Once Upon a Plaid (10 page)

“Go, Will,” she said softly, pulling the shawl tighter around her. “Else ye’ll have regrets hereafter.”

“No fear of that,” he muttered as he stalked toward the door. “I already do.”

—From “The Twelve Days of Christmas”

 

 

—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry

Chapter Ten

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Will called out from the parapet, “Nab, what’re ye doing up there?”

“Ye have eyes. I’m sitting, o’ course.” Nab peered over the edge of the spirelike roof. He shook his head and the tiny bells at the ends of his cap tinkled. “Odds bodkins. And I’m the one they call a fool,” he muttered.

“
Why
are ye sitting there?”

“Have ye seen an owl in the daytime, William?”

“Come to think on it, I havena. Only after twilight.”

“That’s because in the day, they sit still as a statue in the crotch of a tree, and after a bit, no one kens they’re even there. They disappear in plain sight.” Nab’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. “That’s what I’m doing, William. I’m being an owl.”

“Jump!” someone from down in the bailey yelled.

William sent them a thunderous glare, and the rowdy crowd that had gathered below went silent, shuffling their feet in the snow. He wondered where the old earl was. There was a time when Lord Glengarry would have been in the thick of things, scattering the malingerers in the courtyard and demanding his fool come down from that benighted perch before he did something monumentally stupid like falling and leaving a bloody stain on the stone for others with more sense to have to clean up.

Unfortunately, Lord Glengarry was nowhere to be seen. And Nab was the sort who might be easily spooked.

“Would ye like company?” William asked Nab.

“If I liked company, I’d be in the great hall, would I not?” Then his belligerent tone fizzled away and he cast Will a hopeful glance. “But I wouldna mind it so very much should ye wish to come up, William. Ye’re not like the others.” Then his ever-wandering gaze darted away. “The view of the loch is verra fine from here.”

“If ye’ve seen one loch, ye’ve seen ’em all,” William grumbled as he clambered up the uneven stone and hoisted himself onto the conical spire of the thatched roof. Then he walked, careful to step from one supporting beam to the next and avoid the icy patches, till he joined Nab on the edge of the sloping roof.

A biting wind swirled a breath of snow around them.

“Seems an odd place to sit,” Will said. “There are any number of more comfortable places down in the keep to practice being an owl.”

“Aye, but none I deserve,” Nab said morosely. His face seemed to fold in on itself like a crumpled piece of parchment. “I lost it, William.”

“Lost what?”

“Yer scepter.” He hung his head.

Will’s chest constricted and he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Are ye angry with me? Canna say I blame ye. I would be, were I ye.”

William’s hands had bunched into white-knuckled fists without his conscious volition. That silver rod meant everything to his family. It was a promise and a challenge to each new generation of Douglas males as they took the reins of Badenoch.
KNOW BY THIS,
it said,
THAT ALL THE HOPES AND DREAMS OF THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE YOU ARE PINNED ON YOU. HUSBAND THAT WHICH YOU’VE BEEN GIVEN. INCREASE IT FOR THE SAKE OF THOSE WHO’LL COME AFTER YOU. ’TWILL BE HARD, BUT YOU ARE WORTHY OF THE TASK BECAUSE YOU COME FROM US. LIVE IN OUR STRENGTH. RULE WISELY AND WELL.

And now he not only had no son to hand it down to, he’d lost the scepter itself.

“William?”

“No, Nab, I’m not angry.” He was, but not with the fool. William knew Nab. He’d as soon lose his right hand as lose that scepter. The fool was obsessive about things left in his charge. There was no one he’d have trusted with the family treasure more.

“I dinna know what happened. I never let it out of my sight. Honest. But my eyes canna stay open forever, can they? Nay, they canna.” Nab picked at his motley as if he might find the scepter somewhere in the folds of his disreputable garment.

“When was the last time you had it?” William asked, his mind churning furiously. None of the other servants would have dared touch it. As far as he knew, none of the laird’s guests had left the keep, so the treasure was still within Glengarry’s walls.

“It was with me when I went to sleep last night, but when I woke, there was only this in its place.” He lifted a worm-eaten staff roughly the same length and diameter as the Badenoch scepter. “Ye dinna suppose a fey prince came in the dark and took it back because I didna deserve to touch it?”

