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‘Whew!’ said Hugh. ‘Good thing I ducked. Why don’t they attack you?’
‘Because I don’t grab at them. They tend not to like it.’
‘Then I should hoist her over my shoulder. Is that the idea?’
‘As a last resort.’ Sir Alex smiled at the jibe and cast an eye over the room’s disarray. There were bowls of reddened water and cloths, pots of salves, a flask of stale brown urine, bloodied bandages, piles of linen and an empty trestle-table ruckled with soiled sheeting. From between the grubby fold of linen, he lifted a strand of black leather upon which hung a small silver key. ‘And what might this be about?’ he said, holding it up. ‘It’s been cut from round his neck, by the look o’ things, so now we have the job of finding out what it unlocks.’ He slipped the key and its thong into his pouch.
‘Which may take a few days. Is that what you’re thinking?’
‘Things have changed with the old man’s death, Hugh. There’s no reason now why we shouldn’t stay till we’ve found what we’re after, especially since we’ll get nothing out of him. The hostage threat hardly applies now, does it? Though I’ve a mind to make it sound as if it’s still a possibility. See what I mean?’
‘I’ll go along with whatever you decide. If you want to hold on to that as a warning in case of trouble, then go ahead. I’ll back you…With those two we’ll need all the ammunition we can find.’
‘Good. Staying on in the owner’s place may be a bit unorthodox, but we can easily defend ourselves here, if need be.’
‘There’ll have to be a funeral, Alex. His cronies will come, and I don’t suppose they’ll be the cream of society.’
‘All the more reason for us to stay a while. Think of those two beauties playing hostess to Moffat’s pals, will ye? Doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘But ye ken the rules aboot castles and women, Alex. No castle can be held by a woman without her man. She has to be out in a day or two and away to her dower-hoos.’
‘That’s true enough, especially when there’s so much raiding about. So, if we’re not entirely welcome, that rule will be enough to grant us extra time. As long as we’re here to protect them, I can see us having time to do our duty to the king on two fronts. Defend the castle and find proof of what he suspects.’
‘Guid. So I’ll tell the men before they start saddling up, shall I?’
‘Yes, Hugh. Do that. Then organise the garrison hall. I want this place better organised and prepared for some outside opposition. The odds are shortening. Make a start while I go and tell the new laird’s mother. She was asleep last night when I went up.’
Hugh’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. ‘Now there’s a thing. The wee lad will be in his ma’s wardship now, won’t he? So we can expect a fair few interested parties flocking around to marry the mother and get their hands on the castle and whatever else they can before young Sam comes of age.’
‘More than likely, Hugh.’
‘And where do you stand in all this, my fine friend?’
‘Right at the front.’
‘No! Is that so?’ Hugh grinned. ‘As close as that?’
‘Even closer.’ He gave Hugh a friendly shove. ‘Get going, will you?’
Hugh halted in the doorway. ‘Just one more thing. When do we tell them what our business is?’
Leaning his bottom on the table, Alex folded his arms and looked down at them critically. ‘I doubt we can keep it from them much longer. They’ve already noted the differences and by the end of today there’ll be too many to hide. Reivers don’t make a habit of organising their victims’ funerals, do they? Or being present at them. Well, not formally. I’ll have to break the news to Lady Ebony very soon. I’ll let you tell Mistress Meg.’
‘Thank you. Can I borrow your chain-mail?’
‘No, I shall need it myself.’ Smiling, they headed for the great hall which, for some reason, was apparently known as the summer hall.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Lady Ebony listened with only half her attention to Sam and Biddie’s chatter, the other half riveted upon the upturned pillow beneath which her dagger still lay. Goose bumps had risen along her arms, causing her breath to forget itself and her mind to try to untangle facts from impressions that refused to disappear. The part of the bed next to where she lay had been warmer than usual. The pillow had shown a distinct dent in it next to hers. The dirk was upside-down under the pillow, not as she had placed it; she had almost cut her hand seeking the hilt. She had experienced the most vivid dream yet of Robbie’s body next to hers, his arms wrapping her, his lips on her forehead. Uncannily, awesomely vivid. She glanced down at her thighs; she had pressed them against his, overlapping him. The feel of his skin, hairy and warm, still tingled. ‘God in heaven!’ she whispered.
