Highland Raven

Chapter 4

The next morning, I awoke groggy and starved for fresh air. Madelaine had gone back to her duties. My mind spun with a hundred different ways for Alister to die, but none of them seemed violent enough. I lay in bed and stared out my window. A heavy mist rose. Finally, I pulled on a cloak over my night clothes and went below.

I crept past the sleeping men in the feasting hall to the garden at the side of the castle. There, in the first of the morning sunlight, I knelt between rows of herbs. No doubt the cooks would soon, though lovingly, chase me away, so I quickly snapped fresh tendrils of mint, thyme, and other herbs. I thought their sweet scent would cheer Madelaine, and I’d often seen her brew the herbs into a draft. She said it calmed her. Something told me she might need them. The leaves were wet with morning dew. My fingers became moist, dirty, and perfumed with the herbs. I held the bunches in my hands and breathed deeply until the heady scent made me feel dizzy. I stuffed the herbs into my pockets and headed toward the front of the castle.

In the field, fire rings puffed up dissipating tails of smoke. The encampment was clearing; the men were heading home. I prayed this meant that the siege of debauchery was over.

As I walked, I spied a small trembling mass sitting near one of the abandoned camps. I climbed a small hill toward it and found a furry black body battling the wind. When I came to stand over her, she looked up at me with her sad brown eyes. It was a tiny puppy. She whimpered softly, rose on her six-inch tall legs, and waddled toward me, her tail wagging. I patted her head. She started licking me, her little pink tongue working hard. I laughed, picking her up and hugging her. She was shivering.

“Poor little thing,” I whispered to the pup. “Let’s get you inside.”

I turned to head back to the castle only to find myself face to face with Father Edwin.

“My Lady, good morning to you! May the Lord bless you this fine morning! Ah, what do you have there?” He was wearing long gray robes, a large wooden cross hanging from his neck. He peered at my hands with his sharp, gray eyes.

I looked away from him. “Just a pup. She was in the field,” I said and tried to pass by him, but he moved to stop me.

“A faerie thing then. Let me take it to the men and have its throat slit. You shouldn’t bring a foundling inside the castle walls,” he said, reaching for the puppy.

I clutched the puppy closer and looked down at her. Her brown eyes met mine. “No,” I said sternly and started walking toward the castle. I saw Tavis near the gate. He caught sight of me and began crossing the lawn toward me…and Father Edwin.

Father Edwin turned to walk beside me, still pressing his point. “Such temptations should be avoided, My Lady. The fey folk still play with high-born people such as yourself. Give it to me. I’ll be rid of it,” he was saying when we met with Tavis.

“What is that, Corbie?” Tavis interrupted, eyeing Father Edwin suspiciously as he stepped closer to me. I moved toward Tavis.

“Just a wee pup.”

“I told My Lady that it is the work of the faerie folk to leave such traps for young girls. It should be thrown in the river.”

Tavis laughed. “Have you become so suspicious, Priest? Faerie folk? You talk like a superstitious fool, scared of some bitch’s abandoned runt. Be off with you.”

“But, Lord Tavis,” the priest interjected.

“Your master is awake. He’ll be looking for you,” Tavis said sternly, stepping between me and the priest.

Father Edwin glared at Tavis then turned and headed back into the castle.

“It’s early in the day to start an argument with the White Christ, Little Corbie,” Tavis said, grinning at me. Clearly, he had not yet seen Madelaine’s broken face. I pitied the pain I knew he would feel. I pitied the revenge he would not be able to extract. I pitied his love. But I was grateful for his help.

“That is certain,” I said with a wry grin. I set the puppy down. It waddled over to him, its belly bulging.

“So, a foundling, eh? Have you named her?”

I shook my head. “No doubt she already has one. I just need to figure it out.”

Tavis shook his head. “All right,” he said with a smile. “But what if it really was the fey folk who left her? Or maybe even the little people of the hollow hills?” he asked jokingly. Laughing, he picked up the pup and was scratching her belly when two of my uncle’s men neared us. I caught just a snippet of their conversation.

“They say Duncan may take a wife this year,” said the first.

The other man laughed. “Nonsense. He’s just a boy. They will wait until they can make a sturdy alliance,” the other replied as he mounted.

“With King Cnut badgering Malcolm, no doubt there will be some movement very soon.”

“All the movement being done is being done by Thorfinn.”

“He’s just a whelp with a big ship.”

“He may be a whelp, but he’s allied with King Magnus of Norway, and he’s fostering Macbeth.”

“Shame about Macbeth’s father. Findelach was a good man.”

Tavis, also overhearing the conversation, cleared his throat loudly. Both men looked at us.

“Ah, Lady Corbie,” said the first, winking knowingly to his partner.

The second man turned to me. “And here is Boite’s daughter,” he said slickly, casting a knowing glance to his comrade.

Tavis handed the puppy back to me. “Farewell, My Lords,” Tavis said gruffly, cutting off the words lingering on the men’s tongues.

The men laughed knowingly then guided their horses away from the castle, gossiping like two old women as soon as they were out of earshot. I heard my name carry on the wind.

I thought about their words. My cousin Donalda’s husband Findelach had been killed by his own brother, Gillacoemgain, in a quarrel over the rule of Moray. Findelach had fallen out of King Malcolm’s favor, and it was rumored that the King secretly supported Gillacoemgain’s move to take power from his brother. Apparently Macbeth, my second cousin by Donalda, had heard the rumor as well. People said he fled to Lord Thorfinn of Orkney for protection. King Malcom had no problem striking out at his own when it pleased him, much as he’d done to my own father, according to the rumors. My elder cousin Donalda, now a widow, was back at court, and Gillacoemgain, despite killing Donalda’s husband, was now the Mormaer of Moray and the most powerful man in the north. I frowned as I thought about where I fit on that chessboard. Would they really marry me off to Duncan? I’d never even seen the boy. The thought of it made me feel indignant, but in the end, the truth was obvious: King Malcolm would move me soon.