Highland Destiny (12 page)

“Then I suggest ye cease berating me for crimes I havenae committed and seek out the true traitor.”

“As ye wish. Ye will be confined to your chambers, allowed only to go and tend to Nigel.”

“Are ye sure ye wish one of Beaton’s dogs to touch your fair brother?”

“Ye have had ample opportunity to do the mon harm and havenae. Also, Nigel may not be strong enough yet to ride to battle, but he is certainly strong enough to defend himself against a wee lass. Mayhap some time alone will make ye see that this isnae the time to hide behind your pride. Surely a little truth isnae too much to pay for your freedom.”

He left the room, barring the door from the outside. He was saddened, angered, and confused by the confrontation. At first Maldie had looked stricken to the heart, then she had grown furious. That seemed to indicate that she was innocent, that she was being falsely accused. Yet, she offered no defense other than denial.

“Is it done?” asked James, moving to stand by Balfour.

“Aye.” He nodded at the man James had brought to guard Maldie’s door and started toward the great hall, James at his side.

“I dinnae suppose she confessed and begged forgiveness.”

“Oh, nay, Maldie wouldnae have done that even if she was guilty.”

“Ye still dinnae think she is?”

“I dinnae ken what I think. The way she reacted to the accusation was the way an innocent person would, but she could just be skilled at playing a part. Yet, she offered no defense except to say she was innocent. I asked for some information, something she could tell me about herself that we could verify and she told me to go and look for it by myself.” As they entered the great hall, he caught a fleeting look of amusement on James’s lined face and scowled. “Ye think that is funny?”

“Aye, I fear I do.” James shook his head as they sat down at the head of the largest table and poured themselves some wine. “In truth, it makes me think she may be innocent. Aye, or far more clever than we are.”

“I have just accused my lover of a heinous crime, of sending a mon to a gruesome death, and now ye say she may be innocent?”

“I have always thought she might be, have ne’er found anything to show her guilt. Howbeit, ye would ne’er have acted against her if I had told ye that. I am nay so old that I cannae be swayed by a bonny lass with green eyes, but I am nay blinded by the beauty of them either. One of us had to harden his heart and look at all the possibilities.”

Balfour cursed and stretched, trying unsuccessfully to ease the tension in his body. “She will ne’er forgive me for this.”

“If she doesnae care enough for ye to see that ye do what ye must, then ye wouldnae have held her verra long anyway. ’Tis odd that she would still tell ye nothing about herself. I fear one must ask what the lass is trying to hide.”

“Aye. She does have a lot of secrets, and we can no longer let her roam free hoping those secrets arenae ones that could hurt us. I ken that I have done what I had to do. I just wish that doing the right thing felt better.”

Maldie stared at the locked door for several moments before she could make herself move. She staggered to the bed and threw herself on it, staring blindly up at the ceiling. So many emotions tore through her that she found it a little hard to breathe. The one thing she did not want to do was cry, but the choking lump forming in her throat told her that she would not get her wish. Softly cursing Balfour, she turned onto her stomach and gave in to her tears, letting them rule her for a while.

It took longer than she liked to gain control of her emotions again, but as her crying shuddered to a halt, Maldie decided it had served a good purpose. She was tired, but she was clearheaded. Now she could think about what had happened even though she wished she could just forget it all.

The fact that she had been accused of spying for Beaton was not what bothered her the most. She had been expecting it for a long time. It was that Balfour had accused her of it without knowing the one thing that made her look guilty—the name of her father. He had no proof that she was any more than she appeared, an orphan wandering the country seeking out her kinsmen, yet he was able to believe her capable of sending a man to a horrible death. That Balfour could even consider such a thing was a hard blow.

In a way, she mused, it was almost funny. If she was not in so much pain, she might even muster up a chuckle over the irony of it all. She was there because she wanted to kill Beaton, wanted to help Balfour and the Murrays destroy the man, yet she was being held prisoner—suspected of helping him! Somehow she had erred, had left herself vulnerable to such suspicion, but she could not see how. Balfour spoke of how secretive she was, but Maldie could not believe that was all of it. Did everyone who passed through Donncoill sit down and recite their lineage?

