Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
With a skip in her step, Cora rushed out of the lord's chamber, humming as she carried Elspeth's dirty gown over her arm. What a sweet, sweet lass! Already, she approved of her lord's choice of lady, and she wanted to surprise the girl with a clean gown. How refreshing she was! How plainly spoken! How delightful and lovely!
But she was so distracted, and in such a hurry, she started at the sight that greeted her as she hurried out of the lord's chamber—a man, sweat-soaked and feverish, clawing his way down the corridor—and she froze, realizing only belatedly who it was. "Daw! Good heavens. What're ye doing oot of bed?"
There was a febrile gleam in the man's gaze that Cora had never seen before. "I'm looking for the lady of Aldergh."
"Odsbodikins, lad! Ye ought to be keeping your bed. Ye look like the devil! And, anyhoo, what would ye be wanting with our lady?" She waved him away impatiently. "Off wi' ye, and get well. There'll be plenty o' time for everything later." He took a step toward her, with bloodshot eyes and it made Cora nervous just to see him. She took a wary step backward.
"Don't matter any to ye," he barked. "I need to speak w' the lady, so tell me where's she gone."
There was something about him Cora didn't like. He wasn't acting like his old self. Ever since he'd returned two nights past, burning up with fever, he'd been raving like a lunatic about things she didn't understand. "I-I don't know," she said, and he took another threatening step toward her. Cora frowned. "Last I seen her, boy… she was running to the stables." In a far less sure tone of voice, she chastised, "But you'd best not be bothering her now. She's too busy and?—"
Like a rabid wolf, Daw lunged at her, shoving her back against the wall. She heard the sound of her own head cracking as she fell.
Confusedby Elspeth's actions in the hall, Malcom had let her go. He said goodbye to his cousin and gave Wee Davie a bear hug, sorry to see the boy go. And then, once the trio departed the hall, he climbed the stairs to search for his wife, saddened by the turn of events.
He had a long history of conflict with the boy's father, but he had grown to love Wee Davie, and he wasn't all that certain he'd be seeing the child again—not any time soon.
God's truth, life had grown so very complicated, and if, in fact, David advanced upon York, Stephen would call Malcom to war yet again. And this time, he was certain to face all his kinsmen, not merely his father. That realization soured his stomach, even more than the wine they'd used for his toast this morning, and the news sat rancid in his belly.
How had things grown so complicated in a matter of such a short time?
Not that he regretted it, but from the instant he'd made the decision to intervene with Elspeth, he'd possibly sealed his fate with Stephen. Now, to make matters worse, hostilities gnawed at him from all directions.
If Stephen didn't demand Elspeth's return, Malcom would be honor-bound to face his kinsmen across a battlefield.
If he did demand her return and Malcom refused, he should be prepared to stand alone. Already, in so many ways, he was a man without a country. But he didn't regret it, and given the same circumstances again, he'd doubtless make the same decisions. As he'd known the day he'd spirited Elspeth away from Wales, he would die to protect her, and knew down in his gut that he possibly might well do that.
Step by step, shouldering his burdens, he climbed the tower to his chamber, feeling a certain calm before the storm.
Alas, whatever resignation or composure he'd mustered over the inevitability of his decisions, it vanished the instant he spied Cora sprawled over the floor, her arm twisted impossibly and tangled over Elspeth's blue dress. His gut turned violently.
"Elspeth!" he shouted, as he rushed to Cora's aid, straightening the woman gently, and pulling Elspeth's dress out from beneath her. It was stained with blood—but whose? "Elspeth!" he shouted again, but there wasn't any answer, and he knew intuitively she wasn't in their bower. "Alwin!" he roared, calling for his steward. "Alwin!"
Cameron,Wee Davie and Caden were mounted and ready to depart when Elspeth found her way to the stable. With his son seated before him in the saddle, Malcom's cousin lifted the reins.
"Wait!" Elspeth cried, and with no small amount of guilt, she rushed over to hand her letter to Cameron, begging him to deliver the missive to David. "Please," she begged.
Cameron crushed his brows together. "Ach, lass, does your husband ken what ye've asked me to do?"
Elspeth shook her head, and for a terrifying instant, she feared he might refuse it.
