Devil of the Highlands (18 page)

'Tis not strong or brave to walk around in darkness," she muttered irritably as she stepped carefully away from the door. " 'Tis just stupid."

Shaking her head, Evelinde moved toward the stairs but then paused as a rustling from somewhere behind made her glance around. Her first thought was that it was one of the maids coming from a task in one of the rooms, but the moment she stopped the sound did, too.

"Who's there?" she said, staring into the darkness.

Silence was her answer.

Evelinde peered into the gloom, straining to see. It was possible it was just a mouse who'd taken up residence in the hall or one of the empty rooms. There were five of them on this level. She'd toured them all during the miserable days before Mildrede and Mac had arrived. The three rooms along the hall opposite their bedchamber were smaller bedchambers, one of which was Biddy's. The room next to their own, however, was a large solar.

It was empty at the moment, but Evelinde hoped to change that at some. point in the future. It was one of the other things she'd thought to speak to her husband about. Now she decided she'd simply take care of the matter herself. It would be one of the duties she set herself.

No further sound had reached her ears. It seemed it really had been a mouse or something, still her

"accidents" had made her wary, and Evelinde was on the alert and moved much more slowly than usual as she approached the stairs. In the end, that probably saved her life when she stumbled over something on the floor.

She was only a step from the stairs and had she been moving at her usual bustle, probably would have pitched headfirst down the steps. Although she still fell forward toward the stairs, her slower speed allowed her to cry out and reach for the railing as she did so.

A concerned shout from the great hall below answered her call, but Evelinde hardly noticed, she was grabbing wildly for the railing. Her hand slapped down on the wooden rail, and she clutched desperately at it.

While it didn't completely stop her fall, it slowed her further. Evelinde's upper body swung toward the railing, her shoulder slamming into the sturdy wood as the rest of her body kept going. Her legs slid past her to the side, their weight dragging her down several steps so that a squeal sounded as her palm slid along the wood before she was able to tighten her hold again and bring herself to a complete halt.

"Wife!"

Cullen was there almost the moment Evelinde came to a halt, and she suspected that his was the concerned shout she'd heard, but she was stunned and breathless from the scare and merely peered at him with wide eyes.

"Are ye hurt?" Cullen asked the question as he scooped her up in his arms and hurried down the stairs to the trestle table. The way she was jostled around in his arms as he went kept her from answering, however, and Evelinde merely held on and waited. Unfortunately, he took her silence as a yes. So did Mildrede, who rushed over as he set Evelinde on the table, the maid's face a picture of combined worry and fury.

"I'm fine," Evelinde gasped a little breathlessly, as Cullen straightened from setting her down, but no one heard her over Mildrede's furious voice.
"

'Tis that damned dark hall. 'Tis a menace! Why are there no torches up there?" Mildrede snapped as she hovered beside him.

Evelinde waited for the hated line, "Because 'tis how it's always been," to sound, but Cullen didn't speak to the question. He was busily running his hands over her body on top of her gown.

"I am fine," Evelinde repeated trying to sit up, only to find herself pushed flat again.

"Stay put till we're sure nothing's broken," Mildrede insisted, holding her shoulder down flat on the table.

She then glanced to Cullen, and asked worriedly. "Is anything broken?"

"I doona think so," Cullen muttered as he finished his examination and straightened, his eyes searching out her face. "Are ye all right?"

"Aye—" she began, but Mildrede cut her off.

"Of course she is not all right!" the maid snapped. "She just took a tumble down those accursed stairs."

The maid urged Cullen out of the way to examine Evelinde for herself. While he'd concentrated on her limbs, looking for breaks, Mildrede moved her hands over her stomach and urged her to sit up so she could run them over her back as well.

"I am fine, Mildrede," she muttered, trying to wave her away.

The maid merely tightened her lips, and said, "You are not fine. You will be black-and-blue… again,"

Mildrede added heavily, glowering at Cullen, obviously blaming him for this latest accident.

"What's happened now?"

Evelinde glanced around at that exasperated question to see Fergus approaching the table. Tavis was not far behind.

