Highland Master (13 page)

 

 

Triona sighed and watched the men ride away to deliver her letter to Sir Mollison. The bound guards went with them, as did three of Sir Brian’s men. Or rather, three of the man’s brothers, and she idly wondered just how many brothers the man had. She shook aside the thought and said a quick prayer that this time her liege laird would not disappoint her.

“Ye have done good, m’lady,” said Nessa as she stepped up next to Triona. “Ye brought our laddies home.”

“Nay all of them, and I wouldnae have been able to do it without the help of Sir Brett and Sir Brian’s men.”

“True, but ’twas ye who thought on how odd it was that we had heard naught from our lads. The rest of us just accepted it, didnae e’en think on it much except to wonder when the fools would tire of France and come home. Ye have a keen wit, m’lady, as does your wee lass. She will be as quick as ye, once she ceases leaping into trouble.”

“My wee Ella is an angel,” drawled Triona, and smiled faintly when Nessa laughed.

“I am sure she is, and I would probably be able to see her bonnie angel wings if she wasnae covered head to toe in mud.”

Wondering what Nessa meant, Triona looked in the direction the woman was staring and gasped when she saw her daughter rolling around in a shallow mud pit. “Ella Mary Margaret McKee!” she cried as she hurried over to the child.

“Uh-oh.” Ella stood up to face her mother.

“What are ye doing wallowing in the mud like the swine?”

“I wanted to see why they like to do that.”

After seeing that there really was no place to grab hold of the girl without getting mud on herself, Triona grasped the little girl’s hand and started toward the manor. “They do it because it cools them down and eases itches. Wee lassies dinnae need to wallow in mud to do that.”

“Am I going to have to do a punishment?”

“Aye. And ye are also going to have to be scrubbed from head to toe.”

Realizing she could not take a child dripping with mud up to the bedchambers, and idly wondering where Peggy was, Triona sighed and started to walk through the great hall. She would have to scrub the child down in the kitchens. When she caught sight of Peggy helping to tend to the men of the garrison, she decided she would not scold the young woman for taking her eyes off Ella.

Then she noticed how many of the men were looking at Ella and the trail of mud she was leaving behind. To her amazement, many of them smiled, a couple even laughed softly. The fact that every little wave Ella sent to the men splattered more mud around only added to their amusement. Her daughter would still have to be punished, but seeing how she had restored some light into the men’s lives, Triona decided it would not be too harsh a one.

At the doorway to the kitchen she met Brett, who was doing a very poor job of hiding his amusement when he asked, “Is that wee Ella under there?”

“Aye, sir,” Ella replied, and tried to wipe a bit of mud off her face, only to scowl at how much mud was on the sleeve of the gown she wore. “I was wallowing. Had to see why the pigs do it. It wasnae as much fun as I thought, since I will have to do a punishment now.”

“Aye, ye will. Best to leave that sort of thing to the pigs, sweet girl.” He looked at Triona. “Need help?”

She opened her mouth to say no and then realized all the women in the keep were tending to the men in the great hall. “I thought ye were going to go to Gormfeurach to look for my missing horses and weapons.”

“I am thinking it might be best if we wait for word from your laird. I want nothing to steal the power of the accusation ye send your liege laird this time.” He smiled again as he heard another lump of mud fall loudly onto the floor. “So, do ye want some help?”

“I think I may, but ye dinnae have to aid me in scrubbing mud off a child.”

“I have done it before,” he said as he stepped aside so she could go into the kitchen, and then followed her. “I come from a verra, verra large family.”

He proved to be surprisingly skillful in the chore of cleaning up a muddy child. An apologetic Peggy hurried in with clean clothes for Ella, but Triona waved away her offer to take over, telling her the men needed her help more. Once Ella was clean, her hair braided, Triona sent her off to help the other girls tear up cloth to be used as bandages for the men and to do anything else that might be asked of her. She stood in the doorway watching how the men who had the strength to do so greeted the little girl, teasing her about how pretty she was, now that they could actually see her.

“Nay such a harsh punishment,” murmured Brett as he stood next to her.