She cursed, got up, and poured herself some wine. There were no answers. He could not understand why she would not tell him everything about herself, and she could not understand how that reluctance could be turned around to get her accused of helping Beaton, of taking part in the death of a man. She and Balfour were never going to come to a meeting of the minds on this. He was, after all, proud of his family, his heritage. It
would probably be impossible for him to understand how someone else might just want to forget that she even had a family.

What she had to consider was how to get out of the mess she was in. She still needed to fulfill her vow to her mother, and she could not do that while confined to a bedchamber in Donncoill. Maldie ambled over to the door and tried to open it, not at all surprised to find it barred from the outside. She had heard Balfour slide the bar into place. There was undoubtedly a big, sword-wielding Murray standing out there as well. The straightforward way was definitely not the way to get free.

There was the choice of telling Balfour what he wanted to know. She could tell him a great deal without revealing who her father was. However, if he sent a man to her old home to ask about her, that truth could easily come out. Her mother had not been reticent about the man she blamed for all of her misery. Maldie was also sure that some of the townspeople would gleefully tell some tales that would not make her look like an innocent, honorable, and trustworthy person. There had been a few things she had done out of a need to survive that she was not particularly proud of. She had also made little effort to endear herself to the sometimes irritatingly pious people of town.

Simple, foolish pride kept her from telling the man anything anyway. It obviously annoyed Balfour that she still refused to answer all of his questions and, at the moment, that was a small, satisfying punishment for his accusations that she was not inclined to give up. That left her with little more to say in response to his accusations than she was innocent and he was a fool. That was not enough to get her free. She was not in fear of her life. Balfour was not a man who would hang someone simply because he thought she might be guilty of something. As he had with Grizel, he would wait until he had overwhelming proof and, since she was innocent and there was no proof to be found, she was safe.

There was really only one thing she could do and that was to get out, free Eric, and prove that she had never helped Beaton. This whole matter with Beaton had to be resolved. She realized that even as she was proving her innocence she would be revealing the whole truth about herself, a truth she was sure would send Balfour fleeing her side, but that did not matter. If he chose to hate her because her father was William Beaton, that was his weakness, but she would not sit idly by and allow him to think her a traitor to her friends and a murderer.

Maldie suddenly laughed. Her amusement was enhanced by the soft sound of movement outside her door for she knew the guard was frowning at it, wondering if she had gone mad. There was a small chance that she had. Her lover, the man she loved to desperation, thought her such a low creature that she would aid his enemy and hand a man over to the bastard to be slaughtered without a qualm, yet she knew she could come to understand why he had been forced to do it. If that was not madness, what was?
Probably deciding that the perfect solution to my difficulty is to escape, hie to Dubhlinn, and rescue Eric
, she mused and giggled again.

She was locked in a room at Donncoill, a strong keep, and well guarded. The only place she would be allowed to go to was Nigel’s room. If she did escape and it was discovered quickly, she would have half the Murray clan chasing her across the countryside. At Dubhlinn she would have to be very careful, for they would all be wary of any stranger now. As she closely watched her own back she had to find Eric, then free him. Finally she had to get herself and the boy safely out of Dubhlinn and back to
Donncoill.

“What could be simpler,” she muttered as she set her cup down and sprawled on the bed.

It was impossible and she should not even consider it, but she did. It was the only plan she had and it would require a great deal of thought. Turning her mind to such a mad adventure was far preferable to sitting alone in her room with her pain.

“What are ye plotting, Maldie Kirkcaldy?” demanded Nigel as he eased his aching body down onto the bed.

