Chapter Four
“I’m Flora Munro, Alex’s aunt,” Flora said as they entered the hall. Cait looked around at the ancient room, noted the weapons and banners on the walls, the beamed roof and narrow windows that let in scant light. A round hearth filled the center of the room, and the far end of the hall was hung with makeshift curtains. “Forgive the state of things,” Flora said. “We’ve several families living in the hall, for they’ve nowhere else to go. Alex intends to build new cotts to replace—well, you know all that, don’t ye?”
Cait blushed but said nothing. She saw the wee girl she’d found in the wood asleep on a pallet by the fire. Cait was aware of the baleful eyes of a dozen Munros upon her. Her stomach felt tight. Flora looked around as well. “I suppose it might be best if you come to my chamber for the time being.”
Flora summoned a servant. “Ask Janet to bring up a meal and some hot water.”
Cait followed her up the stairs, felt folk watching her go, blaming her, hating her. Of Alex Munro, there was no sign. She squared her aching shoulders and moved with quiet dignity. She hoped she could help to right the terrible wrongs Baird had committed. Not because she was to blame, but because it was the right thing to do. The MacLeod thing.
* * *
The servants regarded Cait curiously as they filled the tub in Flora’s chamber with steaming water, and Flora shooed them out and pulled a screen around the wooden tub to offer Cait a measure of privacy. The warm water felt heavenly, and the soap was scented with roses. Before long Cait’s eyelids drooped, and she laid her head back and dozed.
A knock at the door roused her, but she stayed very still, fearing it was Alex.
Flora rose from the tapestry frame by the window and opened the door for a servant loaded down with a tray and some clothing over her arm. “Come in Janet.”
The woman was red-faced and frowning as she looked pointedly round the screen at Cait, who kept still, peering through the screen of her lashes, pretending to be asleep
“I’ve brought the lass a clean gown as well as food,” Janet said. “It’s not fancy, but it should do for a Sutherland.”
“She says she’s not a Sutherland. Her name is Cait MacLeod,” Flora whispered.
“And I’m Queen Anne,” Janet scoffed.
Flora returned to the tapestry frame and picked up her needle. “I’m sure Alex will determine the truth,” she said lightly. “Is there—any other news?”
Janet sent another sideways glance around the screen before she replied in a whisper Cait had to strain to hear. “If ye mean the Pea, then no. If ye mean the arrival of our guests, then yes, the Frasers are below, breaking their fast.”
Cait listened as Flora rose with a sigh. “I shall go down at once. Is there no sign of the Pea at all? How could something as big as that simply disappear?”
The water was beginning to cool, but Cait stayed still and listened. They were searching for a pea? Perhaps it was an odd custom unique to the Munros . . .
“There are some suggesting it was accidentally buried with the laird’s mother,” Janet whispered. “Auld Bryn wants to dig her up and check.”
Flora gasped. “Good heavens, no! I saw the ring with my own eyes when Hugh put it into the great chest in his chamber, and that was weeks after Eilidh died. Nay, the ring must be elsewhere. Have you checked between the floorboards in the solar?”
“Aye, mistress, but there’s naught there but dust—though Effie found a copper coin in the lady’s chamber, and Ina found a glass bead.”
“And have you checked the boxes and chests of hangings and banners that were packed away when Hugh died?” Flora asked.
“Aye. We found nothing more than a dirk that had gone missing.”
Flora’s skirts and petticoats swished as she paced the floor. “Then where could it be? There are scant weeks left.” She sighed. “I’m afraid there’s no hope for it, Janet . . .”
“Nay, mistress, surely not yet!”
“Aye. I’m afraid so. We cannot wait. We must search the privies and the middens.”
Janet let out a groan and muttered a mild oath in Gaelic. “Mistress, folk are already saying the loss of the Pea has cursed us, and the ill luck isn’t waiting until midsummer. It’s upon us now—it’s the raids.”
“Then it’s all the more important we find the ring as soon as possible. When it’s found, all will be well again,” Flora said.
“If it’s ever found,” Janet said. “Some are saying the Sutherlands took it on one of the raids.” She raised her voice and peered through the crack to scowl at Cait. Cait kept still, her heart leaping.
Flora stared at her as well for a moment before she shook her head. “Nay, that’s impossible. The Pea is here somewhere, and there’s not much time. Order the servants to start digging through the middens at once, and send lads down the privies . . . Oh, how could this happen? It will be found, Janet—it must be. It isn’t lost, or stolen, just misplaced somehow.”
“But what if it’s not? What if it’s lost forever?” Janet said, her voice thin with fear. Cait’s skin prickled at the long silence that followed.
