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“He is… to be kept at arm’s length, though I have nay reason to doubt his word,” Murdina’s father replied.
Murdina could not help but smile–if her father really trusted Kin, he would not have charged Cillian to watch him night and day, nor would he have kept him at his side throughout the feast. It pleased her to think of how she had defied her father by sparring with Kin in the library the previous evening, and the thought of doing so again was foremost on her mind.
“But surely… this….” Iver said, and Ella interrupted him.
“We called him Thomas, but his name is Kin,” she said, and their guest nodded.
“Aye, Kin… ye know nothin’ of him. A word is only as good as its bearer. Ye cannae possibly believe trust will stay true to his word, can ye?” he asked.
Murdina was about to speak up in Kin’s defense when, to her surprise, he appeared at the steps leading up to the dais. She had been so engrossed in the ridiculous display of courtship by her sisters that she had not noticed him returning to the great hall.
“Kin… we have just been talkin’ about ye,” she said, and he looked at her in surprise.
“In the best of terms, I hope,” he said, glancing at Iver, who gave a curt nod.
“They tell me I am to trust ye, so, trust ye I must,” he said, glancing at Freya, who giggled.
“If I am trusted, perhaps you would wish to take a walk with me in the gardens, Murdina? The moon is high, and the stars are bright–my head is foggy from the hospitality of the goblet. Will you walk with me as I clear it?” he asked, glancing at Murdina’s father, who had no choice but to agree.
“Take Cillian with ye,” he said, but Murdina raised her eyebrows and glanced down at Cillian, who was now slumped on the table in front of him and snoring loudly.
“I am sure I will be quite safe among the herbs, Father,” she replied and nodding to Kin, the two of them stepped down from the dais.
“I thought you might appreciate my rescuing you,” he whispered as eyes and whispers followed them.
“Iver Doherty–the laird of the Doherty clan–his heart is in the right place, but he is so certain of himself,” Murdina replied, shaking her head.
She was relieved to step out into the corridor and past the hustle and bustle of the servants. They made their way out into the courtyard where the bonfire was now smoldering and the flaming torches reduced to mere spark. The gardens lay on the far side, through a door in the wall, and Murdina followed Kin, the two of them pausing once they were among the fragrant scent of the herbs.
“And what of a suitor for you? Are you betrothed yet?” he asked, and Murdina felt the blush rise in her cheeks.
“They are like prowling beasts awaitin’ their prey. But I could find none that captured my attention,” Murdina replied.
She had not tried particularly hard. The Jacobite leaders were of a similar mold, hewn from the same rock as her father. They had a certain arrogance about them, a certainty of their own position, one which she hardly found appealing.
“Were you even looking? Do you not still want to escape?” he asked, raising his eyebrows to her, and smiling.
“When ye left earlier on, I thought you were intendin’ to dae so yerself,” she replied, and he shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk on along a path which led between the beds of herbs.
“I thought about it, and it is the perfect moment. My minder is so drunk he would hardly notice, and come the morning, it would be too late. But there was something… which held me back. You looked so terribly unhappy, and when I slipped out… well, my heart was torn, to say the least,” he replied.
Murdina smiled. She was grateful to him for his honesty, and she wondered what he could mean by such words regarding his heart. She paused, and he turned to her, a smile playing over his lips.
“I am glad ye stayed. There is something… tis’ nae easy. All this,” she said, pointing up at the windows of the great hall, lit from inside by the light of the fire and candles.
“You mean being married off to someone you cannot love? Someone you do not even know?” he said.
Murdina nodded. But it was more than that. This was about control. Her father had always kept her under tight control. She and her sisters. Since Aoife’s death, it was as though he had tried to smother each of them, to keep them from the freedoms which had led–unintentionally–to her sister’s tragic demise. Aoife had taken her own life because the man she loved with all her heart had broken it, and it seemed their father now believed it was better for the remaining three to marry into misery than to risk their hearts being broken as hers had been.
“First, it was Murdoch, and I am grateful to ye for remindin’ my father of the need for caution. It brought a remedy to my unhappiness– but that remedy was short-lived. I shall still be unhappy–whether I married Murdoch or whether I marry one of these men. Tis’ all my father wants,” she replied.
They had come to an arbor, over which wisteria would grow in the summer–for the castle gardens were their own climate, the high walls protecting the plants from the ravages of the sea winds and reflecting back the warmth of the sun. But in early spring, the arbor remained bare, and Murdina sat beneath it, gazing up at the castle above–scene of so much tragedy. It was here her sister had so often come to sit, and Aoife had told Murdina she was in love. It was a bittersweet place to sit, beautiful as well as ugly.
“Then perhaps he must be made to think otherwise,” Kin replied, and Murdina looked up at him in surprise.
“And how dae ye propose to dae so?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
She could see no way in which their guest–or prisoner–could help. She had been certain he was about to run away or enlist her help to do so, and yet here he was making good on a suggestion to help her.
