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“I asked him to,” Maira told the woman. “I was hoping to obtain some food for myself as well as my cousin and my page.”
“But . . . shouldn’t you be sitting at the dais next to the High Sheriff?” asked the woman.
“She’s being punished,” said Tommy. “Lord Gregory sent her to her chamber without supper, just like he did to Ricker.”
“Ricker?” she asked.
“His two-year-old son,” said the woman. “Since Lady Catherine died, the boy has been so frightened of Lord Gregory that he stopped talking all together. We’re all worried about him.”
“That’s terrible,” said Maira, feeling as if the High Sheriff were a tyrant who needed a good thrashing.
“Servants, what is holding up the meal?” bellowed the High Sheriff from the great hall.
“Quickly, take some food and then you must go,” said the woman. She took a basket and filled it with bread and cheese. Then she used a towel to pull a chicken off a spit, wrapping it and putting it into the basket as well. “Tommy, get that bucket of hot cider and a ladle for my lady. And bring a goblet as well.”
“Aye, Mother,” said the boy, hurrying to do as told.
“Thank you,” said Maira, taking the basket from the woman. “What is your name, if I might ask?”
“I am Cleo,” she told her, taking the goblet and adding it to the basket. “Tommy, carry the bucket of cider to the room for Lady Maira. Then hurry back and tend to your chores before Sir Gregory notices you are gone.”
“Nay, I don’t want him to be punished. I’ll take it. Thank you,” said Maira, taking the bucket from the boy.
“Hurry,” said Cleo, looking over her shoulder. “The High Sheriff is heading this way.”
Maira took the basket of food and the cider, ducking behind the tapestry and making her way slowly through the darkened tunnel. Not able to see where she was going, she made a wrong turn and ended up getting lost. Seeing a stream of light coming from a hole in the wall, she walked over and looked through it.
“It’s someone’s bedchamber,” she said to herself, realizing this was a peephole. Oftentimes, castles had secret passageways and peepholes for the lord of the castle to spy on his guests. That made her wonder if there was a peephole in her room as well.
“Maira? Are ye in there?” came Morag’s voice echoing through the tunnel from somewhere up ahead. “Maira, where are ye?”
Maira followed Morag’s voice, finding her way out of the darkened maze of tunnels.
“I’m here,” she called out, seeing a light up ahead. Branton held back the tapestry while Morag, holding a lit candle, poked her head into the tunnel. “How did you know where to find me?”
“You should know Morag by now,” said Branton. “She is too much of a busybody to stay put like you told her. As soon as you left with the boy, she insisted we follow.”
“I am no’ a busybody, I was just concerned for the safety of my cousin,” Morag answered with a sniff.
“It doesn’t matter.” Maira, for once, was glad that Morag was being curious. “I’m glad you followed or I might have been lost in these dark tunnels for the rest of the night.”
“Where do they lead?” Morag stretched her neck to look inside.
“I’m not sure, but they do lead to the kitchen, that much I know. I’ve got food and hot cider. Let’s go back to the room and have something to eat by the fire.”
“I’ll carry that,” said Branton, taking the bucket of cider from her. They made their way back upstairs and were heading to their chamber when, through a closed door, Maira heard a child crying.
“Wait,” she said, stopping the others. “I think that sounds like the High Sheriff’s young son, Ricker. I want to make sure he is all right.”
“Dinna get involved,” warned Morag. “The High Sheriff willna like it and might punish us again.”
“Aye,” added Branton. “He’s not a very friendly man. I agree with Morag. Let’s go back to the room and eat this food. I’m starved.”
“You two go back to the room, but first give me some of the food.” She reached into the basket and, using a cloth, pulled a chicken leg off the carcass and wrapped it up. Then she tore off a hunk of bread and picked up the goblet, scooping some hot cider out of the bucket.
“What are ye doin’?” asked Morag.
“I’m taking the poor boy something to eat. He is probably crying because he is hungry. Now go on, I’ll meet you back at our chamber.”
