Ashblane's Lady

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A movement at the top table caught her attention. Alexander Ullyot had summoned a young woman to speak with him, a girl with light hair and a blue gown and the complexion of someone who enjoyed a walk outdoors in the sunshine. A girl who was even now approaching her.

‘Would ye mind if I joined you, Lady Randwick? My uncle has bid that I be polite.’

A barely concealed insult. An explanation of intent.

‘I do not expect it,’ Maddy returned. ‘Tell your uncle that I relinquish any duty regarding manners that you or he may feel bound to.’

She was surprised when the girl smiled and sat. ‘My name is Katherine. I am the daughter of the Laird of Ullyot’s first wife’s oldest sister.’

‘His first wife? How many wives have there been since?’

Katherine smiled again. ‘Only that one. She died when Gillion, who you saw last night, was born.’

‘Then he is not married?’ Maddy did not question the silent spring of relief that rose in her breast.

‘No. Alice Ullyot has been dead for these past five years. She died in the chamber you have been placed in, though there is no ghost or any such thing. Not that you would be afraid, I think, Lady Randwick, for I have watched you. It is you the others are afraid of. They cannot afford to believe in your magic, you see.’

‘Magic?’ Her voice was guarded.

‘The way you heal. With your hands.’

‘It is not magic. It is only good medicine.’

‘And it makes you independent, doesn’t it?’

Maddy frowned, troubled by the drift of this conversation.

‘You’ve no husband,’ Katherine qualified, ‘and you need none. I, too, would like to become a woman without need of men.’

‘And that is how you see me?’

‘I overheard my uncle say it to Quinlan when first he brought you here. He also said you were a witch.’

‘And you believe him?’

‘Quinlan does and Dougal, and the men who watched your doctoring in the clearing before the Liddesdale Forest. I see them cross themselves after you have passed them by. For protection, I think, though my uncle frowns at them when they do so. I have heard, too, that at Heathwater you preferred your own company and were rarely seen in the fellowship of others and I wondered—is it sometimes not lonely to be you?’

The wave of desolation that rolled across Madeleine as a result of Katherine’s question had her struggling for a semblance of calm.

Lonely.

When had she ever felt anything else?

‘No.’ Even to her ears the reply sounded brittle.

‘I’m sorry. I must learn not to pry. Everyone is always telling me that. “Stop the questions, Katherine. Stop asking about things.” It is a failing that I am reminded of often. Why, when I was a child, I lost count of the times that my mother chastised me for impertinence and that is, I fear, a fault that I have just repeated.’

The prattle went on and on and Maddy relaxed, even as she had the strange feeling that the girl was actually giving her time to recover her defences. For the first time in her life she was uncertain of motive. This girl should hate her and yet she offered something else entirely. Friendship. Kindness. The lighter edge of companionship and a place where Maddy had never before ventured.

With anyone.

They were interrupted by a fracas at one end of the room that had them both standing. A man was screaming in Gaelic. She noticed the soldiers at the doorway fan around the table where they sat. A signal from the Laird, she fancied, when she chanced to glance his way and saw how he watched her. His air of tiredness had vanished into prickling alertness, the food untouched upon his plate. He watched her like a general might watch a battle, eyes scouting around the edges of the room with vigilant intent. He stood suddenly and Madeleine’s fingers tightened in a fearful grip. If these retainers meant to harm her, she would have no chance, though suddenly she sensed someone charging at her from behind. Turning to counteract the threat, she knocked Katherine out of danger, but the nearest soldier was faster, his body thrown between Maddy’s and the flash of steel. Everything sped up as he collapsed, the blade pushed through his ribs and out again. She could see the reddened tip as her unknown protector fell and she lunged for the knife at his belt, thrusting it before her in protection.

Nothing made sense, not the shout from the end of the room, nor the keening wail that came from her lips, nor the group of retreating soldiers burdened with the scuffling body of her would-be assailant. Only the grey eyes of Alexander Ullyot pierced the haze of her paralysing shock as he came to stand beside her. Only the gulping sobs of Katherine as she was led away by an older woman.

‘Give me the knife.’

A hundred Ullyot retainers stood near, each bristling with their own form of weaponry.

‘Give me the knife,’ he repeated. His voice shook as he held out his bare hand, and he seemed relieved when she placed it in his palm, secreting it in his tunic before motioning his men to a distance.

Madeleine knelt to the fallen soldier at her feet and taking a breath she cradled his head in her lap, the spittle from his mouth staining her bodice and blood wetting her skirts.

‘Thank you.’ Her words were soft and his eyes focused as he tried to smile. Soft brown eyes, and young. Everything inside her tightened. Already the paleness of dying tainted his skin, his focus looking inwards and glazing as the blood flow weakened.

He had saved her and given his life for her own. A soldier whose name she did not even know. She could feel the ache in her throat as she brought his body closer.

Still. Still. She summoned warmth and softness. She banished fear and pain with the de Cargne chant of harmony.

A hush fell across the Great Hall as soldiers strained to listen and watch. The steady drip of blood slowed further and then stopped. Madeleine Randwick’s hands pressed hard against the entrance of the sword point, then wandered to the young soldier’s face as his breathing eased into silence and life gave way to death.

The red of her hair mingled with blood and her linen kirtle sagged at the juncture of her breasts, leaving the swell of womanly flesh visible to all those who stood close. And Alexander noticed his men watching. After all, she was reputed to be a whore, and soldiers bound long in the regimen of battle could hardly be chastised for taking a good look. Though this morning, bathed in the light of a thin autumn sun and helping his man to die with dignity, Madeleine Randwick appeared nothing like what it was said she could be.