was bothered about Sam, that’s all.’
‘And you found him? He’s safe? And Biddie?’
‘Quite safe, love.’ Her eyes held less than the truth, and Meg was quick to see it.
‘You mean, safe at the moment? What, Ebbie? You must tell me. D’ye mean they’re going to take him?’ She shook Ebony’s hands.
Tears welled up again as the words were forced out angrily. ‘Sam and me. I made them promise not to take him without me. I believe they’re planning to stay till tomorrow so they can get Sir Joseph to speak.’ She glanced again at the blistered skin and the blood-soaked rags, not daring to say what was in her heart. ‘But heaven knows where they’ll take us.’
‘Then you must take Sam away,’ Meg insisted. ‘Now. This minute.’
‘How can I do that? I cannot leave you like this, Meg, when you need me more than you’ve ever done. What d’ye think they’ll do to you when they find I’ve taken Sam off? They’ll kill you.’
‘They won’t!’ Meg shook the hands again, harder, her tone as decisive as ever. ‘Course they won’t. And I can cope on my own, anyway. If they were going to strip the place and fire it, and kill all the men, they’d have done it by now and gone. But you must get away, Ebbie, and take Sam to safety down the glen. You know what my father would say if he could hear.’
Neither of them was prepared for the shock of Sir Joseph’s touch upon Meg’s skirt, the fumbling clench of his fingers over the woollen fabric, the tug as her hand claimed his. ‘Father,’ she whispered. ‘What is it?’
The swollen cracked lips breathed a command. ‘Take…Sam!’
‘Yes, Father. Ebony will take him, I promise. Are you…?’ But the effort was too much for him to sustain and he relapsed into his dark agony-free world once more, leaving his daughter speechless with his pain. ‘He heard us. You heard him,’ she said at last. ‘Now you have to go. I promised him.’ There were tears on her lashes.
‘When it gets dark,’ said Ebony. ‘Then we’ll go. Now, Dame Janet, do we have any of that fern-root salve for these burns? What’s in that jar you have there?’
Dame Janet handed it to her. ‘Fern-root and butter, m’lady,’ she said, pulling the linen cover off. ‘It’s as good as anything, but we need more bandages.’ Her head shook, sadly.
‘I’ll go and find something,’ Meg said.
‘No,’ said Ebony. ‘I know where the oldest sheets are. You stay and plaster him with this.’ Stay where it’s safe, was what she meant.
It was a great pity, she thought as she closed the door, that Meg’s mother was not here to help. In 1317, the terrible year that followed Robbie’s murder, Sir Joseph’s wife went to heaven with a broken heart. And who was to blame her? Life with her boorish husband would be no picnic without her beloved son to take her part. Sir Robert Moffat had never approved of his father’s unlawful activities, but had been in no position to prevent them when almost every sheriff, governor, warden and assistant warden, keeper and laird was open to bribery, blackmail and treachery of every kind. The years since the battle at Bannockburn had been lean ones, floods, crop failure, famine and disease had been nationwide, and raiding had become an accepted way of staying fed. Robbie would never have abducted a child or bargained with a woman’s honour.
He and Ebony had been friends as well as husband and wife, with never a word of conflict between them, and only Biddie and Meg knew of the bitter tears she shed at night, longing for the courteous comfort of his arms. That morning at daybreak, she and Meg had gone down to bathe under the waterfall, Meg insisting that, on this of all days, they must look into a still pool to see the reflections of the men they would marry. None of the pools had been still enough and they had given up, laughing at their distorted faces. But Ebony had been glad not to see, for it might have shown her Davy Moffat’s face, Meg’s cousin.
Taking care to evade Sir Alex, Ebony took a longer route through the maze of passageways to reach the stable yard via a door in the kitchen-garden wall, which she and Meg used to take them along their path to the waterfall. She picked up a basketful of beets and cabbages left by the garden lad in his panic, passing the men and grooms who tended the beasts that seemed to have multiplied with alarming speed since the morning. Sam was with Biddie and the grandfatherly Joshua and, though he spared his mother time for a quick hug, he was not inclined to be diverted from learning how to pick his pony’s hooves clean and to brush his fetlocks.
Still distinctly on edge after her earlier conflict, Biddie was eager to comfort her mistress with the whispered information that Sam believed the reivers to be the king’s troops who had come to demand Sir Joseph’s men for another battle against the English. A muster, they called it, at Newcastle-upon-Tyne. ‘Which is why they’re so fierce,’ she said, round-eyed with the well-rehearsed innocence she used to sweeten the truth.
‘King’s troops!’ Ebony scoffed. ‘And he believes it, of course.’ She took Biddie’s arm and led her away from Joshua’s sharp ears.
Biddie tipped her white-wimpled head towards the yard. ‘Course he does. They’ve just marched the men away who went raiding with Sir Joseph last night as well as those who didn’t. Sam watched them go. Well,’ she said, noting Ebony’s disdainful expression, ‘he’s better off believing that than the truth, isn’t he? We can do without the extra nightmares. And look at him now. No one’s ever bothered to show him how to do that before.’
They watched the man called Joshua, gnarled like an oak, brown-armed, white-haired as a prophet and as fit as any of the younger men, though he must have been the oldest. His face was a weathered parchment, his eyes a lively brown, his mouth ready to smile. Biddie’s attention was riveted equally upon the two pals as she monitored their new relationship.
Ebony turned her back on the two of them. ‘We’ve got to get him away from here,’ she said, keeping her voice low.
The large eyes swivelled in her direction at last. ‘Escape, you mean? Before they take Sam with them? Are they really going to do that?’
There was no question of telling either Biddie or Meg of the bargain. ‘Yes,’ Ebony said, looking away. ‘As soon as it gets dark, we have to take him down to the waterfall and into the boat. It was there this morning when Mistress Meg and I bathed.’
‘And what about Mistress Meg and Sir Joseph?’
‘They say we must take him. Both of them. If we go before dark, we chance being seen. If we delay, they may find the boat and take it away. It’s got to be tonight, Biddie. I have to go and help with Sir Joseph now, and you must go up, if they’ll let you, and gather together what Sam will need to keep warm, and some food. Hide it in the stair-passage so that we can collect it once we’re out of sight.’
Loyal to the roots of her hair, Biddie would never have questioned her mistress’s motives and, if she secretly wondered when Ebony had last shown a streak of indifference to Mistress Meg’s needs, she was hard-pressed to remember. After all, Sam’s safety came first, and time was not on the side of heroism. ‘If they take Sam,’ she said stoutly, ‘they’ll have to take me too. But I could go on my own, you know, and get help from further down the glen. They could be here by daybreak tomorrow.’
‘You can’t go in daylight, Biddie. You’d not stand a chance.’
Biddie pulled her wimple down, leaving it in white folds around her neck as a nest for her brown curls. ‘Not even if I take this off?’
‘No, love,’ Ebony smiled. ‘We cannot spare you.’
Bandaged around the laird’s wounds, the strips of torn linen sheeting did little for him except to make him more decent. As the task continued, Ebony’s conviction that she could not leave Meg one moment before she must increased with each passing hour. Meg had lost her mother and brother in the space of one year. Her father was strong but, even if he survived, would likely be disabled and she would be left behind at the