by Reece Butler
“Methinks we’ll have a wee chat on this,” he declared.
Her heart thundered. “One doesna chat with their hands or cock.”
“We will chat after,” he replied. His eyes blazed as he reached for her.
Chapter 17
“I dinna like the Campbell lad. He looks shifty. And he’s clumsy.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. Tearlach, Sir Tearlach, had been against the lad from the start. “Ye make Hamish nervous, glaring at him as ye do,” replied Isabel. “And he’s constantly being tripped and pushed behind yer back.”
“Hamish? Ye will call him Campbell, as do the rest of us.”
She called them by their first names so that they were just lads, not members of specific clans. Of course Tearlach only heard and saw what he wanted to, so Hamish was wrong no matter what. She gritted her teeth, nodding as if she agreed.
“Isabel, the herald said there’d be six lads. The Earl of Argyll demanded this Campbell be added. ’Tis suspicious, aye?” Tearlach gave her his pompous “I be the laird so I be right” look. “In case ye dinna ken what I mean, Campbells are our enemy. He kens it, and so fears me.”
“Tearlach, ye are four inches past six feet with more muscle than a mule,” she said with extreme patience. A patience that was quickly running out. “The lad is but a wee bit taller than I am. Ye’ve seen him enough with his shirt off to ken he’s been starved and beaten. Yet ye snarl at him each time ye catch sight of him. Of course the lad flinches from ye!”
She didn’t add that her dear husband was as stubborn as a mule in addition to being as well muscled. She couldn’t be punished for what she didn’t say. At least, she hoped she couldn’t. He leaned over to glare at her from a few inches away.
“I dinna wish my wife near a Campbell. ’Tis an order, for yer safety. Aye?”
Anything to do with safety was an order that could not be disobeyed. She didn’t have to like it, though. She glowered at him. “Tommy likes him.”
He reared to full height. “Tommy. Is. A. Cat!”
“Aye! He has no feud to label a person by their name alone. He kens what is inside.” She tapped her breastbone with her knuckles. His eyes lingered on her breasts. She crossed her arms, making sure to cover them rather than put her arms under as that lifted them and encouraged him to touch.
Tearlach sighed heavily. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wife, if ye have sommat to say about yer wee cat, do it now.”
“Tommy doesna like Lenny.”
“Lenny Shaw?” His eyebrows reached his hair. “The lad is one of the best! He’s always trying hard, helping the others—”
“Only when ye or Rory watch. When ye turn away he flashes a look that ’tis quite different. He trips and pushes Hami—.” She stopped in time. “The Campbell lad.”
“Ye canna judge a lad by a flash of his eyes. And Campbell is clumsy. ’Tis common with a squint.”
It wasn’t so much a squint as the lad pushing his eyebrows together in worry but, as always, Tearlach wouldn’t listen.
“Ye will judge him by sommat he canna help and a name he was born with?”
“Enough! Ye will stay far from them all!”
The explosion was his usual way of distancing himself from the truth. A part of him must agree with her, a part he wished to hide. He gave her a look she’d learned meant there was no point in continuing as he’d made up his mind. She’d hoped this training session might draw them together. Instead it was pushing them far apart.
If he wished to behave like a belligerent so-and-so, so be it. Arguing made her stomach queasy. So did the tension of sleeping next to him when he was in a foul mood. She would sleep in the north garret tonight.
Again.
He would believe what he wished. He’d already turned away to watch the lads. She stomped away. Men only saw what they wanted. Especially Sir Tearlach. Well, he could sleep rough with the lads for the last fortnight for all she cared!
She forced a smile at Mary, hard at work in the kitchen, before stomping up the stairs to her solar. She was tired, her back ached, and she wished to lie down. But she did not want to be found in bed if one of her husbands stopped by the house. They took her naps as an invitation to wake her up and play.
“Such choler isna good for a babe,” said Janet when Isabel flopped into the padded chair beside her. “Ye should be working on yer painting. ’Tis lovely what ye are doin’ on the wall.”
Isabel had placed the large tapestry of fantastical beasts in the hall where all could see it. She was decorating her solar with her paints, doing whatever she wished as it was a room for women. If the men didn’t like it, they could go elsewhere. She’d been contemplating painting Tearlach’s face in the garb of a fool, complete with donkey ears, as she’d seen on the ceiling of the king’s presence chamber at Stirling Castle. The likelihood of it had just increased.
