“I’ll say I’m distraught at the betrothal, it being against ma will.” Flora’s mind whirled with the possibilities. “I’ll say I’m heading towards the mountains and hope tae perish. If the snow falls again tomorrow, it would swiftly bury a body. They’d know it would be impossible tae find me—at least until Spring—and, even then…”
“Chances are, the animals would have taken ye; ’tis the surest way tae make them cease the search. As fer slippin’ oot, I’ll warrant there be only one man awake on the gate tonight. ’Twill be nae bother tae distract him wi’ a Hogmany kiss while ye make fast yer plan, ma lady—and I’ll join ye by the trees as soon as I can.”
Flora nodded her thanks. She was leaving behind everything that had mattered. Leaving her father to be discovered in the morn. Leaving behind not just the luxuries of castle life, but everyone she'd cared for. Only Maggie, her dear companion, would be by her side.
The path ahead was uncertain, but staying was the one thing she couldn’t bear.
Clasping the hilt of the dirk in her pocket, she made a silent vow. Only when Ragnall Dalreagh’s blood marked the same blade would she wipe it clean. Until then, her father’s crimson stain would remain, like rust upon weary metal, to remind her of the dark deed she must avenge.
Chapter 4
The dairy at Castle Balmore, upon Rannoch Moor
December 23, 1168
“Remember now, Florrie. They won’t drop their milk if they detect a strange hand. Best way is tae let them know ye be friendly.” Maggie scratched the tuft of the nearest cow and gave Flora an encouraging smile. “They be no different from goats when all’s said and done.”
Flora couldn’t help feeling doubtful.
The goats back on the croft didnae have horns longer than her arm, nor hooves big enough to crush a man’s head. They weren’t tall enough to look her straight in the eye when she was talking to them and they didn’t lumber about like these beasts. In truth, the goats were probably a deal more canny, as well as more agile. As far as she knew, no cow had ever climbed onto the roof of someone’s cottage and begun eating the reeds.
Still, she’d learn their ways, just as she’d learnt a great many things in the two years past. Maggie’s family had been exceeding kindly toward her, and patient, teaching her the skills she’d needed to make herself useful.
They just hadn’t had any cows.
There had been a herd at Castle Dunrannoch, of course, but it hadn’t been her place to have anything to do with milking them.
Still, she could hardly complain. At least they were out of the weather and, with the livestock crowded into the enclosed space, the room was pleasantly warm, if rather lively under the nose.
Maggie had tried for several weeks to dissuade her from coming but, as soon as Flora had heard Castle Balmore was seeking to employ extra maids through the festive season, she’d refused to let the matter rest. Only once they’d gotten here had they been told that it was the milking that needed seeing to.
The cow twice blinked long lashes and snuffled at the hay nestled in Flora’s palm, then gave it a wet scrape with the rough of its tongue.
“That’s it, look, she does like ye.” Maggie beamed from across the other side of the milking parlour.
Flora smiled back half-heartedly. If her friend only knew what she was planning, she doubted she’d be so cheerful. It was the one thing she’d never felt able to confide to Maggie, for she would surely have done all in her power to prevent Flora from committing the grave sin she intended. Certainly, she would never have agreed to accompany Flora to the laird’s home. Flora had been obliged to spin a story of wanting to see what sort of chieftain Ragnall was proving to be, and had undertaken a promise never to remove her scarf from about her hair.
Though other girls on the moor bore the same hue in their locks, Maggie was fearful Flora would be unmasked and obliged to answer far too many questions.
To Maggie’s mind, the past was the past and, terrible though it was, she believed Flora ought to put it behind her. That old life was done and she was free, at least, of the burden of marrying the man responsible for her father’s death.
For Flora, nothing was in the past, and nothing forgotten. Her one regret was the impulsiveness that had made her flee on that terrible night.
Ragnall Dalreagh might have promised her father that he’d not lay a hand on her until the repeated vows of the wedding one year after, but a man capable of murder would hardly bother to keep such a contract. And, with all the assets of the Dalreagh clan under his ownership, Ragnall would surely do as he pleased.
Tender of years though she’d been, Flora knew the flame of lust in a man’s eye and she’d caught a certain glimmer on that terrible night—even as they’d stood before Father Gregory in the holy kirk of Dunrannoch.
If I’d only waited, I’d have found myself in Ragnall’s bed. Once he was asleep, how easy it would have been!
Flora had never ceased thinking of her vow, and how she might again get close enough to the Laird of Balmore. Close enough to sink her dagger’s hilt into his wicked heart, or to slit his throat.
As he gurgled his dying breath, she’d make sure he knew who she was and why he was meeting his end at her hand.
It didn’t sit well with her to deceive Maggie, but she was determined to avenge her father. Once the deed was done, she’d reveal her identity and tell her tale. She’d no fancy that it would be easy to make others understand, but she was sure Calder would step in to support her voice. After all, he was the only other Dalreagh of the male line who might take over if Ragnall was discredited. Otherwise, her revenge was likely to come at the cost of her own life.
“Noo, wipe the teats with the wet linen, Florrie, for there’s right enough muck on them, and pull a couple of times before aiming for the bucket, tae flush through any dirt. ’Tis just the same as wi’ the goats.” Maggie settled herself on her stool and got to work, humming the festive ditty as had been sung in the kitchen the night before.
Everyone else in the castle seemed in fine fettle—but for herself. Flora could barely recall the last Yuletide she’d been truly happy. A time long before, when her mother was still alive, she supposed, but that was far too many years ago to provide comfort. Lady Brina had been kind in her way but her stepmother had seemed to have little interest in Flora, other than as the bride she wished to secure for Calder, her son.
To her shame, Flora hadn’t been able to summon much grief on her passing.
Sighing, she rested her cheek against the cow, leaning beneath to clean off the teats. At her touch, the animal gave a snort and fidgeted its hooves.
She could hardly blame it. The whole process was undignified, so Flora had often thought.
Maggie’s sister-in-law had given birth three times since Flora’s arrival, yet she still wasn’t at ease with seeing the babes at their mother’s breast. Naturally, a bairn had to have its sustenance, but the poor woman had been obliged to sit and be milked in much the same way as this cow.
That was one thing, at least, Flora knew she’d be spared—for she’d no intention of being any man's wife, and there would be no wee ones without the minister’s words binding her to a man.