She turned from the tiny window she had been staring out of and looked at him. For three days he had been her only companion, unless she counted the silent guard who walked her across the hall. Neither of them had talked about the things she had been accused of, and they had done a good job of ignoring her imprisonment as well. They had just worked hard to improve his ability to walk again, something he was doing very well at. She had begun to think that that was his only interest. It was clear that Nigel was still keeping a close watch on her, however.

“Why should ye think I am plotting anything?” she asked as she moved to the bed and poured him a tankard of cider.

“Because my fool brother has made ye a prisoner?”

“I thought we were ignoring that wee difficulty.”

“When ye said naught the first time ye came to my room after he had committed this folly, I decided ye didnae wish to speak of it. Weel, mayhap ye dinnae, but I find it hard to ignore such an insult.”

She smiled, for he looked so outraged. It was nice to have someone who believed in her, but she knew a lot of that was because he felt he owed her his life. There was even a chance that he was so outraged and felt indebted enough that he would help her escape, but she would not ask it of him. This was her problem and she would solve it herself.

“I but wonder how long it will be ere Balfour realizes the error he has made.”

“Ye speak of it so lightly. Dinnae ye see the insult he has dealt ye?”

“Clearly. At times ’tis most difficult to look beyond it. Howbeit, when I dinnae feel like impaling him upon some spike,” she grinned when he laughed, “I can also see that he had little choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

Maldie shrugged. “Mayhap, but sometimes all of them are distasteful. Someone told Beaton that Malcolm was a Murray and that got the mon killed. Never before has a Murray mon been caught slinking about Dubhlinn. Now, either Beaton has grown very clever, which I dinnae think anyone would consider, or someone told him about Malcolm. Grizel is dead and so it couldnae have been her. So Balfour looks about trying to see what has changed at Donncoill, and what does he see? Me. I am the reasonable choice of suspect.”

“Nay, ye arenae,” Nigel snapped.

“Dinnae judge your brother too harshly,” she said. “He is the laird, responsible for all who live on his lands. That sometimes calls for hard decisions. There is also a wee bit more to it all than simply blaming the stranger for all that has gone wrong. And, to be fair to Balfour, he doesnae fully believe it all himself, but, with a battle drawing nigh he cannae chance that his trust is misplaced. He did give me the opportunity to defend myself.”

“And ye didnae?” Nigel frowned. “Why wouldnae ye?”

“I got angry. Pride reared its witless head.” She took his empty goblet from his hand and set it on the table next to the bed. “I decided my word should be good enough. He asked me questions, asked me to give him some tiny piece of information that he could send a mon to verify, thus proving my innocence. I told him that if he was so eager
to find out something he had best get busy and look for it.” She found that she was able to smile faintly when Nigel laughed.

“That pride could get ye hanged,” he warned, all signs of good humor abruptly leaving his face.

“Nay,” she said without a hint of doubt. “Not with Balfour. He needs hard proof ere he sentences anyone to death.”

“Aye, ye are right. Balfour is a merciful and just mon. ’Tis sad that he is also a fool.” He grinned when she giggled, then grew serious, watching her closely as he said, “That leaves ye but one choice. Ye must escape Donncoill.”

She was proud of how carefully she controlled her expression and her emotion, especially the quick flash of fear that her plans had been uncovered. Nigel could not possibly have guessed her plans, for they were too wild. After all, the Murrays also planned to rescue Eric and they felt they needed a whole army to do it. No one would think a wee lass would even consider trying to do it on her own. That he suspected she had cherished a few thoughts of escaping was no surprise and no threat to her.

“Of course. Fleeing would certainly prove my innocence,” she drawled.

“Ye shouldnae have to be proving your innocence, curse it.”

“Nay, but running away like a thief in the night will not help me. I will be fine, Nigel. Truly. Aye, I am deeply hurt by all of this, but I am alive and the truth will out. I but need to wait.”

“If I can be of any help—”

She held up her hand to stop his words. “Dinnae e’en say it, Nigel. ’Tis best if ye stay right out of this. Ye believe in me and that is enough. Anything else and ye risk disobeying, or worse, betraying your laird.” The door opened and Maldie saw Jennie standing there, the guard looming behind her. “’Tis time to return to my room. Rest, Nigel. Ye grow stronger and can walk longer and more steadily every day. ’Twill be more tempting now than e’er before to try and do too much.”

