Snow Raven (21 page)

“Not so fast,” Sir Jasper said, his faint smile not matching the grim intensity of his gaze. “I have one question for you, Mistress Merry. Has The Wolf touched you?”

Merry gasped at his audacity. “Certainly not!”

The memories of her intense kisses with Ran caused her to flush, but she hoped Wickham assumed it was maidenly modesty that colored her pink. He seemed pleased by her sudden confusion, and nodded as if satisfied she was still a virgin.

“I asked Lord Lindsay if you could share our sup, but he said you were under the weather. I see now ’twas a falsehood, but I cannot blame you for wanting to avoid the man. He is little more than a coarse barbarian, a Highlander most foul.”

“He has behaved quite honorably toward me.” Merry spoke through gritted teeth, wondering why Wickham’s criticism was as painful as it was infuriating.

To her outrage, Sir Jasper held her hands fast with one of his own, reached out and rudely groped her breasts with the other.

“You’ve lovely tits, m’dear,” he remarked offhandedly. “A bit smaller than I prefer, but aye, they’ll do. They’ll do.”

On pure reflex, Merry yanked a hand free and slapped him. She had disciplined more than one randy knave at Court with such blunt technique. His status as her betrothed gained him no leverage with her heart. For all his intensity, Ranald Lindsay did not offend half as much as this leering, puffed-up peer who would treat her like some common bawd.

Sir Jasper swore, cradling his burning cheek. He stared at her in mingled shock and indignation but made no further move to molest her. Merry took a deep breath and seized opportunity to escape his company, nearly barreling into Ranald as he came striding back into the hall.

“One of my men is hurt—” he began, coming to an abrupt halt and looking from one to the other of them with marked suspicion.

“Do not imply ’twas one of mine who did it, milord,” Sir Jasper growled, his pride preventing him from commenting on the obvious; his reddened cheek made it plain enough. “Strict instructions were given that peace would reign until matters here were resolved.”

“Which apparently is moot at this point,” Ran replied.

“Indeed. There is nothing more to be said.” Sir Jasper swept up his high-crowned beaver hat from a nearby table and tugged it down over his brow.

Ranald shrugged. Merry sensed the concern written in his eyes was not for Sir Jasper or the notion of a lost truce, but for the injured man they had found aside.

“Duncan’s been stabbed,” he said grimly.

“Your stable master?” she exclaimed. “Why would anybody want to hurt him?”

Ranald shook his head. “I’ve no idea. But I intend to find out.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

He hesitated, studying her curiously. “Nell may appreciate an extra set of hands. Hertha is tending another lass whose time is upon her.”

“Here now, Lindsay,” Sir Jasper put in imperiously, “Mistress Tanner is not some drudge to be ordered about your household.”

“Nor am I some blowzy bawd to be mauled beneath the stairs!”

Merry’s furious retort rocked both men back on their heels. Glaring at her, Wickham said, “I regret discovering your conduct is as outrageous as the hue of your hair, m’dear. A pity, for I had assumed you a gently bred lady who would do the House of Wickham proud. When ’tis far more apparent you prefer the company of uncouth rogues to that of your own betrothed.”

She glared right back at Sir Jasper. Why had she not noticed before how pasty his skin was, how narrow his face. The miniature clearly flattered him. “When a Highlander is more chivalrous than an Englishman, Sweet Jesu save womankind.”

Without another word, she resumed her march for the door. She thought, though she could not swear, Ranald chuckled beneath his breath.

“Nell’s tending to Duncan now,” he called after her. “The men carried him upstairs.”

Merry nodded and hurried out. In Nell’s chamber, Lindsay clansmen had already lain the old man on the bed, and were huddled near the doorway, watching. Merry pushed through the knot of bodies, aware of a surly mutter when she did so.

“The
Sassenach
taupie will like as kill him,” one of them grunted. “Mind ye watch her, Nell.”

Nell Downie was dressed and standing in the center of the room. She appeared fully recovered from her own recent travail, and she turned on the men like a little hurricane.

“Shut yer maw, Will Campbell! Move back and gie me some air. There’s work to be done here, and I intend to see ’tis done.”

“I’m here to help.” Merry spoke firmly.

Nell faced her. To Merry’s surprise, the young woman’s dark eyes softened and she smiled. “Bless ye, milady. Do ye ken anything about nursing wounded men?”

