care for in the two years she’d spent with each of them. They’d then packed her off to live with the next. Aunt Mae and Uncle Nab, Aunt Cora and Uncle Seumas, Aunt Beitiris and Uncle Ennis and lastly Aunt Fiona and Uncle Tomas. And though she dreaded saying goodbye to anyone, she’d forced herself to suffer through them for she’d learned they were a part of life.
There were only two occasions when she hadn’t said goodbye and both were out of her control. How could she have farewelled her father when he’d died from the ague before she was born? And lastly, Keila had drawn only a few breaths of her new life when her mother had died, holding her daughter but once.
Pain pricked her heart for the mother she never knew and for the children of her own she’d never have. Keila turned her empty gaze to the bend in the River Livet where they collected water, and a slight movement from within the small cluster of pines had her blinking the moisture that had suddenly gathered from her eyes.
The unmistakeable shape of a man broke apart from the last tree and stopped in front of a horse. The beast’s head lowered as the man’s hand stroked its neck and nose and before she could stop herself, Keila added the gift of taming wild beasts to Mac’s growing list of traits. He hadn’t gone. She held still, and through shining eyes watched the touching scene for a moment more.
Did Mac have a home? Was someone looking for him? Missing him? Was there something he should be doing? All questions she had no answers for and neither did he. But he hadn’t left yet and was still likely planning to travel with them to Mortlach. As concerning as that was, at least she’d have the chance to say goodbye.
The distinct sound of someone clearing their throat startled her. She turned and found Moira standing close behind, her all-seeing gaze upon her.
‘Is all well, lass?’
‘Aye.’ She glanced at the woman who knew her better than anyone else. ‘I was just enjoying the last of the night and watching out for Rory.’
‘Mmm! And do you think he’ll be sailing down the Livet to get here?’
‘Of course not,’ Keila said, knowing the older woman was wise to exactly where her gaze had been fixed. ‘But with Rory, we never really know.’ Her lips trembled into a small smile borne of relief that Mac hadn’t gone, Moira’s wisdom and the image of Rory sailing toward them.
‘True, lass. True. But this time he won’t be keeping us guessing.’ Moira nodded at something behind Keila.
She turned and could just make out Rory’s outline among the rest of the dark’s shadows. He’d come to help load any final goods onto the cart before promising to watch over Drummin House. Keila wasn’t sure what he could do to protect her precious home, but Rory liked knowing he put her mind at ease while she was away.
As Rory drew closer, she could see his half-filled sack tossed over one shoulder and knew it contained the baskets Netti made from heather twigs and the reeds Rory collected from the river. Keila sold them at market and used the coin to buy any goods the couple needed, like honey for the delicious gingerbread treats Netti made for them to eat on the journey. But it was the random glint of moonlight on something else he carried that had Keila straining forward to see more clearly.
‘Have ye lasses naught better to do than watch a fine figure of a man going about his business?’
‘If I see a fine figure of a man anywhere in these parts I’ll be sure to let you know,’ Moira said. ‘It’s nae you we’re interested in, but what you’re carrying.’
Keila always enjoyed their witty exchanges, but in this instance her curiosity far outweighed her pleasure. ‘What is it, Rory?’
He stepped into the barely there circle of light thrown by the lantern on the shelf, and releasing an exhausted sigh, lowered his sack to the ground. ‘I thought this might be useful on yer journey to market.’ He unravelled the cloth and revealed a long sword of steel. ‘Such a beauty.’
The awe in Rory’s voice only increased Keila’s as she stared at the length of steel.
‘Where in Saint Morluag’s mercy did you find such a weapon?’ Moira said.
‘It was tied to the lad’s horse when I found him.’ Rory held it by the hilt and rested the point on the ground. ‘’Tis a heavy beast.’ The walk from his cottage and his burdens had taken their toll.
‘It’s Mac’s sword?’ Moira asked.
‘Aye,’ he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and drew a much-needed breath. ‘The lad had nae use for it when I found him or while he was sleeping.’ He studied the weapon with clear admiration. ‘I sharpened and polished the blade. Such a beauty.’