‘What, Mama? Are you saying your prayers?’ Sam bounced over to her, hobbled round his ankles by his long braies. ‘Look, you’ve still got the May-blossom up there. Shall we be taking it with us?’
Aghast, she looked round the half-drawn bedcurtain to see that the branch of white hawthorn she had removed earlier was back where it had been before. ‘Did you put this back up here, Biddie?’ she asked.
Biddie pulled Sam’s braies up, tucking the shirt inside. ‘Time you were doing this yourself, young man. What? May-blossom? Nay, it was on the stool last night. Must have done it yourself without thinking, mistress.’
Ebony knew that she had not. Her scalp prickled, sending thoughts scattering and refusing to settle on the too-awful truth, imposing a ban of silence on the incriminating evidence that might reveal how her dream was not a dream at all. No, she would not—could not—admit that her body had betrayed her by wanting him. She did not want him, unless he was Robbie.
She was still tying an old black ribbon around her thick black plait when the door was noisily unlocked. As before, knock and opening came together.
‘Sir Alex,’ Biddie said, ‘my lady has not yet finished her toilette.’
Sam, marginally more welcoming, saw no harm in a gentle contradiction, which he was lately getting the hang of. ‘She’s only plaiting her hair,’ he said, ‘but she doesn’t allow men in her chamber, sir, except Master Morner the chamberlain. May I ask your business?’
Resisting the smile that would have offended, Sir Alex stood gravely to attention. ‘My pardon, Laird of Kells,’ he said. ‘My business is quite urgent or I’d never have interrupted a lady’s privacy. May I speak with Lady Ebony?’
‘That’s my grandfather’s title, not mine,’ he said, pleased to be able to correct an adult on so many points.
‘Yes, that’s what I’ve come to speak about. May I?’
Biddie took Sam by the hand to draw him away before he became addicted. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘in here.’ She took him into the garderobe.
‘Laird of Kells?’ Ebony said, quietly. ‘You have…news…do you?’ She stood by the bed, sheathing the dirk that had been the cause of her consternation. ‘Is it Sir Joseph?’ He looked, she thought, particularly pleased with himself, as if remembering that a smile would be extremely bad form.
‘I’m sorry, my lady. He died soon after midnight.’
Another shock. She had not quite expected it. Her hand flew to her midriff and pressed against the faded rose-madder kirtle that was not yet laced down the side. ‘Last night?’ she whispered. ‘And you have only just come to tell me…at dawn? Did it not occur to you that Mistress Moffat might have needed my comfort, or that I should have been there? With her?’
‘Yes, it did.’ His glance fell upon the bed, then back to her face. ‘You were asleep.’
The implication of what he was telling her, even at a time like this, was impossible to disregard, and during the long silence loaded with unspoken accusations and admissions, Ebony resolved that neither on this occasion nor on any other would she give him the satisfaction of admitting that she knew what he also knew. Had there not been another more urgent subject claiming their attention, she might have given way to the urge to examine more closely the bronzed throat that showed at his open shirt-neck, the muscular forearms and wrists below rolled-up sleeves. But no, it was safer to deny that it could ever have happened. To do otherwise would be the first step to disaster.
‘I was locked in!’ she snapped. ‘I only hope Mistress Moffat will be able to forgive my appalling lack of compassion. Perhaps in future—’
‘In future, lady,’ he interrupted, brusquely, ‘there will be different sleeping arrangements, so the need will not arise. Now, if you wish it, I will escort you downstairs to see Mistress Moffat and Sir Joseph, too, later on. He’s being laid out in the winter hall. You may wish Master Sam to see him there.’
Her slim dark brows drew together like curlicues. ‘Just a minute. Different sleeping arrangements? You are talking about today’s journey, I take it?’
‘Not exactly. I’m talking about Castle Kells, my lady. We have decided to stay here a while, now that Sir Joseph is no longer here to defend it.’ He was quick to explain, as her hostility gave way to disbelief. ‘Otherwise you and your household would be obliged to move out immediately. The king doesn’t allow his castles to remain undefended, not for more than one day. I’m sure you’re already aware of that, as Mistress Moffat will be.’