Merry laughed. “More than I do about placating angry Scots.” She saw some of the men smile grudgingly, and the tension in the room eased.

Nell nodded. “Dinna fret, milady. Ye’ll do fine. Now, let’s see about Duncan.”

Together the two women approached the bed, where the old man lay breathing shallowly. The wound in his chest seemed minor. Still Merry winced at the sight of it, the blood staining his leather jerkin. Nell didn’t seem to mind. She knelt right down on the soiled coverlet and examined the injury.

“’Tis deep, but clean,” she said with some satisfaction. “Looks like a single knife thrust to me. Milady, I’m going to gie ye some lamb’s wool to staunch the flow of blood. Can ye hold it fast while I make a poultice?”

Merry nodded. In truth, she’d no experience in tending patients of any sort, and had a deathly fear of illness herself. Whenever the ague or pox swept through Court, she was the first to escape to Ambergate, Uncle Kit’s country home. She felt woozy at the sight and coppery smell of blood. But when Nell handed her several thick pads of wool, she pressed firmly where she was told, and held the makeshift bandages in place until they were soaked clear through to her palms.

Nell ordered one of the men to help, and he rushed forward to hand more wool to Merry as she needed it. She worked methodically, trying to keep the pressure firm and steady, and though the blood seemed as if it would never stop, she was gradually aware that it was slowing. Poor Duncan had lost consciousness, although perhaps that was for the best.

A shadow fell over the bed while Merry was engrossed in her duties. She glanced up at Ranald, but for once was too intent on something else to pay him much heed.

“Here,” he said quietly. “Let me, lass.”

He nudged her out of the way, and Merry fell back, her arms bloodied up to the elbows. She watched as he continued applying pressure and changing the woolen bandages until Nell took over again, and though it had only been an hour or so, it had seemed like a lifetime to Merry. Exhausted, she slumped down in a chair while Ranald and Nell continued to work. The wound was clean, as Nell had observed, but Duncan was elderly, and had lost a great deal of blood.

Merry saw the old man’s lips turn blue just a moment before Nell spoke into the taut silence of the room.

“I’m sorry, m’laird.”

Ranald made an anguished sound and stepped back from the bed, his eyes dark with grief. Merry longed to go to him, sensing this Duncan had been very special to him. Yet she dared not. She simply gazed on, silently and helplessly, as Ranald turned and stalked out of the room.

Chapter Seventeen

RAN DID NOT WASTE any time. He immediately ordered a search of the entire keep, top to bottom, plus every outbuilding within his demesne. Even as he did so, he was bitterly aware of the slim odds in catching Duncan’s killer.

He burned with frustration, knowing Duncan must have seen his attacker, and yet could not tell them anything now. Any final words from the old man must have been muttered before Ran entered the room, which meant only Merry or Nell had heard them. He bitterly wondered if Merry would feel the same triumph as Wickham from withholding that information.

Then he remembered his first reaction, how he’d first felt, watching Merry working so feverishly to save Duncan’s life. She’d been covered with blood, the sleeves of her fine gown ruined, but she’d never flinched once, never hesitated in her frantic attempt to save Duncan’s life. Auchmull’s stable master was a stranger to her, yet her unflinching service in a crisis was not something Ran could easily set aside. She had great pluck, for a court-bred
Sassenach
lady.

Ran relegated the enigma of Merry to the back of his mind while he organized a search party to ride out a short distance in the snow in an attempt to track Duncan’s killer. Though the main gate had been closed, a single man would have found it easy enough to climb and vault over the barricade, especially under cover of darkness.

Ran was also aware of a number of ancient, underground tunnels beneath Auchmull which his ancestors had used to access the outside world during sieges. Most of these he had ordered destroyed or sealed off, realizing they presented an equal danger for present-day invasion, but he suspected there were still a handful in existence that he did not know about.

Ofttimes, servants were better informed than their masters. He set several of the staff to searching the keep for secret passages. Though the attack had occurred in the stables, the murderer might find it convenient to slip inside the castle and hide in the labyrinth below until the search was over.

