Once Upon a Plaid (23 page)

—From “Death Began Because of Sin”

 

 

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

Chapter Thirty

With the darkness came a blessed stillness as well. MacNaught seemed satisfied with the damage he’d done to Glengarry’s curtain wall that day. As twilight deepened, the machine stopped clanking and tossing death and destruction toward the castle. Fires burned at intervals along the hillside, and occasional laughter rose from the camp of the men giving siege to the castle as they enjoyed their evening meal.

Why shouldn’t they laugh?
Will thought.
There’s no one to bury in MacNaught’s camp.

William made the rounds, searching out the family members of the men who’d fallen defending the wall. One of the crofters’ children, a small boy named Jamie, had died when the brewery was struck.

“He wasna a bad boy,” his mother said tearfully. “But he’d a fear of underground places. Wouldna set foot in our root cellar. When I called for him to join me and the other children headed for the souterrain, he ran away.”

His small, broken body was found where he’d hidden away amid the hogsheads of beer and barrels of hops. For now the dead were laid out in the chapel side by side in their makeshift shrouds. William feared the small church would soon not be big enough.

“Now, my wee laddie will lie underground till the Last Trump sounds,” young Jamie’s mother said, her shoulders shaking with grief.

“Not so,” Will said. “If the great and mighty can be interred in the walls of cathedrals, we can carve out a niche here in the chapel for your boy.”

The power of speech deserting her, the woman grasped William’s gloved hand and pressed a kiss to it.

“Dinna fret, mother. I swear I’ll see it done.” Will moved on to the next grieving family to offer comfort. He steeled himself not to feel. If he let himself, he’d be too bogged down by the sorrow around him to be any good to anyone.

As many people as could fit were crowded into the great hall. There, cheek by jowl, they were served a thin stew and bread. A few grumbled, but if the siege lasted long, they’d be glad Cook was thrifty from the start. Will found the MacElmurray family huddled together as near the fire as they could manage.

“Are ye and your company of archers ready, Hew?” Will asked.

The young man nodded. “Aye, they’re to be waiting at the portcullis for yer orders, milord.”

“By yer leave, I’ll be joining ye too, Lord Badenoch,” Sawney MacElmurray said. “I canna let my youngest son follow ye if I fear to go myself.”

Both men kissed Mrs. MacElmurray on the cheek, shouldered their quivers and bows, and followed Will into the night. He found a dozen men milling by the gate.

“Once we clear the castle, there’s to be no talking,” William told the assembled group. “Dinna nock an arrow till I give the signal. We’ll have a chance for perhaps a dozen volleys before we meet resistance. Then we hightail it. Our task this night is to sting them.”

“Not to defeat them?” Hew asked.

“That’ll come, Hew,” Will said. “For now we need to inflict some pain and show them we aren’t cowed by their damned machine.”

By all accounts, Ranulf’s men were not overly fond of discipline or much familiar with the concept of loyalty. With any luck, MacNaught’s loosely bound group of warriors would think twice about their leadership after this nasty surprise caught them unawares. William was counting on some of MacNaught’s fighters slipping away from the siege as an unprofitable venture that was likely to get a man killed when he wasn’t looking.

“When I call retreat, ye’re to make for the castle without looking behind ye. I’m taking fourteen men out. I mean to bring ye all safe to your families once this night’s work is done,” Will said with a grim smile.

To a man, they grinned gamely back at him. Too often, lairds spent the lives of their pledge-men cheaply, using them as archery fodder in set battles. Besides having genuine concern for these volunteers’ lives, William didn’t have a single man to spare.

He wished he could go mounted, but feared the sound of a horseman would be louder than men on foot. He ducked through the postern gate, the smaller opening that didn’t require the portcullis to be lifted.

“Be at the ready to let us back in,” he ordered the porter as the last bowman passed through.

The new moon was shrouded behind heavy clouds, for which Will gave thanks. It meant his small party climbing the snow-covered hill might seem to be nothing more than undulating shadows to any watchman. No alarm had been raised by the time they reached the depression William had pointed out earlier.

He tugged off his gloves and clicked his fingers, the signal they’d all agreed would replace the verbal commands to nock, draw, and loose. The hiss of arrows as they winged toward the campfire nearest the trebuchet could easily be taken for the stinging breath of the winter.