“I’m too fretful to paint.” Unable to sit, she got up to pace. “My oaf of a husband doesna believe me about that nasty Lenny Shaw. Nor about wee Hamish Campbell.”
“When a man has been raised in a bitter feud, fed on vile stories dripping with blood and gore, he willna see the truth until he’s thwacked on the head. Repeatedly.” Janet bit off her thread. She folded the well-mended shirt and set it aside. “There. I would refuse to fix Hamish’s few clothes if I didna ken that Lenny rips them on purpose.”
“Ah,” replied Isabel in a daft sing-song voice, “did ye nay ken that wee Hamish is clumsy. ’Tis the fault of his squint, ye see. The lad should be more careful when Lenny kicks at him and trips him and—arrgghh!!” She stomped her bare feet in a dance like a bairn having a tantrum.
Janet chose another piece of mending. “Did that wee bit of fury help?”
“I will be sleeping in the north garret until my husband finishes this training.”
Janet paused. “They willna like sneaking in to visit ye in the night and findin’ yer bed empty. They’ll say ye be havin’ a wee sulk.”
“They would be right.” She tapped her foot, thinking. “Tearlach wishes me to stay away from the lads for safety, so I—” She grinned. “That’s it! I will sleep in the garret for safety.” She batted her eyes like a sweetly meek maiden. “My husband is that worried for my health that I’d best sleep in a place hard to get to, as ’twill make it harder for wee Hamish to murder me in my sleep.”
Janet’s low chuckle soothed her jangled nerves. She flopped back in the chair.
“Ye are a smart one, turning his words to get what ye wish.”
“Not that smart,” replied Isabel. “I shall have to warn Mary and Sam to keep the children from Lenny. I dinna trust him not to harm them. Oh, ’twill be an accident, of course, but the wee ones will still be crying.”
Janet put down her sewing. “I will speak to Herald Murray about this.” She held up her hand. “Nay, just that the big lads are a bit too wild for the little ones and ’twould be best if they stay down by the river.”
* * * *
Something was amiss, but he couldn’t figure out what. Rory looked around the dim yard. All was quiet. There was just one more day left in the training. They’d kept a close eye on Hamish Campbell, but he’d not done anything wrong, other than being far too clumsy. Rory had recently noticed the lad was only clumsy when Lenny Shaw was near. He’d watched from a distance that day with a spyglass. The much bigger Shaw hit Hamish far harder than he did the others when sparring, especially when Tearlach’s back was turned. Yet the lad had done nothing in return, as if accepting pain as his due.
He felt his brother’s fury before the soft footsteps had him turning. “Aye,” he whispered. “Sommat is wrong.”
“Campbell isna where he should be.”
“Who else is missing?”
“What?” Tearlach thought, frowning. “Shaw, but he’s likely taking a leak.”
“Why Shaw and not Campbell?”
“Because Campbell—”
“I watched today while yer back was turned. Shaw beat Campbell hard, aga
in and again. Did ye not see the bruises on the lad?”
“Aye, but he’s clumsy—”
“If he’s so clumsy then how does he beat the other lads, though they be bigger, even Shaw. But only when ye are watching.” Rory waited. Tearlach could be bullheaded, but he came by it honestly. When necessary he could also think. He’d better think tonight.
“Damn,” whispered Tearlach. “Isabel was right.” He grimaced. “I hate it when my wife is right.”
“Because ye always look like a fool.” Rory frowned. “As ’tis plain they dislike each other, so they arena getting into trouble together. So who is leading the trouble, and who is watching, mayhaps trying to stop it? And what trouble is it?”
They both looked up to the north garret. It was high summer, so the sun lingered. Isabel was tired at night so went to sleep early. As they watched the wavering candle went out. Isabel was safe. Who did that leave? Mary and Sam would be in the south garret with their children. That left…
“Where’s wee Jenny?”
“Home in the village with Janet and her blacksmith,” replied Tearlach. “She was told not to visit.”
Rory shook his head. “Jenny was here after supper. I came up to talk with Sam about the farm, and she showed me her new ribbon. Yellow, it was.”
