Something Rotten
Shona handed the dagger to her maid. “Stay here,” she advised. “Go for help if something happens to me.”
Moira wiped her hands on her skirts and accepted the weapon, then leaned back against the door, the color draining from her normally rosy cheeks. “Since I canna read anyway,” she said.
Though the words sounded flippant, Shona detected the edge of fear. “Aye, but promise ye’ll nay waste time trying to dig me out if the pile falls.”
Moira nodded, sniffling back tears.
Shona inhaled deeply and shuffled sideways into the stacks, then halted, momentarily distracted by distant shouts coming from the courtyard.
“Mayhap they’ve found Lady Jeannie,” Moira suggested.
A voice in Shona’s head confirmed she wasn’t hearing shouts of victory. “I’ve begun now,” she replied. “No turning back. The answer lies here somewhere.”
Recollecting that the lairds’ journals were stored on shelves at the rear of the library, she gingerly sidestepped her way through the stacks of parchments. Once things got back to normal, the archives would have to be sorted and kept in better fettle. She turned her head and fixed her attention on the window, afraid to look to the top of the piles lest she succumb to dizziness.
She didn’t breathe again until she clamped a hand on the rough wood of the shelves. Her heart skittered against her ribcage when she recognized the red leather binding of her father’s codex on the top of the cobwebbed pile.
Beathan MacCarron was a man of action, not letters, but he’d considered it his sworn duty to record the history of the clan. A vision of him laboriously penning entries filled her mind. One day she’d pluck up the courage to read what he’d written, but now she could only hope the thirteenth laird had been as conscientious.
Common sense suggested the codices would be in order. She moved one book after another onto a new pile, until she reached what she hoped was the correct book. Despite her best efforts not to hurry, dust danced in the air, tickling her nose.
Her sneeze brought a gasp from Moira.
“I’m all right,” she muttered hoarsely when the stacks towering over her remained in place.
There was barely enough space to turn around, but she opened the brittle cover of the codex, relieved her assumption had been correct. Tilting the book to the window, she slowly leafed through page after page of notations about provisions, judgements rendered, minor repairs. The Mackinloch feud was mentioned many times. Ink blotches marred some of the sketches of children, battles, horses and the laird himself. Even one of the ill-fated Queen Mary.
“What about yer grand project?” she whispered, losing hope as pain lanced through her stiff neck.
She was more than halfway through when she found it. Dozens of entries about the rebuilding. Sketch after sketch, many of the tower. Not one showed any indication of a secret chamber or stairway.
She was about to slam the book shut in exasperation when she noticed an entry next to a drawing of the tower that mentioned the Mackinlochs.
Twitching her nose to ward off another sneeze, she read the bold script:
We live in dangerous times and hence need a safe place for my family to hide if the Mackinlochs come for me. As well there exists the ever-present threat from the godless king of the English. I am confident the stench will protect us.
She sighed heavily at the mention of the threat from the Mackinlochs. In the end, it wasn’t the enemy clan that had claimed his life.
The English king must be Henry, since the entry was dated 1536, about the time the monarch had set aside his Spanish wife if she remembered her tutor’s history lessons correctly.
But what was all this about a stench? She peered at the entry again, worried she’d mayhap misread the word, noticing for the first time a tiny drawing of a Viking ship in the flourish under the date.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. The Morleys boasted loud and long of their line of descent from Somerled, King of the Isles.
She closed the book, tucked it under her arm and edged her way back to the door. “I found something,” she told Moira, “though I dinna ken what it means.”
*
Ruadh teetered gamely on all four legs, barking loudly at the tower. Peering up at the approximate location of where they’d stood inside the structure, Ewan tamped down his frustration. “There’s no window, but I’m sure there’s a hidden chamber. I just canna fathom how to get into it.”
“I suppose that was the plan,” Walter replied. “But if Ailig did indeed surprise Beathan atop the tower, there has to be a passageway leading up to the roof.”
Fynn and David apparently overheard and disappeared back into the tower before Ewan had a chance to reply. He was about to follow when boisterous MacCarron warriors appeared in the courtyard shoving a prisoner ahead of them.
Mungo Morley.
Ewan resisted the urge to lunge at the fool who’d caused Shona and her family so much suffering. They forced him to his knees, then stepped away. The reports came fast and furious, everyone shouting at once.
Found him in the kitchens.
Stealing food.
String him up.
I’ll make him talk.
None came too close. Mungo stank like a midden. “Where’s Lady Jeannie?” he asked, thankful Fynn was scaling the steep staircase.
Sorely shrugged. “I dinna ken. What have ye done with my wife?”
Ewan fisted his hands, glad when Walter spoke first. “Ye canna hope to claim ’twas a legal marriage betwixt ye and Shona. I myself saw the poor excuse for a priest ye bribed.”
Muttered agreement rose from the crowd.
“Shona is my betrothed,” Ewan growled.
Mungo stared in disbelief. “Ye’re nay the man wi’ one hand.” Then he shook his head. “What matters is we exchanged vows and I bedded her first, so I’m her husband, and ye’re an adulterer. Not welcome in Clan MacCarron.”
Fury boiled in Ewan’s veins. Morley was lying, but the wretch had made serious accusations that couldn’t be ignored. The wrinkles of doubt on many a brow indicated as much. “Take him to the hall,” he ordered, “and ask Laird Kendric to convene a hearing. We’ll settle once and for all who’s fit to be chief.”
At all costs, Shona had to be protected. At least she was safely away from the imminent proceedings.
The prisoner was hauled to his feet and escorted into the keep by men who seemed to have lost some of their fervor. Dismayed Mungo may have swayed opinion to his side, Ewan lingered to wait for Fynn and David. He was reluctant to impart the news, especially when they confirmed they’d found nothing on the roof.
“Only a grate covering the air vent for the cesspit,” Fynn hissed.
David waved his hand in front of his nose. “Sti…sti…stink,” he stammered.
*
The women hurried along the corridor, intending to go to the tower, but the noise of folk gathering in the hall drew their attention.
Shona paused to consider what to do next. She leaned back against the wall, glad of the cold stone and a chance to catch her breath. She hefted the codex that seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.
“Summat’s going on in the hall,” Moira panted, holding out the dagger, hilt first. “Give me the book.”
“Nay,” she replied, reluctant to refuse the weapon but unwilling to hand over the codex. “We’d best see what’s going on.”
She approached the hall cautiously, signaling Moira to stay behind her. Clutching the book to her breast, she peered around the arched entryway, puzzled to see a large, agitated crowd.
“What’s happening?” Moira whispered.
Shona’s heart hammered when she espied Mungo Morley in front of the dais. She could only see his back but there was no mistaking who it was standing head and shoulders above the mob. “They’ve captured Mungo,” she replied, ready to rush into the hall with her precious book. But something made her hesitate. “Uncle Kendric is sitting on the dais.”
“Do ye see Lady Jeannie?”
“Nay, nor Ailig.”
“Mayhap they’re holding a trial to make him tell where they are.”
She nodded, but her belly churned when Ewan mounted the dais, his face a mask of fury. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured.
Her fears were confirmed when her grim-faced uncle called for silence and declared, “I convene this court to look into the matter o’ the alleged consummation o’ the marriage o’ Mungo Morley and Shona MacCarron.”