Shouts and screams told them some of the arrows had struck true. William gave the signal for another volley in the same place. The third group of arrows was directed at another prechosen fire. More cries of surprise and pain rose from the camp.

The old Vikings told tales of the Valkyries, disembodied choosers of the slain. Will’s arrows were like those mythical death-bringers. They sang a song of doom as they whizzed through the air and found their marks. Over the cries of the wounded, William heard MacNaught shouting but couldn’t hear the words well enough to tell what he was ordering.

If their positions were reversed, Will would be calling for the cavalry to mount up, so his ears pricked for any sound of horses. He gave orders for more volleys in rapid succession.

“Back to the castle,” he ordered when he heard hooves pounding their way. His men took to their heels, having been warned that this was how a sortie was conducted—a bold strike after leaving a defensive position and then a swift retreat.

How much damage they’d done, Will couldn’t say. Unless they’d managed to hit the fellow in a friar’s frock who seemed to be ordering the operation of the trebuchet, this foray was more to undermine morale than to deal a decisive blow.

Hopefully, it would wipe the smugness from Ranulf’s face when he realized his men weren’t as untouchable as he thought.

Will charged after his men, half running, half sliding down the snow-covered slope. As they neared the gate, he did a quick count and found himself one man short. He turned back to see Hew MacElmurray still in place, emptying his quiver, his movements fluid and full of deadly grace. There was barely a stop between one shot and the next.

“Hew!” Will shouted. “Retreat!”

“Only a few more,” came the answer. Half a dozen of MacNaught’s horsemen were almost upon him.

“No!” William drew his sword and ran back up the slope. Hew ducked at the last moment, barely escaping a horseman’s blade that would have sheared off his head like a rabbit’s.

Hew’s father shouted at his son to retreat but the lad loosed one more arrow at an oncoming rider before taking to his heels. The horseman took the arrow full in the chest and toppled from his mount, but five more barreled after him. Hew rushed past William, who braced his feet and wielded his claymore with both hands before the pounding charge.

As a rider bore down on his position, William dropped to one knee and gutted his mount as they flew past. The horse screamed in agony and tumbled headlong down the slope, taking the warrior on his back with him in a devastating fall. William hated the wanton destruction of dumb beasts in battle, but it was easier for a man on foot to take out the horse than the rider.

The archers he’d stationed on the wall began to shoot at the men on horseback as they came within range. The shafts zinged into the hillside around Will and his attackers. Since Hew was safe, he turned to flee while the riders milled in confusion. The archers kept the riders at a respectful distance. When they managed to bring one down in a frenzy of screaming horse and man, the rest abandoned the fight and made for MacNaught’s camp.

Battle rage still roaring in his veins, William pounded down the slope and through the postern gate. Once he was inside, the heavy bolt was thrown.

“Why?” Will grasped Hew by the collar and slammed him against the stone wall. “Why did ye not obey orders?”

Hew stammered an incoherent excuse, but Sawney MacElmurray hung his head. “I blame myself, milord. The fault is mine. Hew was ever headstrong but he was such a bonnie hunter and a fine hand with a bow, I didna teach him to mind as I should have.”

“If he canna follow orders, he’s of no use to anyone,” Will snarled. “There are enough ways for a man to die, Hew. I dinna want to have to tell your mother ye got yourself killed because ye were stupid. Now get out of my sight before I have ye whipped.”

Red-faced, Hew bolted away. Will swallowed back his fury. Young MacElmurray was the best bowman in the castle and he’d nearly lost him.

“Thank ye for risking yerself for my boy, milord.” Sawney’s eyes were moist. “Hew’s his mother’s favorite, ye ken.”

William dismissed his men to find their families. An uneasy quiet settled on the night as each side licked its wounds, but Will couldn’t afford to rest.

He passed quickly through the bailey, into the great hall, and climbed the spiral stairs. Nab met him at the opening to the earl’s chamber.

“How does Lord Glengarry fare?” he asked wearily.

“The same. He hasna twitched so much as a nose hair,” Nab said. “Jamison has come to sit by him for the rest of the night. What can I do to help ye, William?”

Will sighed deeply. Nab was no fighter. He’d improved a bit with his bow, but a few lucky shots did not a warrior make. If it came to hand-to-hand combat, Nab wouldn’t last more than a few heartbeats.