“I ken it. Ye have proven right in all ye have advised me to do so far. I see no sense in closing my ears to your advice now.”

Maldie slowly walked out of the room. Jennie averted her eyes, blushing as Maldie walked by her. Everyone knew why Balfour had confined her to her bedchamber, and Maldie knew that what trust and respect she had begun to build was probably all destroyed. That was very hard to bear because she had begun to feel she belonged at Donncoill, that she was accepted, even liked. It was the first time in her life she had ever felt such things, and she was devastated by their loss.

The door was shut behind her and she cringed as she heard the bar slide across. She hated being locked in. She had always been free to come and go as she liked, many said too free. It had only been three days that she had been confined, but she was beginning to feel chokingly trapped. Maldie took a deep breath to calm herself and walked to the small window. A few slow, hungry breaths of the warm, fresh air eased the growing sense of panic she had begun to feel. She could at least see the outside and she was grateful for that. Balfour could have easily confined her to the dark cells deep in the dungeon beneath Donncoill.

“But then, he shouldnae have locked me up at all,” she muttered as she strode back to her bed.

She fought the urge to sit there and cling to her anger and hurt. As she had for the
last three days, she turned her mind to her plan to get free and save Eric. It was the only thing that had kept her from becoming trapped in her own misery and pain. It was almost complete, but the last part of it was the most difficult. She had thought of a way to get inside of Dubhlinn, a way to find out where Eric was hidden, and even a way to get him out of there with little chance of being seen. Maldie doubted there was any complication she had not considered and made a plan for, from how to slip around guards to the possibility that she and Eric might have to run for their lives. The only thing she had not yet figured out was how to get out of Donncoill.

There were several ways she could get away, but none of the opportunities she needed had yet presented itself. No one had called for her healing skills, thus getting her out of the small area she was confined to. The guard never took his eyes off her or left the door unlocked. No one even came to visit her.

Suddenly she had an idea, one that was so simple she was astonished that she had taken so long to think of it. All she needed was a reason to get one of the maids to come in to help her. If she claimed it was some female trouble none of the men would demand much of an explanation, would probably shy away from hearing even that much. The only part of her plan that would be really difficult was that she would have to hurt the maid, not badly, but enough so that the woman was unconscious and would stay so long enough for her to get off Donncoill lands.

A soft rap sounded at the door and for one brief moment she thought luck was with her, that she might not even have to lie to get a maid to her room. Then Balfour stepped in and she inwardly cursed. Seeing him was going to stir up all the feelings she had been working so hard to bury. Maldie could already feel her hurt and anger stinging the back of her throat.

“If ye havenae come to beg for my forgiveness then ye might as weel leave,” she said, sitting so straight on the edge of the bed that she could feel a twinge in her back.

Balfour sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. He was not sure why he had come to see her again. It was doubtful that anything would be changed, yet he felt a real need to give her one last chance to defend herself, one last chance to give him something that would allow him to let her go. After several days of being locked in a small room, her only respite a short walk across the hall to Nigel’s room, he had hoped that she would feel more inclined to cooperate with him. Her greeting and the stubborn look upon her face told him that had been a foolish hope.

He had missed her and not just in his bed, although the loss of her curled up at his side had made it nearly impossible for him to sleep. Balfour found that he missed seeing her, even in passing, and talking to her. While he understood the stance she had assumed, it angered him for it kept them apart. He began to think that she did not find that as intolerable as he did, and that hurt.

“I came to give ye another chance to tell me the truth,” he said.

“I have told ye the truth.” Maldie decided that the reason that lie did not bother her was because she was so angry at him.

“Mayhap, but there has been little of it. The more I have thought on the matter, the more I have come to realize that, although we are lovers, ye are still a stranger to me. I ken none of all the little things one usually learns about a lover.”

