Page 26 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

Margaret went through to the parlor, expecting to see her daughter there, then to her bedroom and the library. She tried her bedroom, where the sheets were still rumpled from her night’s sleep, but she was not there either. Eventually she thought of the secret little room and entered it, calling out Malle’s name, but there was no sign of her there or anywhere else. It was a very big castle, she thought, but it was very unlikely that she would be wandering amongst the maze of bedrooms in the east and west wings. There were eighty of them, although fifty were occupied by servants.

Margaret hurried out into the stables where she found Malcolm. “Have you seen Malle?” she asked fearfully. “I cannot find her anywhere.”

“She is not here...wait.” He walked along the stable block, looking for Arthur. When he saw that the big horse was not there, he strode back to Margaret, his face thunderous. “Arthur has gone,” he growled. “She is battered, bruised, and bleeding. What on earth would make her go out in that state?”

Margaret thought for a moment before light dawned in her eyes. “Kenny,” she said, frowning, “I hope I am wrong, but I can think of one person she might be with.”

“Who?” Kenneth frowned.

“Craig Dunbar,” Margaret replied, frowning worriedly. “Something inside me tells me that she loves him.”

“There has not been a match between a Dunbar and a MacEwan for two hundred years! Are you insane? I will not allow that!” Kenneth almost spluttered on his ale.

“I did not speak of marriage my dear,” Margaret protested. “But she is a lovely young girl, and he is a big handsome man, and I saw the way they looked at each other. Have you not noticed? I think she might be with him.”

“No, I have not noticed,” Kenneth replied. “ And I am sure she is not with him! WHY would she be with him Margaret?.” He stroked his beard and bit his lip, a sure sign that he was anxious. “She could be anywhere! I am taking some guards and going out to look for her!” He swallowed the last of his ale and was about to stride out of the door when a maidservant came in with a letter on a tray.

“Who brought it?” he asked as he slit the seal open.

“A priest, M’laird,” she replied. “A wee auld man, but he left as soon as he drapped it aff.”

“With a kind face?” Margaret asked. The young woman nodded. “Father John.”

Kenneth was scanning the message. “It’s from Malcolm Dunbar. He says:

Laird and Lady MacEwan,

Your daughter is at my estate recovering from a fall from her horse. She is not seriously hurt and is in good hands. I have instructed my guards to let you come and see her at your convenience.

Regards,

Laird Malcolm Dunbar

“I told her that horse was too big for her!” Margaret growled.

“How?...What?...We must go at once.” Kenneth was decisive, and impatient. “Malcolm Dunbar may be a good man, Margaret, and his son may have honorable intentions towards our daughter, but then again they may not. We will go to see them at once.”

Margaret nodded, then went to fetch some more clothes for Malle. When she was ready, she came down to see her husband standing by the window looking out, tapping his feet nervously. It was the dark of the moon, and there was not a light to be seen anywhere.

“We will have to go slowly,” he observed, “and take lanterns. It is but two miles, but it will feel more like five.”

Margaret nodded. She was trembling already, and her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. Malle was her only child, and she felt helpless.

Kenneth wrapped his arms around her. “Hush, wee darling,” he whispered. “We will be there soon, and she will be well.” He only hoped he was right.

17

Lairds and Ladies

The next morning, having slept like the dead under the influence of a generous dose of poppy milk, Craig woke up “like a bag of cats” as Jessie was wont to say when he was in a bad mood. He almost asked if he could have his foot chopped off, since he imagined that it might be less agonizing than what he was going through at that moment. Jessie had washed it in wine and smeared it liberally with honey, then she had bandaged it right up to his ankle with so much bandage that it looked as if his foot had swollen up to three times its normal size.

“Do you really have to do that?” he grumbled.

“Naw, young master,” she replied sharply. “Only if ye wid like tae keep yer fit. I could jist let it go black an’ fa’ aff.”

Craig laughed. “I am just a bit sore, Jessie,” he said, wincing. “But I know what will help to cure me—a tumbler of usquebae!”

“Aye, cures everythin’, that stuff!” Jessie muttered and shook her head. “I wid hate tae see ye gein’ birth, then, M’laird.” Then she laughed heartily. The young laird was one of the few toffs she could laugh with, and she was not in awe of him, because he could actually laugh at himself.