“I don’t know how ye can help,” Will said honestly.

“I’ll just bear ye company then,” the fool said. “Sometimes that’s enough.”

“I thought ye didna much care for the company of others.”

“I dinna.” Nab pulled off his fool’s cap and twisted it in his hands. “But yer company I dinna mind so much.”

Will shrugged. “Come then and we’ll see how it goes with Lady Margaret.”

Nab went owl-eyed at the prospect of visiting a lying-in, but fell gamely into step behind William as he mounted the stairs.

The rest of the castle might be enjoying a tentative peace, but Lady Margaret’s war went on. Will peeked into the chamber to find her seated in the birthing chair, her face glistening with sweat, her hands gripping the arms.

Katherine was at her side, smoothing her hair back and murmuring urgent encouragements. Kat’s face was as taut with anxiety as Margie’s was with pain. Then the contraction subsided. His sister-in-law’s head lolled forward and her arms relaxed.

Katherine straightened and happened to glance his way. Her face lit with joy. She abandoned Margie and flew to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Will, thank God.” She buried her face in his neck. “I heard ye’d led a sortie beyond the walls. I was so afraid for ye.”

Will hugged her fiercely. The welfare of every soul within Glengarry was on his shoulders, but she was all he was fighting for. This woman, this moment, all warm and silvery, there was nothing else for him in the world.

But he couldn’t lay aside his responsibilities and lose himself in her as he wished. Without releasing her from his embrace, he whispered in her ear, “I need to know if there’s a secret way out of the castle.”

She pulled back to look up at him. “A secret way out? If there is one, I dinna know of it. Do ye mean to abandon Glengarry then? Are things that bad?”

“No, we aren’t evacuating, though it may come to that. I need to send a messenger to Donald in Inverness, and going out the main gate isna an option.”

After the sortie, Ranulf had no doubt reinforced his net of watchmen around the landward sides of the castle.

“Donald?” Margie’s voice was as frail as a piece of parchment stretched thin enough to tear. “Is Donald here?”

Katherine sent him a quick look of apology and hurried back to Margaret’s side. “Not yet, dearest. But soon.” She blotted her sister-in-law’s face and neck with a wet cloth. “Donald will be here soon, won’t he, Will?”

He will if I have anything to say about it, and the bastard had better bring a hundred horsemen with him.
Will swallowed back that thought and took a step or two into the room. “We need to send word to him that his child is coming, good-sister. Is there a way to leave Glengarry besides through the portcullis?”

Badenoch Castle had a complex warren of tunnels branching off from a locked cell in the dungeon. They led to a natural cave system that wandered below ground. A man, or a hundred of them, could leave Badenoch unseen and reappear miles away. It was a closely guarded secret, known only to him and his brothers. He hadn’t even told Katherine about it. He made a mental note to do so at the first opportunity.

“No, there isna a secret way out of the castle,” Margie said between gasping breaths. “I asked Donald once why there wasn’t a way to launch a boat from the castle since the loch is so near, but he said it would undermine the walls to have another opening besides the portcullis. The walls of Glengarry are our protection.” She grimaced as another contraction seized her. “And our prison.”

Will felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Nab.

“Ask me, William. I know a secret way.”

—From “O Magnum Mysterium”

 

 

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

Chapter Thirty-One

“But I dinna know the way to Inverness, William.” Nab slogged up the crumbling stairs of his secret tower with Lord Badenoch at his heels.

“There’s naught to know. Stick to the loch shore and head northeast. When ye run out of loch, follow the river’s course and it’ll lead ye straight to Inverness. Anyone can tell ye where the king’s court is after that.”

When they reached the tower chamber, it seemed smaller than ever with William in it too. But small or not, it had been Nab’s. Now that Lord Badenoch knew about it, it would never be his again.

Why, oh why had he said anything?

“Stop at the village of Abriachan to see if the ferry is there, though it may be across the loch at Dores.” William pressed a purse that jingled into his hand. “If ye can catch the ferry, it’ll speed your journey.”

Nab didn’t want a journey, speedy or otherwise. He’d never been farther than the boundary of Glengarry lands in his whole life. His belly squirmed like a bucketful of eels.

William leaned his head out the small window and gauged the distance to the frozen loch below. “Aye, this’ll do. We’ve rope enough to lower ye down and the ice at the loch’s edge should bear your weight. If ye hug the shoreline, the land is steep enough as it rushes down to the loch that ye’re not likely to attract the attention of MacNaught’s watchmen.”