“I watched them smile, even laugh, as I walked Ella through the hall, and I just couldnae punish her too harshly. She gave them a touch of lightness, if only for a moment.”

“Aye, she did. She reminded them that they are home now, home where wee lassies get covered in mud and mothers have to scrub them. A simple thing, an innocent childish bit of mischief, but a needed reminder that they are indeed home.”

“Yet I just realized that some of the men are still unclothed. Mayhap I shouldnae let a wee lass wander about the hall so freely at the moment.”

“I dinnae think she has e’en noticed, and the women are doing their best to hide the men’s bodies from the sight of Ella and the other young lassies helping.”

“Weel, good enough then. I have sent the men off with the captured guards and the letter to my liege laird. I but pray that the mon doesnae take too long to send word back. And now I best go and help in the tending of the men. Some will probably be able to go home with their wives or mothers, but it may be a while ere all of them are out of the great hall.”

“We can eat in the kitchens, if needed.”

Her smile warmed him, and he watched her hurry off to help with cleaning and bandaging the men. Brett then saw that one man, now clean and bandaged, was being helped by two small boys and was walking toward the doors of the great hall. Realizing some of the men would be more than ready to get back to their cottages, he moved to help. It was going to be a long day, he mused, as he relieved the two grunting little boys of the man’s weight and began to help him get outside, where a cart waited to take him home.

 

 

Triona yawned as she shed her clothes and washed up. Most of the men had been taken home by their families. Others who were just in need of rest, food, and the occasional check on their small wounds, had been moved to the peel tower, which the unwed members of the garrison had always called home. Eight very weak men remained in the great hall, where it would be warmer and easier to immediately render any aid. She was hopeful that they would recover now that they were free, with ample food and water, and many willing hands to help nurse their wounds.

Just as she tugged on her night shift, Brett walked in. She blushed and then silently cursed. It was foolish to blush, after all they had done together, but she did seem prone to doing so. Triona wanted to be mature, calm, and ladylike before her lover, but she began to think that was never going to happen. The man entered her bedchamber and she was immediately reminded of the passion they had shared, and then she blushed again.

“A long day,” he murmured, and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I went to see the men in the peel tower, to make certain it didnae trouble them to be in one again.”

Triona groaned and rested her head against his chest. “They were held prisoner in a tower. I should have thought of that.”

“The one they were in was a dark ruin, with chains, no light, little food and water, and no women dashing in and out to make certain they were weel. I but wanted to make certain they could see that difference. They were more than content for, to them, it is home. They are in their own beds and nay chained to a wall. Dinnae fret.”

“If ye are sure they willnae suffer for being in there . . .”

“I am verra sure. As one told me, it is nay the same. They can see out the wee arrow slots that are now windows, e’en open them, and most important, if they do begin to be troubled, they can step outside.” He picked her up in his arms and took her to the bed. “They will be fine. And I think the ones we feared might die, will be fine as weel.”

She watched him shed his clothes, and idly thought that she would never tire of the sight. “I began to think the same thing as they gained a wee bit of strength simply from being clean and seeing their families, their friends.” She opened her arms in welcome when he joined her on the bed. “Thank ye for bringing them home. Thank ye for helping them.”

“No need to thank me. Although”—he plucked at her night shift—“ye could promise to nay put this on again.”

She laughed. “’Tis habit. Boyd was verra precise about how I should always wear it.” Suddenly feeling very daring, she sat up and tugged it off. The way his gaze grew heated as she did so made her own desire stir. “Better?”

“Much, although I find I actually like to take it off myself from time to time,” he said as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Triona fully gave herself over to his lovemaking, losing herself in the passion they shared. She needed the heat of it to burn away the sadness of seeing how abused the men of Banuilt had been, how they had suffered. She also needed to fill herself up with the memory of his touch, his kiss, the way he filled her, for she knew he was only a lover, that he offered no words of love or any promises of a future. No matter what her heart cried out for, he would leave when her troubles ended. Triona wanted her heart, mind, and body so crowded with memories that the pain she knew she would feel when he rode away could be eased by them.