They quickly walked around the yard between the stables and the house. Nothing.
“Let’s walk to the village,” suggested Tearlach, his voice tight.
All knew Jenny ran back and forth on her own between Calltuin and the village as it was safe. Or it had been safe until seven unknown young men arrived. Rory’s eyes were better than Tearlach’s, so he was the one to spot it. A yellow ribbon, ten feet off the path, caught in a bramble bush.
“Jenny would never lose something so precious,” said Rory. They approached carefully, reading the signs as best they could in the fading light. He pointed to the broken branches. “She could have run in here to escape, hiding under the thorns as she’s so wee.” They went around the bramble patch. The grass was trampled. “It didna work. He caught her.”
Tearlach pointed to the thin trail. “And then he carried her off.” They both looked around. “To where, though?”
“Did ye not have the lads look for places to ambush, and to hide? What did they report on up here?”
“The Stuart lad found an abandoned badger den.”
Rory looked at the sky. “’Tis time for ye to check the lads. I would say Campbell is wrapped up in his plaid, asleep and Shaw is missing.” He slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Ye check the lads. I’ll look for Jenny. Ye’ll ken when I find her?”
Tearlach exhaled. “Aye, and I hope ’tis a feeling of joy I get from ye, brother.”
“Go.”
Tearlach trotted back the way they’d come. When he got to the road he put on a burst of speed. Rory knew how he felt. Guilty and furious at himself. Rory felt a bit of the same. He pushed it away, bringing the cold, clear, concentration he’d need. He’d go as quickly as he could, following the trail while he had enough light. Luckily this time Shaw was the clumsy one. There was a wet patch and Rory knelt. He found two sets of footprints. Wide, heavy ones that sank down, which would be Shaw carrying Jenny, and slim, light ones. Perhaps a lad had seen it, had already found Jenny and was bringing her back. And perhaps that was part of Shaw’s plan. Have Campbell found rescuing Jenny, while he claimed Campbell was the one who’d taken her.
Jaw set grimly, Rory started up the hill.
* * * *
“Shh, wee Jenny, I ken ye are frightened, but ye are safe now. I found ye, and will bring ye to Calltuin, and to the Lady Isabel.”
It was the whimpers that had allowed him to find her. It was dark under the trees and the old badger den was just another darker spot. He’d had to watch as Shaw ripped strips from her clothes to cover her eyes and mouth before doing the same to her hands and feet. Hamish had followed, unable to do much more than mark the trail. He knew the much larger lad could easily kill Jenny. It had been torture to watch the wee lass struggling as he followed far enough behind to watch yet not be seen. Thank God Shaw had stuffed her feet-first in the hole. He’d not have heard her otherwise, and she could have suffocated. He hoped it meant Shaw wished to scare rather than kill her.
He had no idea why Shaw would so such a thing, but he wasn’t surprised. His brothers and cousins were as bad. He’d been almost killed by their pranks and sheer viciousness more than once.
“I be Hamish, Jenny,” he said soothingly as he frantically dug with his hands. His dull knife would have been of use but Shaw had broken the blade. Just another “accident” by a clumsy oaf of a lad. “I ken ye have a pair of sweet kitties ye named Mud and Dirt. If they were here they’d help me dig, aye? And did ye also name Tommy? He has a purr that’s so loud it sounds like a bee tree full of honey.”
He cleared the worst of the dirt from her face.
“Keep yer eyes closed when I pull this off ye. We dinna wish dirt to fall in them.” He pulled off her blindfold. Flashes of clean spots showed where her tears had flowed. “I’ll take this out of yer mouth now.” He eased the lump of cloth away, allowing her to breathe. She inhaled. He braced himself for her scream.
“Tommy likes ye?” she asked in a wavering voice.
He slumped for a moment. Jenny was safe, and sane. He went back to digging. Badgers’ holes were wider than high, to match their shape. They had claws to dig and rip away small roots. Their thick fur protected them from the broken ends of roots. Jenny’s thin gown wouldn’t protect her skin so he had to make more room to help her get out.
“I think Tommy likes me,” he said to keep her mind off her situation. “When he sits on my lap his claws dig in, but his fur’s so soft and his purr so loud that ’tis worth a bit of pain.”
