“Do you not think I will tell the Laird then?” Grace asked, frowning. “How do you know you can trust me? And how do I know that I can trust you?”
“No, Mistress,” he answered. “We servants always know what is goin’ on. If ye will pardon me for bein’ so bold, we know ye don’t like the Laird. We know ye do good work in the village wi’ the orphans an’ that, an’ we will help ye as much as we can. My name is Duncan, an’ as for trustin’ me, ye will have tae take my word. I am a man who can be relied on.”
Grace hesitated, then smiled at the young man. “Thank you, Duncan. That means a lot to me,” she said earnestly. Then another thought struck her. “How do you know I don’t like the Laird?”
He chuckled. “Because we have eyes, Mistress,” he answered. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face. One o’ the other men here doesnae like the Captain o’ the Guard, an’ ye can tell by the way he looks at him, even if he’s tryin’ tae hide it.”
“I didn’t know I was so easy to read!” Grace remarked, but she was smiling. Knowing that the servants were on her side was a revelation that she had never dreamed of, and one that warmed her heart. “I’m glad to know you have a good opinion of me. Now, where is Fergus? Do you know? I promise the Laird will never hear a word from me about this.”
“Come wi’ me.” Duncan led her down past the row of stalls to a little room that looked like the kind of shed used for storing saddles, bridles, and other equipment used for looking after the legion of horses who lived in the castle.
He knocked on the door with a series of rhythmic taps that was obviously some sort of code, then stood back. A few moments later the door opened and Fergus stood on the threshold, his eyes wide with surprise. “Grace,” he said faintly, “what are you doing here?” A second later, he tugged at her sleeve and pulled her inside the room.
Grace looked around her in amazement. The little shed was made of pine and smelled strongly of wood and leather. It had obviously been constructed a long time ago and had had much use since the wood had become dirty and scuffed with much wear and tear. There were dozens of hooks along the wall where items had been hung, probably bridles and harnesses since they did not look heavy enough to support saddles.
Rows of shelves lined the sides of the room, presumably for storing saddle blankets, although the only ones Grace could see were on the floor. A low cushioned seat ran around two sides of the room, and there was a chair and a small low table in the middle. Some of the shelves contained a few dishes and eating utensils, and Grace saw a bottle of wine and a smaller bottle of whisky there too. There were even a few books. The small room was functional, not luxurious, but it had an air of coziness about it that Grace liked at once.
“Is this a tack room?” she asked curiously, still looking around. “It smells of leather.”
“It was,” Fergus replied. “But that was all moved to a much bigger storage space when we got more horses. This little tack room fell out of use, and was standing empty. I always wanted a place like this, so I made it habitable, and now I come here whenever I want to get away from everything. Occasionally, I even sleep here. It’s my sanctuary, and only four trusted people know about it. You make the number up to five. I know I can trust you.” He was smiling as he said it.
“Of course you can trust me,” Grace replied, but she was puzzled. “But why not use your bedchamber?”
“Because Robert knows where it is,” he replied, sighing. He turned and pulled two clay cups off the shelf, then poured some wine into each of them. “Only a few select servants know it’s here. My brother thinks it is a storeroom, and it’s so far away from the main part of the stables, that he has likely never even noticed it. For a man who is so proud of his horses, he has very little to do with them.”
While he was busy, Grace watched him, seeing that his upper lip was swollen and beginning to turn purple; in a few hours, there would be a horrible bruise there. She felt another surge of sadness sweep over her. Robert was starting to antagonize his whole household and turn everyone against him. She did not understand how Fergus could still support his brother in any way, particularly in his decision to take away his bride.
As she took the wine from him, Grace met his gaze.
“You didn’t have to jump to my defense, Fergus. For all his faults, I don’t think Robert is the kind of man who hits women,” she said in a low voice.
“Really?” Fergus’s voice was scathing. “Forgive me, Grace, but I don’t think you know him as well as I do. I didn’t strike back today because I didn’t want you to see what might have become a very ugly scene, so I tried to keep the peace for your sake, but now…” he railed off, shaking his head. Grace wondered what he was about to say.
“You won’t try to hold back if he does it again?” she prompted.
He looked her straight in the eye. “I will if you want me to, but Grace, if he tries to harmyouin any way—” He clenched his fists as he thought of his brother’s smug face. “I willkillhim.”
“You should have the wise woman look at that,” she advised. “She will give you some arnica to put on it.”
Fergus waved the remark away. “It will heal in a few days by itself, Grace.”
There was silence for a moment as they both drank their wine and became lost in their own thoughts.
Fergus was very conscious of Grace’s presence a few feet away from him. She was by no means a big woman, but there was an energy about her that seemed to fill the whole space. However, he knew he was just being fanciful, because he had dreamed so often of having her sitting here, in his special little place.
He did not realize he was smiling until Grace spoke.
“What are you thinking about, Fergus?”
He started out of his reverie. He could not possibly tell her the truth; he would sound even more stupid than she already thought he sounded. He shook his head. “Nothing special,” he murmured. “Why are you here, Grace?”
It was the question Grace had been dreading. “I wanted to see how you were,” she answered. “A punch like that could have broken your teeth, but if you won’t see the wise woman, I cannot force you.”
“I am fine.” His voice was firm, but as Grace looked at him, she could see that he was not satisfied with her answer. “Robert is not much of a fighter.” His tone was dry and derisive.
“I could see that,” she said, with a cynical laugh. “I could probably strike him unconscious myself!”
Fergus sensed that Grace wanted to ask him something, but instead of speaking, she stood up abruptly and looked down at him.