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He tried the door but found it to be locked. Robbie gave the matter not another thought. He simply put his shoulder against the planks and barged it open.
The cottage consisted of one room. The embers of a fire burned in the central hearth, but what little warmth came from it was now lost through the door which swung crazily on one hinge. A rough-hewn table occupied one end of the room, with two chairs and a stool beside it. The other end was filled by a pallet on the floor. The Mullett women lay on it. Meg’s eyes remained closed, but the younger woman peered up at him, her eyes dull, her complexion pallid and drawn.
He dropped to his haunches beside them. “What has happened here?”
“Our well was soured,” the woman croaked, before her eyelids dropped. “We were poisoned. D’ye have a drop o’ fresh water? Milk, for the bairn?”
“How did your well become foul?” Robbie growled, though he already had his suspicions. Not all his clansmen were hostile to the new countess. Someone may have decided to take the law into his, or her, own hands and exact revenge for the attack at the river.
The woman shook her head. Her breathing was low and shallow. Robbie bent lower to check that Meg was even breathing at all. Mercifully, she was, though for how much longer he could not say.
“Robbie?”
He turned. Kat was framed in the doorway. She took one look and rushed forward.
“Dear God! What…?”
“The result of drinking foul water, apparently. The well is soured.” Robbie eased the fretting infant from his mother’s arms and got to his feet. He handed the child to Katherine. “We shall have tae take them tae Roxburghe. Wait here.”
He strode from the hovel and marched around to the rear, pausing to examine the well as he passed. He leaned over the hole in the ground and sniffed. The stench of rotting flesh assailed his nostrils.
Badger, he thought, or perhaps a couple of rabbits. The animals might have fallen in by accident, but he doubted it.
There was nothing to be done here and now about cleaning the well, so he continued around to the back of the cottage. As he had hoped, he found a cart, most likely the same one that the brothers had used to bring kindling to Roxburghe. He dug around until he laid his hands on a coil of rope, enough to hitch the cart to his saddle ready to drag it back to his keep.
His preparations made, he gently lifted each of the women from their pallet and into the cart. It was barely big enough to hold both, but he would have to manage.
“Can ye manage the bairn?” he asked Kat.
“Of course.” She wrapped her cloak about the still whimpering baby. “Is there really no milk? Nothing for him?”
Robbie shook his head. “We need tae get them tae the castle. Mistress Hollett can take care o’ them all.”
The journey took longer than Robbie would have liked, but he could not risk going too fast and upturning the cart, dumping the unconscious women out into the mud. At last, though, he clattered across his drawbridge and leapt to the cobbles. He carried the young mother from the cart himself and yelled to one of the guards to bring Meg, then strode into his hall with Kat and the guard at his heels. He hurried through, and down the corridor leading to the bustling kitchens
Mistress Hollett appeared in response to his echoing bellow. She took in the situation and gestured to the narrow but clean chamber at the back of her domain. This was where most of the household servants slept. It was cosy, if somewhat cramped, but would do well enough.
Robbie settled his burden on the closest pallet, and the guard lay Meg beside her daughter-in-law. He turned to look for Katherine, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Where…?”
“I sent her tae find Mary Millins,” Bridie explained. “She has a wee one o’ her own and likely plenty o’ milk tae spare.”
Robbie nodded. The baby was in good hands. “They drank foul water, from their well. I dinnae ken how long ago.”
“A nice drop o’ broth, then, I should think, just tae get them started. If they cannae keep it down, I shall try a tincture o’ wormwood, wi’ a little mint an’ balm.” Mistress Hollett bustled back into the kitchen, to return a few moments later with a bowl and a spoon. One of her many scullery wenches accompanied her, also bearing a helping of broth. “We need tae get them sittin’ up…”
Robbie supported the younger woman, and the guard helped to raise Meg into a sitting position. The first few mouthfuls were difficult. Both women coughed and gagged, but Mistress Hollett was persistent. And every bit as determined as Kat. Eventually, both women took a few sips of the warm broth. The younger one even managed to hold the spoon herself. Neither heaved it back, which Robbie considered to be a good sign.
Mistress Hollett surveyed her charges, her capable hands on her ample hips. “I daresay young Janice will be all right. She’s strong an’ healthy. Not sae sure about auld Meg, though.” The older woman had yet to fully regain consciousness, though Robbie fancied her features seemed a little less pale. “Ye can leave ’em wi’ me now, laird.”
“Aye. I ken ye’ll see ’em right.” His brow furrowed. “I cannae stay tae look into the how of it for mysel’ as the king expects me in Edinburgh tomorrow. But I would be right grateful if ye could speak wi’ ’em when they are ready, find out if they ken how their well came tae be soured.”
“I surely will, laird,” the cook assured him. “It be a right rotten trick, if someone did this on purpose like. Especially wi’ a young bairn i’ the house.”
“Quite.” His features were grim. It was for the laird and no one else to mete out justice here. “I shall let ye get on whilst I find my wife.”
“I think Mary Millins was i’ the dairy, laird. Ye could start there.”
