“You have found something,” Margaret cried, clutching Malcolm’s hand. “You are hiding something from me!”
“We have only speculation, nothing more,” Malcolm said grimly. But his face was flushed darkly, telling Margaret that he was furious and barely able to contain his anger.
“What is it? What have you found? Mary cannot have just disappeared!”
Edmund whirled. Tall and lean, he was the image of his craggy-faced father. “Show her,” he demanded. “So we may know for sure.”
Edward, the oldest brother, grabbed his arm and jerked him back. “Leave Mother alone,” he warned. “There is no sense alarming her further.”
“You will get nowhere with this attitude,” Edmund scowled. He was a year younger than Edward and of them all, he most resembled Malcolm. “Do you want to find Mary or not?”
“Of course I do!”
“Stop it!” Margaret cried, her usual calm completely shattered. “How dare you fight now! Malcolm!Tell me!”
Malcolm gripped her hands. “There were Norman soldiers here yesterday, Margaret, not a mile from Liddel.”
Margaret gasped. “You don’t think …?”
“Show her, Father,” Edmund demanded. “Ask her if it belongs to Mary.”
Edward shoved past Edgar and hit Edmund with his fist in the shoulder, but Edmund was bigger, and the blow only unbalanced him slightly. Immediately Edgar came to Edward’s aid, ready to jump upon Edmund, until a roar from Malcolm ceased the fisticuffs.
Malcolm withdrew a piece of wet, white cloth from his belt. Edward made a sound of protest. Edgar, hardly a year older than Mary, was ashen. Malcolm ignored his sons, carefully unfolding the scrap, watching his wife. “Could this be a piece of Mary’s shift?”
Margaret’s eyes widened and she gasped. “Where did you find that?”
“Where the Normans had their camp,” Malcolm said grimly.
Margaret swayed.
Malcolm and Edward caught her at the same time, steadying her. “Do not fear, Mother,” Edward said soothingly, but his jaw was tight. “We shall find her and return her to you in no time at all.”
“Just the time it takes to find the whoreson bastard,” Edgar said darkly, glancing quickly at the silent man who still stood staring into the flames. Because of the proximity of his and Mary’s ages, he was closest to her of all the siblings. As children, he and Mary had been as inseparable as possible for a brother and sister. Even now, when Edgar was not fighting, he could usually be found with Mary. “If they have hurt her…”
“I will kill them all, every last treacherous Norman!” Malcolm roared. “Every last one!”
“Let’s go now, Father,” Edgar urged. His green eyes blazed. “If we ride through the night, we can be at Alnwick by dawn.”
“Alnwick?”Margaret asked. “’Twas Northumberland?”
“His troops were seen in the area this morning,” Malcolm replied harshly. “’Twas the bastard whelp, not the damned father, who is still at his wretched King’s court. And who else would dare to abduct our daughter—who else?” Recently, with the earl away so often, Stephen de Warenne had become the thorn in Malcolm’s side.
Margaret was as white as death. “My poor Mary, dear Lord Jesus, protect her,” she moaned, praying not for the first time, and not for the last. “Please see her returned to us unharmed!”
“’Tis my fault,” the man standing in front of the hearth said abruptly, turning to face them. His russet hair flamed in the firelight. “Had I not been detained, I would have been with her. and never would I have let her fall into de Warenne’s hands.”
The agony the young man felt was etched in the lines of fatigue on his face. Margaret hurried to him, intent on comforting him despite her own pain. “’Tis not your fault, Doug. Mary knows better than to wander outside these walls, or any walls, alone.” Tears filled her eyes. “How we have warned her time and again to behave as befits a princess, not an orphan of the burgh. If it is anyone’s fault, it is mine, for failing to rein in her spirit.”
“It is not your fault, Margaret,” Malcolm said, his tone softening. “Mary is to blame, and when I get my hands on her, she will not sit down for a week.” He was angry again. “How could she be such a fool!” He turned to face Doug Mackinnon. “And you are equally to blame, for enticing her to a rendezvous as you did. I will deal with you after I have dealt with her.”
Doug said nothing, but his mouth was tensely drawn.
“Malcolm, we must know for sure where she is,” Margaret cried.
“Do not fear, Mother,” Edward consoled, taking her hand. “We are certain ’twas Northumberland’s bastard heir. We found two more pieces of linen before it became too dark to continue to follow the trail, and obviously they were heading northeast. Who else but our Mary would be so bold as to leave these little flags for us? At the very least, her spirit remains unbroken.”
Margaret sank into her chair. Her heart was pounding too rapidly and she felt faint. “I must send for Maude,” she murmured, referring to her pious younger daughter, already a novice at the Abbey of Dunfermline. “I need Maude, Malcolm!” But the sore truth was that she needed Mary; how she needed to know that her darling, headstrong Mary was unhurt.
