"Is there something else I can do fer ye?" Robbie asked, continuing with his work.
Cam shook his head, but said, "Should no' yer stable lad being doing that, Robbie? Surely ye've more important things to attend to?"
"Aye, but me stable lad's gone missing, so I'm stuck with it 'til I replace him," Robbie said dryly.
"Missing?" Cam asked straightening. "When did he go missing?"
"The morning after the MacFarland woman died," Robbie said grimly. "Ye asked me to prepare yer horse and yer lady's, so I told him to do it and went inside to break me fast. When I came back out o' the keep, the horses were waiting at the base o' the stairs, but he was gone." Scowling, he added grimly, "He has no' returned. And I'll no take him back when he does. I need a dependable lad here, no' a flitter widget who can no' be counted on."
Cam was silent for a moment, thinking, and then he asked, "Did ye ask around after him? Has anyone seen him?"
"I asked," Robbie admitted. "One o' the men on the wall said he saw him walk the horses to the keep stairs. He said one o' those ladies yer mother brought here was walking with him, but once they reached the stairs he paid them no more heed and he does no' ken where he went after that."
"Which lady?" Cam asked sharply.
Robbie shrugged. "He did no' say."
"Which man was it who saw them together?" Cam asked.
"Tormod," Robbie answered, and then paused to eye him curiously. "Why are ye so interested in the lad?"
Cam just shook his head and turned to head out of the stables.
"MY BETROTHED WAS YOUNG AND HANDSOME," Murine said on a sigh as she began to cut material at the table.
"Ye met him?" Saidh asked with interest.
"Aye. He was on his way to claim me and had just reached Carmichael land when he died. They brought his body to the castle. He was ever so handsome," Murine said sadly.
"Mine was no'," Saidh said dryly. "Mine was an old bastard."
Joan's mouth twitched at the woman's words. Saidh was a little different than the other ladies. She had been raised with eight brothers and, probably because of it, talked like a man herself.
"Do ye mean that literally? Or just as a general description?" Garia asked with an amusement that matched Joan's. She too was seated at the table, cutting cloth. They'd moved all the bolts to the floor to make room for the task.
"Both," Saidh said dryly. "He was the bastard son o' the Ferguson. The Ferguson outlived his legitimate son and left all to him. He was a pig," she added with a grimace, and then glanced to Garia and asked, "Can I use the shears? Me thread is in a knot."
"O' course."
When Garia grabbed the shears and stood to take them to her, Saidh glanced to Joan and added, "Other than the fact that it would have been more considerate o' him to wait until after he wedded me to go and die, I do no' mind so much."
"Are ye no' worried that ye might never marry and will be sent to an abbey fer the rest o' yer days?" Murine asked worriedly as Garia set down the scissors and quickly returned to her seat.
Saidh snorted at the thought as she cut off the knotted end of thread. "Me brothers would never send me to an abbey. They ken I'd kill 'em if they did."
Joan released a startled laugh and then glanced to Edith when she made a sound of disgust.
"Me brothers would send me off to the abbey in a trice if it were no' for me father." Her mouth turned down unhappily and she added, "Unfortunately, his health is no' well, so that may happen soon."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Joan said with a frown. She couldn't imagine being forced into the church against her will. Surely it wouldn't make for a good bride of God if she was unwilling?
"What about you, Garia?" Saidh asked, glancing to the little redhead. "Abbey? Or old maid?"
"Neither," Garia said with a shrug. "Me mother already has another husband lined up. The only reason she had no' already arranged it is because she was hoping Cam would take interest and marry me." She shrugged again. "He's wealthier and more powerful."
Joan was about to ask who the man was when her aunt suddenly stood and moved to the side of the bed.
" 'Tis time to put more salve on your side," she said quietly. "Lift your arm."
"Oh, aye," Joan said guiltily and did as she asked. She'd been slipping on the task she was supposed to be performing and had allowed the conversation to shift to subjects that had nothing to do with any of the attacks that had taken place at Sinclair. She supposed this was her aunt's way of bringing them all back to the topic. There was nothing like letting them see the ugly bruising to ensure they started thinking of how she'd gained it. Hopefully it would bring the topic back around to the attacks on her, she thought, as her aunt lifted the side of the tunic she'd pulled on before the cloth had been brought up.
