Though these were but mere pieces of parchment, they represented her livelihood. She knew material possessions were not the most important things in life, but without these properties, neither she nor her son would have food, clothing or a home. She must hold onto these at all costs.
Henry's attack on Cyrus the night before had made it clear how determined the knave was to steal from her. It also told her she had to take action.
During the night, an idea had come to her—create faux copies of the deeds. If Henry stole those, or even made her sign them, it wouldn't matter. She could keep her genuine deeds hidden away. By the time he realized they were fake, she, Cyrus and all their staff could escape and find safety. Plus, Henry wouldn't legally be able to get his hands on her properties.
She opened the bottom drawer of the large desk, looking for the stack of fine blank parchment she had brought from Greymont Castle when she'd moved. It had been her husband's. Aye, there it was. She pulled out one piece and examined it by the window. 'Twas yellowed with age. Who knew how old it was? The baron could've bought it when he'd been a young man, almost forty years earlier. Perfect.
The only difficult part would be keeping the ink from appearing fresh and dark. 'Haps after it dried, she could rub it with rough fabric to wear it off a bit.
After dipping the quill into the inkhorn, she set to work. She studied the lettering of each word before she carefully copied it. She would make subtle changes in the wording near the end to make the deed null and void.
Her grandma—her ma's mother—had been the youngest daughter of a baron from the Borders. She had taught Elspeth to read and write when she was a wee lass. Grandma had passed when Elspeth was eight, but she continued to practice. Her father, as a merchant, had also been educated, but he hadn't much time or patience to teach her reading. He did teach her much about numbers, mathematics and trade so that she could, in turn, tutor her younger brother. He'd cared naught for it, while she'd found it fascinating.
She prayed she could keep her businesses, for she truly loved them. Having not visited the shops in days, she was antsy.
She would keep these faux deeds a secret from Cyrus for now. She might not need them.
Even more important than retaining her properties though—she had to make sure Cyrus remained safe. He risked his life for her every time he went outside.
∞∞∞
That evening at gloaming, Cyrus stared out the study window through the wavy diamond-shaped panes of glass toward the torch-lit courtyard, hoping to see his own warriors riding through the gate so he wouldn't have to send more men to Castle Rebbinglen for reinforcements. All day, between rain showers, he had paced from one side of the courtyard to the other, waiting for them. He had also spent some time in the tower room three floors up, trying to spy any enemies in the distance or climbing the walls. All had been quiet but tense. In his gut, he sensed an impending conflict.
Had the light rain showers delayed the guards escorting the coach back? The weather had never stopped MacKenzie soldiers before. Heavy rains might slow them down a bit, but a light misty rain was a near everyday occurrence. 'Twould be no more than a mild nuisance.
Had Sean and James made it safely back to Rebbinglen? Or had they gotten lost since they'd only traveled the route one time? He trained his men to notice landmarks so they could travel anywhere he required them to. He wished he'd told them to forget the coach and simply bring back two dozen soldiers.
His eyes scanning the courtyard again, Cyrus noticed a figure moving at the top of the wall in a different place from before. The blackguards were back.
He strode into the dining hall, his gaze first landing on Elspeth speaking to her housekeeper on the opposite side of the large room, then shifting to one of his guards sitting at the table, eating a late supper. "The archer is back. MacNeil, I need your bow and arrows."
His guard bounded from the bench and snatched his bow from the floor. "Allow me to shoot them, m'laird."
"I’ll do it. I want to exact some revenge." His shoulder was healing, but it was still sore.
MacNeil handed the weapon and quiver over.
"You and Reid guard the front and back doors." Cyrus strung the bow. The remaining men were resting in preparation for the late watch.
"Aye." MacNeil raced off to find his fellow guard.
Cyrus hastened up the steep winding stairs that ascended three stories into a small round tower room containing two windows. After hearing a light tread behind him, he glanced around, finding that Elspeth had followed him.
"Go back down below where you'll be safe." He used the mildest tone he could muster despite his concern for her safety, then sidled up to the window that faced the courtyard.
"Very well. But… have a care."
"I will." He certainly didn't intend to be struck a second time by the knaves.
He watched her descend the steps out of sight, then turned to take a quick look through the wavy glass. The dark blurry shape of the miscreant was still visible.
As slowly and quietly as possible, he unlatched the windowpane and opened it inward. From his ladder, the bastard was peering over the ten-foot wall toward the entrance. Cyrus would love to kick the ladder out from under his feet and watch him topple to the ground. But any sound of approach would send him scurrying like a wee mouse.
After nocking an arrow, Cyrus drew the string back, aimed and released. The point struck the stone wall a couple of inches in front of the blackguard and glanced off, missing him entirely.
"Hell." When Cyrus reached for another arrow, the man raised his bow and shot in Cyrus's direction. He was forced to dodge out of the way. The arrow struck one of the glass panes of the open window, shattering it.
"Are they shooting at you?" Elspeth ran upward, emerging from the narrow stairwell.
