The Return of Black Douglas by Elaine Coffman

Author:Elaine Coffman
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2011-11-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

An axe is sharp on soft wood.

—African proverb

Grim was right. Alysandir returned on the third day, and most of those who had been ill were over their illness, like Isobella. While the others saw to the game the hunters had killed, Alysandir went in search of Isobella. He checked her room and spoke to the servants. No one had any idea where she was, but Grim did tell him to go easy on her.

“Any special reason why I should?”

“Aye, she has been verra sick with the fever. I imagine she wanted to be away from Màrrach, where the air is fresh and clean.”

“Did you know she was going and you allowed it?”

“Nae, I didna ken what she was aboot. Had she asked, I would have taken her myself.”

“Ye have a lot to learn aboot the wiles of a woman, so dinna allow one to persuade ye to do that which ye shouldna.”

“I dinna think Isobella has any wiles. She is gentle, kind, honest, unselfish, and principled.”

“It seems she has clapped a padlock on yer mind and clouded yer judgment.”

“Are ye going to look for her? Can I come with ye?”

“I can handle Isobella.”

“Aye, ye ken and that is why I am worrit.”

“I willna be too hard on the lass,” Alysandir said, and turned away. He wondered how she had managed to disappear in a castle full of people without at least one of them seeing her.

He returned to the courtyard and mounted Gallagher, anxious to find her. He had advised her, more than once, not to wander beyond the castle walls unescorted. She did not seem to understand the danger. When he found her, he would make certain she understood.

He rode along the beach, checking the sand for footprints. He was about to turn back when he heard the musical chime of her laughter coming from the direction of the castle burial grounds. He reined Gallagher into a tight turn and rode until he saw the ancient standing stones of his ancestors jutting up from the ground not far from a burial cairn. He dismounted near an old coffin slab, marked with an ornamental cross so old that no one had any idea just who was buried there.

He stepped through the gate and saw the familiar Pictish stone with cup-and-ring engravings, but he hardly recognized it. Someone had cleared away all the lichen and wild vines growing over it, along with the weeds that had clumped around the base. He continued on and paused for a moment beside the grave of his mother, where he saw flowers had recently been planted.

Here lyes Joanna Mackinnon

who dyed in the year of God, 1507

He spotted Isobella on her knees, just as she laughed again. She was watching the clownish antics of a puffin, with its gaudy rainbow-colored beak, looking as clumsy as a whale trying to fly. He stood quietly, captivated by the slender hands pulling weeds at the base of another Pictish stone. He also saw her black satchel lying nearby.

She seemed sadly alone.

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