“I am nay such a fool that I think this will all be untangled and in my favor quickly or easily. That is nay a good reason to leave two bairns to starve, however. If I am unable to keep them and care for them, I have a verra large family that will fulfill my promise to them. All I will ask of ye is, if I am unable to get them to my family, ye will do so for me.”
He nodded as he led her back to the children. “Ye will stay here and I will go to court on the morrow to see what news there is. Dinnae think ye can slip away. MacBean may look and sound like a bad-tempered fool, but he will prove to be a verra efficient guard if ye try to test him.”
“I will stay here, Sir Innes. This is where my father sent me because he believed ye could help me. Nay, just me, either, but my whole family. I willnae do anything to make their suffering continue any longer than it must to catch the ones who use us to hide their own crimes. Now, will ye swear to take the bairns to my family if I am unable to do so?”
“Aye.”
Ilsabeth nodded and turned her attention to the children. She could feel Simon watching her. Even the huge dog he had and a rather ugly cat sprawled before the fire watched her and the children closely. By the time Old Bega returned, Ilsabeth was more than ready to seek a bed just to get away from that scrutiny.
The way Old Bega cooed and fussed over the children eased some of Ilsabeth’s fear for them. She might not be all that certain of what Sir Simon would do if she was taken away, despite the vow he had just made, but the woman would never let any harm come to Elen and Reid. The moment the children were settled in two small beds, Old Bega led Ilsabeth to the bedchamber right next to them. It soothed Ilsabeth to know that they would be close to her in the night.
“Ye dinnae need to fret o’er the bairns,” said Old Bega as she readied the bed for Ilsabeth, turning down the heavy blankets to reveal some very fine linen sheets. “I dinnae ken what trouble ye are in, but ye can shake aside any fear for them. Ye are nay a nun so where did ye get the clothes? Ye didnae rob a nunnery, did ye?”
“Nay, my sister is a nun and we got them from her,” replied Ilsabeth, as, with Old Bega’s help, she unpacked the few belongings she had. “Has Goliath been seen to?”
“Goliath? The wee pony?” Old Bega laughed when Ilsabeth nodded. “Aye, tucked up warm in the stable.”
“Good. He served me weel.”
“Ye rest, lass. Sir Simon will solve this trouble for ye.”
Ilsabeth just smiled and then, as soon as the woman left, began to shed her clothes and wash up before getting into the bed her body ached for. The moment she curled up under the covers, she sighed with relief and closed her eyes. Her mind was full of worry and fear for the fate of her family, but she forced those concerns away. Sleep was needed for a sharp mind and a strong body. She would be in need of both in the days to come.
Sir Simon Innes’s face appeared behind her eyelids and she nearly cursed. He drew her to him despite his distrust and his apparent coldness. If anyone had ever asked her what she sought in a man, nothing she would have replied would have matched that man. Yet, despite all that was wrong with him, her heart and her body kept saying they wanted him for their own. That was something she would have to fight. The man might free her of the nightmare she was caught up in, but he could also lead her to the gallows. It would be a mistake of the greatest kind to allow the man to get into her heart or her blood. Matters were bad enough as it was without becoming attached to a man who just might be the one putting a rope around her neck.
“Ye cannae think that lass is a traitor and a killer,” said MacBean after Simon told him why the woman now sleeping upstairs had come to him.
“Dinnae tell me ye think women incapable of such things,” drawled Simon, and sighed when the cat leapt up on his lap the moment he sat down before the fire.
“Nay, they can be as vicious and devious as any mon. But that wee lass? Nay, I cannae believe it.”
“Why? Because she has sweet innocence on her face? Or big blue eyes?”
“Nay. Because she has taken in two bairns nay her own despite running for her life. And that is what she is doing, isnae it? Running for her life?”
“Aye. As is her whole family, the Armstrongs of Aigballa. Soon many of the Murrays may have to do the same.”
“Ah.” MacBean crossed his arms over his thin chest and nodded.
“What do ye mean–ah?”
“Ye will sort this out for the Murrays, aye? Nay matter what ye think of that wee lass, ye will work hard to make sure she is innocent or, at least, that the Murrays dinnae suffer for her crimes. Still dinnae think she did what they say she did.”
“Her dagger in Sir Ian Ogilvie’s heart says different.”
“And ye ken as weel as I that it doesnae mean she put it there.”
Simon rested his head against the back of the chair and sighed. “I do ken that. I also ken that I have naught but her word on who is responsible. ‘Tis nay my way to accept nay more than a person’s word on their innocence.”
“It isnae? Thought ye did just that with both them Murray lads. Ye willnae do it for her because she is a bonnie lass and dinnae try to tell me otherwise. It has been ten years, lad. Bury the past.”
Simon watched MacBean walk out of the room and softly cursed. The trouble with servants who had been with a man for most of his life was that they knew most of his secrets. The man’s insight was also irritating. Simon would rather cut out his own tongue with a dull blade than admit it, but MacBean was right. One reason he hesitated to take Ilsabeth Murray Armstrong at her word was because she was a bonnie lass.
Memories swarmed into his mind and sweat dotted his brow as he fought them. He had been a fool at eighteen, a fool who had thought himself a grown man and one who knew all about women just because he had bedded a few. Sweet-faced Mary with her tempting body and tears had led him along by the nose. His brutal brother’s third wife, she had been only a few years older than Simon, but she had been many years older in guile and experience. She had even been able to draw him close to the home he had left at the age of ten swearing he would never go back.
Guilt over what he had done could still bring a sour taste into his mouth even though he knew he had not hurt his harsh brother’s feelings. His pride, surely, but Henry Innes had not loved Mary any more than he had loved his other two wives. What troubled Simon was that he had not seen the lies, the manipulation, the betrayal. Neither Mary’s nor Henry’s. He had not seen the truth. He knew that was why he sought it so avidly now.
Seeking the truth back then had only added to his pain, but that had not turned him away from it. Simon stared into his goblet at the dregs of his wine and sighed. He had accepted the beating and the scars it left as his due for breaking one of God’s laws. What he could never accept was that he had given his heart and sympathy to a woman who had deserved neither, and worried, for a brief naïve time, about a brother who had no love or respect for him. No brother should have used his kin as Henry had used him.
