Ayrshire Murders

by E R Dillon

  A particularly raucous group of young soldiers at a table nearby launched into a bawdy drinking song. At the end of each chorus, they clanked their pewter cups together, sloshing the contents and roaring with good-natured drunken laughter.

  Before long, Maize brought to Kyle’s table a cup of ale and a hollowed-out loaf of stale bread filled with thick chicken stew. After paying her for his food, he started in on it. It smelled better than it tasted, but it was hot and he was hungry.

  As Maize walked away, the handsome young soldier caught her around the waist and pulled her onto his knee. He and those at the table with him joined in the singing. This time, she stayed put, as though transfixed by the angelic tenor of his voice, which soared above the earthbound, and sometimes off-key, baritones around him.

  Kyle finished eating just as another soldier tried to wrestle Maize from the handsome young soldier’s grasp. The ensuing tussle rapidly escalated into a brawl, with onlookers jostling each other and throwing punches at anyone within reach.

  A pair of scuffling soldiers tumbled onto Kyle’s table, squashing the remains of his meal beneath them. He heaved them onto the floor and got to his feet. Rather than attempting to break up the fracas, he started toward the door. It would soon end anyway, when the participants grew either too weary or too thirsty to continue brawling.

  A burly soldier with a red face barred his way, balling a meaty fist to take a swing at him. Kyle blocked the punch and landed a solid blow to the man’s stomach, causing him to fold over and crumple to the floor, his hands clutched to his fleshy belly.

  Kyle pushed his way across the room, thrusting aside all who crossed his path. He almost made it to the door when someone crowded him from behind. He would have ignored it, except for the slight tug he felt on the sheath at his side. He turned in time to see the handsome young soldier directly behind him, grappling with an older man who clutched a familiar-looking dirk in his calloused hand.

  The young soldier clasped the wrist of the older man’s knife hand and wrenched his other arm up his back. “Drop it,” he said, applying pressure to the twisted arm.

  The older man complied, his yellow teeth gritted in pain. “I didn’t mean no harm,” he whined. He was leaner and taller than the young soldier holding him fast. The skin of his face was pitted from a childhood disease, and a prominent nose dominated his sharp features. His eyes were as black as obsidian and filled with malice.

  The young soldier shoved the older man away and stooped to retrieve the dirk. “I believe this is yours,” he said, handing it back to Kyle, who returned it to his sheath.

  The older man cast a baleful glance at both Kyle and the handsome young soldier before he disappeared into the fray.

  “Thanks,” Kyle said. He went on through the tavern door, grateful to be outside. He filled his lungs with the cold night air as he crossed the courtyard to the stable.

  ****

  At sunrise the next morning, the bells of St. John’s rang in the hour of prime. The sky was clear and held the promise of a fine spring day to come.

  Kyle mounted the steep wooden steps to the guard walk along the top of the garrison wall to seek out the officer of the watch. “How fares Turnbull since his injury?” he said, addressing the stout Englishman standing at his post.

  The officer of the watch huddled in his wool cloak against the sharp wind blowing in from the firth. “Master John says he’ll be fit for duty in a day or so. I look forward to when he’s on his feet and out from under mine.”

  “At least he’s on the mend,” Kyle said. “I’m going to see Sir Aiden Ross this morning about one of his retainers, and I want Upton to come with me. I’d like to take Vinewood, too, if he’s available.”

  “That won’t be a problem. I’ll send someone to tell them to saddle up and meet you at the sheriff’s office.”

  “They are to bear light arms, without armor. Sir Ross is a mite twitchy about English troops invading his keep.”

  “But it will just be the two of them.”

  “Sir Ross is likely to take it amiss if he sees even a couple of fully armed soldiers tramping across his drawbridge. You don’t want to be responsible for causing an incident, do you?”

  “Of course not,” the officer said with a worried frown. “I’ll advise Upton and Vinewood to dress as you request.”

  Kyle gave the man a reassuring nod before he descended the steps. He crossed the courtyard to the stable, where he saddled the gelding. He went back to the sheriff’s office, leaving the horse tied to the rail outside.

