Jessica pulled up her sleeve to expose her skin to the Lady and her husband.
“You have the scar,” Rachel said, running her finger along it. “You have the key and the scar. You are Morag.”
“What?” Jessica said. “You believe that?”
“Where were you born?”
“Here at the castle,” she replied without pausing.
“Where have you been?”
“The steward,” she said, blinking as if she was just waking up. “The steward used the key to send me away.”
“Where to?”
“Far away.”
She began to cry and the Laird and Lady embraced her. Eddard shook his head. This was the time to do it, not focus on them.
While they were distracted he made his way to the treasury. Somehow he was not surprised to find barely a copper coin inside. The cupboard was bare.
He made his way back out to an empty courtyard. The door to the brewery was open and his feet took him inside. He had achieved his goal.
In a way.
It felt like a hollow victory though. The first chance Jessica would get, she’d use the key to go home and he’d be left to explain to the Laird why he’d conned them.
The scar. What about the scar?
He had no answer to that other than coincidence. Inside the brewery was a long table, the nearest the castle came to a tavern. Only one other person was in there. A woman who had been beaten recently.
“Good day,” the woman said, raising a tankard as he entered. “Seeking business?”
“Not with you,” he replied before she had a chance to show her wares. There was only one woman he wanted and it was not a tipsy witch trying to sell potions of nonsense.
“Last person to use my stuff stole them and stole me. Why not pour yourself a drink and we’ll sit in despair together?”
He did so, taking a seat and draining half his tankard in one go.
“It could be worse,” the woman said. “I was in a cell yesterday and now look at me. If I get drunk enough, maybe I willnae mind seeing Ronald’s face no more.”
“I think he’ll be leaving fairly soon,” Eddard said.
The door to the brewery hit the wall with a bang. Eddard turned and there was the steward, his eyes wild.
“What are you doing here?” Ronald asked, staring at the woman. “What have you told him?”
“What? About you poisoning the Laird and Lady with herbs stolen from me, addling their brains so they let you send Philip away? They’ve had years in hiding because of you dripping poison into their food and into their ears. I am no longer afraid of you.”
Ronald smiled. “You should be. So now the exile kens the truth?” He spat onto the floor. “Shame neither of you will get to tell anyone else. Time to kill you both.” He began swinging a sword in front of him, cutting through the air with menace. “Who wants to die first?”
“Neither of them,” a voice said from the doorway behind him.
The steward froze as the Laird walked inside.
“What are you doing, Ronald?”
“Why are you out, my Laird? You should be in the chapel praying for your daughter’s safe return.”