Triona stared at the letter her liege laird’s man had just given her, reading it again in disbelief. She had not been surprised when the laird had sent one of his own men back with hers, for this was a grave matter. But she had been puzzled as to why the man carried two letters for her. He had met with only a few of her slowly recovering men, listening closely to their tales, and then he had very carefully ripped up one of those letters and handed her the one she now held. With a curt bow and wishes for a good hunt, his face tight with anger, he had then silently left.

“I hope that missive doesnae say that we have to show Sir John any mercy,” said Brett as he stepped up beside her and lightly stroked her back, concerned about how pale she had become.

The warmth of Brett’s hand on her back slowly pushed away the chill that had seized Triona as she read the words in the letter. She wondered if he realized he was acting with her in a rather intimate, even affectionate way, in front of everyone gathered there. It would probably be wise to step away from that soothing caress, but she could not find the strength to do so, and she could see that no one was paying any particular attention to what he was doing. Turning her head, she saw that he had his saddlebag over his shoulder, obviously prepared to set out after Sir John as soon as possible.

“Nay, it doesnae, although I suspicion the one that mon tore up may have said something of the like,” she replied. “He was sent here by the laird to confirm what the prisoners we sent him had said, and did so by speaking to my men. Aye, and by looking at them. It has been only three days since the men came home, and what they suffered can still be clearly seen in their gaunt faces. Struth, I was a wee bit surprised at how quickly Sir Mollison replied.”

“I would wager the laird’s mon heard much more than just the tale of their imprisonment. I watched him as he spoke to a few of the women as weel.”

“And ye. He spoke with ye, too.”

“He did. He wished to ken who we were and why we were here. I told him. It appears he also kens a few of my kinsmen from the king’s court, meeting them from time to time when he goes there on the laird’s business.” He grinned. “And he has heard a lot about the Camerons and the MacFingals.” He quickly grew serious again, before Triona could ask what the man may have heard. “So, he may have wondered if your men would lie for your sake; but with the word of men who have no true bond to Banuilt and its people, and have naught to gain with any lie, he was satisfied.”

“I think he was also appalled by how my men had been treated by a mon who claims to be our ally. Over the years, the fighting men of Banuilt have served our liege laird verra weel.”

“So what does your liege say we must do about Sir John Grant?”

“Whate’er we deem necessary to end his crimes against Banuilt. He has removed all protection from Sir John and has given us full rights to the meting out of justice in any way we deem fitting.”

“Good. As of this moment, Sir John Grant is naught but a walking dead mon.”

Startled by the cold fury behind his words, Triona began to protest, “But—”

“Nay, lass,” said Sir Brian MacFingal as he stepped up to them. “The people of Banuilt ne’er harmed that mon, were always allies—and verra good, trustworthy ones—ready to aid the people of Gormfeurach whene’er it was needed. In return the mon near starved to death all of your fighting men, imprisoning them as if they were the lowest of reivers, tried his best to make certain ye and your people were also left hungry by burning your fields and stealing livestock, and he even tried to force ye to wed with him. Aye, and he did all of these things when, by his own trickery, he left Banuilt undefended and with mostly just bairns and women here. Nay, he dies.” He looked at Brett. “I will fetch my lads.”

Triona watched her cousin’s husband walk away. “Weel, when put that way . . .”

Brett chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Brian joined this fight because of how the mon was making women and bairns suffer when he should have been helping them. What was done to your men enraged him, as it has every mon here, those belonging to Banuilt and those just visiting. Aye, and those Gormfeurach men we had so lightly imprisoned. Triona, Sir John’s own people are so horrified and humiliated by their laird’s actions, they would probably hand him o’er for punishment themselves.”

“So what happens now?”

“First we go to Gormfeurach and leave some men to secure it against Sir John. I hesitated to go and look for the weapons and horses as planned, because I had hoped Sir Mollison would give me more power to do so, and he did. Now Sir John has been cast out by his own liege laird, so his people can act against him by nay denying me. I dinnae think he will try to return there, as he must ken how his people feel. Yet, he has taken to hiring swords, so one cannae be certain. I continue to think the mon isnae right in the head.”

