To her relief, the laird had very little interest in Mairi once she’d delivered the breakfast platter to his chambers. He was far too busy pacing, twirling the all too familiar dirk between his fingers as he did so. Candlelight flickered off the golden gilt on the hilt of the small, thin blade. She was about to quietly slip out the double door to his outer chambers when he whirled on her.
“Lass, nae so fast.” His low voice carried the threat of his anger as the thunder threatened rain.
Mairi stopped short, turning to face the laird with downcast eyes. She watched his boot-clad feet cross the distance between them.
“What exactly did ye see?” he asked, tucking one finger under her chin and lifting her head so that their eyes met. The gesture may have appeared tender if anyone was looking on, but Mairi knew better. She forced her body to relax at the pressure of his skin against hers.
“Not much, Laird,” she started. “Just a dark figure. The knife in the light of my candle. That was all.”
“His face? His hair? Give me more to work with, lass.”
She forced her fear-addled mind to repeat the evening’s events in hopes that something, anything, useful would surface. She swallowed her feelings and elaborated. “He was fast. He dinnae move like the soldiers. More like a… more like a cat, maybe?”
Ruairi’s eyes sparked. “Is that admiration for that ingrate I hear?”
“Nay. Of course not, Laird.”
Ruairi sneered, searching her eyes for… for something she couldn’t know. Assurances maybe? Mairi thought back to her talk with Ysenda. Did Ruairi believe she was in on the attack? She kept her eyes on his, refusing to look away in case the movement incriminated her. Seemingly satisfied, Ruairi dropped her chin from his fingers and turned, returning to his pacing.
“Verra well.” He finally said, twirling the dagger in his hands again. “Never mind my breakfast. Bring it to me mother, see if she wants whatever boring slop ye’ve made me this morning.” He strode to the window and looked out over the ramparts.
Mairi didn’t have to be asked twice. She scooped up her tray and retreated from the room.
Lady Alesonne’s chambers were not far from her son’s, so it didn’t take long for Mairi to traverse the west wing of the castle to reach the woman’s doorway. Balancing the tray of food in one hand, she used the other to knock gently against the thick wood of the door. She rapped three times in succession and then waited for a response.
A crack in the door opened, allowing Mairi to only see a sliver of the woman’s face and mouth beyond. “Aye? Who is it?” she asked, her voice soft and doubtful.
“Mairi, milady. With breakfast. May I come in?” Mairi tried to sound kind and comforting, all the while hoping she didn’t sound patronizing.
“Och, yes. Mairi.” The laird’s mother opened the door the rest of the way, half hiding her body behind it as she stepped backward. “Come in.”
The chamber was large and contained a huge hearth on one side that was currently smoldering, the glowing embers dancing faintly against the ashen wood pile. There was a bed at the far end of the room from the door and a small table and pair of chairs near the front of the room. Mairi immediately went for the table, placing the tray of breakfast foods upon it.
“What is this?” The older woman’s voice was suspicious, her demeanor timid as a mouse. Mairi might have thought she’d brought a tray of healer’s tools or knives rather than a cheery platter of foods if she were to go off Lady Alesonne’s reaction to its presence.
“Breakfast, milady,” Mairi said. “A gift from yer son.”
“Me… son.” The woman’s gaunt face went white, and she nodded, stepping away from the door she’d been holding between them like a shield. She moved to the table, and Mairi pulled out a chair for her. She sat primly, her back straight with proper posture. It wasn’t until she was settled into her chair that Lady Alesonne looked up and locked eyes with Mairi. Her grey irises were dull. One might even say lifeless if not for her movements.
Mairi saw herself then, reflected in the woman’s eyes. Would this be what she would become? A woman so broken and sad if she stayed on with Ruairi as the woman had done with her late husband, his father? It was not a fate she envied.
“Will that be all?” Lady Alesonne said in a small voice as she looked down at the platter without any joy or real interest.
“Aye, milady.” Mairi stepped back from the table, tilting her head in the smallest nod of respect.