She was not. The problem of defence had never been discussed. Sir Joseph had believed himself to be immortal. Move out, or have these brigands stay? Something here was not making sense. Reivers never stayed. They damaged, thieved, destroyed and killed, and then they ran, hiding their tracks and their identity for as long as they could.
‘No!’ she said with a quick glance at the garderobe curtain. ‘No, you cannot stay here. You must not!’ Already her fears were racing ahead, preparing her for what might happen, for what he had assured her would happen. Last night he had shown her how easy it would be, but to pay the full price here at Castle Kells she would have to deceive Meg, as well as Biddie and Sam, and that was asking yet more of her, more than she had offered in the first place.
‘Why must we not, my lady?’ he said, keeping his voice low, as she did. ‘You think there’s a danger we may eventually be accepted, our presence…enjoyed…perhaps?’
‘Quite the opposite. I think, sir, that you may find how two seemingly helpless women guarding one helpless child may be too uncomfortable for you and your rabble. I don’t know who you pretend to be, but—’ Her breath ran out before she had finished, and she could have cried with relief as the door opened and Meg entered, breathless for quite a different reason. They ran to each other, clinging and rocking as if they had been parted for a year instead of a night, a night in which the world had changed for each of them in the most primeval manner imaginable.
Biddie and Sam joined them while the audience of one, feeling that his presence was redundant, left the room with the same practised silence he had used after midnight, his departure too late not to hear Meg’s plaintive cry, ‘Ebbie…Ebbie! What’s happening to us?’
No matter what crisis might threaten to disrupt the daily routine of the castle, there were men whose duty it was to maintain a constant order in the household, outside on the estate, and all places in between. Sir Joseph had never kept a large number of retainers; he was too mean for that. Of the thirty or so men who had served on guard duty, most were now halfway to Dumfries, the few wounded under lock and key. His household servants were under the direct control of the steward, while the estate steward, the bailiff and the reeve managed the laird’s properties, including the castle and the village beyond. While he was alive, Sir Joseph had dealt personally with the various officials: now this duty must be taken over by Meg and Ebony between them, for only they could decide how to proceed with the domestic arrangements. It was not new to them.
Ebony’s spontaneous objection to having Sir Alex’s unwelcome army of almost a hundred men at loose in the castle was revised as soon as its full impact was perceived. For one thing, any delay in their departure would hopefully lessen the threat to both Sam and herself, and even a short delay was better than none at all. Moreover, their departure would mean that poor Meg would have to make shift for herself, forfeit the castle, and set up with Dame Janet and a handful of servants in one of Sir Joseph’s remote and uncomfortable properties where the cellars would be nowhere near as well stocked as those at Castle Kells and where her protection would be inadequate. This year might well be the last of the famine years, God willing, but nothing in Scotland was yet back to normal, and Ebony was instantly aware of her own selfishness in thinking first of her dilemma when Meg’s predicament would be life-threatening. Suddenly, there was a need for protection.
As she suspected, Meg was only vaguely aware of the rule about the defence of castles; she had never given it much thought. Nor had Sir Joseph made provisions for the event, since he had expected Meg to be married as soon as he could find a wealthy man with more than usual courage to want to call him father-in-law. Not surprisingly, such men were not so thick on the ground, and others who had presented themselves had got short shrift from Meg, whose determination regarding such matters was every bit as great as her father’s.
‘Then we have little choice, Ebbie,’ said Meg. ‘Do we? I don’t like this situation at all, but nor do I like the idea of packing my bits and pieces on to a pack-pony and trudging up to some remote croft up the glen. I know my father has several manors here and there, but we’ve never upped and moved around several times a year as the English do, have we? I think he found it safer to stay put, and we’ve got to do the same, for Sam’s sake as well as our own. Besides, I’ll be damned if I’ll allow those ruffians to drive us out. Not that we’re being given much of a choice,’ she added in an undertone. ‘Arrogant hooligans!’