“Nay. He appears to have let the return of the land he believes stolen from his clan rule his mind. And if he does hire men to get back into his keep, I cannae feel certain he would care verra much how many of his own people got hurt in the doing of it.”

“Something I believe his people are now weel aware of.”

“So ye dinnae believe the people at Gormfeurach will fight ye when ye set men there to hold it against their laird?”

“Nay. And I shall be able to tell them that Sir John’s liege laird himself has condemned him, called him outlaw, in a way, and given us full right to hunt the mon down. I am also taking Duncan and the others back so they can speak for me.”

Triona handed him the letter. “Take this. E’en those who are willing to accept your word will feel better acting upon it if they see this. ’Tis nay easy for a mon to take up arms against his own laird, but the words of their liege laird giving them the right to do so, removing all protection from the mon, will settle any unease they feel. ’Tis bad enough that they are now a people without a laird. I cannae help but fear what may become of them.”

“Since there appears to be no heir, Sir Mollison will probably find them a new laird.”

“Then I pray the new one will be better than the one they have just lost.”

Brett nodded and tucked the letter into his bag. He brushed a kiss over her lips and turned to leave, only to stop at the sight of Joan and Aiden. A few days of his wife’s tender care had done a lot of good for the man, but Aiden still looked gaunt and weak.

“I ken I am in nay condition to ride at your side, but if one of ye will let me share a mount with ye, I would like to go to Gormfeurach with ye,” said Aiden.

“Why?” asked Brett, ignoring Triona’s soft murmur of protest.

“Because I ken many of the men there, am e’en kin to a few, and seeing me will set the truth of the tales they have heard firm in their minds.”

“Joan,” Triona began, and pressed her lips together when Joan shook her head.

“I dinnae like it, lass, but he has the right of it,” said Joan. “Our men have fought side by side with the men from Gormfeurach from time to time. The people need to see with their own eyes how that mon has treated the best, truest allies Gormfeurach e’er had. Duncan and the others can only tell what they have seen, and there may be ones who willnae heed what they say. Aiden will be the proof they can look at with their own eyes. And, if I guess right, I suspicion some of them have found life under the son a fair lot harder than it e’er was under the father. They will need but a wee nudge to turn against Sir John, and mayhap my Aiden can do the nudging.”

“Are ye certain ye have the strength for it, Aiden?” Triona asked.

“I ken I still look more dead than alive, but, aye, I can do this.”

“Then go, and I will pray that ye are right.” She walked up to him and patted him on the arm, saddened by how thin it was. “Just be sure to rest ere ye return, e’en if it means ye must stay a night away.”

“Already done promised my Joan that, m’lady,” he answered, and grinned.

“Then let us go,” said Brett as he strode out of the great hall.

Triona walked beside Joan as they followed the men. She watched Aiden walk to Harcourt’s mount and swing up into the saddle behind the man with much of the same grace and strength he had had before his capture.

“What are ye feeding Aiden?” she asked Joan. “His step is nearly as sure and steady as it used to be.”

“I think some of that may be show before all these other men,” said Joan, “but I have been giving him a hearty ale with a lot of herbs mixed in, twice each day. It appears to help. Either that or my Aiden is one of those blessed with a strong heart and body.”

“That could be, but I believe we shall start giving your potion to all the men.”

Triona hooked her arm through Joan’s and walked them back into the manor, where Arianna waited. Her cousin had been wanting to help tend the men brought home to Banuilt, but her husband had been right to tell her to stay away from them until one could be certain they carried no disease. Now she had something she could let Arianna help with, for mixing up herbs in ale would aid in the healing of the men while keeping Arianna away from them. And, she thought, it would also keep her too busy to worry about what Brett and Brian would find at Gormfeurach.

 

 

The men of Gormfeurach looked as if someone had killed their favorite mount, thought Brett. They also looked embarrassed and ashamed. Realizing where their new weapons and horses had come from only added to that.