When no response came, Mairi stepped out of the chambers and shut the door behind her. She patted the pocket of her apron. She still had a small hunk of bread, a few slices of ham, and an apple tucked away there, not for herself but for Euan. The way that she’d been dismissed by Ruairi, he wouldn’t have need of her for some time. Likely not until dinner, when he’d want her at his side as he presided over the dining hall in the main audience chamber. A wiser man might cancel such a show out of an abundance of caution, but Ruairi wasn’t known for his wisdom. Bravado, more likely.
Ysenda might insist Mairi do something contrite and lady-like—or help in the kitchens to keep her hands busy—but she’d have to find Mairi first to enact such an order. No, Mairi had a precious few minutes to herself, and that meant she could pay the prisoner down below the keep a visit. It would be good to see a familiar face, and she certainly couldn’t let good food go to waste.
The castle was the most complex building Mairi had ever seen, let alone lived in. In addition to outer and inner wards, each with their high walls and guarded ramparts, the very front of the castle was secured by a stout, formidable keep flanked by two tall towers.
The keep contained the structure’s great hall, a cavernous space Ruairi used to greet guests, entertain, and host his lavish evening meals for the inhabitants of the fortress throughout the week. Once a month, it served as an audience chamber for his tenants to bring forward disputes during the day and an even grander feast in the evenings for those who lived under his rule. Such a display of power was to be held this evening, and as Mairi made her way to the front of the keep, it was clear plans would continue unchanged.
Servants and other house workers were already arranging the great hall for the meal, lining up long tables perpendicular to the large throne-like chair Ruairi would sit upon as he resided over the festivities. A smaller chair for his mother sat at his right hand, and a stool had been placed at the left side.
Mairi eyed the stool distastefully. It looked plush but sitting on it for too long was pure torture, requiring her to sit straight-backed before, after, and during the meal. It was an insulting choice, and Ruairi knew it. When Mairi had first arrived at the castle, she’d made the mistake of asking Ysenda for a real chair. At the time, she was naive to what her life would be like here, but she learned quickly. After being scolded for wishing to alter tradition and the preferences of the laird, she was forced to stand during meals for the next week. She could still remember the hard stone beneath the thin leather of her slippers for hours on end. When the stool reappeared a week later, Mairi knew better than to ask for a chair again.
Paying no heed to the servants busy around her, Mairi headed straight to the eastern tower of the keep. The doorway was open, leading to a staircase that extended in two directions—upward to the guard posts at the top of the tower and downward into the bowels of the keep. Mairi’s destination was to the latter, so she made her way down the spiraling stairs to the floor below. As usual, the lower door was barred, and a tall, broad-shouldered guard stood at attention in front of it.
“Hello, Sir John,” Mairi said quietly.
“Lady Mairi,” the young man nodded in greeting, his stern expression downplayed by the unruly mop of red hair on his head that betrayed his age.
“May I see the prisoner?” Mairi asked, pulling out the apple from her apron pocket.
Sir John eyed the fresh red apple. It was one of the good ones selected for the laird’s plate, not one of the mealy, older apples usually served to the rest of the household. Knights typically ate better than the rest of the keep, but John was new to the position. He appreciated the quality of a good piece of fruit when he saw it. He shifted on his feet.
“I donnae ken, Mairi. Security is tighter today, for good reason. I’m nae sure I should take any chances.”
Mairi lifted her downcast gaze and met Sir John’s eyes. His irises were a swirl of hazel color in the flickering torchlight that illuminated the small vestibule of the staircase. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Who kens if anyone will come to see him today with everything going on?”
Sir John sighed, then put his hand out. Mairi placed the apple into his palm.
“Thank ye,” she said in earnest as he stepped to the side and pocketed the apple for later.
He pulled a huge ring of iron keys from his belt and inserted one into the large lock that hung from the basement door. There was a click, and he pushed the door open, allowing her inside. “Be quick. I dinnae ken ye’ll be interrupted, but we’d catch hell if ye are.”
“Aye, I will.” Mairi slipped into the lower rooms, lit a candle from the table by the door, and made her way to the small cell wrapped in iron bars. At the very least, someone she loved would eat today.