“Why are ye smiling?” asked Reid.
Noticing the way the boy eyed the bread and cheese she had left, Ilsabeth gave him some more to share with his sister. “I was just thinking what a surprise we shall all be for Sir Simon Innes.”
“Och, aye. I dinnae think it will be a good one.”
“We shall see.”
“Why do your kin think he will help ye?”
“Because he has already helped two of my kinsmen who were accused of murders they had not committed.”
Reid frowned. “Why do your kin keep getting into such trouble?”
Ilsabeth laughed and shook her head. “I dinnae ken, laddie. It does seem as if we are cursed sometimes.”
“Aye, a wee bit. Or ‘tis envy. My mither said envy can make people do mean things.”
“Your mother was a verra wise woman.”
“I miss her,” he said softly, blushing faintly as he made the admission.
“Of course ye do. There is no shame in that. Now, I am thinking I have sat here long enough trying to gather up the courage to go to Sir Simon’s house. If I dinnae have it now, I ne’er will. Best we clean up and finish the journey.”
“Are ye afraid?” Reid immediately began to help Ilsabeth pack up her supplies.
“A wee bit,” Ilsabeth answered as she dampened a cloth and gently wiped Elen’s face and hands. “I want to put my faith in the mon my family has sent me to, but I have ne’er met him. ‘Tis difficult to trust a stranger, especially when ye are dealing with matters of murder and treason. Aye, and he doesnae ken me, either, so why should he be believing a word I say?”
“But ye said he has helped your family before, aye?”
“Aye, he has helped the Murrays, cousins of mine. Dinnae ken them all that weel either so I cannae say I learned much of this Sir Simon from them. And, I am but half a Murray. The rest of me is Armstrong.”
“Is that bad?”
“ ‘Tis nay a good thing in many eyes, laddie. My wee clan and my father the laird are all good, honest people, but the ones that came before them werenae. They put a verra dark stain upon the name and some of his kinsmen still arenae too honest.” She winked. “There are a lot of reivers in the family, ye ken.” She grinned when he giggled and then helped the children up onto Goliath. “I will try to nay be too insulted if he favors my Murray blood, at least in the beginning.”
“If he doesnae help ye, then I will,” said Reid.
“Ye are a good, brave lad.” Ilsabeth grasped the reins and started to lead the pony into town. “Ye have your sister to watch o’er, however, so we must hope Sir Simon truly is the stalwart seeker of the truth all claim him to be.”
Especially since she had come up with no other plan herself, Ilsabeth mused. She continued to try and think of one as she walked but facing the end of her journey inspired her no more than all the rest of the hours she had traveled to reach her destination.
By the time she stood before the door to Sir Simon Innes’s home, she gave up all hope of coming up with something clever and started fervently praying that the man would help her.
Simon Innes sprawled in a chair before the fire, a goblet of fine wine in his hand, and frowned down at the cat in his lap. It had been a mistake to give in to that spark of charity and feed the huge black and white tom. The animal had finished off the scraps he had given it and then moved in. He glanced down at his dog Bonegnasher, spread out gracelessly at his feet, a fresh set of scratch marks on his nose. Who would have thought his large, fierce dog would turn coward when slapped on the nose by a cat?
He sighed and lightly stroked the cat, causing it to rumble with a deep, raspy purr. It was, at least, a more pleasant noise than the animal’s snoring. The beast also looked and smelled better since Old Bega had got her hands on it. The cat had endured her scrubbing, combing, and rubbing some oil on him to kill fleas with a quiet, injured dignity.
“Of course, for that small inconvenience, ye are now set in front of a warm fire, your belly full of chicken,” he drawled, and then sipped at his wine. “I cannae believe I have let ye sit on me. Men dinnae keep cats, ye ken.” The cat turned its head so that Simon could better scratch behind one of its tattered ears.
He was behaving like an old man, he thought crossly. Thirty years of living was just around the corner. Thirty was not old in his opinion, despite the fact that far too many people never reached that age. It was definitely too young to be spending nights sitting before the fire talking to his dog, or cat. Yet, it had been many months since he had done anything else. The only change in his new habit for far too long was the presence of an ugly cat. Simon winced. He was becoming a pathetic recluse.
It was time to get himself a wife, he mused, and fought to quell the curdling in his gut. Not every woman was faithless. Not every marriage was hell on earth. He had seen the good in such arrangements lately during his time helping the Murrays. The part of him that was still bitter and bruised from the past wanted to doubt, shuddered at the mere thought of marriage, but he told himself it was past time he overcame that dread. If Tormand Murray, a man who had seduced half the women in Scotland, could find a wife like Morainn, a loyal, loving woman with wit and spirit, Simon suspected there had to be one out there for him, too. Even James Drummond, a Murray foster son, a man accused of murdering his first wife, had found a good woman even as he fought to prove his innocence.
“So why am I sitting here stroking an ugly cat instead of a fulsome wife?” he muttered.
The cat briefly dug its claws into Simon’s thighs as if to protest the unflattering adjective.
Simon winced but resisted the urge to shove the cat off his lap. He would never admit it aloud but he found the warmth, the soft fur, and the raspy purr of the animal oddly comforting. It was probably why some women favored the beasts despite all the superstitions swirling around the creatures.
