‘Are you out of your mind?’ cried Cecily.
‘No. I would rather you had a man of your choosing. But father will make you wed someone, for our survival depends on it.’
‘Make me, will he? No one makes me do anything. If you favour Jasper Glendenning so much, you wed him.’
‘He’ll not want me. You are the great beauty of the county and the first-born daughter. You must wed before I do.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Cecily, storming from the room.
Morag sighed. ‘If Jasper Glendenning has a fancy for your sister, he’ll have her in his bed as soon as may be, whether she wants it or not.’
‘Then what are we to do, Morag?’ snapped Rowenna. ‘We must go after Cecily and reason with her.
‘Do not fash, lass,’ said Morag. ‘Cecily will go roaming and get over her anger. She will see straight by day’s end.’
***
Rowenna spent the rest of the day worrying about their situation, but there seemed no way out of it. She was so distracted that she did not notice that Cecily had not returned until dusk crept in.
By midnight, they had sent men out searching with torches and shouting her name in case she had fallen into a bog or twisted an ankle. They had also set the dogs to following her trail.
Dawn saw Morgan ride out with a group of men to continue the search, and Rowenna went with them. She called her sister’s name until she was hoarse and desperate, but Cecily had vanished without a trace, and Rowenna could not shake the thought that brutish Jasper Glendenning might have something to do with it.
Chapter Five
Market day in Threave was blessed with sunshine, but it was still bitterly cold. Rowenna shivered and cursed her horse for throwing a shoe. She had walked five miles, leading it by the nose as the wind slid icy fingers into her cloak. Her boots were crusty with mud, and water had seeped inside, turning her toes to ice. Morag had refused to come with her due to the cold, and, for once, the woman had made a wise choice. The market was packed, and Rowenna was shoved and jolted in the throng of people. She sought the market cross and clung to its carved stone for protection, watching the world go by.
Rowenna cast a longing glance at the stalls with their tempting wares. Folk came from far and wide for the market, trading the bounty from their ploughs, looms and gardens. She had hoped to buy herbs as medicine for her father and some pewter goods for their table, but she had no coin to spare now that the horse had to be shod at the smithy. There were ribbons and swathes of plaid on one stall. What luxury to be able to sport a pretty ribbon in her hair or to wrap a plaid around her body and be warm for a change.
Rowenna swept a tangle of hair out of her eyes. She had hardly brushed it these last three weeks. She had scarcely eaten or rested since Cecily had disappeared. ‘Run off,’ Morag insisted, but she had taken none of her possessions, just upped and vanished. ‘Spirited away by witches in the woods,’ others said. Tears came to Rowenna’s eyes at the horror of that fate. Her father had sunk into a drunken stupor day after day, andher useless lump of a brother was nowhere to be found. Was it because Cecily was gone, and now there was no way for the MacCreadie men to wriggle out of the ruin they had sunk into?
The day was moving on, and the ride home would be long and cold, so Rowenna made her way to the smithy. Surely he had finished by now? A steady stream of men went into the alehouse nearby, where they traded in flesh as well as ale. Several gaudy women loitered outside, leaning over to display their wares to the customers. Rowenna stopped dead when she spotted a tall, blonde man tethering his horse. The whores called to him, but he ignored them and strode inside.
Jasper Glendenning! He had shown great interest in Cecily. ‘If Jasper Glendenning has a fancy for your sister, he’ll have her in his bed as soon as may be, whether she wants it or not.’ Morag’s words came back in a rush. Could the brute have her? He was renowned as a man who did not ask permission to take whatever he wanted. Did he kidnap Cecily in payment for the debt and punishment for Bran’s transgression? She could leave no stone unturned. Desperation moved Rowenna’s feet in the direction of the tavern.
With a deep breath, she entered its rank, humid bowels. Inside, the fire smoked, but it was warm, at least, with the throng of bodies crammed in like livestock in a barn. Stale ale assaulted her senses, and a drunken man veered into her, almost sending her flying.
‘Get away from me,’ she snarled, her temper rising. She pushed back at him, and he staggered off.
Jasper was sitting at the hearth with his men. He stood out because of his height, blonde hair, and the clear area around him. No one seemed inclined to go too close. Rowenna pushed forward and stood before him.
‘Laird Glendenning,’ she said but was not heard. ‘Laird Glendenning,’ she shouted over the clamour. He looked up, and his eyes widened. She was about to state her purpose when a hand grasped her buttocks and squeezed hard.
‘Who is this plump little pudding, ripe for the eating?’ cackled an ugly fellow. ‘Someone get me a spoon, for I am as famished as a man can be, and I have a taste for innocent flesh.’
‘Touch me again, and I will open your gullet,’ hissed Rowenna, pulling out her dirk.
‘Think you can best me with that little toothpick, bitch,’ he cried, grabbing her hair and yanking back her head.
‘Unhand the lass.’ Jasper Glendenning said the words quietly but with great menace. The man lowered his arm but did not let go, and the alehouse fell silent. Jasper stood up. ‘Take your hand off the lass or lose it.’ His sword scraped from its scabbard.
The squelch of the man swallowing hard carried in the silence. ‘Forgive me, Laird. I did not know she was yours.’
‘Be gone. Your stench is souring my ale.’
The man rushed off, leaving Rowenna exposed to the stares of Jasper and his men. He sat back down and regarded her coldly, his jaw working.
‘What are you doing in here, Rowenna MacCreadie? Selling your wares at market day?’ A few chuckles followed. ‘If so, I fear you have stumbled into the wrong place.’
