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CHAPTERTWENTY
The clock on the kirk opposite the inn struck the eleventh hour, and Murdina and Kin now made ready to depart for the circle of stones where they were to meet the mysterious cloaked stranger. They had remained in the warmth of the bed for the rest of the evening, embraced in one another’s arms, sharing further the delights of their newly found union. Murdina had never felt so passionately about anyone before, even as she wondered whether Kin had done so himself.
By his own admission, there could well be another woman waiting for him, a love he could not recall. But at that moment, in that place, Murdina was certain his feelings were true. The way he had held her, the tenderness of his caress, the passion ignited in his eyes. That had all been real, and whatever the coming hours revealed, Murdina would cling to those feelings in the certain knowledge of their truth.
“Swords, and I have a dagger, too,” Murdina said as they dressed.
The fire had burned low in the hearth, and she threw on another log so that the room might be warm for their return. Kin was standing by the window, peering out between the drapes.
“It is all quiet out there. We must be cautious,” he said, turning to her, and she nodded.
“This man may have met ye before, but he has nae met Murdina McFadden. I am yet to meet a man to match my skill with the sword. Come, we should be going,” she said, and Kin smiled at her.
“You certainly have a feisty spirit, Murdina–it is to be admired,” he said, and Murdina blushed.
It felt good to at last be doing something with her talents. She had trained long and hard, practiced with the sword, and watched her father’s men ride off to war without her. She was worth ten of them, but her sex had always held her back. A woman did not fight, or so she was told, and Murdina was forever destined to be left behind. For that reason–among others–she had come to see Kin differently. He did not judge her by her sex, by the weakness expected of her, but for her and her alone. They were equals, and there was no question that she should fight alongside him if it came to it.
“I have spent my life tryin’ to prove myself. Perhaps now I shall have the chance,” she replied.
Kin opened the door and peered out along the corridor. The inn was quiet, the revelers in the taproom having earlier spilled out onto the square, and only the sound of snoring–the landlord, or perhaps another of the guests–could be heard as they made their way cautiously downstairs.
“This way,” Kin whispered, opening a door that led into a kitchen.
A cat ran in front of them, causing Murdina to startle. But there was no one else around, and a moment later, they were drawing back the bolts on the kitchen door and making their way out into a yard at the back of the inn. There were stables there and a horse looking out inquisitively from its stall. They crossed the cobbles and slipped out into the market square.
The rain was lighter now, though the wind was still strong, blowing it in gusts as they took the path going south–the same one they had earlier made their way along from the inlet where Longtooth had dropped them. Murdina had her hand on her sword hilt, ready to draw it at the slightest sign of trouble. Her heart was beating fast, though she had no intention of showing any fear. This was what she had trained for, and she looked forward to proving herself come what may.
“I can see nothing up ahead,” Kin said, pointing along the path.
The moon was obscured behind a cloud, but she could just make out the outline of the standing stones–an ancient stone circle–silhouetted on top of a hill about half a mile further south.
“We can only wait, I suppose,” she said, and Kin nodded, the two of them keeping close to one another as they continued along the path.
* * *
Kin was nervous. He did not like to show it, but the thought of the mysterious cloaked figure and of what he might reveal had unsettled him. Kin was not afraid of battle, and he was certain of his spy craft, of his art at cover and deception, but what made him nervous was the prospect of remembering. In the weeks since the shipwreck, Kin had become used to the fog that clouded his mind and made up his own mind as to who he was and what his purpose might be. But he knew, too, that there was a mystery, one which might be revealed that very night. It scared him to think he might discover an unpalatable truth, one which might pit him against Murdina or make the cause he thought was his a falsity. He wanted answers, but if those answers proved to be different from his hopes, what then…
“Wait a moment,” he said, holding Murdina’s arm.
They were close to the standing stones now, which appeared like a row of jagged teeth and reminded him of the graveyard close to Murdina’s father’s castle, where the monuments to the dead rose against the skyline. But these stones were far more ancient, remnants of a lost world, one in which the concerns of the present would have seemed foolish and strange.
“There is nay one about,” Murdina said, glancing around her.
“But plenty of places to hide,” Kin replied.
He had his hand on his sword hilt and was peering through the darkness, trying to discern the presence of a foe. The cloaked stranger was surely watching them, and it unsettled Kin to think he lay in the man’s power. Kin was the spy. It was he who was used to watching and waiting and to be the prey of another was deeply unsettling.
“There, by the tallest stone,” Murdina hissed, and Kin turned to find her pointing towards a figure standing some way off, his arms folded, the hood of his cloak pulled low over his face.
In the darkness, he was but a silhouette, almost a standing stone himself, and now he raised his hand.
“Ye will come alone, Kin Findlay,” the man said, and Kin glanced at Murdina, who shook her head.
“Nay, we go together,” she replied, and Kin nodded.
He had no intention of leaving Murdina behind, and he stepped forward, drawing his sword, and pointing it at the man, who remained still and resolute.
“She is my wife. I will nae leave her here,” he said, once more adopting the disguise of his brogue.