“Then we’re all doomed to live by the Pea’s curse, instead of its blessing,” Flora said softly. “And that curse will fall upon Alex hardest of all.”
* * *
Once Janet had gone, Cait yawned and rose from the cooling water to wrap a sheet around her body. “I must have slept,” she said, aware that she’d been eavesdropping—or spying.
“Do ye feel better?” Flora crossed to a small casket on her dressing table. She took out a carved wooden comb and handed it to Cait. Cait nodded her thanks.
Flora frowned at the bruises and scratches on Cait’s arms and shoulders. “I’ll ask Janet to fetch some salve for those.” She didn’t ask how they’d happened, but Cait read the speculation in her eyes.
“I fell from a horse. I—wouldn’t want to trouble Janet, if she’s busy.” Searching for a pea.
Flora sighed. “Yes, we have a number of visitors coming,” she said. She moved across to the tapestry frame again and ran her fingertips over the delicate stitches. Cait followed her. “This is lovely. My sisters sew, make tapestries,” she murmured.
Flora sighed. “This is our most valuable heirloom, the seanchas of the Munros. It tells of an old tradition, and a precious gift once given to our clan, and treasured to this day.”
Cait looked at the figures expertly picked out in gleaming thread. The joy on their faces was obvious. Each couple stood in the same meadow, next to a river that teemed with fish, surrounded by their clansmen. The sun was setting over the mountains, and the last rays shone through a massive wedding ring on the bride’s hand, creating a rainbow of color. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
Flora smiled proudly. “Isn’t it? It’s the duty of the women of each generation of Munros to add the story of the laird and his bride.” She turned to Cait. “Do ye know the tale? Our seanchas is known among the Sutherlands—we weren’t always enemies.”
Cait shook her head. There was no singing or storytelling or even smiling in Baird’s hall. There wasn’t even a piper.
Flora sighed. “Well, no doubt ye’ll hear the story while you’re here at Culmore. Auld Bryn—our seanchaidh—will recite it.” She pointed to the section at the end of the tapestry, a couple standing together under the oak tree. “Alex is to wed at midsummer, ye see.” She touched the half-finished image of her nephew. His bride was a mere sketch drawn on the canvas in spare lines, waiting to be filled in. Cait looked at Alex Munro’s likeness, at the proud tilt of head, the breadth of his shoulders, the lean length of his legs . . . it was an excellent likeness. She looked at the empty space where his bride would be and wondered who she was.
“I’ve been repairing the damaged sections as well as adding the new part of the story . . .” Flora sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Forgive me—my eyes are not as good as they once were. It’s exacting work, and it gives me a headache if I sew for too long.”
“The stitches are very fine,” Cait said.
Flora smiled faintly. “And there’s the problem. Some of the colors make my eyes sting, and I dare not make a mistake.” It looked to Cait like the laird’s aunt was blinking back tears.
“I can sew,” Cait said quickly. The Munros saw her as the enemy, and Alex Munro was her captor. Still, as she looked at Flora’s tired eyes she saw a way to be useful, perhaps to make up for Baird’s cruelty. “I’d be pleased to help.”
Flora searched her face for a moment, her brow furrowed, her eyes taking in the details of Cait’s countenance. “Thank ye, but no. It’s something I must do myself, until I know who—” She stopped speaking, and turned away to pick up the gown Janet had left. “Your own gown is ruined beyond repair, so Janet brought this one for ye to wear. I’m afraid it might be loose in the bodice, and a wee bit too short. There’s a clean shift and stockings as well.”
Cait took it from her with a smile. “Thank you,” she said graciously, and turned away to don the shift and gown.
“Ach, it is too big,” Flora said when she’d donned the gown. “A pity.”
Cait bit her lip. “May l borrow a needle and some thread? I think I might be able to make it fit better.”
“Of course.” Flora handed her a fine bone needle, a wee pair of scissors, and a skein of plain linen thread, though she looked dubious.
“I’m afraid I have duties to see to now. I must call Coll to escort you to your, um, accommodation.” She looked apologetic. “The whole castle is full up with visitors, and there’s only a small room on the top floor of the tower for ye to sleep in.” She stopped and bit her lip. “Coll will guard your door.”
Cait lowered her eyes. She’d almost forgotten she was a prisoner, but she was too exhausted to argue her innocence now. “Thank you,” she said graciously.
Flora scanned her face again. “Don’t thank me yet, lass. What happens to ye will be up to Alex. He’s not a hard man, or unkind. Not like . . .”
“Like Baird Sutherland,” Cait finished for her.
Flora nodded. “Aye.”