“Morag, your uncles’ lives depend on this, and mayhap my mother’s life as well. You said you’d help me. Now, come here and tell me if you’ve ever seen this man before.”
“All right,” she finally agreed, biting her lip and stretching her neck to see the man’s face. Her eyes opened wide and she gasped. And then she turned on her heel and held her arms around her in the protective hold she always used.
“Do you recognize him?”
“I do,” she said, her voice trembling and her bottom lip quivering. “It’s Maurice, the castle’s healer,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.
“The healer,” said Bedivere, standing up, suddenly stiffening when he remembered something Morag had said. “Didn’t you tell me Rowen wasn’t feeling well and went to the healer for a potion? How could he when the healer is here?”
“Och, Bedivere, I forgot all about it.”
“What did you forget?”
“The other night when Lady Ernestine was hurt in the fire, I called to a man that I thought was the castle healer, but he wasna.”
“I vaguely remember. What do you mean?” Bedivere wiped off his hands and headed toward her.
“I mean, he was wearin’ a cloak that looked like the healer’s and had a bag of balms and ointments too. But I had never seen him before. And then he disappeared into the crowd. Oh nay, ye dinna think –”
“Quickly, get on the horse, Morag. We need to get back to the castle at once because I think your Uncle Rowen is in grave danger.”