13
In the hours that followed, Margaret and Brodie each thought they heard hoofbeats approaching numerous times. However, it was only in their minds, and at last, they arrived at Morna’s cottage.
Brodie was uncertain of what he had expected. There were no mysterious old healers or suspected witches lurking at the outer edges of MacKenzie lands. Given Brodie’s lifelong love of fantastic tales, he supposed he would not have been surprised to find a ghastly-looking shack draped in cobwebs, with bats fluttering in the chimney and a perpetually full moon overhead even in the daytime.
Instead, the cottage was cheerful, with beautiful gardens out front and rows of staked hops and grapevines in the backyard for the making of wine and ale. Morna herself stood on the front stoop, sweeping the errant dust and pebbles away from her threshold.
Margaret marveled at the fact that Morna had not seemed to age a single day since last they had seen each other years ago. She had the same jet-black hair, the same dark and expressive eyebrows, the same twinkling gray eyes, the same knowing smirk that always lingered at the corners of her mouth as though someone was whispering an amusing secret in her ear.
When she looked up and saw them approaching, her eyes lit up. “My dear Margaret! You’ve returned! My, how you have grown!”
Margaret embraced her. “It is good to see you again. I have missed you so dreadfully.”
“What has brought you back to me, then, eh? I should think they would keep you too busy up in that castle to permit you a trip such as this one!” She turned to look at Brodie. “And who is this strapping young lad you have brought along with you?”
“May we come in?” Margaret asked.
Morna saw the troubled look in the girl’s eyes and nodded gravely. “Yes, I suppose you had better. Would either of you like refreshment? Some mead, perhaps?”
“No!” Brodie blurted out. “That is, er, your offer is most kind, but…such drinks have not been agreeing with me of late.”
They sat in Morna’s parlor, inhaling the scents of fresh-cut herbs and snuffed-out candles as Margaret told her story. The woman listened closely, her expression unreadable.
“I know how difficult all of this must be to believe,” Margaret finished. “I have always known Seamus MacLeod to be a good man and a fair one, but this—”
Morna held up a hand, stopping her. “Oh, my child. I have known Seamus far longer than you have, and I can assure you, he is a thoroughly black-hearted monster. He is capable of evils far beyond your ken…beyond even this horror you have described. The bottle you found was indeed mine. I gave it to Seamus when he demanded it recently, for I did not dare refuse him. I feared what he might use its contents for, but I had no idea his bent of mind would be quite so diabolical.”
“It sounds as though you have a vile history indeed with Seamus,” Margaret observed. “What happened?”
“That is a wretched story for another time, my dear. For now, we must make haste.”
“To where?” Brodie asked.
“Back to the castle,” she replied. “At once.”
“You cannot be serious!” Margaret balked. “After we have fled together? We would be walking directly into the lion’s lair!”
“Think, lass,” Morna insisted. “It is the only viable course of action. Seamus will already have sent his men here to look for you. If they catch you here, so far from the castle, then there is no telling what might transpire. They could put us all to the sword so that Seamus may keep his foul secrets, and none would ever need know. No, you two must return together openly and willingly so that all may see it. It will lessen the appearance of your guilt, and it will buy you time to find a way out of all this. First, though: You still have the bottle you took from Seamus’s room, yes?”
Margaret produced it, and Morna took it from her, stowing it in the folds of her dress.
“It appears to be quite empty,” Margaret told her. “I am not sure how useful it will prove to us now.”
Morna gave her a sly wink. “You may yet be surprised, lass.” She grabbed her walking stick and ushered them out the door, closing it behind her. “Come, I know many hidden paths through these woods and grottos. I can ensure that we make it there undetected…and more rapidly, no doubt, than it took you to reach me.”
And so they set off, with Brodie and Margaret praying that all would be well. Morna felt a deep unease at returning to the castle for the first time since that gruesome night eighteen years ago when Seamus had first displayed the depths of his villainy to her.
It had been the last time that she could bear to look Laird Malcolm in the eyes, knowing the terrible secrets she had been forced to keep from him. He had loved her once and trusted her, and she knew she had repaid him poorly—under duress, certainly, but even so, she had lived with the shame of it ever since.
Perhaps, she thought,the time has come to balance the scales at last.