He reached his skinny arm inside the hole close beside her. Her knees were bent, hands near them. He pulled his arm out. A few sharp roots dug into his skin. He ignored the pain and kept digging.
“Do ye hurt, wee Jenny?”
“Nay, but I be scared. He tied my hands and feet so I canna move.”
“Ye are a brave lass. ’Twas smart to drop yer new ribband so we could find ye.” She’d dropped it and he’d tied it higher, taking the chance Shaw would take a faster route back to their camp.
“Ye saw it?”
“Aye. ’Tis a bonny yellow. When Sir Tearlach gets ye all cleaned up he’ll be sure to buy ye dozens.”
His only sister, Margaret, had loved ribbons. She was much older, but he remembered her showing them to him. She had to keep them hidden as their brothers loved to destroy anything either of them cherished. He was sure it was due to Margaret that he was sent here to train. He hoped to see her again someday. Maybe her new husband would soon die and this time leave her something so she’d not have to return to Meggernie Castle. She’d promised to take him in if her new husband allowed it but he didn’t hold out hope. No one wanted him. At least Lady Isabel and Jenny, and the other little ones, had smiled at him.
“Do ye think he’ll let me tie ribbands on Mud and Dirt?”
“He might, but do ye think yer kitties would like a ribband around their necks?” He was almost ready to haul her out.
She sighed. “’Twould make them pretty, but I dinna like this around me neck, so I expect the kitties willna like it either.”
“Mayhaps they’d like it if ye towed a bit of string along the floor for them.” He’d seen Mary do that with Tommy to amuse the littlest bairn.
“Can I get out now?”
“Aye, though if there are roots they may poke ye. So call out, and I’ll stop and find them.”
It took a while but he got the brave little lass out. He swore at not having a knife to cut the ties that cut cruelly into her wrists and ankles, then had to explain why he’d said such a thing. He lifted her into his arms. She was heavy, and he didn’t wish to drop her so he sat her in his lap and slid down the hill, making it a game. When it was less steep he carried her slowly, arms strain
ing, toward the path.
He was concentrating so hard on not dropping her that he didn’t notice the dark shape until it was right in front of them. The man grabbed, wrapping his arms around Hamish’s back, squeezing Jenny between them so neither fell.
“Good lad, ye found Jenny?”
“Aye, sir,” he answered, unsure whether it was Sir Tearlach or the brother that looked so much like him.
“My hands and feet are tied, Rory. Hamish doesna have a dirk no more. The bad one broke it. It hurts sommat awful.”
Her weight was lifted. Hamish staggered, ashamed that he had to sit before falling. Rory sat beside him without a word, Jenny in his lap. He held out his dirk.
“I’ll give ye the honors, Hamish. Ye saved our wee lassie, and we willna forget it.”
He’d cut the bonds, carefully so as not to hurt her skin even more, before he realized he’d been called by his first name, not his clan. But this was Rory, not Sir Tearlach, who hated him for what his uncles had done to their clan. He hated most of those in his clan as well. All but Margaret. He loved her but the others thought she was of no use but to sell in marriage. He wished he could save her from that, but he had no power.
He had saved Jenny, though. If he died now, his life would have been worth something.
“Nay, keep the blade,” said Rory. “’Tis the least we can do to thank ye.” He cleared his throat. “My brother and I have a few apologies to make, but they’ll keep until my twin is with us.”
“Tommy likes Hamish,” said Jenny in her high, eager voice.
“Aye, no doubt he does. My brother Ewan has the Sight. He said we were to watch Tommy and learn from him.”
“Then I like Ewan,” said Jenny.
“Do ye ken who tied ye?” asked Rory.
“Aye, ’tis that nasty lad who tried to kick Tommy.”
“He kicked Tommy and didn’t get his face slashed?”
“Nay.” Jenny waggled her head. “Tommy’s smart. He’ll wait for the right time.” She put her hand on Hamish’s arm. It was small and dirty, but her trust in him made him feel good. “Ro-dick tried to hurt Isabel afore she were married. Tommy slashed his face with his claws.” She giggled. “I didna see that, but I was peekin’ out the window and saw Isabel throw her rolling pin at Ro-dick. She hit him in the head and knocked him over.” More giggles.