  A quarter of an hour later, a knock on the door brought him to his feet. He opened the door to Upton, with the handsome young soldier from the tavern standing behind him, holding the reins of their horses in his hand.

  Both young men were bareheaded, clad as though for a day’s outing, in tan leather jerkins over off-white linen shirts and brown wool leggings. Each wore a sword under his short russet cloak.

  “This is Vinewood,” Upton said, jerking his thumb at his companion.

  “We’ve met,” Kyle said with a wry smile.

  “So he told me,” Upton said. “I understand Weems tried to stab you from behind last night.”

  “Without success,” Kyle said. “Thanks to Vinewood.”

  “He’s not to be trusted, that one,” Vinewood said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t turn my back on him.”

  “I don’t plan to,” Kyle said, “now that I know who he is.”

  “It’s a pleasant day for a ride,” Upton said with a wide grin.

  “That it is,” Kyle said, glancing up at the streaks of bright gold across the eastern sky. “Let’s away.”

  The three of them mounted their horses and rode from the garrison. They turned south to follow the coastal road past Alloway. Sandy beaches sloping gently into the sea soon gave way to rock formations, high cliffs, and pounding surf. Seagulls spiraled down from roosts on the crags, filling the air with piercing screams as they swooped and glided on the updrafts.

  Kyle was thankful to be out in the open, with the wind in his face and the crash of breakers in his ears. Upton seemed especially pleased to be in attendance, as reflected by the contented smile on his face when he apparently thought no one was looking.

  The Ross keep soon came into view, perched on the edge of a precipice, overlooking the churning waters of the Firth of Clyde below. High stone walls protected the inland sides, while the sea guarded its back. The single round tower, visible over the curtain walls, was smaller than that of most of the fortresses situated along the western coast, but it was equally imposing with its crenellated parapets and slotted windows. A narrow causeway led up to the wooden drawbridge spanning a deep gorge. The lowered portcullis barred access to the arched entryway.

  The ring of hooves on stone alerted the gatekeeper, who hailed them from a watchtower on the wall above them. Kyle identified himself and those with him, after which the gatekeeper signaled for someone within the walls to raise the portcullis.

  The heavy chain that hoisted the great iron barrier screeched and groaned until the winch ground to a halt. They passed under the iron teeth of the portcullis and rode through the stone entryway into the courtyard beyond, where a dozen men and women went about their daily duties. A stable, a store house, and other outbuildings lined the inside of the curtain wall, along with pens filled with pigs and cows. Chickens roamed freely, pecking and scratching the hard surface of the ground at will.

  A young groom came out from the stable to take the reins of the horses as Kyle and the two English soldiers dismounted.

  A comely young woman in her late teens with hair the color of honey came down the steps leading up to the tower. Light green ribbons dangled from her dark green linen dress, richly embroidered at the neck and around the cuffs. She started across the courtyard to greet Kyle, although her step faltered when she saw Upton and Vinewood standing behind him.

  Kyle remembered seeing her with Joneta at the marketplace a couple of days ago. Her presence there at the
keep jogged his memory as to why she had looked so familiar to him at the time. “Elspeth Ross, you’re all grown up now, and just as pretty as can be.”

  She blushed, which only added to her childish beauty. “Ye flatter me, Master Kyle. I know ye came to see Father, so I’ll take ye straight up to him.” She hesitated, her eyes on Upton and Vinewood. “Perhaps they should remain here. Ye know how Father is.”

  “I do, indeed,” Kyle said. He was well acquainted with Aiden Ross’s opinion of the English, which obviously remained unchanged since he last spoke to the man six years earlier.

  Elspeth’s eyes seemed drawn to Upton. Her expression softened as her gaze clung to his face, intent on every detail. He returned her ardent look with naked longing for her.

  Vinewood flashed a winsome smile her way, but she hardly spared him a second glance, despite his handsome features.

  “Well, well,” Kyle said to Vinewood in a low voice. “So that’s the way the wind blows. No wonder he was so keen to come here. Does Sir Ross know of his daughter’s amour with an Englishman?”