He glanced at Caden and the two men shared a discerning glance, though perhaps his loyalty to his king overruled his loyalty to his kin. With some hesitation, he took Elspeth's letter, and said, "I trust whatever is written herein serves both my cousin and my king?"
Elspeth nodded, praying that her husband would see it so as well. She understood very well that she was undermining him, scheming behind his back.
He smiled ruefully. "Very well," he said, reaching back to drop the letter into his saddlebag. "Alas, my Lady Elspeth, I cannot say we'll meet again, so I must leave you with confidence that you will honor my cousin as I know he will honor you."
Elspeth's eyes watered as she clasped her hands together. "With all my heart," she promised, noting the strength of their family resemblance—the strong jaw and flaxen hair, shared by the son as well.
If there was one notable difference between them it was simply this: Cameron was older than Malcom, with deeper crow's feet clawing at the corners of his eyes. The elder man nodded sadly. "Would that we could have met under different circumstances," he said.
"Would that we could have," Elspeth agreed, hot tears stinging her eyes.
One last time, he nodded, looking as though he had something more to say, but in the end, he said nothing, and he gave his companion the command to ride.
The two men left, with Wee Davie holding his bow, peering over his shoulder.
Elspeth waved them away, watching as they made short work of the bailey, ambling out the open gate, with her letter to David in their safekeeping. Reassuring herself it was for the best, she restrained herself from going after them, and then, at last, the decision was irreversible. The gates closed with a woeful groan, and the portcullis lowered, settling at last with a definitive thud. And that was that, she decided. Whatever should come of her meddling, she would very soon know.
But what if she was wrong? What if Morwen wasn't coming after all? What if David arrived without any good reason and she forced those two men into opposition?
Or worse, what if Morwen had arrived, but David refused to come? What if he didn't remember that sad little girl who'd watched from the shadows as her grandmother was sentenced by his testimony? What if he didn't care? Or—far worse—what if her mother lay in wait close by and her message was thwarted?
And regardless, after everything was said and done, what if Malcom never forgave her?
I hope you are right, Rhiannon.
Elspeth stared at the closed gate, lost in thought, and then, remembering Merry Bells, she wandered back into the stable to check on the mare before returning to her chamber.
As surely as she loved Malcom, she had come to love that animal, as well, and it would please her immensely to be sure that Merry Bells was safe.
Much to her relief, she found her fears unfounded. Like the castel itself, the stable was well stocked, with at least twenty or thirty stalls, and most of them filled.
She found Merry Bells sequestered in the largest stall of all—as, of course, it should be, according to her station as the lord's favored mare. Pleased to see her, Elspeth opened the stall door and stepped inside, sighing contentedly to see gaze into her familiar black eyes.
"There you are," she said, smiling. "My beautiful, beautiful lady." And then she stood, petting the long black mane, thinking about the rest of her vision and what it could possibly mean. She never even heard the approaching footsteps; she was so lost in thought.
If Cora knewElspeth's whereabouts, she was in no condition to say. Malcom had a deep sense of foreboding that only intensified as he untangled Elspeth's blue gown from about the maid's arms and he felt a rush of relief when her husband finally arrived. He slid Cora into Alwin's arms, and directed him, "Put her in my bed. I'll send for the physician."
"Aye, my lord," the man said gratefully, lifting up his injured wife. He bore the maid into the lord's chamber, as Malcom rushed away, with the intent of locating his wife. He bolted down the steps, taking them two at a time, and stopped cold as an image arose in his mind—Merry Bells in the stables, her face spattered with blood. And there was Elspeth.
A sense of portent overwhelmed him—a sense so powerful he couldn't ignore it.
There were times in his life that he'd had moments of this ilk. So often he'd denied them, as most people would. It was only after meeting Elspeth that he realized these were not to be ignored. He felt it now, like a summons… and he knew it as surely as he knew… Elspeth was in danger.
She was in the stable.
With a growing knot of apprehension in his gut, he hurled himself down the tower stairs, his heart pounding like hammer and steel against his ribs. He raced through the hall, ordering one of Cora's daughters to see to the physician. He rushed from the keep, and when he burst into the stables, the sight that greeted him buckled his knees—blood, everywhere.
So much blood. Blood on the stall, blood on Merry Bells. Blood on Elspeth.