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Murray slumped onto the bench and, taking her plaid in his hands, he buried his face in it. He could still smell her sweetness there. The walls of the cottage seemed to close in on him, an emptiness crept up his spine. He had played his games and made her miserable and now he had lost her. Ilene had gone, because of all the awful things he had said and done, and unless he found her, he could not take it back.
Well, he would find her, no matter what. He set off for the village, pounding through the darkness, driving onwards with no care on the dark road. But he did not find her that night, or the next, or the next.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Weeks later, Murray rode into a small fishing village to the far north of Shillinglaw, exhausted to the point of collapse. The relentless search for Ilene had left its mark, now only sheer determination kept him going.
His initial hope of finding her had given way to desperation as his frantic searching around Shillinglaw had yielded little information, other than that of the worst kind. A farmer said he had seen a dark-haired woman walking along the cliffs some miles from the cottage. He had shouted out a greeting but she had paid him no heed, he said, and so he had continued on his way and let her be. Murray scoured the cliffs and beaches thereabouts but found nothing, save his own growing dread as he remembered Duncan’s warning, ‘pirates plague that coastline.’
He had sent Duff to Cailleach on the pretence of communicating with Duncan on the state of affairs with the King and his bid to regain his throne. Word had come back that there were changes afoot and that he should ready the men in his charge as best he could. There was no news of Ilene, no word of her having returned to her family. Murray had sworn to Ilene that he would never reveal her secret to Duncan and he intended to keep his word. Telling them she was missing would mean he would have to explain why she had run off. Or he would have to lie to Duncan’s face about the sad series of events that had led to her disappearance.
If he couldn’t find her, then Duncan and Ailsa would have to learn the truth, but he was determined not to fail Ilene and he would not even entertain the prospect that he wouldn’t see her again. At night, he lay under the cold sky, staring up into the stars, picturing Ilene’s face plain as day, remembering her sweet smile. Sometimes he thought he was going mad with longing for her.
The village he rode into was a sorry place at the northernmost point of his land, a small group of crofters scraping a living from the sea and whatever they could coax out of the earth. Beyond, there was little to sustain a body, just miles of harsh mountains and boggy moorland, scoured by the wind, wet, remote and hostile. Ilene would not have gone north of here, of that he was certain.
Murray headed along the shoreline, where he had spotted a lone fisherman beaching his boat. He rushed over and helped him haul it up onto the sand and pebbles. The man had little to say that was useful as Murray helped him unload his catch, but, as he turned to leave, the man shouted after him, ‘that gaggle of fishwives yonder may know something if you’re brave enough to go amongst them.’ Murray looked down the beach. ‘Trust me, my good fellow, they have a deal more gossip than any man wants to hear.’
Murray approached the women, trying to ignore the smell borne on the wind, as they chattered noisily whilst tearing the guts out of the haul of herring before them. When they took in his fine features and muscled physique they seemed happy to share their gossip with him, and much else besides.
‘Ah but you’re a fine looking man to be sure,’ said one, wiping bloody hands down a filthy apron. ‘Is it company you seek, sir, on this fine day, for I be recently widowed?’
They all cackled at her boldness.
‘Regretfully no,’ he replied, trying to hide his impatience. ‘It is information I seek. I am looking for my wife.’
‘Lost her, have you?’
‘Aye.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I did the wrong thing by her and I would find her, to make amends.’
‘So, she’s run away from you has she?’ said a very thin woman, narrowing her eyes.
‘Course not, Gwyneth,’ said another.’ Why would any woman be fool enough to run away from a fine man like this? She should thank God she has him warming her bed on these cold nights.’ She leered at him, revealing a smile of crooked teeth.
‘Why should we help him? Mayhap she ran away because he beat her, Ciara?’ snapped the woman called Gwyneth, with a hard look on her pinched little face, and with a bitterness that suggested to Murray that she had been on the receiving end of such treatment in the past.
‘Mistress, I assure you I did not and would not do that. But she did leave me, it’s true because I could not show her how much I cared for her. I’ve been a fool and if I find her I will spend the rest of my life making amends for it. I think she has a sickness of the mind and I fear greatly for her safety, out in the world alone.’
The woman shrugged as if she did not believe him and went back to gutting the fish with more vigour than before.
‘She lost our child and she could not recover from it,’ he said, surprised at his own candour.
‘What she look like?’ said Ciara.
‘Tall she is, with jet black hair and brown eyes and she’s beautiful, so very beautiful. You could not miss her, if you saw her you would not forget her.’
‘There’s none like that around here, so best look elsewhere for your love,’ replied Ciara. He eyes were kindly and there was a hint of pity in them.
‘Then I thank you for your time and bid you good day,’ he said.
‘There was talk of a mermaid,’ said a quiet young girl. Murray had not really noticed her before.
‘Hush your tongue and your nonsense girl, he seeks a real woman, not your mermaid.’
‘Let her speak,’ said Murray.
