“Ye arenae heeding what is said at all, Parlan.” Lagan exchanged a grin with Leith before nudging Parlan.
Parlan grimaced as he silently acknowledged the truth of that. He had come to a meeting of the Mengues and their allies not only to assure the lot of them that he considered his marriage to Aimil Mengue a treaty of sorts with all of them but to hear whatever news had been gathered on the elusive Rory Fergueson. While he felt sure he had done the former, his intention to listen was sadly wavering. He could not keep his mind on the business at hand. His mind wished to busy itself thinking of Aimil and the child she carried.
“I dinnae like leaving Aimil when she is so near to her time.”
“She has been near her time for almost a month. I begin to think the bairn plans to wait until he can walk out.”
Chuckling over Lagan’s remark, Parlan nodded in amused agreement. “Aimil has puzzled over that as weel.”
“Here, heed what old Simon Broth is saying,” hissed Leith, urgency tightening his voice.
“I tell ye I am certain it was him, that whoreson, Rory. I dinnae mean to bring ye pain, Lachlan, old friend, by stirring up the painful memories of the past, but the lass they found was murdered in the same manner your wife was. Who else could it have been? The killing held his mark. T’was clear for even an old man like me to see.”
“Do they ken who the lass was?”
“Nay, Leith. None had seen her before, not until she arrived a few weeks past,” Simon Broth answered.
“They must have had some knowledge of her.” Parlan knew that few people ignored a stranger in their midst. “Some information that might lead us to ken who she was or someone who did ken.”
“Do ye think it is important?” Simon asked.
“It could be.”
“Weel, ’tis said she was a fair and fulsome brown-haired lass, twenty years of age or older. They couldnae say exactly. What little she had to do with the plain folk, even the ones at the inn where she stayed, didnae make them feel she was the friendly sort. Haughty and shrewish, they said, though she did favor the innkeeper’s son who be a braw, handsome laddie.”
“That could be any of a thousand lasses. Was there naught else? Naught upon the body to give any clue?”
“Ooh, aye, aye. I meant to show it before I had finished my tale.” Simon dug a ring from a pocket in his pourpoint and held it up for all to see. “I dinnae hold much hope for it to help. I couldnae place it and I ken most all about here who would wear such as this.”
“Lagan,” Parlan whispered, his gaze fixed upon the ring he suddenly recognized.
“Aye, I fear so.” Lagan rose and slowly moved to take the ring from Simon. “She wasnae from about here, old man. That is why ye couldnae recognize her or this. She was Catarine Dunmore, a cousin of mine. What was done with the body?”
“T’was buried proper. Any in the village can tell her kin where to find her. What was the lass doing ’round here, with him?”
“After betraying Aimil and Parlan to Rory, she had no place to go and no one else to go to. Did none see anything or hear anything where she was murdered?” Lagan was not surprised to find Parlan and Leith flanking him for the village where Catarine had been murdered was very near the border of the Highlands and the Lowlands, placing Rory uncomfortably close to Dubhglenn.
“Little of worth. They do feel it was the man who came to visit her from time to time but they couldnae say what he looked like for he and the short one, as they called his constant companion, slipped about like shadows, never letting any get a good look at them. The lass was bound to the bed and gagged so she wasnae able to alert any to the danger she was in. The inn was quite raucous that night as weel. They ken when the man came but none saw him leave. She was found in the morning. As I said, the manner of her death tells me she died by that whoreson’s hand,” Simon insisted.
“Aye, it tells me that as weel. Where she died tells me that Rory draws too near to Aimil. I am returning to Dubhglenn now. Do ye come with me, Lagan?”
“I ache to, Parlan, but duty commands me to ride and tell Catarine’s kin of her death.”
“Aye, I understand.” He briefly clasped Lagan by the shoulder. “My condolences.”
“Weel, I dinnae grieve for her even though she was kin. ’Tis the manner of her death that troubles me. Nay, Catarine wasnae one to leave many grieving for her passing but she didnae deserve what must have been a hard, long death.”
“Nay, no one does save for the ones who deal in such. Ye will be returning to Dubhglenn?”
“Aye, as soon as I have accomplished my sad chore.”
“I will come with ye now.”
Glancing at Leith, Parlan nodded. “That little surprises me.” He looked at Lachlan who was already standing up. “Ye as weel? Do ye doubt my ability to keep Aimil safe?”
“Nay, lad, and weel ye ken it if ye but think a moment, so smooth down those ruffled feathers. I dinnae mean to go along for that reason. Ye have been searching about your lands and I have been searching about mine because we didnae ken where that adder had slipped away to. Now we have an idea. Until that changes, t’would serve better if we search together.”
“Aye, verra wise. Let us hurry then before that sheep dung named Geordie talks a moment’s sense into the madman he serves and all hint of Rory fades again.” Parlan turned sharply and left the hall of Lachlan’s keep, the others hurrying to follow.