‘And now that he’s awake, what do you plan to do with it?’ Keila said, glancing toward the clump of trees by the river.
‘I’ll leave it with ye to decide when the lad should have it back, lass.’ He hefted the sword and rewrapped it in the cloth. ‘But for now, I’ll leave it here.’ Rory walked into the stable, and keeping the pointy end to the ground, he settled the hilt to lean against the wall opposite the stalls.
Keila had heard tales of attacks and ambushes suffered by others on the way to market, where all the traveller’s goods were stolen. Thus far, they’d made each trip to market without incident and she hoped this trip wouldn’t prove to be any different.
Between her and Moira, their only weapons were the daggers they each carried on their person. Whether they had simply been fortunate in their travels or whether Leith’s paid for protection extended from Drummin to Mortlach, Keila didn’t know. She was just relieved they all arrived safely in time to sell their goods.
But with Mac’s recent attack in mind and not knowing who was responsible, she wondered if his attackers knew he was here and were waiting for him to leave Drummin to finish what they’d started.
‘The sword won’t help any of us if we don’t get this cart loaded and leave,’ Moira said.
‘If you can hitch up the horses, Rory, and if you can bring out the last of the loaves, Moira, I’ll return Mac’s sword to him and then we can leave.’
‘You’re returning his weapon, even though we don’t know what happened to him or what he might have done?’
‘Even then, Moira.’ She looked at her friend. ‘He’s had plenty of time to harm us if that was his intention, but I don’t believe it is. He should be able to defend himself with his own weapon, should he need to.’
‘Aye, lass,’ Rory said, nodding in agreement. ‘But where is Mac?’
Keila turned and looked toward the trees. ‘He’s coming now.’
Rory and Moira both turned about and watched him approach too. But as he drew near, his horse following close behind, Moira said, ‘Have a care, Keila. I’ll fetch the loaves.’
‘Aye,’ Rory said. ‘And I’ll hitch the horses to the cart.’
Both left to see to their tasks, leaving Keila to wait for Mac. Several feet before he reached the stable’s entrance, he turned and touched his horse’s long black nose and Demon stopped while his master continued toward her. The frail light from the lantern glistened on the generous amount of salve he’d applied to his stitches. Keila silently admitted she’d been concerned at not continuing to care for the wounds. Infection could be deadly. She was simply pleased he’d done as she’d asked and applied it himself.
He halted before her but glanced to where Moira had disappeared outside and then to the stall where Rory was fitting the leathers to her grey mare, Mist. His blue eyes finally settled on her. ‘You’re all up early. Have I missed something?’
‘We always rise and leave early when travelling to market.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘Did you think we were planning to go to Mortlach without you?’
‘The thought may have crossed my mind.’
As it had crossed hers. ‘Yet when I found Demon’s stall empty, I thought it was you who’d gone.’
‘It would be poor manners to leave without a word of goodbye.’
‘Aye, it would.’ She’d seen proof of his good manners numerous times. ‘I have something for you.’ She turned and walked to where Rory had leaned the cloth-bound weapon against the inside wall. Keeping the point resting on the ground, she closed both hands about the hilt and pulled the heavy blade away from the wall. When she was certain she could hold it in place without dropping it, she unravelled the cloth and looked at Mac. ‘I believe this is yours.’
Even in the weak light thrown from the lantern, Mac’s surprise at seeing his sword was obvious. ‘My sword.’ He glanced at her. ‘You found it.’ The question of where and how rang clearly in his tone as he stepped closer and reached for his weapon. Keila released her hold as he grasped the hidebound handle, their fingers almost touching in the exchange. He stared at his sword and her gaze lingered on him as a small part of her foolishly wished she’d been slower to remove her hand. But Mac’s frown told her his thoughts were fixed on other things.
‘Rory brought it with him this morn. He said it was secured to your horse when he found Demon standing over you near my front door.’
Mac’s gaze finally focused on her and he slowly nodded. ‘Then I will thank him for returning it to me.’ He hefted the blade with ease, and after one lingering look at the weapon from hilt to point, he slid it between the thick leather belt and the plaid he wore about his waist.
