“I can read, and so can my wife and daughter,” the laird replied, “but I thank you.” He slowly unrolled the parchment, and his eyes began to scan the words written thereon. When he had finished he handed it to Alix. There were tears in his eyes.
She took the document from him and read it. Then she began to weep.
“Mam!” The little girl sprang up from the floor and put her arms around Alix.
“It’s all right, Fiona,” Alix said. “Sometimes grown-ups cry when they are happy. And I am very happy by the news Brother George has brought us. Remember the wicked man who had me taken away and whose men frightened you so?”
Fiona, her blue eyes wide, nodded. “Aye, I remember.”
“Well, he can no longer harm us. God has forbidden him from it, my daughter. We are now safe and may ride out again once I have birthed this new bairn who currently resides in my belly,” Alix told Fiona. “We must thank Brother George for riding all this way to bring us this happy news.”
Fiona turned and smiled at the priest. “Thank you,” she said.
“You are most welcome, young mistress,” he told her. They were a beautiful family, he thought. And he was glad for his part in lifting this burden from them.
“You will remain the night,” the laird said. “I’ve some fine venison, and rather good whiskey we make here. You’ve ridden a long ways, and have more miles ahead of you, I know. When you reach St. Andrew’s, tell James Kennedy I am in his debt, even though he already knows it. Ahh, Father Donald. Here is Brother George, who has ridden from York with good news. We have been freed of the lord of Wulfborn at last. Father Donald is our priest, Brother George. He once served your bishop.”
“Praise God and his Blessed Mother you are now rid of that crazed lord,” Father Donald said. “We are free to roam our own hills again in safety.”
Chapter 16
He was near now. He sensed it. He had stopped at one of the Douglases’ lairs just on the border separating England and Scotland. The Douglases populated both sides of the periphery between the two countries. He would not remain the night with them, for he did not trust them, but stayed only long enough to gain directions to Dunglais. While he had been there once before, he was not entirely certain of the way. He rode out again. Above him the sky was lowering and threatening. There was the sound of thunder in the distance, and the distant sky was filled with sheet lightning.
The Douglas chief watched him go, and his son remarked that the man was a fool to leave when the weather was turning dangerous. “What does he want at Dunglais so badly that he continues on in such a storm?” the boy asked his father.
“The laird’s wife,” the Douglas chief said, laughing knowingly. “He stole her once before. It’s not likely he’ll succeed again. The man is as mad as a rabid fox.”
“Should we send word to the laird then, Da?” the boy asked.
“Nah. No need. The laird will kill him on sight. No reason for us to be involved,” the Douglas chief decided as the skies opened up and the rain began to pour down. He peered through the torrent, but Sir Udolf Watteson was no longer in sight.
Indeed, he was now a distance from the Douglas house and struggling to keep his edgy horse under control as the thunder boomed and jagged lightning began to pierce the skies around him. The animal danced nervously, becoming more frightened with each clap of thunder, which seemed to be growing louder. In a rare moment of sanity, Sir Udolf began to consider that perhaps he should have remained with the Douglases at least until the rain was over with. And then, without any warning, a bolt of lightning shot almost directly into the path before them. It was so close it singed the horse and Sir Udolf smelled the scent of burning hide. His animal reared up, terrified, throwing the rider from its back and galloping off into the mists.
Sir Udolf hit the ground and his head struck a rock, rendering him unconscious. But before he lost his senses he heard a crack and a fierce pain shot through him. Around him the thunder continued to boom, now moving away with the lightning, but the rain poured down in torrents for at least another hour. Night fell, and Sir Udolf lay unconscious on the hillside. Now and again he would swim to the surface of the darkness only to fall back again.
The following day dawned fair, and two women out seeking medicinal plants came upon the injured man. One of them was young and garbed in a red jersey gown. The other, obviously a servant, older. It was she who spotted Sir Udolf first.
“Mistress, look!” She pointed to where the fallen man lay.
“Is he alive, Fyfa?” the younger woman asked, her bright blue eyes curious. “I hope he is alive. It has been some time since I have had a man to amuse me.” She peered closely. “His clothing is good. See what is in his pockets. Does he carry a money pouch? It’s been so long since I’ve had any coin of my own.”
“Mistress, this is not wise,” she said nervously.
“Do as I bid you, Fyfa!” the younger woman commanded in a hard voice.
The serving woman bent down and rifled through the fallen man’s clothing. She found one small pouch containing some silver coins and three coppers. “Here,” she said, handing them up to her mistress. “It isn’t much.”
The man groaned suddenly, and Fyfa jumped up with a little shriek.
“Oh, he’s alive!” the young woman said. “Good! We must get him to the cottage if we are to keep him alive. You stay with him. I will go back and fetch Rafe.”
“Mistress,” Fyfa quavered. “I do not think this is wise.”
“You never think what I do is wise, Fyfa,” the younger woman replied, and then she tripped off.
The man groaned again, and his eyes opened. “Where . . . am I?”
“Do not move, sir,” Fyfa responded. “You have been injured. We are getting help now. How came you here?”
