He walked toward the burnt hulk that was all that was left of Aunt Maggie’s home. David could think of no one who would want to hurt the woman. If it was Robert there was a reason he had gone hunting for Aunt Maggie and all David could think of was that young Andrew or Mora had been here with her.
For a while they stood in front of her house and just stared. Neither of them felt inclined to go poking around in the charred mess left behind. He heard a door open and glanced around until he spotted Morag Sinclair on her step, wearing only her night shift and a large shawl, gaping at them. Just as he was about to greet her and apologize for waking her so early, she ran up to him and hugged him, then hugged Niall.
“Take your horses round the back and I will let ye in that way. There is a lot I have to tell ye. But get out of sight. The sheriff occasionally takes a verra early morning walk to make himself look as if he is doing important business.”
When they were seated and she had served them some cool cider, Morag began to tell them everything that she knew as gently as possible. She comforted them when she gave them the hard news about their parents, promising to show them the graves as soon as it was safe again.
“Go see Laird Sigimor. He will lay it all out better than I can. He and that Murray lad were dealing with getting Mora and Andrew someplace safe. If naught else, he will ken where they are.”
They went to their horses and started toward Sigimor’s keep, but a mile or two down the road, David stopped. He looked and saw Niall right beside him, his head down. “I am sad that my bad feelings proved all too true.”
“Nay sadder than I am. We shouldnae have left. If we had been here . . .”
“We would have been the first ones killed. We could fight, so it would have made us the first target. What we can do,” he said, and his voice hardened, “is kill Robert. Mayhap his brothers.”
“Why only mayhap?”
“I am nay sure, but something tells me they have been dragged into this mess, and while they dinnae dare stop him, they have nay helped him.”
“Then they shouldnae die. But Robert . . .”
“Robert is dead, and the harder we make that death for him, the better. Now we go speak to Sigimor and find out what has happened to Mora and Andrew.”
“And see if we can find out who the devil this Murray lad taking care of Mora is.”
David grunted in the affirmative.
Chapter Fifteen
Mora had watched carefully as the men had ridden off. They had all been going to see Nigel at Glencullaich. They thought they would be gone for two to three days. Once she had heard that, she had stopped listening closely. All she could think of was that she could slip away to talk to her uncle. If she was very lucky she would be back before they would, with all her troubles solved. Her hope was not high for that, but she had to try.
As she made her way back to her bedchamber, she wondered if she was being too reckless. She had waited one day to make certain they had gotten there so she would not meet them on the road, and to think of what she needed for such a journey. She had only been recovered from her last fever for a week and Gybbon had made it clear he thought she needed longer. She also knew he would insist she not go or only go with a troop of men at her side.
Slipping into her bedchamber, she fought a strong sense of guilt as she collected up what she thought she would need and put the items in a small sack before grabbing her cloak. She stopped by the bed to stroke her cat. It would be the first time she had ever left her pet alone since she had held that soaking wet, too small kitten down by the burn, but she knew she was leaving her with good people and Andrew would love her.
“I cannae take ye with me this time, Freya. If Robert sees ye, he will kill ye.”
Even though she told herself she was being silly, tears stung her eyes, so she dashed quickly to the door and hastily shut it behind her. She heard a soft, scratchy yowl and saw a little gray paw sticking out under the door. Resisting the strong urge to take her pet with her, Mora turned and hurried down the stairs.
Getting to the stable proved to be easy. She walked there with no more interest from others than an occasional greeting. There was only one man inside the stable and he hurried to saddle the mare she had been practicing her riding on before she even asked him to. She patted the horse, hooked her sack onto the saddle, and then mounted.
“Ye sure ye are ready to be riding all by yourself?” the man asked.
“Aye.” She frowned. “Nay. I dinnae ken. I have to try at some time though, dinnae I?”
“Aye, ye do. Good luck, lass. Where is your wee cat?”
“I thought I would leave her in my room until I am certain I can ride around by myself.”
“She isnae going to like that.”
Mora laughed, but it was not really funny. No, Freya was not going to like it at all. All Mora could do was get as far away as possible before her cat made enough fuss to rouse everyone, who would then wonder where she was. If she got out of this alive it was going to be a long time before Freya forgave her, she thought as she rode out through the gates.
As she rode along, she took out the scrap of paper she had written all the directions she had gotten. It had been a long, slow process to gather the information she needed, and the need to be secretive had worn on her. The slow process of getting a little piece of information from each one she had a talk with had also been irritating, but she had finally gotten enough.
Mora wondered why the men had not heartily complained or even mutinied when they had been made to take such a long, winding route home while toting her, Andrew, and a cat in a cart pulled by sturdy ponies. If they had gone the straight route they could have done it in a day, as Geordie had said. She had not realized her family had lived so near to so many clans.
In the hope of remaining unseen, she kept off to the side of the path, using the trees and shadows to hide her. She could only pray no one from Glencullaich or Dubheidland was out for a ride. As she passed by a lot of open land on the other side of the small, rutted road, she wondered if that was the land Harcourt and Gybbon had discussed. It was beautiful and a nice manor would look equally as beautiful set in there. If she got back to Glenfeurach she would have to tell Gybbon.
