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“Thank you. You will be glad to be with your family again, I expect.” She knew from the man’s voice that it was the guard with two daughters and a third child due any day who had spoken to her.
“Aye, that I will. An’ I expect ye’ll be glad of a proper roof o’er yer head again, lassie.”
“Yes,” murmured Roselyn. “Very glad.” He had not mentioned the castle dungeons, but even so, given what awaited her at Duncleit she was not sure that the road was not a better option.
* * *
They clattered across the drawbridge into the Duncleit bailey at nightfall the following evening. Roselyn knew they had arrived at their destination by the pounding of running feet and cheerful shouts of welcome from all directions. She sat on the bench at the front of the cart, her body hunched against the plummeting temperatures and such other terrors as she could not quite bring herself to imagine. Her teeth actually chattered as the soldier who had made most of the journey at her side assisted her to the ground. Her wrists were bound, as they had been for almost a week now, but Roselyn no longer noticed or cared. It was with some effort on her part that she lifted her chin and sought to absorb such clues as might be there to help her plot her new surroundings.
Voices, footsteps, the clip-clop of hooves as horses were led away to the stables, the scrape of iron on stone as the drawbridge was raised against intruders. She could not count how many people now bustled about the castle forecourt, but had the sense that this was a busy place. Roselyn stood, rooted to the spot, afraid to move in any direction.
Was he here, waiting for her? The McGregor?
“So, what’s this then? Who have we here?” The woman’s voice rang across the bailey and Roselyn turned in the direction from which it had come. “An’ how go matters at Mortain?”
The guard checked Roselyn’s bindings as he answered. “It were not good, Elspeth. Not good at all. We were too late.”
“Too late? What do ye mean? The Lady Joan…?” The voice came from somewhere much closer now, slightly breathless as though the speaker had been hurrying.
“Dead, lass, an’ her bairn too, along wi’ her man and most o’ their household. The McGregor has gone in pursuit of the murderin’ villain who did it.”
“All of them? All…” The woman’s voice trailed off on a sob. “But how could that be? Why? Why should anyone do such a thing?”
“I dunno, lass. It were a terrible sight, I can tell ye. An’ meanwhile we have a prisoner. This here’s the sister o’ the devil who murdered our folk an’ the McGregor intends to question her hissel’. His instructions are to hold her secure until his return.”
“Sister, eh? An’ what might ye be knowin’ about the goings-on at Mortain, then?”
Since the question was clearly addressed to her Roselyn moistened her dry lips before attempting a reply.
“Nothing…” she began, only to break off. That was not true. She might not have been present at Mortain when the bloody deed was done, wielded no weapon herself, but without doubt she knew much more than she should about the entire affair. And here she was, in the lion’s lair itself, just waiting for the great beast to return and devour her whole.
Roselyn’s knees turned to jelly and she started to collapse. At once the guard caught her and held her upright. “It’s been a long journey and the lass needs to rest.”
“Take her to the small chamber off the laird’s solar. It has a lock, an’ is handy for the kitchens so I can keep an eye on ‘er.”
The guard seemed less than convinced. “What about the dungeons for ‘er? She’s The McGregor’s prisoner, not ‘is guest.”
“The McGregor can have her moved when he gets here, if he sees fit. Come wi’ me, lass an’ I’ll see to ye for now.” The woman apparently expected her suggestion to carry the day, and indeed the guard seemed ready to defer to her. The invitation seemed genuine enough so Roselyn took a cautious step forward.
“Wait,” yelled the guard who had driven the cart. “Ye’ll ‘ave tae lead her. She’s nae sight, ye ken.”
“Ach, the poor wee thing. And you wanted to shove her down in the dungeons? Shame on ye. And why is she bound up like a side o’ salt pork? The lass’ll be goin’ nowhere.”
“The McGregor’s instructions. He said—”
Elspeth made a clucking sound in her throat which seemed to indicate her general contempt for her laird’s orders in this matter. She tugged at the ropes binding Roselyn’s wrists and in moments her hands were free.
“Thank you,” murmured Roselyn, almost overcome with gratitude for the woman’s kindness.
“Come wi’ me, lass. We’ll get ye rested, an’ some decent food in ye. Then ye can tell me how all this came about.”
* * *
Roselyn stirred and rolled over in the bed. She listened for a few moments, confused at the silence. No rhythmic clopping of hooves reached her ears, no raucous chatter of male voices, no rattle of wheels on the hard-packed earth. Instead she detected just stillness, peace. And blessed warmth.
Reluctant to move, still she sat up as the events of the last few days hurtled back to fill her consciousness. Etal. Mortain. Duncleit.She was safe, for now, but how long that happy circumstance might last was impossible to know.
Roselyn cocked her head to one side to listen. At first she had thought the castle to be silent, but now she realised it was not. Voices carried from outside, faint but her hearing was acute and she could discern them nonetheless. And closer, she could pick out footsteps elsewhere in the stone keep, the clank of metal as servants scurried about their tasks in the kitchens which she recalled the woman Elspeth had said were right below the chamber selected for her. Much closer still the crackle and spit of a fire in the grate.
