Page 26 of Highland Sword
“Aye. French and Irish amongst them too, blast ’em. Brought in to teach the young ones, though some lasses were old enough to wed. Waiting, I suppose. Not enough men about, maybe, what with the wars.”
“Whose children went there?” Morrigan asked.
She shrugged. “Folk holding on to the auld ways. Unwanted lasses too, I reckon. Been some time since I visited there. Might all be dead or run off by now, for all I know.”
“That was a great help to us,” Morrigan said, taking her hand.
If she could convince Searc to let her join him the next time he went to Inverness, perhaps she could find this Barn Hill. If their guess was correct—and if the women were still living there—they might be able to tell her who could have drawn these caricatures. Talent of this kind was rare.
“Well, ye lasses can sit about all day, jawing and the like, but I’ll be—” Before the old woman could finish her sentence or push to her feet, another knock on the door interrupted her. “Damn me, but it’s busier in here than a harbor in a harrycain.”
As Morrigan opened the door to find Isabella, she was conscious of the shuffling of paper and books across the room.
“Why are you all here?” Isabella asked as she came in and eyed the four women.
“Plotting against yer husband, mistress.” Jean waved a wrinkled claw of a hand. “I tried, but there’s no stopping these ungrateful hussies.”
“I see. Well, you’re the person I’ve been looking for.” Isabella went to Jean and crouched before her. “Your shoulder is bothering you. Your knees are swollen. You have a sore on your heel. I told you this morning not to climb the stairs until I came back from the village.”
She tried to reach for her foot, but Jean tucked it under the chair.
“When’s the ship captain coming back?”
“Before the end of the month, God willing.”
“Not soon enough, to my thinking, what with yer sulking and bullyragging.”
“Bullyragging, is it?” She grabbed the foot and removed Jean’s shoe.
Morrigan didn’t need to be prompted. She poured water in a basin and carried it over.
“They’ve moved the dying man into the keep,” Isabella told her in a low voice. “Searc insisted on it. He didn’t think it prudent for me to be going to the cottage twice a day to look in on him.”
Though the old woman was watching them both, the information was intended only for Morrigan. Their gazes held. After that first day when she’d charged out of the cottage, Isabella had asked no questions. And when it came to have someone accompany her to the village, she took Maisie with her each time. Morrigan was not being pressed to explain.
“Where have they put him?” she asked, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat.
“In one of the rooms in the old tower.”
She passed those rooms frequently when she climbed the stairs to the top of the tower, where the parapets overlooked the gardens and the hills.
“Searc says, regardless of the man’s past, he poses no danger to anyone here.”
Wemys was getting closer and closer. Morrigan’s heart began to race. She felt the pressure building in her temples. Anger clawed at her insides. She didn’t want Isabella to see how this news affected her.
“You need your ointments, don’t you?”
The doctor turned her attention to Jean.
“I do.”
“I’ll fetch them.”
Morrigan ran out, fighting the bile rising into her throat.
CHAPTER10
AIDAN
