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CHAPTERSEVEN
“Did ye see the way he looked at ye?” Ella said as the three sisters sat in Murdina’s chambers later that night.
The feast was still going on in the great hall below, the dancing having given way to toasts and storytelling. The sisters had bid their father and Murdoch goodnight, though Murdina had not been allowed to leave before she promised to ride out with Murdoch the next morning for sport.
“I am sure yer beauty matches yer skills with the horse. We shall hunt together in the forest to the north,” he had told her, leering drunkenly at her as he had taken her hand and brought it to his lips.
“I think he is tellin’ the truth; what dae ye say, Murdina?” Freya asked.
The prisoner's arrival had brought with it a strange stirring in Murdina’s heart. She had been so curious about him, intrigued to learn more, and the strange occurrence with the letter had only caused her curiosity to grow. Murdina was convinced the prisoner was telling the truth and that their causes were the same–as much as Murdina despaired of it.
“I think so, too, aye,” Murdina replied, and it seemed that for once, she and her two sisters agreed on something.
“But what will father dae now? Murdoch seemed keen to hang him,” Ella said, shaking her head sadly.
“Because he called him a traitor? Perhaps he is a traitor, perhaps the sight of Murdoch brought back a memory he had hidden, and that means there are more–his name, for a start,” Murdina said.
“We cannae keep callin’ him ‘the prisoner,’ we should name him,” Freya said, but Murdina rolled her eyes.
“He is nae a pet for ye to keep, Freya,” she said, but her sister shook her head.
“I want to call him… Thomas. Tis’ an English soundin’ name, and for all we know, he may be a titled gentleman, a favorite at court,” she replied, sounding somewhat indignant.
“Or he might be a traitor on the run. We daenae know,” Murdina said, though her sympathies were certainly with the man in the dungeons, and she was determined to discover more about him.
“We should ask father to allow him to dine with us–perhaps we can help him to remember,” Ella said, and Freya clapped her hands together in delight.
“Aye, that is the perfect idea. We shall ask father tomorrow. How excitin’ it would be to have a spy to dine with us!” Freya exclaimed.
Murdina sighed. Her two sisters could be foolish at times, caught up in romantic intrigues, when the truth of the matter was quite different, Murdoch and his men would remain at the castle for several days, and if word was received back from the laird of the MacGlens indicating ignorance of the prisoner, then he would be hanged for sure. But despite her reservations, Murdina could not help feeling intrigued by what she had seen at dinner. She had caught the prisoner’s eye, and the look they had exchanged had caused her to blush. He was handsome, and despite his evident fear of the situation, he had not cowed before her father and Murdoch. There was no doubt the man was brave, and bravery was a quality she deeply admired.
“Daenae expect too much of him, though,” she cautioned, but neither of her sisters was listening.
“And we shall find out all about him. I am sure that once we talk to him, we can help him remember,” Ella said, and the conversation proceeded in this manner for some time.
When at last her two sisters left her chambers, Murdina lay back on the bed and pulled the blankets up tightly around her, listening to the wind whistling around the castle walls. She thought of the prisoner in the dungeons and of the look he had given her, a look which suggested the hope of further conversation. He intrigued her, and though her sisters were foolish creatures, a part of her hoped their father would agree to have the man dine with them–if only so that they might discover something– anything–more about him.
* * *
“Tis’ nonsense, Andrew. The man is an impostor. He speaks of me as a traitor, and for what reason? To save his own skin,” Murdoch snarled, shaking his head as he spooned porridge into his bowl from the pot at the center of the table.
Breakfast was served late the next morning in the great hall, and Murdina had arrived just as her sisters had made their request to their father, who was pondering the matter as he dug into a pair of kippers.
“I am nae sayin’ he is tellin’ the truth about ye, Murdoch. Ye are the loyalist of men to our cause, but the letter, the crest and coat of arms,” Murdina’s father replied, pulling the letter out of his pocket, and unfolding it.
Murdina peered across the table, interested to see the piece of parchment which bore the crest of the MacGlens. It was signed at the bottom in a squiggle of ink, the sender's identity indistinguishable, and the words of the letter, too, could barely be made out.
“What does it say, Father?” Ella asked, she and Freya having just joined them at the table.
“It says nothin’ that can be distinguished, nothin’ that can be of help,” their father replied.
Murdina leaned forward to get a better look. Her father was right. If not for the crest and coat of arms, the parchment would have appeared meaningless and bore no further clues about the man’s identity.
“We want him to dine with us,” Freya said, glancing at Ella, who nodded.
“Oh, dae say he can, father, please,” she said, and Murdoch threw up his hands in disgust.
“What nonsense. I will nae sit at table with a spy. What is this, Andrew? Are ye to let yer daughters walk all over ye?” he demanded, and the laird looked embarrassed.
