The Forest Laird(86)

The farmer did not hesitate. “What d’ye need?”

“Something wi’ wheels, but light, if you ha’e such a thing.”

“Aye. I’ve a light cart I use for carrying poles. A handcart. There’s room for a man to lie down on it. You can pull it atween ye. It’s ower there.” He pointed to a high-wheeled handcart leaning against the side of a shed, and a short time later he stood clutching a silver shilling—thrice the value of a new cart—as we strode away, having piled the cart with straw to make a bed for our passenger.

Ewan and I parted from Shoomy and his companions then, leaving them to go directly to the Wallace house in Elderslie while we took the long way round, passing through Paisley town to collect Mirren. That little task had been difficult for a few moments, because Mirren had come frowning to us after a nun summoned her, and as she grappled with the unexpectedness of seeing us there and then looked for Will, an entire range of expressions flickered over her face.

“Where is he? What happened?”

Ewan cleared his throat. “They took him … beat him … the English. He went into Bek’s camp alone. You know what he’s like. But we managed to get him away from them and he’s fine, I think. Shoomy’s ta’en him to Elderslie. We came to get you.”

“You think? Am I supposed to take comfort from that? You think my man is fine? I don’t care what you think, Ewan Scrymgeour. In God’s name, tell me what you know. Is he wounded?”

“No, Mirren. Hurt, aye, but no’ wounded. He was badly beaten—God alone knows how many men were involved in that, but there must have been a wheen o’ them—and we knew nothing of it until they brought him out of their camp and threw him in the roadway.”

She turned her wide eyes on me, and in spite of having done nothing wrong, I felt my face flush with shame.

“And you,” she said. “You were there with him, were you no’? Did you just stand there and watch?”

I shook my head, but before I could speak she continued, “You were supposed to protect him, Jamie Wallace—to stand beside him with your pens and ink and bear witness for him, protecting him just by being there. That was why he took you instead of any of the others.”

I was still shaking my head, though slowly now. “No,” I heard myself say. “They forced me to leave. They kept me outside the camp gates while Will met with the Bishop.”

She shook her head in a tiny gesture of disgust and looked back at Ewan, who started to tell her about how I had attacked the archers, but she cut him off. “Where is he now? Elderslie, you say?”

“Aye, he’ll be there by now,” Ewan said. “I told everyone to meet at his old hut in the forest behind the house as soon as it was dark enough for them to get there without being seen. Alan and Shoomy and John know where it is. They’ll show the others.”

“What others?” But before he could explain she was turning away. “We should hurry, then,” she said. “It’s near dark already. I’ll have to see to Mairidh before I go. She’ll fret if she doesna know where I am. You wait here. I won’t be long.”

As she began to move away, Ewan spoke again. “How … how are your cousins?” He sounded more ill at ease than I had ever heard him, but at least he had been able to voice the question that had been stuck in my throat.

Mirren looked back at him, and her shoulders slumped noticeably. “My cousins? They are mostly dead, I fear.” Her voice was low, her tone more sad than mourning. “Shelagh died this afternoon, and Morag has not opened her eyes since she was found this morning. Only Mairidh shows any awareness of who or where she is, and she is very … weak.” She straightened her shoulders then. “She’ll be fine among the sisters here until I come back. But I need to see to Will. Wait you here, then. I’ll no’ be long.”

2

Mirren stood looking down at Will’s motionless form on the cot, her mouth compressed into a lipless line as her eyes flitted around the tiny, crowded room. “Just like Morag,” she said, almost to herself, and then raised her eyes to where Shoomy stood at the foot of the cot. “When did he last say anything?”

Shoomy shook his head wordlessly, and a small frown ticked between Mirren’s brows. “Moved, then—when did he last move?” “He hasna moved, not since they brought him out o’ that damned camp.”

Mirren drew in her breath with a hiss and glanced towards the brazier on the stone slab in the corner of the hut. “Right, I want that fire built up and a pan of water on it to heat. And I’ll want some clean rags to wash him with.” She looked around at the crowd that hemmed her in. “How many of you are there, in God’s name?”