“I’m certain someone came in the night, but I’ll lay odds it wasna the Fair Folk. Where were ye sleeping?”

Only the laird and his family had dedicated bedchambers. Lord Glengarry’s retainers bedded down in the great hall. If there was a guest in the castle of any high-ranking stature, he’d be allowed to use the solar for privacy, but even then, the makeshift bed would be a hand-me-down collection of straw ticks and linens that were no longer used by his lordship. Servants had to make do with pallets in the kitchen, above the stable in the haymow, or down in the souterrain, curling up near wherever they worked and as near a source of heat as they could manage.

It made for a close-knit clan of people in the castle. Everyone knew everything about each other. And if a couple in the next set of blankets or cloaks happened to be doing a bit of a rhythmic canter some night, the polite thing to do was to roll so one faced away and pretend not to hear a thing.

“I sleep on a pallet across the doorway to the earl’s chamber. It’s where I am”—Nab ducked his head and finished softly—“most nights.”

That made sense. William’s father-in-law would want his fool close by if he woke in the night and needed a bit of company or entertainment. But it meant whoever had snatched the scepter was a bold thief, committing his crime so near the earl’s chamber.

“How does his lairdship fare of late?”

“He sleeps a lot,” Nab said. “Sometimes when he doesna mean to, but never deeply or well. I worry about him, William, indeed I do. But ye canna judge by me.” He shrugged. “I worry about everything.”

“I dinna want ye to worry. Here’s what I want ye to do.” As Laird of Badenoch, it was Will’s job to solve problems and he’d hit upon a plan to fix this. “Ye’re still Laird of Misrule. Tell your loyal subjects ye’ve arranged for a bit of fun. Ye’ve hidden the scepter someplace within the castle wa—”

“That’s a lie, William. Ye dinna wish me to lie surely. Not with it being Christmas and all.”

“Dinna think of it as a lie. Think of it as . . .” The fool was right. It was a lie. Why did the simpleminded make everything so . . . well, simple? Black was black and white was white, and Nab wasn’t the sort who’d let a grey untruth tramp across his tongue if he could help it. “Think of it as a play. A bit of make-believe. Ye’re pretending to be laird, aye?”

Nab nodded.

“Then all ye must do is pretend ye arranged a game of hide-and-seek for everyone. Only you hid the scepter, not a person.”

“But I didna hide the scepter.”

“Fine, ye can say something like, ‘The scepter has been hidden.’ That way ye’re not claiming to have done it, and ’tis the truth. The scepter is hidden. If folk think ye did it, ’tis not your fault.”

“I didna hide it,” he repeated doggedly.

“No one but we two knows that.”

“And him who took it,” Nab pointed out.

“Aye, him too. In fact,” Will said, “I’m counting on him being the one who finds it.”

Nab flicked his gaze toward Will. “If he did, then would the thief not ken that we ken that he’s the one who took it?”

“Aye, but ye must offer an inducement strong enough for him to risk it.”

“What could that be?”

It was a thorny question. Will felt to the marrow of his bones that MacNaught was behind this, but he couldn’t accuse the man without proof. What did Ranulf want more than tweaking Will’s nose by taking his family’s treasure?

“I have it. Proclaim that whoever finds the scepter may take his seat in the laird’s chair for the rest of the week.” Lord Glengarry had vacated it since that first night. He wasn’t likely to complain.

“I dinna know, William. The throne Ranulf and his friends made for me isna verra comfortable. Antlers are verra pointy, ye ken.”

“Nay, not that one. Lord Glengarry’s own seat.” It’d appeal to Ranulf’s vanity as nothing else would. But unless Will caught Ranulf “discovering” the location of the scepter, how would he prove that Ranulf knew where to look because he’d put it there? “I need someone to shadow MacNaught till he shows his hand. Is there a likely lad among the pages here?”

Nab scrunched his forehead in thought. “Fergie might do. He’s the smallest of the lads in the castle. Makes him try a mite harder.”

“Good. After ye tell your waiting subjects about this new game,”—William waved at the crowd below and several of them waved back—“find this Fergie and tell him he’s to keep an eye on Ranulf MacNaught on the quiet like. It won’t do if the man thinks he’s being watched. And tell him to find me at once if Ranulf comes up with the scepter.”