"She fell down the stairs," Cullen answered in a growl that drew Evelinde's eyes to his face. He was scowling at her as if this were all her fault, she noted with irritation.

"Has she always been this clumsy?"

Evelinde's head shot back around at that question from Tavis, and she glared at the man despite the teasing voice he'd used. He merely grinned back, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Nay!" Mildrede snapped, apparently no more amused than Evelinde was, "In fact, she rarely had accidents at all ere the day
your
lord arrived at d'Aumesbery. But, then, 'tis not the first accident that has happened around him."

Evelinde's eyes widened, but then she realized Biddy must have told Mildrede the tale of how Cullen's father, uncle, and first wife had died. Ere coming to the castle, all either of them had known was that he was supposed to have killed them, not that their deaths were the results of suspicious accidents. Her gaze slid to Cullen to see how he was taking the words, only to find his face expressionless as usual.

"Are ye suggesting our laird had something to do with this?" Fergus demanded, elbowing Tavis out of the way so that he could glare at the maid.

"Mildrede," Evelinde said in a warning tone as the woman opened her mouth to answer.

The servant hesitated, but held her tongue. Evelinde was just relaxing when Cullen suddenly scooped her off the table and moved toward the stairs.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a frown.

"I am taking you to our room to rest."

"I do not need to rest, Cullen. I am fine really. I do not think I even got hurt this time, I was able to save myself," she assured him quickly, ignoring the slight ache of her arm from that saving. It was little enough compared to what she could have suffered.

"I shall fetch some mead and mix a tonic," Mildrede announced, hurrying for the kitchen.

"Husband," Evelinde said impatiently. "I am fine. Really."

"You are not fine. You nearly broke your neck and will rest to allow your body to recover."

Evelinde opened her mouth to respond, but they'd reached the top of the stairs and instead she cautioned, "Be careful. I tripped over something on the floor just before I reached the stairs."

When Cullen paused to glance at her, she nodded.
"

'Tis what made me fall."

He met her gaze silently and for a moment Evelinde thought he didn't believe her, but then he turned to shout over his shoulder. "Bring me a torch."

Tavis appeared behind them shortly after that carrying a lit torch in hand. At a gesture from Cullen, he moved around them and stepped onto the landing.

"Wait," Cullen said, when Tavis started to lead the way to the bedchamber. "Move the torch over the landing before the stairs."

Evelinde saw an eyebrow rise on the man's forehead, but he lowered the torch, lighting up the floor before them. Evelinde frowned on seeing that there was nothing there to see. The way was clear.

"But I tripped over something," she muttered, and twisted in Cullen's arms, trying to look at the top few stairs. It was possible she'd sent whatever she'd tripped on skittering down the stairs ahead of her as she stumbled over it.

"Settle yerself," Cullen ordered, and nodded to Tavis to continue forward.

"But I really did trip over something," she insisted.

"Probably yer own feet," Tavis teased as he led the way up the hall.

Evelinde's alarmed gaze slid between the fair-haired man and her husband. Cullen's face was its usual unreadable self, even his eyes were giving nothing away, and she feared he agreed with Tavis's teasing and thought she'd just tripped over her own feet. But she really had tripped over something and couldn't for the life of her sort out where that something had disappeared to.

It must have rolled down the steps
, Evelinde thought with frustration.

"Thank ye," Cullen rumbled, and Evelinde glanced around to find that they'd reached their bedchamber.

Tavis had opened the door and now stood aside for Cullen to enter.

Her husband's cousin began to close the door behind them once they'd passed him, but before he could, Cullen ordered, "I want torches in the hall from now on."

Tavis paused, eyebrows rising slightly "We've never had torches in the hall here before."

"We will now," Cullen said firmly. "And I want them lit each morning and kept lit until we are abed. Tell Fergus, and make sure he arranges it."

The man's eyes slid to Evelinde, a curious expression on his face, but he nodded, then pulled the door closed.

"Thank you," Evelinde said quietly as he set her on the bed. It seemed her near fall had done what her own requests had not. There would be light in the hall.

Cullen's answer was a grunt as he turned away and headed for the door.

