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“Ye have excelled yerself, wee Meggie, and there will be a reward in this for ye,” promised Blair. “Ye have served your lady well this last day.”
“What would you like as your reward?” enquired Roselyn. “Name it, and if it is in our power you shall have it.”
“May I be your lady’s maid, my lady? Just that, an’ no kitchen work? I could help wi’ the bairn too, o’ course.”
“Well, I—”
“Excellent notion,” declared Blair. “We shall be needing a nursemaid, and I know how much my wife values your help. We shall use the small chamber off my solar as the nursery, and you may have your bed in there also, to be sure you are close at hand if required.”
Meggie squealed with satisfied joy, which disturbed the baby but wee Joanie soon settled again.
“So, Laird, now ye ken how I came tae be at the Loch, but what about you? It would ha’ been nightfall afore ye realised Lady Roselyn was nae home safe so I can only think ye must have had wings on your stallion to reach the coast so quickly.”
“Yes,” agreed Roselyn. “I had been wondering much the same thing.”
“We learnt of the attack much earlier in the afternoon. Little Annie Drummond was following your cart when you left the Drummond croft and she saw the attack. The poor wee thing was too frightened to show herself so she stayed hidden, but as soon as the English left with you she started to make her way back to Duncleit to raise the alarm.”
“Annie was there?” Roselyn frowned. “But, I had thought she intended to remain at her family’s croft until the next day.”
Blair broke in. “Aye, well, it is for the best that the girl was running along behind ye, as it turned out. We spotted Annie from the battlements and I rode out to see what was amiss. She had your dog wi’ her, you see…”
“Freya? But, I thought that they had killed Freya!” Roselyn grasped her husband’s arm. “She was wonderful, so brave, so ferocious. She had one of them, I am sure of it. But I heard… I heard—” She broke off, sobbing.
“Well, certainly they tried to put an end to her, but she’s a fighter, that hound of yours. The dog was injured though, and Annie came upon her on her way back. We saw the pair of them in the distance and realised something was badly wrong. Annie was able to lead us to the abandoned cart, and to the place about a mile away from there where she found the dog. From there I could determine the heading they were on and knew they were making for Loch Alsh and not the crossing further south to Mallaig.” Blair chose not to dwell on the matter of the wounded English guard he discovered in the woods, the man’s throat badly torn by the wolfhound’s powerful jaws. “We rode right over the summit ofSgurr na Coinnichto make the best time and arrived in time to see your men, Aiden, rise up out o’ the shadows and overpower the English. Ingram attempted to slip away in the confusion though, the coward. He sought to escape and save his own skin and we might ha’ missed him but for the fact that we had the vantage point high up on the glen and could see everything in the moonlight.”
“So you went after him?” whispered Roselyn.
“Aye,” affirmed Blair, “that I did.”
No one spoke for several moments, then his wife’s voice broke the silence. “Was Freya very badly hurt?”
“Her leg was broken, I am certain of that, but I know no more. She was taken back to Duncleit.”
“I do hope she will be all right, for I have need of her.”
“I hope so too, sweetheart. She is a far finer animal than I ever allowed credit for.”
Epilogue
Duncleit Castle, Isle of Skye, June 1487
“You wished to speak with me, my lord?” Lady Roselyn entered her husband’s solar, her fingers grasping the wiry coat of the huge wolfhound by her side. “Hold, Odin. Sit.” The dog hesitated, causing his mistress to repeat her command. Then he planted his heavy haunches on the solar floor and waited.
“I see he is improving. It took four times of telling the last time.” Her husband sounded amused, but there was a hint of admiration in his tone also. It was warranted; training this dog was not the easy matter it had been with his dam but the hound was getting the hang of it. Eventually.
“Odin is willing enough but he lacks Freya’s intuitive grasp of my needs.” Roselyn paused as a wave of sadness washed over her. “I do miss her so.”
Her husband’s arms were suddenly around her shoulders. “I know it, sweetheart. I do too for she was a fine companion to all of us. The bairns loved her too, but it was time, and you did her a kindness in letting her go.”
“I know that, and it has only been a month. I shall become used to Odin, and he to me…” She brushed away a tear. Her old dog had recovered from her injuries sustained as she’d battled to save her mistress from the Earl of Ingram, only to die in her sleep five years later. Roselyn had discovered the still, cold hound early one morning and had wept for the best part of a week at the loss of the animal which had been so dear to her and had helped to transform her life. Despite his gruffness she knew that Blair had developed a fondness for the old dog and shared her loss. The faithful hound now lay under a carved stone in the corner of their bailey.
Roselyn would never forget her for the dog had been almost the first friend she had made when she arrived at Duncleit as a prisoner and had freed her from the confines of her blindness in a way she had never dreamed might be possible. Freya had been her eyes, her constant companion for almost six years, but now she was gone. She had left behind a rich legacy though, not least in the intelligent hound Roselyn had selected to be her successor when she first realised Freya was growing old and would not be beside her forever. She and Odin had work to do together, but she knew now that she could put her trust in a dog and it would not be misplaced.
The same could be said for a husband. She turned in Blair’s arms and kissed his mouth. “I missed you at the noontime meal, Laird.”
“Yes. I had word of a messenger from England so wanted to receive him without delay.”
“What news did he bring? Is all well at Mortain?”
