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beds, Old Bega led Ilsabeth to the bedchamber right next to them. It soothed Ilsabeth to know that they would be close to her in the night.
    “Ye dinnae need to fret o’er the bairns,” said Old Bega as she readied the bed for Ilsabeth, turning down the heavy blankets to reveal some very fine linen sheets. “I dinnae ken what trouble ye are in, but ye can shake aside any fear for them. Ye are nay a nun so where did ye get the clothes? Ye didnae rob a nunnery, did ye?”
    “Nay, my sister is a nun and we got them from her,” replied Ilsabeth, as, with Old Bega’s help, she unpacked the few belongings she had. “Has Goliath been seen to?”
    “Goliath? The wee pony?” Old Bega laughed when Ilsabeth nodded. “Aye, tucked up warm in the stable.”
    “Good. He served me weel.”
    “Ye rest, lass. Sir Simon will solve this trouble for ye.”
    Ilsabeth just smiled and then, as soon as the woman left, began to shed her clothes and wash up before getting into the bed her body ached for. The moment she curled up under the covers, she sighed with relief and closed her eyes. Her mind was full of worry and fear for the fate of her family, but she forced those concerns away. Sleep was needed for a sharp mind and a strong body. She would be in need of both in the days to come.
    Sir Simon Innes’s face appeared behind her eyelids and she nearly cursed. He drew her to him despite his distrust and his apparent coldness. If anyone had ever asked her what she sought in a man, nothing she would have replied would have matched that man. Yet, despite all that was wrong with him, her heart and her body kept saying they wanted him for their own. That was something she would have to fight. The man might free her of the nightmare she was caught up in, but he could also lead her to the gallows. It would be a mistake of the greatest kind to allow the man to get into her heart or her blood. Matters were bad enough as it was without becoming attached to a man who just might be the one putting a rope around her neck.
    “Ye cannae think that lass is a traitor and a killer,” said MacBean after Simon told him why the woman now sleeping upstairs had come to him.
    “Dinnae tell me ye think women incapable of such things,” drawled Simon, and sighed when the cat leapt up on his lap the moment he sat down before the fire.
    “Nay, they can be as vicious and devious as any mon. But that wee lass? Nay, I cannae believe it.”
    “Why? Because she has sweet innocence on her face? Or big blue eyes?”
    “Nay. Because she has taken in two bairns nay her own despite running for her life. And that is what she is doing, isnae it? Running for her life?”
    “Aye. As is her whole family, the Armstrongs of Aigballa. Soon many of the Murrays may have to do the same.”
    “Ah.” MacBean crossed his arms over his thin chest and nodded.
    “What do ye mean–ah?”
    “Ye will sort this out for the Murrays, aye? Nay matter what ye think of that wee lass, ye will work hard to make sure she is innocent or, at least, that the Murrays dinnae suffer for her crimes. Still dinnae think she did what they say she did.”
    “Her dagger in Sir Ian Ogilvie’s heart says different.”
    “And ye ken as weel as I that it doesnae mean she put it there.”
    Simon rested his head against the back of the chair and sighed. “I do ken that. I also ken that I have naught but her word on who is responsible. ‘Tis nay my way to accept nay more than a person’s word on their innocence.”
    “It isnae? Thought ye did just that with both them Murray lads. Ye willnae do it for her because she is a bonnie lass and dinnae try to tell me otherwise. It has been ten years, lad. Bury the past.”
    Simon watched MacBean walk out of the room and softly cursed. The trouble with servants who had been with a man for most of his life was that they knew most of his secrets. The man’s insight was also irritating. Simon would rather cut out his own tongue with a dull blade than admit it,