Evelinde heaved a sigh as the door closed behind him, sure he didn't believe she'd tripped over anything but her own feet. She supposed she couldn't blame him. There had been nothing that he could see for her to trip over. Making a face, Evelinde slid her feet off the bed. She was perfectly fine. Her arm muscles were a little tender, but that would pass quickly, and she had no intention of testing." She had a plan of action she wished to set in motion and now, more than ever, was determined to follow it.

"Yer plan is working like a charm."

Evelinde smiled at that gleeful greeting from Biddy as she entered the kitchen and paused to peer toward where Fergus and another man were carrying in large cloth bags of vegetables that were to be prepared for the evening meal.

"Good," she said with a pleased sigh. It was her first success at Donnachaidh, but Evelinde sincerely hoped not her last.

"In fact, I've more help than I can use at times," Biddy added wryly, her lips curving into a smile when Fergus grinned around the pasty in his mouth as he passed.

Evelinde peered after the man curiously. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him smile, but she'd come to realize he only seemed to do it around Biddy. The rest of the time he was as grim-faced as Cullen normally was.

Dragging her attention back to what Biddy had said, Evelinde suggested, "If you've more help than you need, then only make the pasties every other day. Or perhaps only when you think you'll need the help."

"Aye. I'll do that," Biddy decided, and shook her head. "I should have thought to use bribery years ago.

'Twould have eased our burden mightily these years." She peered at Evelinde solemnly. "Yer a clever, lass."

Evelinde flushed at the compliment. " 'Tisn't bribery. 'Tis a bit of sweet to tempt them is all."

Biddy chuckled at her discomfort, and said, " 'Tis bribery, and it works, and no one is hurt by it, so…" She shrugged, then asked, "Were ye lookin' to break yer fast? I've made a fresh batch of pasties."

"Aye, but I'll settle for an apple if we have any," Evelinde said, not wishing to take any of the valuable bargaining chits thus forcing the woman to make more.

"Ye'll take a pasty and enjoy it," Biddy responded at once, shuffling off to get her one. She collected a mug of mead and the originally requested apple for her, too, and returned. "Now take them out and settle yerself at the table while ye eat. Ye've been busy all week and need to look after yerself."

Evelinde murmured her thanks and left the kitchen with her treasure, feeling a little guilty anyway. She hadn't truly been busy this last week since her near fall down the stairs. She had simply taken on her duties as castellan.

Her gaze slid over the great hall as she crossed to the table, and a sense of pride slid through Evelinde as she took in the changes wrought. The barren walls had been freshly whitewashed and now sported her beloved tapestries, the chairs by the fire bore the cushions she and her mother had embroidered, and the floor was covered with fresh rushes. It looked much brighter and welcoming, she thought, and only wished her husband had troubled himself to notice, but he had been terribly distracted of late.

Evelinde snorted at her own thoughts. Her husband had been much more than distracted lately, he had—

"Is that one of Biddy's pasties?"

Distracted from her depressing thoughts, Evelinde glanced at Gillie with surprise as she found him suddenly at her side, escorting her to the table. He and Rory seemed always to be underfoot over the past week, she'd noticed, and was beginning to find it a bit wearying.

"Aye," Evelinde said as she settled at the table, then suggested, "Why do you not go see if Biddy needs anything done? She may give you a pasty if you assist her."

The man glanced longingly toward the kitchen, then shook his head and settled on the bench beside her.

"Nay. I am not hungry. I shall just sit and keep you company."

Evelinde managed not to grimace as she concentrated on tearing her pasty in half. Where before it had been hard to find a man anywhere near the keep during the day while the women worked, now there seemed always to be at least two there. Fergus was forever finding some excuse or other to visit the kitchens, though, Evelinde was used to that. He had done that from the start, and she suspected the man had feelings for Biddy. However, Cullen had also taken to popping into the keep several times a day, which would have been nice had he been there to see her, but he never said a word to her. And then there were Rory and Gillie. Now that they'd returned from escorting the wagon, the two men appeared always to be in the great hall, and they were not just passing through, but always underfoot. Evelinde wouldn't have minded so much except that they seemed always to be nearby, staring at her. She had no idea why they did but wished they wouldn't; it was making her daft.