***
Adair turned to the east to view the bright orange, red and yellow hues splashing over the horizon. Pain pinched his ribs on his right side, but dawn’s beauty, along with the pain, reminded him he was alive and should be thankful.
His thoughts of late had darkened to match the surrounding night when they’d left Rory to guard Drummin House. Not even the prospect of visiting Mortlach Inn had brightened his mood. This feeling of melancholy was new to him and he wondered at its presence. It was a trait more suited to Callum or even Duff, but never Dair. He always managed to face any happenstance with a jest or a wager to lift his spirits, as well as those around him.
He had his horse beneath him and now, thanks to Rory, his sword was sheathed at his waist. How his weapon had been moved from his person to his horse and who had done the moving was a black void in his mind. He was heading to a place that might reveal the answers to so many questions regarding the attack, but he worried he wouldn’t like some of the outcomes.
The women he travelled with seemed to be good, honest people. At least, that’s what he wanted them to be. They had after all, taken him, a stranger into their home and cared for him and his wounds. Even when he’d had no idea they were doing so. But what if they weren’t good and honest and were in fact involved in his attack?
Just because they were women didn’t mean they couldn’t do wrong. Dair well remembered the mistrust his laird Lachlan had suffered when he’d found his new bride, Kenzie, sneaking out of Redheugh Castle to meet with someone at a nearby cottage. He’d loathed asking Duff and Cal and Dair to follow her and discover what she was up to, but the not knowing had been worse.
Keila’s beauty didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of doing evil either. Kenzie’s sister Jeanne was one of the most beautiful women Dair had ever seen, but her treachery had almost cost Lachlan and Kenzie their marriage and their happiness.
And Dair’s memory of his beautiful, brown-haired, blue-eyed mother was as clear to him now as the Highlands’ fast-running stream they’d crossed at dawn’s first light. Yet she’d abandoned her four-year-old son.
And then there was Keila’s dark-eyed visitor. Dair still hadn’t broached the matter of seeing them together and Keila hadn’t mentioned her caller. But Dair wouldn’t forget the man’s lecherous stare or the way he invaded her space as if it was his right.
Dair glanced down and found his hand tightly clenched about his sword’s hilt. Whether it was the man’s right or not, Dair didn’t have to like it, or the man. And though he still struggled to believe Keila and Moira had played and were still playing a part in his attack, having been caught unawares once he wasn’t ready to trust them or anyone completely yet. But then, the thought that he wasn’t being totally honest with these women may well be the cause of his recent dissatisfaction.
Dair turned from the sunrise and scanned their surroundings before he cast his gaze over the loaded cart that travelled on his left and slightly ahead of where he rode. His right side niggled at the sight of the ale casks he and Rory had lifted onto the cart and then slid neatly into place. Dair had never met someone like Rory. He found his forgetfulness to be frustrating at times, his ready wit amusing and his efforts to impress Dair with his ebbing strength a little sad. Adair liked Rory.
But the older man’s struggle to carry out simple tasks requiring strength reminded Adair that although he’d been injured, he needed to rebuild the physical power he’d lost. Riding Demon now was a start and the small twinges of pain weren’t hard to ignore. Being back in the saddle also gave him a sense of freedom he hadn’t realised he’d missed. Having his sword back also helped restore his confidence in defending himself and those he travelled with.
His next breath was long and tasted of clean Highland air that carried the scent of pine and damp foliage from the woodland forest in the distance to his right and mingled with the sweet smell of wildflowers left crushed beneath the wheels of the cart.
Keila sat on the cart’s bench seat to the right, her slender back straight, her fingers holding the reins loosely, proving she was at ease being in control of the cart. Moira sat to her left, chin high, back stiff and looking as regal as any queen Dair could imagine.
The older woman made him think of his first days at Redheugh Castle after he’d been found in the long grasses outside the curtain wall, watching a group of lads fiercely fighting one another with their wooden swords. Until they’d been discovered and ushered back inside the castle walls by a man who dragged him by the scruff of his neck, mistakenly thinking Dair was one of them.
