After Maggie left, Aimil sent up a brief prayer that the girl would be successful in stealing a mount. Her pain sapped her strength. She knew they would both have a better chance of succeeding in their escape if she rode than if she tried to walk.
The climb down the wall was sheer agony. It seemed as if every muscle she used caused a fiery pain in her back. Her body trembled with the effort to remain conscious, her skin clammy with the sweat her efforts squeezed from her. She hardly gave a thought to the chances of being caught in her descent. All of her concentration was on reaching the ground. When she reached it, she collapsed there for a long while, afraid that what strength she had had was now used up. Her body shook and felt about as solid as water.
“Are ye all right, mistress?” hissed Maggie from where she lurked in the shadows. “Did ye fall? I got us a horse.”
“Nay, I didnae fall.” Aimil struggled to her feet, using the wall she had just descended as support. “I but collapsed with weakness for a wee while. Ye must help me onto the horse.”
Maggie’s strong arms proved more than adequate for that chore. She then led the horse out a side entrance in the outer wall. It was not until they reached the trees to the east of the Fergueson tower house that Maggie mounted with a great lack of skill and grace. By then Aimil had recovered enough to lend a hand and then take control of the reins.
“We are riding to the Highlands,” ventured Maggie after a short while of riding.
“Aye. I go to the Black Parlan. Thinking on it, I realized that Rory would seek me at my kin’s first. ’Tis closer.”
“They be a fearsome lot I hear.” A fear prompted by dark rumor could be heard in Maggie’s voice.
“No more than any other, Maggie. On the border as we are, we are more akin to them than to Lowland folk.”
“The Black Parlan roasts wee babes and picks his teeth with their wee bones,” Maggie whispered tremulously.
Aimil giggled weakly. “Poor Parlan. Nay, Maggie, he doesnae. The man can look fearsome as the Devil but he has a gentleness in him. His men are beaten if they abuse a woman.” She heard Maggie gasp softly in disbelief. “He doesnae hold with the brutal handling of the weaker such as children and women. Trust me, I have been as close to the man as any, and ye will find no cruelty at Dubhglenn. Now, heed me weel. I will tell ye how to handle the horse. I am verra weak, and ye may yet need to take the reins before we reach Dubhglenn. We dinnae want to lose after having come so far because I faint and ye cannae prod the horse onwards.”
To Aimil’s relief, Maggie revealed a natural aptitude for horse-riding that with training could become an admirable skill. So too was the horse a gentle, easily-ruled beast. Maggie could manage nothing too intricate, but she could get them to Dubhglenn if the need arose. It took a great weight from Aimil’s abused shoulders.
The need for Maggie to take over came far sooner than Aimil would have liked. By the time the sun rose, Aimil’s eyes had swollen shut, her head swam with exhaustion, and her stomach churned. At Maggie’s urging, they dismounted for a while. Aimil promptly emptied her stomach, then her bladder, and then passed out. She awoke to a cool cloth across her eyes and to the sure knowledge that many hours had passed, hours they had not had to lose. Groaning, she sat up slowly, finding that she still could not see.
“Ye should have tossed me over the saddle and kept riding, Maggie,” she said weakly but with no real censure in her voice.
“Ye needed to rest, mistress. I had hoped that your eyes would get better but they havenae. They are still swelled tight shut.”
“Aye, using them all the night has finished what Rory started. I can see but a slight line of light and that hurts. Where is the sun?”
“Straight overhead, mistress. Is it far yet that we must travel?”
“T’will be dark before we near the place if we ride without ceasing at a walk as we have been. Rory will ken I have slipped away by now.”
“Mayhaps. T’will depend upon how urgent the one who discovers your escape feels it is. The laird isnae one ye like to wake. Nay, especially not with news ye ken weel he doesnae want to hear.”
“Let us pray that the one who discovers us gone is a thorough coward then. We must ride east. Help me onto the horse.”
“Ye had best stay before me on the beast. T’will be easier to catch ye if ye feel weak again.”
Even getting up on the back of the horse drained Aimil but she fought it. It was a relief, however, to feel Maggie’s strong, young body behind her, her arms reaching around so that she could take the reins and acting as a secure cage. Falling from the horse would surely finish her, Aimil mused.
“I would give my father’s fortune to ken who betrayed us,” Aimil muttered as they started out.
“T’was a woman,” Maggie replied. “I saw her. Aye, and heard her tell Rory how to find ye.”
“Who was it? What was her name?” Aimil had a very good idea who it was but fearing jealousy tempered her view wanted it confirmed.
“I didnae hear the name but I can tell ye of her looks. She was lovely with rich brown hair. Said she wanted ye out of the Black Parlan’s bed so that she could crawl back into it. She was staying at Dubhglenn. Felt that once ye were gone she could have the man.”
“Catarine. It could be no other. Nay doubt the bitch is nursing Parlan’s wound so that she can then nurse something else.”
Catarine decided that she was not receiving the gratitude that she felt she deserved for her tender ministrations to the Black Parlan’s leg. Between the Black Parlan’s rage at being wounded and having lost Aimil and Old Meg’s constant interference, Catarine was very near to losing her facade of gentle, patient nurse. Only the thought of what Aimil would be suffering at the hands of Rory Fergueson kept Catarine in a good humor. She felt certain that Rory would put the girl firmly in her place if he did not kill her first. After savoring that vision for a moment, she turned her attention back to a foul-tempered Parlan.
Twice Parlan had risen from his bed only to set the wound in his leg to bleeding freely again. Common sense and the threat of being bound and drugged finally held him to his bed. It was hell to lie there knowing what might be happening to Aimil, and he made life miserable for all those around him, his sense of helpless fury causing him to lash out at all who ventured near.
“Railing at friend and kin willnae help the lass at all,” snapped Old Meg as she dressed his wound after curtly ordering Catarine from the room so that she and Parlan were alone.