  “I don’t think so,” Vinewood said. “Otherwise, he would bar Upton from entry.”

  “They need to be discreet,” Kyle said, “or word will reach Sir Ross soon enough.” He let out a sigh. Only one woman ever looked at him like that, and that was many years ago. He started toward the tower, shaking his head over the folly of youth, leaving the lovers together, oblivious to all but each other, she with her light green ribbons fluttering in the breeze, and he with a crooked grin on his face.

  Before he reached the steps leading up to the tower, Elspeth tore herself away from Upton and hurried to catch up with him.

  “Forgive my lapse in manners, Master Kyle,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “No harm done,” he said, with a twinge of regret. Without meaning to do so, she gave him a glimpse of what was missing from his life.

  Together, they mounted the hewn steps. At the top, he opened the door to the tower and held it for her to pass through. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your father. Is he keeping well these days?”

  “As well as can be expected,” she said.

  She led the way across the main hall and up a flight of steps in the curved stairwell. At the landing, she paused to knock on a sturdy oak door. When a muffled voice inside the chamber bade her to enter, she opened the door and stepped aside for Kyle to go in alone.

  Sir Aiden Ross rose from one of a pair of high-backed chairs situated in front of a crackling blaze in a fireplace large enough to roast an ox. He was short and stocky, with graying hair and blunt features in a bearded face. He crossed the timber-plank floor of the tower room to greet his visitor. His stride was vigorous for a man of middle age, and he carried his head low in his powerful shoulders, giving the impression of a charging bull. The woolen tunic he wore was as unadorned as the stone walls around him.

  “Come in, come in,” he said in a forceful tone. “Warm yerself by the fire.”

  Kyle entered the chamber, which smelled of newly cut logs and burning hardwood. A trestle table in the center with benches on either side held a decanter and goblets made of silver. Exposed beams overhead supported the floor of the chamber above. Narrow slits in the thick stone walls let in not only chilly air and morning light, but the incessant crash of frenzied waves against the base of the cliff far below.

  Sir Ross poured wine from the decanter into two goblets and thrust into each a hot poker from the fireplace. He held out the goblets, letting his guest choose one and taking the other for himself. They settled themselves in the chairs before the fireplace and exchanged the customary civilities while they sipped their drink.

  “Good wine, this,” Kyle said, stretching out his legs to the fire to warm his booted feet. “French, I think.”

  “Aye,” Sir Ross said. “Hard to come by in these parts, unless ye know a smuggler or two who will oblige.”

  Kyle cast an inquiring glance at his host. “Really?”

  Sir Ross shifted in his chair, as though he suddenly recalled that he sat in the company of a man of law. “Not that I would deal with smugglers or any of that lot,” he said with fervor.

  “Perish the thought,” Kyle said. He took another sip of wine to hide a smile.

  Sir Ross cleared his throat. “Glad we sorted that out. Now tell me, what brings ye out this way?”

  “Murder, I’m afraid,” Kyle said. “Captain Jack Sweeney of Ayr Garrison was found stabbed to death at the Bull and Bear Tavern early yesterday morning.”

  “What has that to do with me?”

  “A retainer in your employ was heard to threaten Sweeney shortly before the murder took place. His name is Hew, and I have a few questions to put to him.”

  “I know the lad. He’s a harmless pup. Otherwise, I would not let him drive Elspeth to town in the carriage whenever she wants to go. He drove her there the other day. I remember because she came back so late. She never usually stays out that late. That’s the only reason I noticed.”

  “Is Hew here now?”

  “He’s around somewhere,” Sir Ross said. “I’ll send for him.” He heaved himself to his feet and crossed the room to open the door. He bellowed for Elspeth, filling the stairwell with the echo of his booming voice.

  A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. “Ye called, Father?”

