Page 10 of Highland Sword
“Where were these posted?”
“By Maggot Green,” Morrigan replied. “Not far from Searc’s house.”
“Does he know?”
She nodded. “Searc saw them. He said he and Blair will find out who’s behind it all.”
Isabella handed the flyers to Maisie and came back to the fire. Morrigan noted the rigid set of her shoulders, the fisted hands.
“They’ll put an end to it. Trust them.”
Isabella wrung the cold water from the towel. Her eyes were clear and her chin high when she went back to tending to the bruises. “The three of us know who is behind this. Sir Rupert Burney and his vile cronies. But I’d like to believe the folk these were intended to influence have seen enough English oppression to know it too.”
Morrigan shot a quick glance up at her. Isabella hadalways kept herself so focused on medicine and her patients. She didn’t know how persuasive these satirical images could be. When people all over Britain thought of Napoleon, they saw Fores’s little “Corsican monkey” in a uniform, or Gillray’s jester-like figure in an oversize military bicorne hat.
The public’s view was formed by these caricatures, and their opinion was shaped in the same way. Even in the days before Morrigan, Isabella, and Maisie left Edinburgh, Whig printers were carrying on a campaign against Queen Caroline, depicting her as a voluptuous, painted harlot chasing wildly after Italian men. Luckily, the king was being portrayed in “Queenist” caricatures as a haughty and lustful fop bursting out of waistcoats and breeches with his current mistress fawning at his feet.
These images had shifted the favor of the people in the past, and they could do it now. But this was no time to worry Isabella about such things.
“I saw no mobs marching in the streets, cursing the son of Scotland,” she said. “And yet, tens of thousands, in every city, are raising their fists against Crown rule.”
Isabella nodded in agreement and caressed Morrigan’s face. “I don’t want you ever to do anything as foolhardy as this again. No chasing down rogues and villains. We don’t need another martyr in this family. Do you hear me?”
Morrigan would gladly fight anyone who spoke against Cinaed and what he was trying to do for the Scottish people. Today wasn’t the day for that, however. Isabella and Maisie misunderstood what happened in Inverness, but she wasn’t about to enlighten them.
“I shan’t,” she replied. “Unless I have you two beside me to chase down the blackguards.”
CHAPTER5
MORRIGAN
For two days, Morrigan had confined herself in her chamber to allow the bruises to heal. The swelling of her lip was much improved, but in its place, hideous patches of purple and green discolored the skin on her forehead, cheek, and jaw.
If it were left up to her, she’d have stayed in her room for a week, but Isabella had other plans.
The physician stood in her doorway, wearing her coat and hat and holding her medical bag. “I am going into the village to see a new patient. I need you to come with me.”
“Can’t you ask Maisie?”
“She already has plans for an outing this morning with her sister-in-law Fiona and the girls. Put on your coat. It’ll do you good to stretch your legs.”
As a university-trained physician, Isabella was an anomaly everywhere, and not only in the Highlands. She was devoted to the art of healing. Since arriving at Dalmigavie, despite being Cinaed’s wife, she’d continued to treat the sick and the injured. Her reputation was quickly spreading, for she was quite good at what shedid. Still, she was an outlaw in the eyes of the Crown, so the infirm traveled to her when they could. Some she saw inside the castle walls. Others she treated in the village.
As a female doctor, she followed the same routine that she had in Edinburgh. Someone accompanied her when she tended to the sick. At Dalmigavie, her only options were Morrigan or Maisie.
“Who is sick?”
“I’ll tell you along the way.”
“A villager?”
“An outsider.”
Isabella motioned for her to hurry. Between the large, woolen tam and the high collar of her coat, Morrigan could keep at least some of the bruising hidden. After changing from her slippers into sturdy boots, Morrigan followed the other woman out into the corridor and down the dark stairwell.
“Has anyone asked about me?”
“Everyone. Auld Jean. Searc. Blair.” Isabella glanced back at her. “Fiona’s daughters get up early every morning just to sit at the window to watch you exercise in the training yard. This morning alone, a dozen people must have asked me what’s ailing you.”
