“Exactly.”
“So we convince them you’re Morag. It willnae be hard. They let you inside. Then you can get the key, the steward gets booted out on his arse and I go back home.”
“Convince them I’m Morag? How will that help me?”
“You dinnae understand. The Laird and Lady have been hiding away ever since she went missing, letting that villain run the clan intae the ground. Make them believe you’re her and they’ll come out of hiding and see the damage he’s done. I swear once they ken the truth, they’ll throw him out and you can search the entire place to your heart’s content.”
“But I’m not their daughter.”
“You could be. If we teach you a bit of an accent, and a couple of other things.”
“Like what?”
“I dinnae ken. I didnae ken her that well. What we need to do first is go to the new abbey, convince the abbot you’re her. Do that and he’ll lend us his boat to get over to the mainland. We have to take his. If the steward’s guards see any other boat on the water they sink it with the weight of arrows brought to bear. We just have to make the abbot believe you’re her.”
“But where am I supposed to have been all these years?”
“I dinnae ken. Come back from memory loss or pilgrimage or kidnapping or something. We’ll think it up on the way.”
He was already walking but she grabbed his arm. “Stop, wait a minute. I’m not Morag. I don’t know anything about her. He’ll know we’re lying and then what?”
“Haud on, I have an idea. Angela knew the lassie when she was wee. She’ll give us a clue.”
He began walking again, leaving her to jog to catch up to him. For the first time in a long time, he allowed a little bit of hope into his heart.
He’d grown used to life on the island, accepting that he would never get to see the inside of his home again.
But maybe, just maybe, that was no longer going to be the case.
If he could just get the Laird and Lady to come out of their own exile, maybe he could end his. It all rested on convincing them she was Morag.
One little lie for so much good, it had to be worth it on the Scales of Heaven. The clan could be saved before it disintegrated, the steward would be the one living alone and scraping a living. It was almost too good to dream it was possible.
The walk to Angela’s little cottage down by the shore took an hour. They went past the new abbey, following the rabbit trail that ran around the edge of its walls. His companion looked up at the wall as they went by, saying nothing. What was she thinking?
He looked at her, marvelling at just how much she looked like the Lady. She was different though, her hair wilder, not held neatly within the confines of a barbette.
“What’s your name?” he asked as they walked.
“Jessica. Jessica Abrahams.”
“Nae,” he replied. “It’s Morag MacGregor. Understand?”
“But it’s not. I told you-”
“From now on you are Morag MacGregor and nothing else. Get used to the name, be ready to respond to it whenever anyone says it.”
“Morag. Got it. And you? What’s your name.”
“Eddard MacGregor.”
“So we’re related?”
“Do I look like royalty? We’re the same clan, that’s all. Dinnae expect birthday gifts from me. You’re no my kin.”
“Not even a card wishing me happy returns?”
He didn’t answer. A moody silence descended.
