“He’ll see them hang for poaching.”
His brother nodded grimly. “The rest of the men are understandably unhappy. The deer are ours, in their minds. They want to fetch our kin back.”
“I’ll think on it. Udard says you’ve a tale to tell.”
Niall nodded. “The how and the wherefore are a wee complicated, but we found the queen’s necklace.”
A slow grin crept across Aiden’s face. “Truly?”
“Aye.”
“Bloody hell.” Aiden gave his brother a heartfelt pound on the back. “By God, I should never have doubted you.”
Niall threw him a grim look. “The news is not so fair as you would believe. Although I gained some sense of the path the necklace took to Duthes, I was unable to find evidence that would prove our innocence in its theft. All I know is that a traveling merchant delivered the necklace to Duthes a fortnight before Yule. Alas, without the name of the man who sold it to the merchant, we are no further ahead.”
Aiden let his hand drop. “And the merchant?”
“I’ve sent Bran and Conal in search of him.” Niall cocked his head at the woman standing beside him. “You’ve a tale of your own to tell, it would seem.”
Aiden tugged Isabail forward. “Lady Isabail Grant, my brother, Sir Niall MacCurran.”
“Lady Macintosh,” she corrected mildly. “I am the widow of Andrew Macintosh. And I believe this man’s knighthood was stripped from him after it was ascertained that he freed you from my brother’s dungeon.”
Niall shrugged. “A knighthood is of little consequence in the Highlands. All that matters here is my clan and the strength of my sword arm.”
“Aye, I can see how honor and fealty to your king would be inconvenient qualities.”
Aiden’s brother tossed her one of his icy stares. “Our loyalty to the king is unwavering.”
“Killing his courier and his justiciar and stealing his gift to his new bride are not disloyal? My, I must have been taught a different measure of trueness.”
Aiden yanked Isabail against his chest to silence her virulent words. It annoyed him that she was so easily able to speak her mind with his brother while he was treated to terrified silences. “I’ll settle her with Beathag. Then you can tell me the whole of your complicated tale.”
* * *
Beathag turned out to be a rather formidable woman. She reminded Isabail of the wife of Lochurkie’s seneschal—same big bosom, same deep laugh, same tendency to get right to the point.
“The MacCurran tells me you’re to get no supper,” Beathag said as she led Isabail and Muirne toward one of the thatch-roofed huts. “He didn’t say you couldn’t drink, though, so I’ll make you a spot of tea. This place is as damp and drafty as a dungeon.”
Isabail studied the six-foot-high wall that surrounded the camp. “What is this place?”
“According to legend, it’s the palace of an ancient Pictish king.” She swept aside a draped boar skin and ushered them into the roundhouse. “This will be your room. Your maid will sleep here with you, of course.”
A plump straw mattress sat directly on the hard-packed dirt floor, a woolen blanket folded near the bottom. It was better than sleeping in the mud, but only just. Isabail frowned. “Where’s the pallet for my maid?”
Beathag laughed, a great booming chuckle. “You’ll share that one and be happy about it. Many here have no pallet at all.” She pointed to a bucket of water. “We’ve drawn some water for you, but from now on, you’ll need to fetch your own from the stream.”
Isabail wrinkled her nose at that notion, but said nothing. “I will need the services of the laundress. I’ve been wearing these same clothes for two days.”
The big woman laughed again. She pointed a finger at Muirne and then at Isabail. “Meet the laundresses.” Still chuckling, she ducked under the lintel beam again and disappeared.
“This is ridiculous,” Isabail said.
“Have no fear, my lady,” Muirne said. “I’ll take care of things.”
Isabail took stock of the room. There wasn’t much to look at. Windowless walls of lichen-spotted stone, a heather roof, and the mattress. No chair, no chest, no table for a taper. Had she offered such accommodation to a guest at Lochurkie, she’d have squirmed with embarrassment.
“First things first. Let me check your ankle.” Isabail encouraged Muirne to sit on the mattress and unwrapped the linen strips that bound her maid’s foot. The flesh had turned a nasty shade of purple, but the swelling had subsided. She rewound the linen, ensured a snug fit, and sat back on her heels. “So long as you walk with care, it should be fine. MacCurran’s men gathered some of my belongings from the carriage. Go see if you can find them. And have someone fetch me a broom. I’ll not sleep under a cobweb that size, else I’ll be swallowing spiders in my dreams.”
