The Tower of Ravens (40 page)

The maid Wilma cast them a curious glance over her shoulder and Iven said no more, falling back and allowing the others to exclaim over the rich, ornate tapestries and artifacts that crowded the dimly lit gallery. They were led through a veritable maze of dark, damp halls and rooms, and up another flight of stairs till at last they reached a corridor with a number of rooms opening off either side.

The footmen carried Maisie into one of the rooms and shifted her to the bed, which had been freshly made, and Iven helped Edithe hop in and sit down gratefully in a big chair by the unlit fire, Lewen finding her a footstool on which to rest her sore and swollen ankle. The maid Wilma kindled the fire deftly, kneeling on the flagstones and blowing the sparks with a pair of bellows until the kindling caught and yellow petals of flame burst open all along the sticks. She then stood and, curtsying, offered to show the others their rooms.

Landon and Cameron, both heavy-eyed and hoarse-throated, were glad to be tucked up in their beds in the room next door, but the other apprentices followed Nina and Iven into the large chamber they were to share, with views across to the waterfall and the burnt-out hulk of the tower. The room was cold, for the windows had been flung open to allow fresh air in, and the floors had been freshly scrubbed so were damp and chill underfoot. Wilma frowned at the view and drew close the windows, so that the shapes of crag and tower were obscured behind small, thick, rippled panes of glass. The room was immediately filled with a greenish gloom, for the glass was so old it tinted the air like water. Wilma knelt by the fireplace and pulled out her tinder and flint, chasing away the watery shadows with warm golden flames.

The sight pleased her. She stood up, smiling, and rubbed away the smudges of charcoal on her stiff white apron.

“Ye need no‘ worry about the sheets, we aired them this morning,” she said proudly. “And Lady Evaline came through herself to check all was nice for ye. She picked the flowers for ye herself.”

Looking at the pretty tussie-mussies laid on the pillows, white roses tied with lavender, newly opened lily-in-the-valley and silver posie thyme, Nina exclaimed with true pleasure. “That was kind o‘ her,” she said.

“Lady Evaline loves her garden,” the maid said with a sigh.

“It’s a lovely wee garden, no‘ at all what one expects to find inside these grim grey walls,” Nina answered.

“Nay,” the girl agreed with a giggle, then added, “Dedrie tends the garden for my lady.”

“Who is Dedrie?” Nina asked. “Is that the laird’s auld nurse?”

“The auld nurse, aye,” Wilma answered, “though she was never the laird’s nurse. Why, she’d have to be ancient! Nay, she was nurse to the former laird’s son. Lady Evaline’s son.”

“Lady Evaline had a son?” Nina asked, unconsciously drawing Roden to her and wrapping her arms about his shoulders. He was young enough still to press close and return the embrace.

“Aye. He died, och, a long time ago. Afore I was born.”

“And that was such a long time ago,” Iven teased, and the maid giggled again.

“Well, ‘twas,” she insisted. “I’m seventeen now. Lady Evaline’s son died twenty-five years ago. He was just a bairn.”

“Och, that’s sad,” Nina said. “How did he die?”

The maid shrugged and grimaced. “In the wars,” she said vaguely. “Poor Lady Evaline, she’s never got over it really.”

She seemed about to say more but a sound from the corridor startled her and she blushed, dropped her eyes, fiddled with her apron, and then said with a hasty curtsy, “But if ye’ll excuse me, madam, sir, I must be getting back. I’ll bring ye up some jugs o‘ hot water so ye can wash. I hope ye’ll all be comfortable.”

“I’m sure we shall,” Nina said and Wilma went out, bobbing another curtsy at the door.

“Indeed, I think the Rìgh should be paying ye, no‘ me,” Iven said. “Ye are far better than me at loosening people’s tongues, my love.”

Nina smiled a little ruefully. “Happen it’s just habit,” she said. “Though, Iven, are ye implying… do ye think we are upon the Rìgh’s work here?”

Iven hesitated, then shrugged. “Happen we are,” he said slowly. “Though I do no‘ ken why I feel so. My skin is all a-twitch, though. That crofter’s wife last night and her talk o’ cursed witches—and she called upon the Truth, remember? Maxims like that, they stay in the language, they can be hard to shake, we all ken that… but still, she said it fervently, as if the words meant something to her.”

Nina nodded but raised her finger to her mouth, casting a quick glance at the door. Iven nodded and turned to smile at Rhiannon, Felice, Lewen and Rafferty, all warming themselves by the fire and listening with interest. “Go on, bairns, go find your own fires,” he said cheerfully. “Have ye naught better to do than hog all the warmth?”

Felice dimpled at him and moved away from the fire, shaking out her skirts so the hot material would not burn her legs. “We do no‘ ken where our own fires are,” she said.

“Go find one!” Iven said, flapping his hand at her. “There seemed to be plenty o‘ room in this castle, there must be some way Nina and I can be rid o’ ye. We need some adult time, away from all ye young things.”

Felice sketched a curtsy. “O‘ course, we understand. Shall we take Roden for ye?” she said cheekily.

“Now there’s an idea,” Iven said, his blue eyes kindling.

“No!” Nina said and then coloured as everyone, including her son, looked at her in surprise. “I’m sorry. I just want to keep Roden near me. Until we are out o‘ the valley.”

“Och, Mam,” Roden said in disgust.

“I’m sorry, laddie. It’s just…” she trailed away, not wanting to put it in words, her hands unconsciously tightening their grasp about her son’s shoulders.

There was a knock on the door. Iven raised one eyebrow at his wife and sauntered over to open the door. After a low murmured conversation, he turned his head and called to Nina, “
Leannan
, it is Dedrie, the skeelie I told ye about. She has been to see Maisie.”

