“Maybe later.” She gave him a reassuring kiss. “I’ll be fine.”
He watched her go, noting that she bowed her head and massaged her temples as she walked. He turned to her maid. “Besseta. Stay with yer, ye ken?”
“Aye, m’lord.” She hurried to catch up with Lyla.
“If ye will write out what ye wish on the marker, I shall take it to the stonemason,” Malcolm said.
“You will not.” Abby secured the ties on the rolled leather strip of pockets that made her medical tools more portable, then patted his arm. “You need rest. This is the second time in two years that you’ve suffered from a severe head injury. You could have another concussion.”
He scowled at her. “Fetch wee Violet so I might see her. Then Iwillbe going to the village to speak with the stonemason. Understand?”
“Fine.” With a scowl that said they would speak more about this later, she tucked the leather roll under one arm and marched away.
“Ye ken ye will pay for defying yer wife like that?” Grant clapped a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.
The housekeeper cleared her throat. “If ye dinna mind a wee suggestion?”
He turned and eyed the woman, surprised she was still there after all the other women had left. “What is it, Mrs. Fintrie?”
With her thin hands primly clasped in front of her waist, she angled her pointy chin higher. “The village stonemason happens to be my brother. I would be more than happy to take yer order and impress upon him the urgency of the matter.”
“That would be most appreciated. I shall write it out immediately. Perhaps ye could fetch a parchment and quill?”
“Aye, m’lord. I shall return immediately.” The housekeeper hurried away.
Grant turned to the priest, expecting another battle since it was now just the three of them. “Ye know the kirkyard better than any. See to a proper place for Lady Merideth while Malcolm and I fetch her coffin, ye ken? And dinna make it a neglected corner next to the wall.”
The holy man surprised him with an obedient nod as he pushed up from the bench and turned to go. “I shall see to it this verra minute, my chieftain.” He paused and bowed his head, then turned back and faced him. “Yer wife humbled me and rightly so. Thank her for me, aye? She snatched me from Satan’s making me prideful and unyielding.”
“I shall pass yer words to her, Father.”
Head lifted, the priest hurried out the double doors leading outside.
Grant turned back to Malcolm. “’Tis up to us now, my friend. Are ye sure ye are well enough to help me find the cairn and fetch the coffin?”
“I am well enough to end this madness and keep our clan safe.”
“Good enough then.” Grant watched for the return of the housekeeper. “As soon as I write the details for the stonemason, we ride.”
Chapter Three
It shamed Grantto admit he had forgotten the exact location of his first wife’s burial cairn. Even though he had placed most of the stones on it himself, for the sake of his children, now, he only vaguely remembered where she rested. God forgive him. Even though the woman had sorely nettled him in life, he should have treated her better in death. If he had done so, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this dire state now.
Malcolm drove the wagon, flinching each time a wheel lurched into a rut or jerked over a stone.
Grant felt the worried glances his friend cast his way but did his best to ignore them. “Faster, if ye can bear it, man. I dinna wish to be away from the keep come nightfall.”
With a flip of the reins, Malcolm encouraged the team to increase their speed. The wagon swayed and bounced across the roughness of what had once been a path but was now overgrown. “I pray this works,” he said, closing one eye as they banged down into a low spot.
“As do I.” Grant pointed westward. “Keep to this direction. That should take us right to it.” He hoped. But he kept that uncertainty to himself. After what seemed like entirely too long, he finally recognized the lay of the land and thumped Malcolm’s shoulder. “Just a bit farther. See yon crag? Her cairn is at its base.”
But when they arrived, no stones remained piled in a respectful marker. Instead, the large rocks lay scattered around a gaping hole. It appeared as though some powerful force inside the earth had burst from the burial mound and sent the rubble flying.
Grant jumped down from the wagon and rushed to the grave. It looked as freshly dug as the day they had put the coffin in it. The dark loamy soil revealed not a single footprint. No animal tracks either. Grant eased closer and peered down into the pit. The coffin’s lid had splintered into pieces, some of them stuck into the earthen walls as if hurled there.
“Bring me the shovel. I canna tell if the bones remain or not.” He preferred to examine the remains without getting down in there with them just yet. With the shovel, he could stir around and see more.
“What in God’s name?” Malcolm handed over the shovel while aiming his scowl down into the hole.