“Not likely? Can ye not do better than that, William? Not likely means there’s a chance I will be seen.”

“The fortunes of war, my friend.” Will grinned at him, clearly trying to buck up his confidence. “There are no guarantees, but I like your chances.”

“I’d like my chances better if they were somebody else’s chances,” he said as William tied one end of his rope around Nab’s waist.

Will’s falsely cheerful smile faded. “I’m countin’ on ye, Nab. We all are. And in truth . . .”

“In truth, ye canna spare anyone else,” Nab finished for him. “I understand. I canna fight, but I can bolt like a hare if need be.”

“God gives us all different gifts, Nab.” Will started to lay a steadying hand on his forearm, but seemed to remember how Nab felt about being touched and stopped himself. “It may well be that your gifts will be the saving of us all. D’ye remember the message?”

Nab rattled it off word perfect.

“Good.” William looped the other end of the rope around his own waist so he could help Nab control the rate of his descent. “Now off ye go before dawn catches ye in the open.”

“Guess I’d best return this first.” Nab took the scepter from his belt. William took it from him solemnly.

“Ye were the best Laird of Misrule I ever saw.”

“Thank ye, William.”

“No, ’tis I who should thank ye. Ye’re done with play and are acting like a laird in earnest. I’m counting on ye, Nab.”

He’d never known what it felt like to be trusted with anything of importance.

He still wished he didn’t, but he climbed into the small window in any case. Then he rolled over and lay with his belly on the sill so his arse and legs dangled over the loch below. If he looked down, he’d never have the courage to do it. He had to back into this descent. He grasped the rope with both hands, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

“Wait, Nab! I’m coming!”

It was Dorcas.

The rope slipped a bit and Nab had to scrabble his boot tips against the castle stone to remain in the window. Dorcas popped up at the head of the stairs, eyes wide when she saw where he was. Heedless of Lord Badenoch, she flew to Nab.

Without any preamble she palmed both his cheeks and kissed him right on the mouth in front of William and God and everything!

“Lady Katherine told me what ye’re doing. Nab, I’m so proud of ye I could burst.”

Nab’s belly stopped squirming and glowed with something he suspected was pride.

“But I’m that angry with ye too,” she said.

He’d never know it by the way she kept peppering his face with kisses, bussing his cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyelids.

“Why would ye leave without giving me a chance to tell ye good-bye, ye wicked, wicked man?”

He couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to because just then she thrust her tongue into his mouth. When Dorcas finally let him come up for air, he said, “I thought ye were taking up with that Hew MacElmurray.”

“I only wanted ye to think so. To make ye jealous.”

“It worked.”

William cleared his throat. “The sooner ye go, Nab, the sooner ye’ll be back.”

“Aye.” Suddenly he knew what he needed to do to keep from being afraid. “Dorcas, will ye marry me?”

“Now?” Her brows shot skyward. “Ye ask me that now when ye’re about to go get yerself killed?”

“That’s the point, ye see. Even a fool has to keep his word. If I promise to marry ye, I canna let myself be killed, can I?”

Her warm-as-a-summer-day smile washed over him, though it didn’t quite reach to his nether regions. His arse hanging over the loch was colder than a well-digger’s knee.

“Aye, Nab, I’ll marry ye.” She kissed him one last time. “And now ye must keep yer word, but ’tis not the word of a fool. ’Tis the vow of the man I love. I’ll have words with anyone, even you, who takes ye for a fool.”

With those fine words ringing in his heart, he pushed off and let William lower him down the lochward wall. Dorcas leaned out the window, her little heart-shaped face filled with both yearning and fear.

If he saw his own face in a mirror just now, he suspected he’d see the same unchancy mix.

“Push, my lady,” Beathag urged from her place on the floor before Margaret’s spread legs. “’Tis almost done, lamb. I see a wee footikin peeping. The child may be coming backward but he’s finally coming.”

Margie growled in response and bore down. Then when the contraction ceased, she trembled and panted, her head lolling on Katherine’s arm. Kat had been supporting her through the pains, and that arm felt as if hundreds of pins were pricking it, but she wouldn’t move it out from under Margie for worlds. The firelight should have bathed her sister-in-law in shades of gold, but her complexion was as pale and translucent as wet muslin.

