The Tower of Ravens (38 page)

Rain lashed at the mullioned windows, an occasional sheet of lightning irradiating the sky, before the heavy gloom descended again.

“I have never kent such foul weather,” Felice said discontentedly. “Is it always like this?”

Nina was trying to blow the sullen coals into flames with the help of wheezy old bellows. She looked up and tried to smile. “No‘ always. If I did no’ ken better, I’d think the Broken Ring o‘ Dubhslain sought to keep us here. At least it is no’ hailing.”

“In April!” Felice cried.

Hail suddenly clattered against the glass.

“I spoke too soon,” Nina said, and sat back on her heels, wiping one hand across her brow and leaving a dirty smudge.

It was midmorning already. Everyone had slept very late, for little light penetrated the thick walls of the gatehouse and they had all been exhausted. It was the sound of Maisie’s moans that had woken them in the end. She was sick with fever, and when Nina carefully dampened and peeled away the bloody, grimy bandages, it was to find the wounds beneath festering and green. Landon was unwell also, racked by a hacking cough, and aches and pains in all his joints. When Nina felt his forehead, the little crease between her brows deepened and she bade him stay in bed. Cameron was coughing also, and complained he had not been able to get warm all night, and so he was abed also, and Edithe too, while Iven had gone to ask the gatekeeper for water and a kettle, and any herbs or medicines he might have.

“I’ll go and check the horses, Nina,” Lewen said, pulling on his boots. “We were so tired last night it was all we could do to get their tack off them. I want to make sure the grooms have fed and watered them properly.”

“I’ll come too,” Rafferty said.

“Me too,” Rhiannon said. She had been standing by the window with her forehead pressed against the glass, staring at the hail, but now she turned and looked at the others.

“Ye’ll get wet,” Lewen said to no-one in particular.

“Think I care?” she answered.

“We willna melt,” Rafferty said with forced cheerfulness.

Nina nodded and gave a ghost of her usual merry smile. “Thanks. Would ye mind bringing me some stuff from my caravan? I’m worried indeed about poor Maisie. I wish I were a better healer. I wish Isabeau were here, or your mam, Lewen.”

“Me too,” he said. After Nina had told him what she needed, he led the way down the dimly lit stairs and out the door into the outer ward.

“Poor Maisie!” he said. “Even if Nina can clean out the infection, she’ll be left with nasty scars. It’s such a shame, she’s a sweet lass.”

Rhiannon frowned, but said nothing. Rafferty made a murmur of agreement, then said anxiously, “Do ye think Maisie will be fit to ride out soon? Because glad as I am to be safe behind high walls, I canna wait to get away from here. It’s creepy. I wish we’d never come this way.”

“I’m sure everyone does,” Lewen answered. “But how were we to ken? I mean, they may have tried to tell us, back in Ardarchy, but who was to ken how bad it really was? I am just glad we’ve come through safely.”

“We’re no‘ through yet,” Rhiannon said harshly.

“No,” Lewen answered, looking at her thoughtfully. Rhiannon did not return his gaze. They came to the door to the outer ward and pulled up their hoods against the rain.

Rhiannon could not have explained why, but she was angry with Lewen, and with all the others too. When she thought over the tumultuous events of the previous day, she felt such a confusion in her emotions that anger and fear, her two most familiar emotions, were the only ones she recognised. Since Rhiannon hated to feel afraid, or to have others know that she felt fear, her only refuge was anger. She stayed angry all through the trip to the stables, a vast stone building constructed within the double ring of walls that encircled the castle, and protected by its own gatehouse and bailey. In times of war, the horses could be fed and exercised within the outer ward, and if the first wall was breached, either taken inside to the castle grounds, or used to escape through the back gate. The stable itself had room enough for a hundred horses, though most of the stalls were now empty.

An old, wizened groom called Shannley, with a face set in lines of sour suspicion, grunted at the sight of them. He and his stablehands had not been pleased to be roused in the early hours of the morning, and by the expression on his face, he was not pleased to see them now. Even Lewen, who could win over most people with his deep warm voice and pleasant ways, could not soften the head-groom’s manner. Shannley showed them where the bins of grain were with a jerk of one spatulate thumb, then shuffled back to his rooms, grumbling under his breath. The stablehands, meanwhile, got on sullenly with their work, casting many a curious look at Lewen, Rhiannon and Rafferty.

The horses were tired and bad-tempered after their hard usage, and so Rhiannon tried to work away her own ill-temper with a stable rubber, curry-comb and tack-brush. She groomed horses and carried buckets of mash and polished tack till her arms ached and her head throbbed, but it did not help. She was in a fouler temper than before, with most of her rancour directed at Lewen. If it was not for him, she would never have made this ill-starred journey into a land haunted by evil spirits and the walking dead. All night she had thought she could hear the sound of a young boy crying, and sobs of grief, and wails of fear, and the moans of the dying. It had done no good telling herself it was only the wind, or Maisie crying out in her fevered sleep, or her own overwrought imagination. Even driving her fingers into her ears or pulling the musty-smelling pillow over her head had not helped. She had not been able to silence the echoes in her brain.

