habit and an apron borrowed from the innkeeper’s wife so she looked less like a nun and more like a servant, Ailish slipped out of the alehouse and hastened toward the river. She wore the simple linen veil, definitely common looking enough to play the part of a washerwoman. Under one arm she carried her only shift and in another hand a bit of lye soap. It felt awkward walking over the cobbled streets without her undergarments, but it couldn’t be helped.
Besides, no one had any idea she was indecently clad.
Just as she suspected, a group of women were kneeling among the rocks at the shore of the river, bent over, scrubbing linens. First, Ailish walked down the line, picking out tidbits of conversation—some complaints, some chatter about a male servant or two, and nothing about any prisoners.
At the end of a line, an older woman worked, separated from the others by a good yard. She batted a shirt with a mallet.
“Stubborn stain, is it?” Ailish asked as she kneeled beside the woman.
“One would think His Lordship wiped his mouth with his sleeve.”
Smiling to herself, Ailish dipped her shift in the water. How fortuitous to happen upon a wench who tends the Lord Warden’s laundry. “Do not most men?”
The woman scoured the cloth with a bar of soap “Hmph.”
“Have you been in service long?”
“A dozen years, I’d reckon.”
“My, that is a long time.” Ailish took her time lathering her shift. “I’ll wager you have many stories to tell.”
“You’d be astounded by the trickeries that abound beyond the castle walls.” The woman rocked back and held up the shirt. “And that’s below stairs.”
“Look there, the stain is gone.” Ailish pointed. “You must have a magical knack.”
“There’s nothing magical about hard work.” The woman tossed the shirt into the half-barrel and smiled, albeit a sad smile. “’Tis why I’m head laundress. His Lordship allows only me to wash his shirts.”
“Is he a kind man?”
“I would not venture that far, but I’m paid a fair wage.”
“I suppose that’s all you can ask for.” Ailish rocked back and sniffled, wiping her eye.
The woman leaned in. “Are you bereft, lass?”
“Alas, I am.”
“Whatever is the matter?”
“I’ve lost my brother.”
“Your brother? Oh, my heavens, that is horrible news. Have you any idea where he may have gone?”
“Honestly…” Lowering her voice, Ailish looked to ensure none of the others were eavesdropping, and then pulled her mother’s ruby pendant from beneath her robe. “I am Lady Ailish Maxwell. My wee brother was abducted not but a fortnight ago and I have reason to believe he may be imprisoned in the castle.”
“Maxwell?” the woman asked as if trying to place the name.
“My family holds lands in England as well as in Scotland. I mean you no harm. I simply wish to find the lad and take him home.”
“Well, I cannot help you. I’m not privy to the comings and goings of His Lordship’s guests.”
“I understand, but surely you must have some inkling of where they might be holding him—if he is indeed here. Please. I am sick with worry. And he’s such a good boy—only nine years of age, he is.”
The woman grabbed a shirt and doused it in the river.
“Have you children?” Ailish asked.
She glanced out of the corner of her eye and worked as if she were possessed by a demon.
“He is my only care. Our parents are gone and, because he is the heir, there are many evil men who would like to see him dead. Please. If you care anything for a lost child, you’ll tell me.”
“Generally, captured Scottish noblemen being transported to London are held in the postern tower, from which no one has ever escaped. If your bother is here, then the king must have ordered his capture, and I cannot possibly be of service to you, my lady. Now if you will excuse me, I have washing to tend.”
Ailish stood and wrung out her shift. “Forgive me. In no way did I intend to make you feel uncomfortable.”
The woman didn’t reply, nor did she look up. But whether she knew it or not, she had revealed where highborn prisoners were held. Now armed with a solid bit of information to share with James, Ailish started back to the inn.
When she reached the road, she glanced over her shoulder. Odd, there was no sign of the washerwoman with whom she’d been speaking, though the others still lined the shore.
Ailish hastened her pace, heading up the path to the city gates.
A guard stepped into her