When he’d realised his error, thanks to the other lads all querying who he was, he’d then been taken before an older woman who had stripped the filthy garments from his form and scrubbed away the dirt that had managed to sneak under his clothes, while constantly commanding him to cease his whining. His skin had glowed red for two full days.
The memory made him think of his home in the Borders and all those within. He fervently hoped that when he returned, he’d have news that would make them proud they’d taken him in as one of their own.
The women’s heads drew closer; one more silver than it had been years before, when a dark brown hue had reigned, the other a mass of fiery-red locks contained in a thick braid that fell forward over her shoulder. They were both interesting women; so different in age and manner yet it was obvious they cared for one another. Just as they cared for Rory, and he them.
The sentiment reminded him of himself and his two closest friends, Duff and Cal. All so different but each of them knew without doubt that they’d all do anything to protect the others. Had his friends found out who they were and where they came from? Dair settled back in his saddle, fervently hoping they had. A massive golden eagle soared across the morning sky, momentarily darkening the sun’s light with a wingspan that rivalled Adair’s full height. The bird of prey then dived low behind a mountain that sloped down into the next glen.
Dair made another sweeping scan of the lay of the land, ensuring the path they travelled was free of danger. At the same time, he hoped that something, a copse of alders or cluster of craggy rocks jutting out of the grass-covered glen, would snare his attention and jolt his memory telling him he’d ridden this path before. But none of the landscape or foliage he rode through looked familiar. Was he wasting precious time heading to Mortlach? If only he’d asked Morag where he was when he’d won her smile.
His year of leave from his duties to Lachlan Elliot and his clan were coming to an end. The attack may not have been a robbery, but it and the reason behind it were robbing him of the time he had left to discover his origins. He couldn’t let the matter rest until he’d exhausted all clues as to why he was beaten in the first place. And while he searched for answers, the thought of never knowing who he was silently ate away at his soul, threatening to leave naught behind but a vague memory of a man, abandoned by his mother as a lad, a man who wasn’t important, a man who didn’t matter, for he was no one special and not worth remembering.
As the sun neared the halfway journey to its peak, Keila lifted one hand calling for his attention. Once again lost in this unfamiliar melancholy and grateful for the interruption, Adair guided Demon up beside the cart.
‘We will stop for a short time in our usual place, by the stand of rowans.’
Dair looked in the direction she indicated, and when he spied the clump of trees beside the burn he steered Demon toward them. As much as he enjoyed his time in the saddle, his stiff and bruised muscles welcomed the shift in position from sitting to standing, and he also welcomed the distraction from his troubling thoughts.
He dropped his mount’s reins and stretched to ease the tightness in his joints. Something he’d never suffered before, as riding Castle Redheugh’s lands were part of the duties he performed every day. He strode toward the cart and was close enough to hear the relieved sigh that spilled from Keila’s lips as she released the reins.
Dair turned his attention to Moira and offered his assistance to alight from the cart. The older woman stared at his proffered hand and then looked into his eyes, before making a scoffing sound and reluctantly accepting his aid. The moment her feet touched the ground, she released his fingers and headed toward the rear of the cart.
Enchanting green eyes locked on him momentarily and he waited for Keila to take his hand. ‘Would you prefer I come around to the other side?’
She blinked at his query and shook her head. ’Nae.’ Her gaze then proceeded to wander over his face and Dair wondered what she thought of his battered features.
Her gaze met his. ‘Nae at all. I was ensuring your wounds are healing and the stitches are holding, despite your travels.’ She lifted her chin and again she searched his face, as if what she saw was fascinating and she found it difficult to look away. ‘The swelling is all but gone and the bruising … well, the colours are rather amazing. Have you not seen your face since the attack?’ Her eyes focused on his.
‘It has been many years since I looked at my face.’
She stared at him a long moment, as if he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. Her red-gold lashes dropped momentarily and hid her mesmerising eyes as her cool fingers rested in his wide palm. Her whole hand looked so small compared to his. Dair enveloped her long, slender fingers, enjoying the feel of holding them, and stepped back enough to allow Keila room to alight from the cart.
