“And you sent a messenger to inform Hamish.”
Aisling had hoped no one would know she had done that. Morag would be angry with her if she were to learn of it.
“Niven only told me about what had happened.”
The lad of nearly eleven was small for his age, but he held himself tall to make up for his small stature. Aisling had told him not to tell anyone who had sent him to see the Chief with the news. But Hamish might have asked him to verify the news's reliability.
From the far side of the bailey, Niven spotted Aisling with Blair, and his face split with a lopsided grin made for trouble. Niven was as much a fixture of the castle as the well-worn parapets or the echoing din of morning bells. His hair, dense and springing, seemed to have its own opinion about the wind that perpetually battered the keep.
He was ten, or nearly eleven—he asserted it was "ten and a third," but only when asked in front of others—and his brisk, self-important stride cut through the dirt floor of the inner bailey with the assurance of a grown man.
Aisling knew he was putting on a show in case anyone else was watching the lad. He was her best little spy, taking messages to whomever needed them with pride.
He darted past the blacksmith’s stoop, past the pens where the pigs snuffled old straw, past two bickering maids who were fighting over who had done more washing than the other, and arrived at Blair’s side. His breathing was quick as though he ran everywhere, and indeed, perhaps he did.
“I wish to tell you that I heard Morag questioning Hamish to learn who told him there was trouble at one of the crofts, Blair,” Niven said.
Even though Aisling was the one who needed the news, she suspected Niven was trying to pretend he was speaking with Blair to ensure Morag or her friends wouldn’t think anything of it if they saw them conversing.
“What did the chief say?” Aisling asked.
“He said he knows all that goes on in his pack, and didna say anything further.”
Aisling sighed with relief.
“But there is other news,” Niven continued, his brow furrowed. “I overheard Gormelia say she will get you back because Cook favored her by giving her the champion’s table to serve.”
“Even after she had to know Aisling used her bow on two Vikings?” Blair asked.
“Aye. Gormelia knows Aisling canna use them on her.”
“What does she plan to do?” Aisling worried Gormelia would try something underhanded so that she wouldn’t get into trouble for it.
“She stopped talking, and they headed to the keep. They didna see me.”
“Good, thanks be to thee for telling us,” Aisling said.
“Aye. She doesna like me. Morag told me to tell Gormelia she was the worst server she had ever seen, when Gormelia finally had a chance to serve the head table. I was happy to relay the information to Gormelia,” Niven said.
Aisling smiled. “I know what you mean. I can imagine her vying for a bachelor’s interest when she was serving the head table and ignoring Morag’s commands.
Then Aisling and her mother headed for the keep, but once they bedded down for the night, Aisling couldn’t quit worrying about Coinneach. What if he grew sicker in the night? Everyone would be sound asleep and wouldn’t wake up in time to learn of it.
The more she thought of it, the more she couldn’t sleep. Once her mother was fast asleep, Aisling slipped off her pallet, left the chamber, and headed for the doors that led to the inner bailey.
“Where are you off to?” one of the guards at the door asked.
“To check on Coinneach to ensure he has no fever.”
The guard opened the door for her. “I thought that was your mother’s duty.”
“Aye, but she’s tired and bade me to see him.” A little lie. “Then I will return for her if she is needed.” Aisling hurried out of the keep before the guard decided to check on her story.
Tristan approached her as she crossed the inner bailey to reach the barracks. Hopefully, he wouldn’t stop her from hermission. “How now, lass. What are you doing out at this hour of the night?”
“I’m seeing Coinneach and making sure he doesna have a fever.”
“Do you want me to check on him?”
