She ran her hand over the stone wall behind her, discovered it was surprisingly dry, and leaned back against it. It was not an easy thing to do since it had been an ugly confrontation, but she carefully thought over what her uncle had said. The third time she did so, she abruptly sat up, seeing what was firmly stuck in his memory and tormenting him. It was not that her mother had been ruined but that his brother had married her anyway. It all had little to do with her mother. It had to do with his father, with the brothers’ bond breaking until they were little more than coldly polite strangers.
Her uncle had been the man who had ruined her mother. David was the one who had married her, giving her back the honor his own brother had stolen from her. Mora suspected it had been a rape, harsh and ugly. There was the unworthy man her mother had referred to when she had given Mora the talk about women and men. Mora had to wonder how hard it must have been for her mother to see Tomas, even if the visits had been rare. Then she had an alarming thought. Had her mother been left with child? Was one of her brothers actually her cousin?
“Idiot,” she muttered, and shook her head, trying to push away such thoughts. One thing she was sure of concerning her mother and father was that they had loved each other, had loved all their children. It might have been started by something ugly, but it had become beautiful and stayed that way until the day Robert had killed them.
Her poor father, she thought, and closed her eyes to push back the tears. How had such a sweet, gentle man come from such a family? A man who could carve such beauty into a piece of wood most would have just used for kindling should have had a better lot. She thought of him showing a fascinated Andrew about carving and then smiled. His second family had given him a better life.
Robert had stolen it, ended it before its time. For that alone Robert had to pay. Even if she could not escape the trap she had walked into, she would do her best to make sure Robert paid dearly for the innocent blood on his hands.
“Here ye go, lass,” said Hilda, holding a large tray while her husband unlocked the door. “A nice full meal and dinnae try to say ye are nay hungry. Nay matter what is happening one should always remember it could change.”
“Things could get better?” asked Mora in a disbelieving tone as she looked over what was on the tray Hilda set down on the bed beside her.
“Ye can ne’er ken and ye willnae want to be swooning with hunger just when ye should run.”
“Och, nay, that would be bad.”
“Hilda, what are ye babbling about?” asked Manus.
“Nary a thing, love. Someone will be by in a while to take away the empty tray.”
Puzzled by the woman, Mora shrugged as the door was locked again and the couple walked away. She tasted the chicken and found it very palatable. Then the sound of a disturbance echoed down the stairs.
She watched as Hilda came running down the stairs, then thrust her hand through the bars. Mora frowned at what the woman was holding out to her. What game was the woman playing?
“Take it,” hissed Hilda, and Mora took what revealed itself to be a piece of parchment, a pen, and a tiny bottle of ink. “Write out what has happened to ye and hide it in the napkin. Ye have about an hour at best before some lad is sent to collect the tray.” Hilda then dashed back off up the stairs.
Mora set it aside, tucking it just under the very thin blanket on the bed, and ate her meal as she thought on what to write. When she finished the afters of stewed apples, she turned her full attention to writing a letter. She had no idea what Hilda planned to do with it, but the woman was acting very secretive, so she would just do as she was told and see what happened. Carefully folding the letter into the napkin, she prayed it would not smudge badly.
A young boy, perhaps just entering his teens, came to take the tray. She wondered if she should feel insulted that they believed she was not worth a bigger, well-armed guard. It would not be too hard for her to trick or overpower the thin lad but she did not. It would humiliate him and she could not do that. She simply hoped she would not deeply regret that restraint later.
Lying down and wishing she was bold enough and felt safe enough to strip for bed, she stared up at the ceiling, studying the shadows cast by the torches. She was not sure what her uncle had planned for her but suspected it would not be good. The anger and mean spirit in the man appeared to have been strengthened or freed by the poisoning. Yawning, she closed her eyes and forced herself to stop thinking so hard. What was happening made no sense, so she needed to cease trying to sort it out or understand it.
Instead, she thought of Gybbon. He was going to be so angry about this. And, if her uncle and cousin physically harmed her, she could be certain they would pay very dearly. Slowly, feeling oddly reassured by that, she fell asleep.
* * *
A loud clattering startled Mora awake. She sat up and stared at the bars. A sneering Robert stood there with a stick, running it along the bars. Behind him stood his three brothers. He obviously kept them on a very tight tether, she thought. None of them looked happy. She did not think she had ever seen such a sullen, miserable lot.
“Ah, Cousin, weel met. Ye decided it was time for ye to torment the prisoner?”
“I thought we could have a wee talk before ye are hanged.”
“I cannae think of anything ye could discuss that I would be interested in. But, hanged? Ye dinnae believe I will win at the trial?”
“Trial? What trial? Why should time and effort be wasted on such a trial?”
“The law?”
“Did ye forget? My father is the law here. He was declared so years ago. He is also the laird and rules this land.”
She studied him for a moment. “’Tis a shame that I willnae be around on that day when he discovers all your lies. Just how many people do ye consider an obstacle or an enemy and have ye managed to get the mon to kill them all for you?” There was a flash of shock on all three of his brothers’ faces, and she felt sad, for it was confirmation that he had done just that.
“What does that matter? And, the mon is dying.”
“He didnae look like it when I saw him and he spouted all your lies at me.” Robert looked so proud of that she was tempted to spit on him.
“Enough talk.”