William stood and held a hand out to Nab to help him up.

“Where will ye be?” Nab asked.

“Talking to Jamison first. I need to find a rider to deliver a message to Edinburgh, and the seneschal should know who can do the job. ’Tis past time Lady Margaret’s husband came home.” For the sake of Donald’s pregnant wife and his father’s uncertain health both.

Nab grinned. “And if yer hide-and-seek game works, yer scepter will come home too.”

—From “The Twelve Days of Christmas”

 

 

—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry

Chapter Eleven

Not all the castle’s servants worked above ground. The buttery, the carpentry, the bottlery, and the abattoir, where game was hung and dressed, were located under the great hall, with doors leading out through a set of stone steps directly into the lower ward. Even after Jamison directed William to the subterranean reaches of the castle, it took him the better part of an hour to find a servant with the intelligence necessary to memorize a message to take to Lord Glengarry’s son, and another half hour to locate one who knew the way to Edinburgh.

In the end, he decided to send both of them.

Taking the unmarked paths through the Highlands in winter might be the shorter route, but it was also likely to take longer. The messengers could become lost between one glen and the next as landmarks changed over the seasons. Or they might run afoul of some local chieftain or other as they passed through the territory of other clans. Then there was always the threat from men who lived rough, outside the bounds of a clan, for whom any traveler was fair game.

William gave the messengers enough coin to purchase passage on the ferry that plied the loch as far as Inverness. Then they’d take ship and sail down to Leith at the mouth of the Firth of Forth. From there, they’d travel the short distance to Edinburgh Castle, where King James’s court resided. Will gave his messengers one chance in ten of reaching Donald and having him return before Margaret gave birth, but at least he could tell Katherine he’d sent for her brother.

“I wish ye’d let yer runners wait a day or so, my lord,” the carpenter of Glengarry Castle said after the men William had chosen for the journey left to raid the kitchen for food to take with them. “Then they could deliver his lairdship’s gift to court at the selfsame time. ’Tis a bit unwieldy, ye ken, and will take two to make the trip.”

Even though Donald was dancing attendance on the young King James, it was politic for the old earl to send him a gift for the New Year as well. But usually a royal present meant a piece of jewelry or a bolt of precious silk, something that would fit neatly into a saddlebag.

“What’s Lord Glengarry sending to the king?”

The man grinned from ear to ear. “Och, let me show ye.”

It was an ornately wrought trunk of monstrous size. The carpenter’s apprentice was putting the final touches on the lid, sanding a bas relief carving of a thistle so lifelike, despite its extreme size, Will expected to be pricked by its thorns. Still, he wasn’t sure what the gift was supposed to be.

“It looks like an oversized coffin,” William said. Not the most politically astute gift to send to a young king.

The carpenter’s face fell. “Nay, my lord, ’tis a chest special made to fit the Honours of Scotland. See for yerself.” He lifted the hinged lid to reveal a padded purple velvet lining.

“A royal gift indeed,” William admitted.

The man’s expression bloomed with pride once more as he waved his apprentice away. “Aye, ’tis verra fine, an’ I say it myself. As ye see, there’s room for the royal crown, the sword of state, and the scepter. And a monstrous long thing that scepter is too. Came all the way from Rome, it did, back in my grandsire’s day. Come to think on it, the sword came from Rome too, only later and from a different pope.”

“I’m sure His Majesty will be pleased.”

“I hope he will. Och, there’s a secret to the chest, as well. I’d not show this to just anybody, but as ye’re part of the earl’s family, I’ll let ye in on it.”

The man felt along the edge of the velvet for a silk tab. Once he pulled it, he was able to lift the padded bottom to reveal a hidden cavity in the chest.

“’Tis a hidey-hole for other precious things. Reckon a king has plenty of gewgaws that he wants to keep to himself,” the carpenter said. “’Twas my idea, the secret place.”

“And it’s a good one, but ye ought not show it to anyone else.”

“Och, that I havena. In fact, I may even let His Majesty discover it for his own self. That way, it’ll stay a secret.”