It occurred to Ran that Duncan’s killer, like the man who tried to snuff out his own life, was remarkably well informed about Auchmull’s layout. He considered for a moment the possibility of one of his own people being disloyal. Such troubles had not plagued the clan before the incident at Badanloch. The logical assumption was that the Macleans or Wickham were somehow connected to it all. Cullen had come here and addressed Ran with his customary insolence, not missing a chance to remark upon Blair’s death and imply Ran was wholly responsible.

Ran remembered the emotions which swept over him when he had found a jeweled dirk stuck in his own pillow. Incredulous disbelief, outrage, and later a cold, icy fury had gripped him like a northern wind, shattered what little faith he had left in humanity. That the woman he had loved beyond anything on earth was gone … the pain of that realization would live with him forever, without Cullen’s reminders. The thought, however fleeting, that one of his own … a Lindsay … should betray the clan was beyond comprehension.

There were no answers to be found in emotions run rampant, Ran realized. He wanted to lash out at someone for Duncan’s death, strike back, and wound another as he had been wounded. Merry was the logical outlet. An injured wolf turning on the one who cornered it.

Remembering the genuine anguish in her beautiful gray-green eyes when Nell Downie had quietly announced Duncan’s death, Ranald found he could not direct the rage festering in his heart and soul at Merry. It simply trickled away, like water dribbling through a bairn’s cupped hands; no matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to keep hold of it. As Ran prepared to ride out with his men, seeking the killer, he found himself hoping with every ounce of his being that Merry’s was the first face he saw when he returned.

* * *

AS THE HOURS PASSED, and the fruitless search continued, Dearg shifted restlessly under Ran’s control, pawing the ground whenever he relaxed his guard. Few except Duncan knew the blood bay was the spawn of the horse who had killed his father. Even Ran himself didn’t know what he had hoped to prove by taming and mastering Dearg, except it gave him a feeling of control over his life. Control he had been lacking ever since Blair’s death.

He felt a fresh pang of loss when they returned and he glanced over at the stables, now bristling with his men-at-arms searching every stall and haystack. He expected Duncan to come out blustering into the yard at any second, so possessive and protective had the old man been of “his” livery and all the Auchmull mounts. Ran’s hand gripped the leather pommel and he swung himself down, his knuckles white with tension. Dearg snorted and pranced, sensing his master’s dark mood.

Brodie Scott stepped forward to take charge of his steed, the lad’s freckled face scoured with seriousness. He filled Duncan’s duties in his absence but would never fill the void, and he knew it. His gaze soberly met Ran’s.

“Lord and Lady Deuchar just arrived; Lady Darra an’ Mistress Merry crack thegither from the go.”

Ran felt a sudden headache coming on, The last thing he needed was his sister meddling in events now, but his terse message to Edzell must have stirred the hornet’s nest.

“By Jesu, lad, we might as well hold Yule tidings now, everyone’s here.” Ran chuckled grimly, glancing up as a man strode out of the darkness to join him. It was his brother-in-law, Kinross Deuchar, Ran’s second cousin on his father’s side. Ross had ridden in on the distinctive pure white mare Brodie now led off with Dearg. The animal was Ross’s own pride and joy, much as Uar was Ranald’s.

Though distant cousins, the two men looked nothing alike. Kinross’s coloring was fair, and he usually wore his pale hair loose, though he was known to don a wig on occasion at court. He was clad in mulberry velvet with a matching cloak. His face was thin, his nose a trifle long, and he rather reminded Ran of a ferret. A kindly disposed ferret, though for some reason, Ran had been never felt entirely comfortable with Ross. Perhaps because Lord Deuchar was another one for court politics, and he himself was not particularly impressed with titles.

Nevertheless, he could not deny Ross was an excellent husband and father. He had never ill-treated Darra, and both Jesu and Ran knew her high-spirited nature would drive even a priest to drink. It was Ran’s good fortune Ross had taken a brief hiatus from his duties, and could stay on at Auchmull for a time. He would put the man’s expertise to use now.

“Ross,” he said, nodding shortly in acknowledgment. “I hear you’ve a man who’s a passable tracker. Can you lead another foray in the morn?”

“Certainly. Thank you for sending word to Edzell, by the way. I see Wickham is here. Does he intend to aid us in the search for Duncan’s killer?”

Ran smiled wryly. “Nay. He’s never been partial to horses, nor they to him. I’ve set him and his men to searching the castle sewers.”