“Ne’er seen a people look so defeated when one hasnae e’en unsheathed a sword against them,” muttered Brian.

“Weel, how would ye feel if ye were told that your laird had done to your allies what Sir John has done?” asked Brett.

“I’d want to kill him.”

Brett shook his head and laughed softly. “Aye, ye would, wouldnae ye. Ye have led a harsher life than these people, Brian. I havenae been here verra long, but I begin to think all the fighting men’s training and skill is only occasionally used by Sir Mollison. Here, in this land, they do verra little fighting, face verra little danger. I dinnae think I have e’er kenned two clans to be so intertwined as these two are, so at peace with each other and with many who are nay of either clan.”

“Aye, ye have the right of it. They are nay in the way of most trouble here, are they? Nay too close to the border, nay too close to the heart of the Lowlands or the heart of the Highlands. Nay close to any of the king’s courts and all that intrigue, either. Nay truly e’en a clan, neither of them, yet I dinnae ken what else to call them. I wouldnae be surprised to find out that this whole place started because some knight found it a good place to rest on his way home from a battle, and the drovers who pass by stopped here. ’Tis indeed a peaceful place, verra sheltered from the world.” Brian shook his head. “They have been dealt a hard lesson now, though.” He looked at Brett. “Are ye certain ye could be happy in such a place?”

“And who says I e’er thought of staying here?”

Brett ignored Brian’s snort of disdain as he walked toward the man Aiden was speaking with. “Sit down, Aiden,” he told the pale man, and nodded when Aiden eased himself down onto the steps of the keep. “I believe we will rest here for the night.”

“This is Gunn, Sir John’s steward,” Aiden said. “He says he hasnae seen Sir John in days.”

“Nay, sir,” Gunn said, and ran a hand through his graying brown hair. “I think it has been near to a sennight, almost a week, actually. And before that, the mon would slip in and out like a ghost. I grew weary of chasing him down to speak on the work that must be done here. Now I ken why.” He sighed. “Now I ken that we have no laird.”

“Do ye think everyone will feel the same?” asked Brett.

“Aye, sir. Sir John wasnae a verra good laird and he could be harsh, so I think there wasnae much affection for him from the people here. Yet, he was our laird.” He looked at the letter from Sir Mollison that he still held in his hand. “This means he is nay longer laird, may e’en be dead soon, aye?”

“Aye. E’en if all we do is capture him and send him to Sir Mollison, I believe he will still be killed for what he has done. Ye do ken it was more than just what he did to the garrison of Banuilt, do ye not?”

“I do, sir. We all do. There were some men who thought the lady of Banuilt should indeed have a husband, but e’en they didnae like the way Sir John was trying to bring her to heel. She and her people have always been good allies, always willing to help when help was needed.”

“We also kenned there were little more than bairns and women there, and it didnae seem right to give them trouble,” said a burly, dark-haired man as he stepped up behind the steward.

“My son Ailbert,” Gunn said. “He leads Sir John’s garrison.”

“What happens to us now, Sir Brett Murray?” asked Ailbert. “We have no laird and no heir to step into his place.”

“I suspect Sir Mollison will see to that. For now, I wish to set a couple of my men here to watch for Sir John.”

“To keep the gates barred against him, aye?”

“Aye. Do ye have any objections? Or think someone else might?”

“None. And ye will have no complaint from any here. Sir John was ne’er a good laird, but in the last two years, since his father died and he sat in the laird’s chair, he has been a poor laird indeed. And hard. He has a temper, and it could spill o’er for no reason, at the oddest times, and he was harsh when it did.”

Brett had no doubt the man spoke the truth, and he went to find which men he would leave behind. He could see signs of neglect about Gormfeurach as he moved around, speaking to a few of Sir John’s people and watching over the collection of the weapons and horses that belonged to Banuilt. Sir John had not kept up his own keep very well as he had worked to take Triona’s lands.

He paused as a woman approached him leading six little girls, and frowned when she stopped in front of him. “May I help ye?” he asked.