Even though the workmanship of the chest made it a princely gift, William doubted the young king would spare it a second glance once his state treasures were locked away in it. That secret compartment the castle carpenter was so proud of might very well stay secret forever.

Once William climbed the stairs from the lower ward to the central portion of the bailey, he discovered most of the denizens of Glengarry Castle were roaming over the place in search of Nab’s “hidden” scepter. From the corner of his eye, he even caught the dark blur of Angus zipping across the bailey from behind the chapel to the stable. However, he doubted the terrier was after anything except rats. Everywhere Will went, folk were looking under benches, opening cupboards, and peering behind every closed door. When he reached the great hall, he wasn’t surprised to find it nearly empty.

There was a small boy playing with a deerhound pup in one corner. Will figured it was probably the lad Fergie whom Nab had told him about because he was perfectly positioned to surreptitiously keep an eye on the only others in the large space.

Ranulf MacNaught and his toadies were tossing knucklebones near the fireplace.

William swore under his breath. MacNaught hadn’t risen to the bait yet. But since Ranulf probably knew where the scepter was, there was no hurry.

“Not interested in trying out the laird’s seat?” he asked Ranulf as he walked by, fully intending not to stop.

“That seat should only be occupied by the man who deserves it.”

“In that, we are in complete accord. Lord Glengarry is entirely worthy of his station.” Will decided to give Ranulf a nudge. “But I suppose it doesna hurt for others to see someone else there. After all, no man holds power forever.”

Something dark and dangerous flicked across MacNaught’s features. It reminded Will of a wolf slinking from shadow to shadow, nearly invisible except for the feral glint that made its eyes glow copper in the dark.

“No man holds power forever,” Ranulf repeated. “Words to live by, Badenoch.”

“Or die by,” Will said.

“Assuredly,” Ranulf said. “All men die.”

“Aye, that they do. Some sooner than others.”

“Were I not a guest in my uncle’s home, I’d think that a threat.” MacNaught barked out a rough laugh. “But ’tis Christmas and I’m willing to believe losing the treasure of Badenoch has addled your brains, so I’ll not hold it against ye. Will ye dice with us then? Losing a few throws will keep ye from taxin’ your brain overmuch. Or since your precious scepter has gone missing, has the house of Badenoch lost enough this day?”

“No one said the rod was missing.”
Except ye.
That slip of the tongue cinched matters. Ranulf had stolen it. “According to the Laird of Misrule, it’s been hidden away for someone to find. And I’m guessing it’ll not be found by someone who’s content to while the day away with a pair of dice.”

Hands clenched by his sides, Will headed for the spiral stairs that led to the family’s chambers. Katherine was probably sleeping. He hoped she was after her sleepless night, but he had a fierce need to see her. He wouldn’t wake her. He’d just watch her for a bit. Simply being in the same room with Ranulf MacNaught made him want to bash someone’s head in. Preferably Ranulf’s.

Kat’s face in repose always rested him. She smoothed out the wrinkles in his soul and gave him space to breathe. He needed her.

Somehow, he had to convince her of that. If possible without groveling.

He hadn’t made more than two turns on the staircase before he was nearly knocked into next week by Dorcas, wielding a broom as if it were a mace. She brought the handle down on his crown a second time with a resounding thwack. Then her eyes flew wide as she recognized him.

“Oh, oh! Lord William, I’m that sorry. Truly I am. I didna know ’twas ye.” She whipped the offending broom behind her and bobbed half a dozen curtseys in rapid succession. “Thank ye for seein’ to Nab. I’m so verra grateful, indeed I am.”

“Ye’ve a funny way of showing it.”

She turned her lips inward for a moment, then chattered on as if she hadn’t just clubbed the earl’s son-in-law. “How is Nab now that he isna fixin’ to leap from the bastion any longer?”

“He was never going to leap anywhere,” Will said crossly, rubbing his head. “And I expect he’s fine since he’s not the one having his head bashed in with a wee broom.”

“’Tis dim in the stairwell. I didna expect ye back up to yer chamber till this evening,” she said with a sniff.

“Even so, why are ye lying in wait on the stairs as if the castle were under siege?”