“Och, ask her to come in, please, and tell me how Maisie does,” Nina said eagerly. “I’ve been worried indeed.”

Iven stood back and held open the door for a small woman dressed in a crisp white apron and cap, with a heavily laden basket on her arm. Her eyes were brown, her hair was brown, and her dress was brown, her cheeks as round and rosy as apples. She came in with a quick, supple step, looking round her with great interest. As her eyes fell on Roden, both her step and her smile faltered.

“Och, no, a laddie,” she whispered.

“Aye, a laddie,” Nina answered stiffly, her own welcoming smile fading. “What o‘ it?”

“Has no-one told ye?” Dedrie said, her face creasing in anxiety. “Och, my lady has no‘ seen him, has she?”

“Your lady? Do ye mean Lady Evaline? Aye, she saw us all arrive. She seemed quite taken with my boy.” Nina’s voice was still stiff and offended.

Dedrie sighed. “Aye, well, she would be, wouldna she?” She put down her basket blindly, groped in her sleeve for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

Nina regarded her curiously, while Roden looked red and uncomfortable. All the conversation in the room had stopped. Dedrie was oblivious of their curious glances. She blew her nose thoroughly, tucked the handkerchief away, and went to kneel by Nina’s side, reaching out a rather tremulous hand to touch Roden’s ruffled curls.

“Ye should no‘ bide here,” she said. “This is no’ a happy house. Ye should pack up your things and go.”

“Are ye saying we are no‘ welcome here?” Nina replied in a cold voice.

Dedrie shook her head impatiently. “Nay, nay, I’m saying this is no‘ the place to bring a young boy. Particularly one with red hair and dark eyes. Our boy Rory, he had hair this colour. Happen a wee redder, though it’s been so long, it’s hard to remember.” She sighed and took out her handkerchief again, wiping her eyes.

“Rory was Lady Evaline’s son?” Nina asked, her voice and manner softer now.

Dedrie nodded.

“Her son that died?”

The nurse nodded again.

“Ye are afraid the sight o‘ my lad will hurt your mistress? Stir up unhappy memories?”

“Aye, my lady,” Dedrie said, and hesitated for a long moment as if wanting to say more but unable to formulate the words.

“I’m sorry for that, truly I am, but what are we to do? Maisie is sorely hurt, ye’ve seen her, ye ken she should no‘ be travelling, and besides, Laird Malvern says the road is blocked. We canna go on until it is cleared.”

Dedrie looked up, alarm on her face. “The road? Blocked?”

“Aye, that’s what he said. Why? Do ye mean it isna blocked?”

“Nay, nay, I just… if my laird says the road is blocked, o‘ course it is. I do no’ go away from the castle much these days, I wouldna ken about the road.” She stopped and took a corner of her stiff, starched apron and began to pleat it between her fingers. After a moment she said awkwardly, “I do no‘ wish to alarm ye but I am wondering if ye have heard the tales… did ye come past the town on your way here?”

“Nay, the town had closed its gates for the night and would no‘ open for us,” Iven replied, a trace of anger in his voice.

Dedrie seemed to consider. “Happen ye have no‘ heard then. I wish I did no’ need to say this, but my conscience would no‘ rest easy if I did no’ tell ye. It is no‘ safe here for young boys. Lads—many lads—have gone missing from hereabouts… for years now. If I were ye, I’d be on my way just as fast as ye can.”

“But surely we are safe here, in the laird’s own castle?” Iven said. “This place is a fortress!”

“Nowhere is safe,” she answered harshly.

“Lady Evaline’s son… is that how he died?” Nina asked gently. “Did he go missing too?”

Dedrie hesitated, then said roughly, “He was the first to die.”

Nina would have asked more, but the nursemaid got up, blowing her nose defiantly. “I have done what I can for the lassie. They are nasty bites, deep and unclean, but I have washed them with water boiled with adder’s tongue and St. John’s Wort, and bound on a poultice o‘ bruised wintergreen, a herb which grows freely in these parts and which is very effective for healing open wounds. I have given her a hot tea I made myself, with feverfew and powdered willow tree bark for the pain and the fever, and chamomile and valerian to help her sleep, and devil’s bit to expel the poison. I gave my borage syrup to the lads, washed down with a dose of elderflower wine, with peppermint and vervain in a basin for them to steam their faces. The lass with the sprained ankle, I made a poultice o’ elder leaves, trefoil and figwort. An afternoon’s rest and she’ll be walking by nightfall, I promise ye.”

“Thank ye,” Nina said, sounding a little dazed. “So when…”

Dedrie snorted. “There is naught wrong with the laddies that a little rest and warmth willna help, but the lass… rattling round in a caravan willna do her any good, she’s in pain and shall be for some time. I did no‘ wish to give her too much o’ the poppy and nightshade syrup, for it shall give her nightmares, and too much can be dangerous, but if ye find ye must be gone quickly, I will give ye a bottle o‘ it and it shall help her endure.”

Nina nodded. The blood had ebbed away from her face, leaving her eyes black and glittering. She looked down at Dedrie, saying in a constricted voice quite unlike her usual melodious tones, “Will ye ask about the road for us, Dedrie?”

“Aye, that I will,” the nursemaid answered. “I will come back at dusk, to change the lassie’s poultice. I will speak with ye again then.”

“Thank ye,” Nina said.

As soon as Dedrie had curtsied and taken her basket of medicines away, Nina turned to the others. “Go and rest, my dears,” she said. “I think we will be setting out again in the morning, Eà willing, and so ye should enjoy a soft bed and warm fire while ye can.”

They all nodded and murmured, without a smile or a joke between them, and went quietly to their own rooms, where the dancing flames of a freshly kindled fire helped, to some degree, to drive away the sudden chill that had shadowed them.

The Nursemaid