Deciding she might as well take advantage of his presence, she asked, "Gillie, were you here when Darach died?"

"Aye, but I was only four. I doona even remember the man," he said, his eyes longing as he watched her take a bite of pasty.

Evelinde swallowed the food in her mouth along with a lump of disappointment, but asked, "Then you would have been fourteen when Liam died?"

"Aye. But I was visiting me mother's family at the time," he said distractedly, then licked his lips as he watched her take another bite. "I'm bound that's a tasty bit."

She ignored the question, and asked impatiently, "Well, surely you were here when Maggie died?"

Gillie started to nod, then shook his head. "Nay. I was out hunting with Rory."

Evelinde clucked with exasperation that, yet again, she would not find any answers. Everyone she had asked thus far had either been elsewhere at the time or evaded her questions. Shaking her head, Evelinde decided she might as well continue with her duties as castellan and stood as she popped the last of the pasty into her mouth.

"Where are you going?" Gillie asked, immediately on his feet.

She raised her eyebrows at the question but swallowed the last of the sweet, and admitted, "I thought to go take a look at the solar and see how much work it needs doing to make it habitable again."

"Oh." Gillie hesitated, his gaze sliding from her to the door to the kitchens. "Well perhaps I will nip into the kitchen then and just see if I cannot beg a pasty from Biddy."

Evelinde raised her eyebrows but merely headed for the stairs. She glanced back twice as she mounted the steps to the second floor, both times finding Gillie still standing by the table watching. She was actually to the door of the solar before she heard the squeak of the kitchen door opening and paused. Evelinde waited a heartbeat, then retraced her steps, a relieved sigh slipping from her lips when she saw that the great hall was empty. Gillie had obviously gone into the kitchens.

She immediately picked up her skirts and rushed back downstairs. If she was quick, she might slip out before he returned, Evelinde thought hopefully, casting anxious glances toward the kitchen door as she rushed across the great hall. She wouldn't have dared try to leave while Gillie or anyone else was around, for fear they'd report her to Cullen. He'd surely be upset to know she was leaving the keep. It was against his express orders.

Her husband had made it plain she was to stay within. Evelinde had no idea why he insisted on it, perhaps he feared her visiting the paddock again, but she was growing heartily sick of being inside all the time. Surely a quick nip down to the stables to visit Lady wouldn't hurt. At least, it wouldn't if she wasn't caught, Evelinde thought wryly as she slipped through the double doors and out onto the steps.

The bailey was nearly empty at that hour, the men all busy with her husband practicing at battle. Evelinde managed to make it all the way to the stables without running across anyone she feared might carry tales to Cullen of her being out and about.

Slipping into the cool, dim stables, she peered about, relieved to find it empty as well. Relaxing a little then, Evelinde retrieved the apple from her pocket and made her way to her mare's stall.

Lady was happy to see her. It just made Evelinde feel guilty for the time that had lapsed since their last ride.

No doubt the mare was as bored as she was, she thought unhappily, and considered taking her out for a quick ride.

"Does yer husband ken ye be out here?"

Evelinde jumped guiltily and turned to face Mac as he moved up the aisle toward her, leading a dappled mount.

"I just wished to look in on Lady," Evelinde said, watching him lead the horse into a nearby stall and set about unsaddling him.

"Last I heard ye werena to leave the keep."

Evelinde made a face as she moved out of Lady's stall and walked over to lean against the door of the one he worked in. "Who told you that?"

"Yer husband," he said dryly.

"Oh," she muttered with a little sigh. "Well, I am tired of sitting in the keep. I have been stuck inside for more than a week."

Evelinde didn't need the look Mac turned her way to know how petulant she sounded at that moment. But all he said as he set the saddle aside was, "I'm sure ye can find enough that needs doing inside to fill your time."

"Aye," Evelinde admitted. "But 'tis nice to get out, too."

"How did ye slip yer guards?" Mac asked, taking a brush to the horse. Spotting her confusion, he said,

"Gillie and Rory. Cullen set the two lads to watch ye."