  “Fetch Hew for me, will ye?” Sir Ross said. He closed the door and resumed his seat before the fire. “Nasty business, murder. Heard some unsavory things about Sweeney, though. I cannot say I’m sorry to hear he’s dead. He and his men trampled a tenant of mine about a month gone. Hanged him on a tree in the woods, they did. Sir Percy heard of it, but he did nothing. The man ran, ye see, and Sweeney and his lot claimed they mistook him for the rebel they were chasing.” He shook his head, a sad expression on his ruddy face. “Left a young wife and a newborn babe behind. A real shame.”

  “Sir Percy wants Sweeney’s murderer brought to justice as soon as possible.”

  “Too bad,” Sir Ross said without sympathy. He stared into the fire as he sipped his wine. “Such a pretty little thing, she was. I told her she could stay on here, but she took the babe and went to live with her in-laws.” A knock on the door brought his head around. “Come in,” he hollered over his shoulder. He got up to sit at the table and gestured for Kyle to join him there.

  A freckled, coltish boy of seventeen, all knees and elbows in a sleeveless gray tunic, walked through the doorway. He stopped short when he saw Kyle seated at the table. His brown eyes shifted to Sir Ross. “Ye sent for me, Master Aiden?” he said in a respectful tone.

  “The sheriff’s deputy has some questions for ye,” Sir Ross said.

  The closed and wary expression on the young retainer’s face did not perturb Kyle in the least. He often encountered such defensive behavior during official inquiries, even from those with nothing to hide. “Hew, is it?”

  “Aye,” Hew said slowly, as though reluctant to admit to his name.

  “You were seen at the Bull and Bear Tavern on Monday evening,” Kyle said. “What was your business there?”

  Fear stole across Hew’s face, only to vanish in the blink of an eye. “Gaming.”

  Kyle’s eyelid twitched involuntarily at the mention of a pastime that had held him in its thrall years earlier. Although he steered clear of that particular vice nowadays, he understood the irresistible appeal it held for those who gave themselves over to it. “How much did you lose?”

  “Every penny in my purse,” Hew said with vehemence. “And then some.”

  “Who extended credit to you?”

  “A Southron by the name of Lucky Jack. They should call him ‘Cheating Jack,’ because that’s what he does.”

  “A witness says you threatened Lucky Jack before you left the tavern.”

  “I might have done. He fiddled me out of all my money.”

  “All your money, and then some.”

  “Aye,” Hew said. “He wants me to square the
debt by Sunday next, or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “He didn’t say,” Hew said, “but I’ve heard tales of what happens to those who cross him.” He looked as though he was about to burst into tears. “There’s no way I can come up with the money by then. I need more time.”

  “Are you aware,” Kyle said, “that Lucky Jack was murdered shortly after you left the tavern?”

  On hearing the news, Hew’s mouth fell open in astonishment. His dubious gaze slid to Sir Ross, who nodded his head in confirmation. “Dead,” he said with reverent awe, although he looked more relieved than worried.

  Kyle lapsed into silence, his eyes on Hew, who was of a size to fit through the cramped tavern window. The young retainer was certainly strong enough to lower himself to the ground below without breaking a bone in the process. In spite of that, Maize’s assessment of her brother seemed to be accurate after all, for Hew did not strike him as a murderer.

  Hew fidgeted under Kyle’s scrutiny, shifting from one foot to the other. Then suddenly, his eyes widened in horrified comprehension. Anxiety crowded out the relief on face. “Ye don’t think I did it, do ye?” he said, visibly shaken.

  “What time did you arrive back here on Monday night?” Kyle said.

  Hew gnawed on his bottom lip. “Shortly after compline. I heard the bells ringing. There was time enough to rub down the horse and clean the tack before I sought my pallet for the night.”

  “Thank you, Hew,” Kyle said. “You may go.”

  Hew hesitated for only an instant before scuttling away. He paused at the doorway to give Sir Ross a hasty salute, after which he vanished into the stairwell.

  “What do ye think?” Sir Ross said.

  “He didn’t do it,” Kyle said. “I shall speak to the gatekeeper on the way out to confirm the time of Hew’s return on Monday night, but from what I gathered after speaking with him, he is not the one I seek.”