‘You already are, and I am ashamed you are my blood, Hew.’
‘My father is family to you. Our bloodlines are merged, as are our fortunes. The Baron’s wrath will come for him, too, if you do not help me. We will both end as food for worms, and you will have that on your conscience forever. I have a wife and, soon, a child. What will become of Clan Gordon if you forsake us?’
‘You made your bed, you snivelling weasel, now lie in it.’
‘Think on this, Uncle. If the Dunbars are disgraced, so will you be. The scandal will taint you too.’
‘I care not for scandal.’
Hew tugged down his jacket and sneered, ‘No, perhaps you do not, given your low standards where honour is concerned. Why, I heard only yesterday from servant’s scuttlebutt that Bryce’s wife spent the night away from home. Everyone whispers about her behind her back. Out after dark, offering her hindquarters to any dog on the prowl like some back-alley bitch.’
‘Speak one more ill word of the lady, and I will floor you with my fist, nephew or not. How could Dunbar have raised such a maggot as you?’
‘Tis the truth about the lass, and all know it.’
The clatter of hooves in the yard sent Maren running upstairs so that she would not be discovered eavesdropping. She peered out of the window. ‘Damn, what fresh hell is this?’ she declared on sighting the McMullans dismounting. It seemed Jasper had taken against her to the extent that he was continually courting Clara as a future wife for Bryce. But then why had he defended her to Hew? Family honour, most likely. She was a stain on the Cullan reputation that had to be wiped out.
Maren took the back stairs out to the garden. She stared up at the hills around Penhallion, swirling in a misty drizzle. Jasper was distracted, so now was her chance to get out. She had the urge to run, far away, anywhere, to run and not stop until her bones had worn to stumps from it.
She set off walking, and once outside Penhallion, it was heavy going, muddy underfoot and the drizzle pearling in her hair, skirts heavy with damp, but she paid it no mind.
Suddenly a wraith appeared out of the mist, small, grey and eery. ‘I thought you’d never come out.’
Maren’s heart skipped a beat. It was Drayton’s lad. She quickly glanced around.
‘He’s not here,’ said the lad. ‘He will not show himself until he has to. But you did not come to Inverness as promised.’
‘Nor will I. Go back and tell him that.’ Maren began to walk away, back to the safety of Penhallion. She wanted no part of this little wretch and his awful master.
The lad followed, shouting, ‘He’ll not like it, lady. He told me to watch for you and tell you that if you do not rendezvous with him, he will stick a knife in Cullan’s ribs and twist it until it skewers his liver.’
Maren stopped dead and turned back to the skinny, soaked figure standing in the wind. He looked like a rag that had been wrung out to dry.
‘There is an old abbey near here called Crawdean,’ said the lad. ‘Take the road north from Penhallion, and you will see a marking stone about a mile out. Follow the trail, and you will find the ruins. My master will be waiting at dawn tomorrow with his hand out for your secrets.’
Maren snatched hold of the boy’s collar, her knuckles grazing bone, standing proud of his skin. ‘Your master is a horrible man. Why tarry in his company, lad? Do you not have a family to care for you?’
‘I have no family, never did. And Drayton has my keep, and so I am content. He has yours too, or so he tells me. I wonder why he is so forgiving to a disloyal wife.’
Maren shook the wretch hard. ‘You know nothing. Now heed my warning. He will lead you to ruin.’
‘As he leads you,’ spat the lad, squirming like a worm on a hook. ‘If a grown woman like you has been made his slave, how should I defy him? And why should I when I have food in my belly. I do as I please and answer to no one. I will tell him you are coming, shall I?’
‘Tell him what you like.’
The lad ran off, and Maren hurried back to Penhallion. When she crept in, she could hear Clara’s tinkling laughter floating up the stairs from the hall.
She had to give Drayton something to keep him calm. Hew’s exchange with Jasper should do it, and it would hurt no one she cared about. Aye, she would meet Drayton, but she would have a surprise in store for him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A dreadful sickly dawn came, with thick mist snaking down from the hills. Maren shivered into her plaid as she concentrated on the road from Penhallion, but even so, she almost missed the mossy marker stone signalling Crawdean Abbey. Her walk took her along an overgrown track, pot-holed, and used by animals, judging by the hoof prints stamped into the mud. Maren made lonely progress as the sun rose higher. Still, it was better to be out of Penhallion, for she could not avoid Jasper forever back there.
After a long trudge, the mist thinned to reveal a ruin of blonde stone, part soaring to the heavens - vaulted arches sticking skywards like jagged teeth, and part rubble - piles of brick crumbling and consumed by grass and weeds.
Crawdean Abbey would have been a sacred and beautiful place once, but God had long since abandoned his temple, likewise the man emerging from behind its crumbling façade. Drayton Carver smiled and raised a hand in greeting.
Maren pulled her plaid tighter as Drayton beckoned her forward into the shadows of the window arches. Smoke snaked from a small campfire burned almost to its ashes. He must be sleeping up here near Penhallion, watching and waiting like a spider for a fly. The thought made Maren’s flesh tighten and her stomach curl as Drayton approached and took her face in rough hands.