‘My thanks,’ she said as soon as she touched the ground, and with a direct look she lifted her fingers free and walked around him and to the rear of the cart, where she retrieved a small basket.
Keila glanced over at him and a rosy hue suddenly swept her cheeks. It was then he realised he was still standing in the same place, staring at her. He hadn’t been ready to let go of her yet. He looked away. ‘I’ll unhitch the horses and take them to the burn for a drink.’
He led the carthorses a little further downstream to a clump of alders positioned where the bank sloped downward closer to the water, wondering what in God’s name was wrong with him. Using the leathers, Dair tethered both mares to the alder branches, ensuring they could reach the flowing burn to drink. He then strode to where Demon had stopped to stare at the mares. It appeared he and his mount were suffering the same melancholy.
‘I suggest you find a place on the opposite side of the trees, lad.’ He stroked a hand down Demon’s nose and gathered the reins. Three strides took Dair to other side of the alders and he dropped the leathers. With a final pat of reassurance, and a silent command to stay, Dair left his horse and headed to where Moira had spread a woollen blanket on the grass beneath the rowan trees.
Keila looked up as he approached.
‘Come and eat,’ she said, indicating the place at one corner of the blanket with her hand. ‘We’re nae stopping for long.’
Dair settled and watched both women complete their tasks as if they’d done so a thousand times before. ‘If you’re concerned about striking trouble while stopping here, perhaps you should find a different place to rest.’
Keila tore a brown loaf in two and frowned at him. ‘Our haste has naught to do with trouble, but rather to reach Mortlach before dark. We stop here every time we travel to market and have never struck even a hint of mischief.’ She handed him a half loaf. ‘We’ll eat better tonight, once we’ve reached the inn.’
He accepted the bread. ‘How often do you go to market?’
‘Every fourth Sunday,’ she said and passed him a wedge of cheese.
Dair took the offering and glanced at each woman as they ate their victuals. He tore off a chunk of bread and slowly chewed and listened as a lark sang a melodious tune from deeper within the cluster of rowans, filling the fresh, midmorning air with its sweet song. Every now and again, as the singing paused, the faint sound of the gurgling burn tripping over moss-covered stones and fallen tree limbs, took its place. A light breeze ruffled the long, golden grasses covering the majority of the wide-open heath, where the heather was yet to bloom, and alders did not grow.
Here they sat, beneath the yellow berries of the rowan, in full view for anyone and everyone to see. Dair looked back at the two women and marvelled at their lack of concern. ‘You follow the same path and stop at the same place each time you travel to market, yet have never found yourselves in any danger?’
‘Likely because we go about our business and do not seek trouble.’
Accusation coloured Moira’s tone and glinted in her brown eyes. The older woman really believed he had done something to deserve the beating he’d been given.
‘People recognise us and know what we’re about,’ Keila said into the prickling silence. Her gaze touched on Moira and then settled on him. ‘People do not know you. Until you remember your name and where you are from, you are a stranger here.’
He was a stranger here and to the Highlands, but not once since he’d left the Borders at summers end the year before had he struck any trouble. Wariness, for certain, and rightly so. But never in his life had he been attacked for no apparent reason.
‘Then I can only hope I find some answers at Mortlach’s inn.’ Once he saw the inn, he’d be able to determine whether it was the last place he’d visited before he’d been attacked.
Adair looked to where Demon stood alert by the bank of the burn. The attack wasn’t a robbery, for he still had his horse, the coin he’d carried as well as his sword. The further they travelled, the more certain he was that whoever was responsible for his beating had then left him on the doorstep to Drummin House. But why?
‘If we’re to reach Mortlach before dark, we’d best leave now,’ Keila said, offering Dair the skin of ale she and Moira had both drank from.
Dair took a swig and returned the skin as Keila rose to her feet. ‘Where do you spend the night?’ He stood as the women began packing away the blanket and foodstuffs.
‘At Mortlach Inn.’