Used to Meg’s deceptive toughness, Ebony found some comfort in having that decision made for her. In the past, Meg had been her rock, a sister in every sense and far more resilient than her slight frame and delicately freckled features would suggest. Her nut-brown daintiness and gemstone eyes might have lured men into her orbit, but her tongue was as sharp as her dirk, her hand like the flash of a trout, and no man except her brother had held her thoughts for longer than the passing of a butterfly. Capable Meg; shocked by her father’s sudden abandonment, but thinking that it was typical of the man to give them so little warning.
‘Be sure to claim his signet ring, Meggie, won’t you?’ Ebony said, sliding a hand through Sam’s hair. Standing between her knees, he clung to her, pensive, and suddenly very still.
‘I’ve taken it already,’ said Meg. ‘It’s in my pouch. Here you are. You must have it and keep it safe for Sam. We don’t want anyone else putting his seal on things.’
Ebony took it and placed it in the pouch at her girdle. ‘He’d have been hunting on a morning like this, Meg,’ she said.
‘He would, and we’d have had the hall full of roaring stone-drunk men all night long, too. We’re going to change things here, Ebbie. And the first thing I’m going to do is—Oh, dear!’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m forgetting. You’re the mistress here, not me. As the young laird’s guardian, it’s for you to decide any changes.’
‘We’ll make joint decisions, Meg. Any changes will be made together. Now, shall we go down and see what’s to be done? There’s a funeral to arrange, for one.’
The young Laird of Kells spoke softly from her breast. ‘I can hear your heart beating, Mama. Does that mean you’re alive?’
‘Yes, my wee lad. It does. Go and listen to Aunt Meg’s and see if she is, too.’
He did, and she was.
The newest turn of events, however, placed a strain on both women, not least because of its uncertainty, and it occurred to both of them at intervals throughout the day that the only constant theme was change itself. Plans could only be short term; orders for provisions and accommodation had to be multiplied; commands issued by Meg and Ebony had to bypass new ones issued by Sir Alex or Master Hugh; men told to do this were taken off to do something else, and when Sam was needed for his usual hour’s rest he was nowhere to be found, nor was Biddie. Livid with anger, Ebony went to find him.
There was a wide patch of ground at the far end of the rambling castle wall that the men used for jousting and sword-practice. It had been levelled and fenced off, and had probably seen more young squires learning to ride than six-year-olds. Ebony’s anger was not lessened by the absence of Biddie, by the presence of Joshua and two assistants, and by Sir Alex himself. In fact, she saw their involvement with her property as a personal affront to her authority and would have said so there and then but for the danger of distracting Sam’s attention. Naturally, she felt that the pony, one of Sir Joseph’s pure-bred Galloways, was too big for him.
Sam’s performance in the saddle, or lack of it, was all that she could have predicted, had she been consulted, his enthusiasm and pluck being an inadequate defence against slithering sideways into the turf as the pony’s gait quickened. Her natural reaction was to rush to him, but her attempt to dive under the fence was prevented by Sir Alex’s arm that came like a tree-trunk across her, hauling her back. She pushed against him, twisting furiously, but Sam was up on his feet and ready for the next undignified tussle before the restraint was lowered.
‘Let me go to him!’ she snarled.
‘No! Stay out of the way. Stirrups, lad!’ he yelled at Sam.
Ebony winced as the child lurched and bounced yet again, far more pained than he at the demands they were making of him, and for his limitations about which she knew more than these men. ‘That’s enough!’ she said. ‘He’s tired. He’s had enough now.’
‘Leave him. They know what they’re doing.’
‘They don’t!’
‘Look at him. Look at his face. He’s loving it.’
Sam was grinning from ear to ear, his back like a ramrod as he listened to Master Joshua’s instructions. ‘Hands together. Sit down properly!’
‘I am…am doing,’ he panted.
‘You’re not doing. Sit up straight. Don’t pull or he’ll stop.’
‘Yes…yes!’
‘And keep your mouth shut. Speak with your hands and heels.’
He stayed in the saddle, dizzy with success, adoring Joshua and completely oblivious to his mother’s anxiety. ‘I did it!’ he yelled, seeing her at last. ‘I can do it, can’t I, Master Joshua?’
