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Cillian was unaware he would be accompanying Murdina on her walk that day. The idea had come to her at breakfast, and she intended to make her way across the dunes to the headland and down to the beach so that she might examine the wreckage of the ship for herself. The laird had done nothing to investigate, and when Murdina had mentioned the matter to Carrick, he had only dismissed her as a fool.
“A wreck? Let the peasants have the firewood. I have more pressin’ matters to see to,” he had told her.
But Murdina was curious, and she was certain that an examination of the wreck could yield answers as to the man's identity in the dungeons. The day was bright and clear, a fresh spring breeze blowing in from the sea, and Murdina found Cillian tending to his horse in the stables.
“Ye are comin’ with me today,” she said, beckoning him to follow her.
“What are ye talkin’ about? I have my duties to see to here,” he replied, but she shook her head and caught hold of his arm.
“I want to walk over to the shipwreck. Come with me and see it,” she whispered, glancing around her lest any of the other clansmen should hear.
Cillian looked at her in surprise, but a smile spread over his face, and he nodded, laying aside his brush and patting the horse’s mane.
“Give me a few moments. Meet me by the gate,” he said, and Murdina nodded before hurrying across the courtyard to wait for him.
The castle was a hive of activity, for the laird had ordered a doubling of the guard, convinced, he said, that an English invasion was imminent. Soldiers were stationed on the battlements, and others preparing to ride out on patrol. But Murdina knew the surrounding countryside better than any of them, and she would lead Cillian across the heathers and along a path through a narrow valley which led to the coastal path and the beach where the ship had been wrecked.
“Ye know ye have made him angry, Murdina?” a voice behind her said, and Murdina turned to find Ella, shaking her head.
“And what if I have, Ella? He is always angry with me. It will nae change my fate, or yers,” Murdina replied.
She was tired of her sister’s constant nagging. Ella was nothing like Aoife. She was not brave, nor did she ever stand up to their father. It was as though she was willing to simply do as she was told, even if the consequences were terrible–she would marry whom their father decided she would marry, and that would be that.
“He has plans for ye–a man. He is comin’ to the castle this night,” Ella said, and Murdina’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“What dae ye mean he is comin’ here? How dae ye know? Who is he?” she demanded.
Her sister’s words had cut through her like a knife. She knew their father had plans for each of them, but to hear such definite words and to be told to expect a suitor that very day turned her blood cold.
“If ye had nae left so suddenly after breakfast, he might have told ye. His name is Murdoch McGill, the son of the laird of that clan and a Jacobite through and through. Be wary sister, yer fate is sealed,” Ella said, and shaking her head again, she hurried off across the courtyard.
“Are ye ready?” Cillian asked, bounding up to her like an eager puppy.
“Aye, I am,” she replied, the thoughts of escaping, of running away, now returning to her mind.