"Oh!"
Joan glanced to Murine at that cry, just in time to watch the woman swoon and slide out of the chair she'd been sitting in. She ended up slumped against the legs of her chair, her skirt up around her thighs where it had caught as she'd fallen out of her seat.
Saidh peered at Murine, shook her head and then stood up to walk over and tug her skirt down to cover her legs. Straightening then, she turned to peer at Joan, her eyes going wide as she took in Joan's side. "God's teeth, woman. Yer side is black as sin."
"Aye, it looks nasty," Garia said with concern, getting up from her seat at the table to move closer to the bed. Shaking her head, she met Joan's gaze and said, " 'Tis lucky it was yer side and no' yer head that took the blow or ye definitely would no' ha'e survived."
"That was probably Finola's intention," Edith said grimly, taking her place to get a better look at it.
"Mayhap," Joan agreed mildly. "But I was the lucky one. I hit my side, not my head and survived. Finola wasn't so lucky." She paused, but when no one said anything, she added, "Actually, I feel rather sorry for Finola. She must have been terribly unhappy."
Garia paused at her seat to peer at her and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Joan. I do no' feel bad fer her at all. But ye're very kind to, yerself."
"Kind to the point o' stupid if ye truly feel sorry fer that bitch," Saidh said with disgust. "The woman was cruel, nasty and she was after yer man . . . and she did no' care that he was married to ye either."
Joan hesitated, and then glanced to where her aunt had settled back in her chair by the table. When she arched an eyebrow ever so slightly in question, Lady Annabel raised her mead and gave her head the faintest shake, her expression grim. So did Lady Sinclair when she glanced to her next.
Sighing, Joan lowered her head and pretended to sew a stitch to hide her expression. There was no way she could keep the frustration off her face right now as she acknowledged how stupid this idea had been. Or maybe she just wasn't any good at it. They weren't learning anything from this exercise. Nothing she'd heard so far was very helpful in telling them who was behind everything. These women all just seemed like nice, normal women. Not one was showing signs of being a coldblooded killer who might have thrown Finola down a flight of stairs and had set Joan up for a riding accident that could have killed her. Maybe the girls were right and Finola had been behind everything. Perhaps she had dosed the cider just to put a halt to the sewing session and get her hands on the dress. And perhaps she had stuck the hatpin in the horse that night before she'd fallen down the stairs.
Of course, that didn't explain where the candle she'd been holding had gone, Joan thought, but perhaps the explanation for that was as simple as one of the servants pinching it in all the chaos after Finola had been found dead.
Sighing, Joan glanced up, and frowned when she noted Murine was showing no signs of stirring.
"Shouldn't Murine be waking by now?" she asked with the beginnings of concern. "She doesn't usually stay in her faints this long."
"Aye, she usually wakes quickly," Saidh said, and Joan glanced to her sharply as she heard the slur in her voice.
"Saidh? Are you all right?" she asked, sitting up slightly. Noting the glassy eyed look
on the woman's face, Joan glanced quickly to her aunt. "Aunt Annabel, there's something wrong with . . ." Her voice trailed away as she noted that her aunt appeared to be sleeping in her chair. Lady Sinclair was too, she noted, turning her attention to her next.
Chapter 18
CAM LET THE KITCHEN DOOR SWING CLOSED behind him as he spied Tormod chatting up one of the maids at the far end of the room. He'd searched high and low for the bastard until one of the men had mentioned that the warrior was sweet on a kitchen maid, though he hadn't said which one. That had finally led him here.
"Tormod," he barked, striding toward the pair.
"Wha--Oh." Tormod straightened at once on spotting him and turned to face him in question. "Is there something ye want?"
"Robbie said ye saw the stable boy walking me horse and me wife's to the keep yesterday and that he was talking with one of the ladies me mother brought here?" Cam began.
"Aye. I do no' ken where he went to after that, though, and I told Robbie as much."
Cam waved that away. "Which of the ladies was he with?"