“And I have ne’er met people who are as concerned about such things as ye Murrays are. I am what ye see. What else matters?”

“When ye stand accused of helping our enemy, of even aiding in the murder of a good mon, a great deal more is needed than
I am what ye see
. Can ye nay see the danger ye are in, lass?”

“Do ye mean to hang me then?”

She was pleased to see him pale. It meant he was not without some feeling for her. His accusations and his absence had made her begin to wonder if he had lost all interest in her. Since she would soon leave Donncoill and probably him as well, it was a foolish thing to worry about, yet this sign that he still cared for her in some way, no matter how small, was comforting. It also made her more confident in her judgment that she would face no punishment until he had irrefutable proof of her guilt, something he could never get for it did not exist.

“Nay, of course not. If naught else, ye havenae actually killed anyone with your own hand, as Grizel had. But why willnae ye try to prove my suspicions wrong?”

“Because they are insulting and unfounded and dinnae deserve my time or my interest. If I proceed to try and prove my innocence, then I justify your accusations and I refuse to do that.” She crossed her arms over her chest and coldly stared at him, silently challenging him to continue the argument.

“Ye are a verra stubborn woman, Maldie Kirkcaldy,” he said and shook his head. “Mayhap ’tis justified. I dinnae ken anymore. But, ye might take some time to consider how dangerous blind pride and stubbornness can be. I pray it willnae come to it, but silence in a matter such as this could cost ye dearly.”

The moment the door shut behind him, she collapsed on the bed. His last words had been a threat, but Maldie felt no fear. Balfour would not harm her. And if by some chance she was letting her heart lead her astray in her judgment of the man, there was always Nigel to turn to. That man would never let his brother harm her. She had been determined not to get Nigel mixed up in the troubles between her and Balfour, but if her well-being or her life was in danger, she would not hesitate to pull him in on her side.

Balfour’s visit had shown her one thing, however. It was time she got out of Donncoill. She did not think she could endure one more time of hearing the man she loved demand that she give him proof of her innocence. No matter how well she understood the awkward position he was in, how he had to do just what he was doing, that hurt.

He was right to warn her about the folly of too much pride and stubbornness. She did have too much pride and many thought it was sadly misplaced. After all, they would mutter, what did she have to be so proud about? She would not, however, swallow that pride just to soothe his groundless suspicion.

Maldie was just not sure how long she could hold to that determination. When she saw him she wanted to do whatever he asked, so that they could be together again. She wanted to be back in his arms, back at his side, and back in his confidence. She knew that, if she did not flee Donncoill soon, that want could grow too strong to resist.

She waited for one full hour, hoping that Balfour would then be too busy or too far away to come to her, then started to groan. It only took three hearty groans to bring the guard to the door. She knew he was listening because she heard his sword thump against the wood. One more loud groan opened the door. Maldie fought not to smile at the look of extreme concern on the man’s scarred face. She clutched at her stomach, rocked back and forth on the bed, and moaned softly.

“What is wrong with you?” the guard demanded, edging into the room.

“I need a woman’s aid,” she replied, pleased with the unsteady, raspy tone of her voice.

“Ye are ill?”

“’Tis a woman’s ailment and I need a woman to help me, ye great oaf,” she yelled, then moaned, acting as if simply raising her voice was enough to increase her great pain. “Get me one of the maids.”

He quickly backed out the door and barred it. Maldie allowed herself a brief grin over his swift retreat. Just as she had suspected the words
a woman’s ailment
had silenced all questions. They could put the fear of God into even the bravest of warriors, men who would not even blink as they looked upon the most gruesome of battle wounds or inflicted them. When she heard footsteps hurrying back toward her door, she quickly returned to clutching herself and groaning. It was a little hard to keep up the pretense when poor Jennie was shoved into the room and the door barred behind her. The guard was clearly desperate not to learn any more about it all, did not even want to accidentally overhear anything.