‘Bit more practice and we’ll get there,’ said Josh. ‘But don’t think you’ve finished, young man. You have to groom him now. Come on. A good rider looks after his mount.’ Winking knowingly at Ebony, he led the pony and rider away towards the stables.
Ebony still had reservations. ‘He’s getting overtired,’ she said, rounding on Sir Alex. ‘And what makes you think it’s appropriate to be doing this when his grandfather has just died? Is this the way to teach a child respect?’
The practice ground was deserted, but the angle between the wall and the castle tower provided greater privacy and, without answering her directly, he trapped her arm against his body and drew her, none too gently, into the seclusion of the corner. The wall was at her back, her feet unbalanced, her hands holding him at a distance; her attack turned all at once to defence.
This was not what she had come here for. Once more, her child had been taken beyond her control, nor was his enjoyment at issue. With the best of intentions, she had given this man an inch and he believed he could take a yard, and he had better be stopped before he assumed control of her, too. She fought him with a fury that reflected her desperation at the trap from which escape seemed increasingly impossible.
Her hand almost reached the dagger, but not quite. She bit at his hand, but only succeeded in grazing his knuckle with her teeth. She tried to knee him but he was ready for that, sidestepping into the space between her legs. She saw red. Squealing with rage, and with a violent twist of her body, she bent like a tensioned bow to release herself from his arms. Unable to swing her hand back, she raked at him with her nails and felt the terrible contact of the skin on his neck before her wrist was caught again. Her other hand caused similar damage to his cheek before it was twisted cruelly behind her, putting an end to her brief but violent retaliation.
Before she could avoid him he took possession of her mouth with his own, this time with no softening from either of them as her lips were forced apart to take his invasion. Devising every resistance against his authority, she was still powerless against him, held by her thick plait and the scruff of her neck, made to wait upon his mastery.
Her legs were unprepared for the suddenness of release and, rather than fall, she clung to his sleeve while holding a hand to her mouth, her tears of helpless anger betraying the hurt.
‘That, my lady, was a reward,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘In case you were wondering.’
‘For what?’ she croaked.
‘For protecting your child from danger, even though there was none.’
Her reply scalded him with its contempt. ‘I don’t need a reward for that, you great patronising dolt. It comes as part of motherhood. Rabbits do it. Birds, bitches, even whores do it. Women who sell themselves. Now leave me alone!’
‘I shall not leave you alone. You know I shall not.’ He hesitated, then strode away with a hand to his cheek and not a backward glance.
Round the corner of the armourer’s workshop he collided heavily with Hugh of Leyland, who grasped him by the shoulders to steady him, looking closely at the parallel lines of blood on his friend’s face and neck. ‘Ah! Sent you packing, did she, lad?’ he chuckled.
His laugh was cut short with startling speed when he found himself flat on his back on the cobbled yard, holding on to his jaw as though it might fall off. ‘What?’ he squeaked. ‘You gave me permission to laugh when—’
‘Well, I’ve changed my bloody mind!’ Sir Alex yelled at him, stalking away. ‘And why is there no supper ready? Are we all supposed to be fasting today?’
There was no question of the two factions eating supper together, for although duties must be attended to, a certain restraint must be observed, with Sir Joseph laid out not fifty yards away. Besides, they were enemies.
Anxious to conceal from Meg the effects of her violent clash with their leader, Ebony attempted a positive demeanour as she supervised their private meal of rabbit and mushrooms, cold roast venison and young nettles, boiled. There were hot griddle-cakes with honey, Sam’s favourite, but the chastened Biddie had to feed him the last few mouthfuls with his eyes half-closed.
‘You see,’ Ebony said, ‘he’s absolutely all-in. I knew he would be. Hours of daylight left and he’ll sleep until well before cock-crow and then wake us all up. With a wee rest this afternoon, he could have gone to bed later and slept till a decent time. He’ll not do this tomorrow, mind you.’
‘The answer is,’ said Meg, licking her sticky fingers, ‘to let Biddie and Sam sleep by themselves.’
‘Not in a separate room,’ Ebony said. ‘I need him with me in case he has nightmares.’