Rhiannon was shaken to the core by these supernatural terrors. Dark walkers stalked her imagination, and not even the slicing open of her wrist and the spilling of her own blood on the hearth had relieved her dread.

As they went about their business in the stables, she often felt Lewen’s eyes on her face, puzzled and questioning, but in his usual fashion he did not say anything, which only infuriated her more. By the time they were making their way back to the gatehouse, loaded down with supplies from the caravans, even unobservant Rafferty was shooting her anxious glances, and beginning to be wary of addressing remarks to her.

They came into the dormitory to find Felice doing her best to keep Roden and Lulu occupied and out of Nina’s way as the witch tended to the sick and injured. The sunbird was asleep on the back of a chair, its head tucked under one iridescent green wing as it was so dark and cold in the long room the bird thought it was still night-time. The fire flickered dully on the hearth, for all the wood was wet, and sent out unpleasant puffs of smoke every time the wind shifted.

“Iven’s gone up to the castle, to speak with the laird,” Nina said, looking tired and pale. “I dinna ken what we are to do, for Maisie is only getting worse, and I havena all the medicines she needs, and I’m worried about Landon too, he’s no‘ as sturdy as ye other lads, and he was chilled through last night. I do no’ ken if we should go on, and seek help from the apothecary in the nearest town, or wait here until the bairns are feeling better. I must admit I’d rather no‘ stay. This place makes me uneasy. It’s like a fortress! The laird sent down soldiers to insist Iven attend upon him, and the gatekeeper seems to dread his displeasure. If only it would stop raining! I canna feel easy about going on in such weather but I just want to get away from this place!”

Seeing how anxious they all looked, Nina laughed ruefully, saying “I’m sorry, I’m all out o‘ sorts from such a late night and the anxiety over poor Maisie. I’m sure there is no need for us to worry.”

Poor Maisie
, Rhiannon mimicked and then realised that Lewen had been watching her, as usual, and had seen her expression. He frowned and she glared at him, wondering what right he had to disapprove of her behaviour. His frown deepened, and she turned away and went to stand by the fire, pretending to warm her hands before its sullen glow. Tears prickled her eyes.

“The laird sent down soldiers? That seems odd,” Lewen said.

“I suppose it’s no‘ so peculiar when ye think o’ all those missing and murdered,” Nina responded. “They must be suspicious o‘ strangers. I must admit I dinna like to see Iven go, however, flanked on all sides by guards armed to the teeth. If they decided to keep him, I’d never get him back!” She sighed, unconsciously pressing her hands together in a gesture of rare anxiety.

“I canna help but wonder how it was the Red Guards were able to take the Tower o‘ Ravens by surprise on the Day o’ Betrayal,” Lewen said. “If the only way in and out is through the castle’s own gatehouse, ye would’ve thought the witches’ tower impregnable to surprise attack.”

“They could’ve come over the Stormness River like we did,” Rafferty pointed out.

“Aye, I suppose so. Only… well, the tower looks over the Fetterness Valley, any force o‘ arms coming that way would have been seen. And they would’ve had to have passed the town.”

“There was some kind o‘ trickery, or betrayal,” Nina said. “I do no’ remember the tale. It all happened afore I was born.”

“Heavens, that long ago?” Felice said teasingly.

Nina cast her an amused look. “Aye, hard to believe, is it no‘?”

They heard Iven’s quick steps running up the stairs and turned to him expectantly as he came in, looking a far different figure than the drenched and disheveled man of the night before. He had changed into his very best coat, a long-tailed blue velvet and silver-buttoned creation, over a fresh white shirt with a fashionably soft and flowing collar. His boots were rather worn but had been freshly polished, and he wore baggy black satin trousers tied under the knee with ribbons. The ends of his moustache curled upwards and his beard had been forked and plaited into two, with his long hair tied back with a ribbon.

“So what was the laird like?”

“What did he say?”

“Was the castle very grand?”

“Iven, what did he say? Those guards were so grim-faced, I’ve been afraid…” The last question came anxiously from Nina, who had gone to him and grasped his arm tightly.

“What, did ye think he meant to throw me in his dungeon? Nina! Ye must be tired to fall prey to such imaginings.”

Nina quirked her mouth. “I ken, I’m sorry. I am tired, I must admit, and this place is grim enough to make anyone imagine horrors.”

“Well that’s true enough,” Iven looked around the circle of expectant faces, as always enjoying having an audience. “The castle is just as grim, and very grand—or may have been, half a century ago. Now it is rather damp and cobwebby, and very much out o‘ style. The servants are either auld and grouchy or young and nervous, and there are far too few o’ them for such a large place. The laird himself is a very affable gentleman and surprisingly well informed on court matters, considering how far away from anywhere we are here. He was most distressed to hear o‘ our misadventures and has offered us his hospitality until we are all fit to travel again. Indeed, my love, even if Maisie was well enough to travel we couldna leave, for he says the storm has caused a big auld tree to fall across the road, which may take a few days to clear, as it’s awkwardly placed. We are stuck here, willy-nilly, and so I thanked him most graciously. He is having rooms made up for us, and has promised to send over some sturdy footmen with a pallet for Maisie, and some auld nurse who he says is as good as any skeelie with her herbal remedies, that he swears will break the infection quick smart.”