“Not yet.” Lyla hurried to the infirmary’s door, eager to check on the children. “He ordered another bench put as close as possible to where the old one sat, hoping it might appease her. Father Rubric will bless it and dedicate it to her as soon as it’s in place.” She rested her hand on the latch. “And he also ordered the bell silenced for the time being.”
“Maybe you and the babies should move to one of the crofter’s houses outside the wall until the spiritual dust around here settles.” Abby untied the waist of her work apron and slipped it off over her head.
“I refuse to be ousted from my home.” Lyla pulled the latch, trying to open the door. It didn’t budge. “Does this one stick?”
“Never has before, but it has been rather damp lately.” Abby joined her. “Push down on the top part with your thumb, then pull.”
“I did. I might be exhausted and stressed out, but I can still operate a bloody door.” Lyla tried again. Still nothing. Determined to open the thing, she grabbed the latch with both hands and yanked as hard as she could. The door flew open, sending her tumbling across the floor.
“Are you alright?” Abby helped her to her feet, then frowned at the small window above the worktable. “Is it suddenly cold in here to you?”
“It’s her.” Lyla grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled. “We must get out of here. Who knows what she might throw, and you’ve got some pretty noxious stuff in here.” They shot out the door, ran down the narrow corridor, and scurried up the steps to the kitchen.
“I can’t go any farther.” Abby bent forward gasping with a hand pressed to her chest. As she glanced around, her eyes flared wide and fearful. “Too many knives in here. Perhaps I can go on after all.”
“Brilliant idea.” Lyla pushed her ahead, determined to block anything the spirit might decide to throw. They didn’t stop until they reached the middle of the great hall. “I have to check on the babies.”
Abby stopped her. “No. Go outside. Nanny Greer and I will bring them to you.”
“No! That thing will not keep me from my babies.” Lyla yanked away and ran for the stairs.
“There ye are.” Her maid, Besseta, met her at the base of the steps. “Nanny Greer wished ye to know that she and Eufamie have the bairns in the garden. ’Tis such a lovely day. She thought a bit of fresh air would do them good.” The young woman’s smile slowly faded, replaced with a worried frown. “Ye seem unwell, m’lady. Can I get ye anything?”
Lyla pressed a shaking hand to her forehead and sank to a bench. Had she just panicked for nothing? It was daylight. She had never experienced anything during the day before. Others had, but not her. The chill could’ve come because that side of the keep was in the shade. The door could’ve stuck because of dampness, then tossed her to her tail when she finally broke it free. Last night’s terror and weariness had pushed her to the edge of hysteria. She let her hand fall away. “I am just very tired. The babies haven’t slept well the past several nights.”
Besseta gave a sympathetic nod. “I know. The wraith’s attack on ye has everyone ill at ease.”
“The babies are out in the garden, you say?” Perhaps some fresh air would do her good as well.
“Aye, m’lady. Perhaps ye should have a lie-down and get some rest.”
“No.” Lyla pushed up from the bench. “I need to see them. I can rest in the garden.”
“As ye wish, m’lady.” Besseta bobbed an understanding curtsy. “And dinna fash yerself about tonight. We have salted every room on the chieftain’s floor. Fawna and Rory’s got extra.” She gave a decisive nod. “And Mrs. Fintrie had me move my things to the room between yer bedchamber and the children’s rooms. It doesna have a door where I can pass through to see about them but has a passage connecting to yers. If ye should need me, all ye need do is call out.”
“The room between ours and the children’s?” Lyla vaguely remembered the hidden door behind the large tapestry beside the hearth. Had the housekeeper actually ordered Besseta to move her things to the priest hole? “She made you move into a place where you can’t even properly stretch out when you lie down?”
“’Tis better than where I slept as a bairn.”
Besseta’s reassuring smile did little to put Lyla at ease. She shook her head. “If Mrs. Fintrie feels you need to be available to me no matter the hour, then you will either sleep in the sitting room or with Fawna. I will not have you stuffed in a space smaller than a dusty corner under an eave.” A snorting huff escaped her. “And I shall speak to Mrs. Fintrie about taking such liberties with who or who does not stay in the chief’s quarters.”
With a guarded glance toward the kitchens, Besseta leaned in close. “Dinna give her a case of the red arse,” she whispered. “She’ll set an ill wish on me for sure.”
“I’ll make her think ill wish.”
“Perhaps you should come outside for that rest you spoke of before you speak to anyone.” Abby caught hold of her arm and tugged her toward the open double doors at the front of the hall. “Why don’t we take the long way around to the garden? Give you time to breathe deep a few times and calm yourself.”
While she would never admit it out loud, her sister was right. Lyla gave Besseta a dismissive nod and headed outside. “I suppose Mrs. Fintrie meant well.”
“I am sure she did, and Besseta seems anxious to help.” Abby linked her arm with hers as she shaded her eyes and looked around the courtyard. “Do you think our husbands are seeing to that new bench personally?”
“I can almost guarantee it. I have never seen Grant as shook as he was last night.” Lyla’s heart ached at the memory of his worry and frustration. Their relationship had survived a lot to become as strong as it was today. It would survive this, too. “I’m afraid he blames himself. You know he always took the blame for his first wife’s suicide.”
“Feeling guilt for something you couldn’t possibly prevent is a terrible burden to bear.” As they rounded the keep, Abby pointed at the chapel. “Looks like several are gathered there. Shall we investigate?”
Even in her exhausted state, the sight of her brawny, blonde husband, a head taller and broader shouldered than most, made her catch her breath. She loved him so hard it hurt sometimes, but he was well worth the ache.
He looked her way and flashed a smile, but then it disappeared. With long, hurried strides, he met her halfway and took hold of both her hands. “What is it, m’love? Another attack? Is it the bairns?”