“Och, I had to resort to violence to keep the rest of ’em out,” Dorcas explained. “There’s no shortage of those who hope to find the hidden scepter, ye see, and win the chance to sit on his lairdship’s throne. Several of the wretches thought to search the family’s chambers. With Lady Margaret under orders to rest and his lordship feeling a mite poorly as well, we canna be having that now, can we?”

“No, we canna have that,” Will said, sure a lump was forming on his crown big enough to toss a ring over. “Wait. What’s wrong with his lordship?”

“He woke with a fierce headache and told Jamison his left arm felt heavy. I didna hear him myself, mind, but word is Lord Glengarry sounded as if he’d been in his cups, and I know he wasna because Jamison says all the ale and whisky have been strictly accounted for. Something about mod . . .” She flicked her gaze to the right, searching for the word as if it might be hovering in the air beside her. “Mod-er-a-ta-tion. ‘Moderatation in all things,’ he says, lest we run short.”

That explained why Lord Glengarry hadn’t cleared the bailey of onlookers when Nab was perched on the bastion. “How is his lordship now?”

“Resting comfortable-like,” she said. “Old Beathag knows more than midwifery, ye ken. She fixed him a special tea—willow bark and ginger and meadowsweet and a few things she wouldna tell me. Ye dinna suppose it was anything nasty, do ye? In any case, it seemed to set him to rights, but Beathag insists he should keep to his bed today. So we’ve two members of the family confined to their sheets.”

William chuckled. “Three, if ye count Lady Katherine.”

“Oh, she’s not abed. Lucas and wee Tam were giving their nursemaid fits fussing to see their mother, and wouldna be comforted. But Lady Katherine told me to wake her if there was anything she could do. So she’s in the nursery with her nephews.”

He should have known. Kat would run herself ragged before she’d let anything cause Margaret the slightest discomfort before her pains began.

His gut clenched. What else should he have done when Kat was brought to childbed with Stephan? Was there something, anything, that might have made a difference? With effort, he shoved the thought away. It would do no one any good now.

William turned around and headed back down the stairs.

The nursery was located above the kitchen, which was off the great hall. This way, the room occupied by the earl’s grandchildren was always warm in winter. It was close enough to the source of food that the lads never knew hunger. Will had overheard Margaret complain more than once that her older boys were in danger of being thoroughly spoiled by Cook and the rest of the kitchen staff.

And now the youngest two were being spoiled by his wife.

Will paused at the open doorway to the nursery. Kat was tripping lightly across the room with wee Tam in her arms and three-year-old Lucas hopping along beside her. She hummed a dance tune as she turned and dipped, graceful as a falling leaf. The boys’ laughter made a spritely counterpoint.

William stepped back a pace so he could watch her from the shadows. She formed a small circle of three with her nephews. She balanced Tam on her hip and palmed Lucas’s hand for each roundelay as they revolved around each other in the skipping dance.

Will’s fingers curled into fists. Why couldn’t God see that his Katherine was born to be a mother? She was calm and loving and had so much to give to a child.

Then she collapsed into a chair and began a game of peekaboo with Tam, who was now lying on her lap, his pudgy feet waggling in the air. Lucas found a comfortable spot where he could lounge on the hem of her skirts and lean his head on her knee. The toddler made a small wooden horse gallop across his ankles for a bit and raised the toy to his mouth to gnaw upon its pricked ears. Then Lucas caught sight of William, dropped his toy, and scrambled to his feet.

“Unca Will,” he cried and hurried toward William in a bowlegged trot, arms uplifted.

Will scooped him up and tossed him skyward, catching him on the way down. Lucas giggled as if he were being tickled by feathers.

“Have a care,” Katherine cautioned.

“He’s a lad, not Frankish glass. He’ll not break so easy.” William gave Lucas another toss and was rewarded with another round of shrieking laughter. “Besides, I willna drop him.”

Kat seemed satisfied because she went back to the little hand game she’d been playing with Tam. William tired of the tossing game long before Lucas showed any sign of flagging, and sent Katherine a pointed “help me” look.

“Lucas, why do ye not show your uncle your new pony?” she suggested.

The boy scrambled down from William’s arms and scuttled over to retrieve his wooden horse.

“I could kiss ye, lass,” Will said with a wink.

“Promises, promises.”

Well, that was an improvement. Almost an invitation. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he and Kat were flirting with each other.