"What?" she asked indignantly. "I do not need watching."

"Oh, aye. Ye'd never get yerself into trouble." Mac snorted, then asked meaningfully, "How are yer bruises from yer last accident, yer fall down the stairs?"

"I didn't fall down the stairs," Evelinde said with an impatient cluck, then added, "At least not far. I caught the railing and saved myself. My arm was sore for a few days, but that is all. Besides, that was not my fault. I tripped over something… Not that anyone believes me. Everyone appears to think I am just clumsy," she added bitterly.

"Yer husband believes ye," Mac announced.

"He does?" Evelinde asked eagerly.

"Aye. 'Tis why he has guards on ye. Because he thinks someone put something there for ye to trip on, then took it away while everyone was fussing over ye."

Evelinde's eyes widened at the suggestion, and despite having wondered about that herself this last week, asked, "Why would anyone do something like that?"

Mac shrugged, not even looking away from the horse he was tending. "Why would anyone kill his first wife?

Or his father? Or his uncle? Cullen's trying to find out."

Evelinde peered at the old man more closely. "He has been talking to you."

"Aye."

A growl of exasperation slipped from her lips. "I wish he would talk more to me. I am his wife."

"Truth to tell, I doona think he talks much to anyone," Mac commented. "He gives his men orders and such, but—" He shrugged.

Evelinde peered at the man. She already knew from Biddy that he was right, but was more interested in the stable master's willingness to talk to Cullen. Mac understood people as well as he did horses. He said 'twas why he preferred the animals; he didn't think much of people in general. She and Mildrede were the only people he'd bothered with at d'Aumesbery, but now it seemed he'd included Cullen in that small circle.

Evelinde found it reassuring to know he thought Cullen deserving of his time, it said he thought well of her husband. But she was also jealous that her husband would talk to Mac and yet did not speak to her.

"He doesna ken who to trust here," Mac volunteered. "I am an outsider and have not been involved in the matters presently plaguing him. He values yer opinion in trusting me and so came to me to talk after yer fall down the stairs."

Evelinde's eyebrows rose. Cullen valued her opinion in trusting Mac? That was encouraging. At least she thought it might be. "Why does he trust no one here? Is it because of the deaths and rumors?"

"Aye. He doesna ken what is what. He thought the deaths of his father and uncle were accidents, but when little Maggie died in the same spot as his father, he suspected foul play. He isna sure if all three were murder, or just hers. And then there are the rumors. He had too many say to his face that they knew he had nothing to do with the deaths, only later to overhear them tell another that
'Aye, he was behind it for certain.'
" Mac shrugged.

"He has not known who to trust and has been forced to keep his own counsel."

Evelinde bit her lip at this news. It seemed a horrible way to live, surrounded by people who thought you a killer but said one thing to your face while saying another behind your back. And they were
his own
people.

Even worse, as laird, he was the one responsible for their well-being and safety. It said much for him that he did not shirk that duty or use his position to avenge himself for their shabby treatment.

"I still do not understand why he will talk to you and yet does not see fit to talk to me," she said now, pushing those thoughts away. "I was not here then either."

"Some men do not speak much," he said, turning back to his horse. "Yer husband has been forced to be one of those men since the trouble here. But he does talk, and if he isna talking to ye, then 'tis probably because he fears revealing something he is not ready fer ye to ken."

Evelinde was puzzling over what that could be when he added, "But he follows ye everywhere with his eyes, and constantly finds excuses to go into the keep during the day to be near ye, and his worry over ye and anger about these accidents is excessive, at least the anger is. It suggests deep feelings."

She was silent for a moment. The week since her near fall down the stairs had been rather trying for Evelinde. She'd found herself with a husband who had suddenly turned cold and angry. He had not touched her since the incident and had been short and easily provoked. Between that and the fact that he never spoke a word to her, she'd thought he was angry with her for what she feared he saw as her clumsiness. Learning that he was not angry at her but angry about the possibility that she'd been attacked was rather reassuring, Evelinde thought, then realized what Mac had said.