“Kat,” she whispered.

“I’m here, dearest.”

“I feel myself going, so I do.”

Katherine cast a worried glance at Beathag, but the midwife only returned a tight-lipped grimace and lifted her shoulders in a small shrug that said, “’Tis in God’s hands.”

“If I should die, I want ye and William to foster this bairn.”

“Dinna speak so. D’ye wish to tempt the devil?” Katherine clutched Margie’s hand tightly, but her sister-in-law’s grip went limp. “Besides, Donald might have something to say about that.”

Anger flared in Margie’s eyes, and for a moment she looked more like herself. “Dinna fret on that score. Donald would have to be here first before he’d have anything to say, would he not?”

That spark of contentiousness died as the next contraction swept her up.

“Lady Katherine, do ye press down on her belly,” Beathag ordered.

Kat added her force to Margaret’s waning strength.

“Aye, that’s it. She’s coming.”

“She?” Margie stopped groaning long enough to ask.

“Aye, the head’s not out yet, but both legs are free. There’s enough bairn here for me to see that ye’ve almost got a new daughter, my lady.”

“God be praised.” Then Margie grunted like an old sow and the child came forth. “A wee lassie! Oh, I so wanted a girl-child.” The bairn sucked in her first breath and wailed her little head off. Margie chuckled weakly. “Maybe just not such a noisy one.”

“’Tis a beautiful noise.” Katherine hugged Margie and kissed her cheek. Beathag didn’t say anything. She was too busy tying off the birth cord.

“Here, Lady Katherine. Kindly take the bairn and give her a proper cleaning before ye present her to her lady mother.” The midwife pressed the squirming bundle into Katherine’s arms. “Lady Margaret, yer labor isna quite done, but I promise ’twill be much easier now.”

While Margie passed the afterbirth, Katherine took the child to the washbasin and sponged off the blood and mucus. The baby’s skin was softer than a mole’s belly. As Kat washed her, the little one stopped crying and blinked slowly, her dark eyes enormous. A crest of fine hair of indeterminate color topped her perfectly shaped head and she had all her fingers and toes. Katherine didn’t think she’d ever seen anything quite so lovely in all her life.

Kat swaddled the babe tightly and then hugged her close, inhaling her newness, a last whiff of heaven. Judging from the midwife’s chatter, things were going well with Margie now.

Kat breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Margie deserved something easy. She carried the child back to Margie, whose color had improved out of all knowing, and placed her in her mother’s arms.

As she watched Margie and her new daughter become acquainted, a fist formed in her heart. She shoved the feeling away. She didn’t want it claiming space in her heart. It was unworthy.

Jealousy was a bruise that never went away. It hurt to touch it, so she made a conscious effort not to.

But it was always there.

“I’m going to name you Katherine, after your beautiful auntie,” Margie told the bairn. Then she looked up at Kat. “But we’ll call her Kitty so there’ll be no confusion.” She clasped Kat’s hand. “Thank ye for being here for me. I couldna have . . . I wouldna—”

“Come, my lady,” Beathag interrupted. “Ye’ve had a long and trying day . . . and night, come to that! Past time we got ye into bed. Lady Katherine, if ye’ll send for the wet nurse—”

“No,” Margie interrupted back. “I’ll suckle this one myself.”

“Weel, that might be for the best, my lady,” Beathag said. “It’ll make ye less likely to bear again so soon.”

“Why have ye never said so? If ’tis true, that’s the sort of thing that ought to be more generally known. If someone had told me before this, I’d have nursed all my bairns,” Margie said, some of the usual vinegar creeping back into her voice. Then she cast an appraising eye at Katherine. “Ye should find your bed too, Kat. Ye look all in.”

“Trust ye to think of others even at a time like this.” Kat pressed a kiss to the crown of Margie’s head and stroked her niece’s cheek. “I’ll see ye both in the morning.”

Wearily, she slogged up the stairs to her chamber, wondering if she’d be able to fight sleep long enough to peel off her clothing. When she reached her room, she was met by a sight that assured she’d stay awake.

William was waiting for her there, naked as Adam. He was seated in the earl’s copper tub. Flickers of firelight kissed his bare chest and steam curled from the surface of the water.

“Will ye care to join me, wife?”