by Lee Arthur
"With that name?" The voice switched to another language that could have been Latin.
When Seamus didn't respond, the voice resumed in Scots. "I did, indeed, spend some time in Italy. The winter we left, I accompanied Albany and 10,999 others on a campaign to conquer Naples. It was a fool's errand. In the year we were there, I learned much besides the language. Eventually, Madame Louise, the Queen Mother, paid to have us evacuated." There was no emotion in Jamie's voice. He was all matter of fact.
Seamus was disconcerted, and protested this calmness in his own way. "Well, that's all behind you now, Jamie. Now you'll be Seaforth."
"Seaforth? Maybe. But not Jamie. There is another Jamie. Seamus, in your old age, your eyes are going bad. You have not noticed my little companion." He pushed a child out into the dim flickering light. Seamus thought for a moment he was seeing a ghost. Here was the Jamie of twenty years before.
"Who?"
"I told you. My son."
The child stared up at the giant of a man. At the look of bewilderment in those deep blue eyes, something inside Seamus was touched.
"Your son? You're married?"
"Do no' be putting words in my mouth."
"But his mother... who, we didn't hear—" He was cut short.
"Are you planning to spend the rest of the night in that boat, or are we going to be on our way? The message I received implied urgency. Or am I mistaken? Besides, I see three giants whose acquaintance I need to renew. But is there no fair young maiden with them? Did those three boys finally manage to lose their sister? No, don't tell me, I've got it. They married her off!"
Seamus suddenly found himself just as eager to be under way as de Wynter had been moments before. Somehow, he did not like the turn this conversation was taking. Devorguilla and Jamie, as a combination, was one thing. Devorguilla and the de Wynter—that thought bothered him. It made him curt. "No, Devorguilla's back at Seaforth." He turned on his heel. "Come, you're right. We should be on our way."
CHAPTER 6
The outrider wheeled his horse and came galloping back, pulling it showily but cruelly to a halt before Seamus. "Campbells, Captain!"
"No mistake?"
"With that red hair and those piggy faces?" The rider laughed, tossing his spyglass from hand to hand, then to his captain. "Come, see for yourself. They wear the wild myrtle, the old man's badge."
"Pudding pricks!" Would nothing go right on this journey? Seamus wondered. It had been two days since they had left the cave secreted behind Spindle Rock. Leaving the baggage to follow under - guard, they had traveled light. With the child alternating riding before him or de Wynter—Seamus wondered if he'd ever grow accustomed to using that name—they had ridden cross-country, avoiding the lone castle or armed manor, keeping their distance.
Not even at Diimferrnline, famous for its good fare and warm comfort, had they stopped, but had made a wide detour, round the Tower Burn. Cold meat and lukewarm ale had been their supper. Then, in concession to the child, they had had a few hours sleep, and had more cold meat and even flatter ale for their breakfast. Fortunately, the child seemed used to sleeping in the saddle and did not complain, although now and then Seamus heard him speak rather querulously in French to his father.
Now, within six miles of their destination, the manor at Alva, their haste was undone. A Campbell baggage train barred their way.
Seamus, with de Wynter close on his heels, spurred his horse forward to the edge of the trees. There, across the River Devon, were the carts. Thirteen in all, an unlucky number he thought, with ten riders apiece.
Entrusting young Jamie to the care of Fionn, he tersely outlined the situation as he saw it to de Wynter and suggested that they wait here and let the train pass.
"Are we at feud with the Campbells?" de Wynter asked.
"Nay, at least we weren't a week ago: But with the Campbells, one never knows. They're a chancey lot, even for Lowlanders. And the Queen Dowager, Margaret Tudor—cursed be her name—is in love with one of them, not with one of us."
"That could be remedied. In the meantime, why don't we just ride out and ford the river?"
"Your mother made me swear to bring you to Alva undetected."
Giving a decidedly Gallic shrug, de Wynter said nothing more. Taking silence for consent if not approbation, Seamus passed the word that the men dismount, setting his son Fionn and two others on guard, at the edge of the woods.
Since there was no convenient clearing in which to gather en masse, they broke up into groups of three or four or five and searched out the least uncomfortable places to lounge and pass the time.
Seamus had no more seen to the overall disposition of the troop than whispered word was passed to him: You are needed up front. De Wynter was already there, his back braced against a convenient tree, a spyglass trained across the river, Fionn at his side.
Fionn explained. "Da'? Those carts are ours. I replaced the slat on the second one myself before we left Alva."
John Scott chimed in. "See the horse in the lead, Seamus? See how he holds back in the harness letting his fellow do most of the work? It's old Wat, I'd know him anywhere."
Then the third guard, not to be outdone, spoke up. "The drovers, Captain. Look close. They're from Alva, too. See the one bringing up the rear? Lazy Simon. Four lengths between him and the rest. By the time they get to their destination, the rest will have already been unloaded, and he'll have a hand unloading his. Three pence says I'm right."
Had Alva been raided? Seamus wondered. His thoughts swerved to Islean; what of her? Had she been captured or worse?
De Wynter, suddenly displaying great interest in calmly paring his nails with a small baselard, pitched his voice low to keep it from carrying beyond Seamus. "The logical thing to do is to continue doing nothing as we were. Give them time to pass before riding for Alva. But would your men sit still for that? Look behind you." De Wynter showed even greater interest in the shaping of his little fingernail. Seamus turned only to be confronted by the rest of his troop, who, sniffing out mat something was amiss, had crept up to see for themselves. Grinning cheerily at the prospect of a fight, many had already made the transfer of their swords from scabbard to more accessible belt rings. After nearly thirty years in this country, Seamus still couldn't get over the natural bloodthirstiness of the Scots. Or, at least some of them, he corrected himself. The man beside him, his eyes veiled by heavy black lashes, seemed not at all eager to fight. Maybe, thought Seamus, the years spent abroad dallying with the ladies had sapped him of more than semen.
Continuing on in the same nonchalant tone, de Wynter said, "If we do ride out, do we fight to recover the baggage or ride hell-bent for Alva and your lady? Shall we flip a coin?"
Seamus couldn't believe his ears. This dawcock! Without thinking, he drew back his hand to cuff the supercilious bastard a good one, only to find the point of de Wynter's baselard at his throat.
"I wouldn't do that, good Seamus. Cool down, man, use your head. Something's wrong here. There are no wounded so far as I can see among the riders, nor do I see any within the carts. Seaforth men have always made a good account of themselves. They must not have beeri mere when the raid took place! But then, why didn't the Campbells fire Alva? Look, the sky to the west is absolutely clear. Not a sign of smoke nor ruddiness."
Seamus looked into those clear blue eyes and, when the baselard was withdrawn, shook his head as if to clear it. "What are you saying?"
"Maybe there was a bargain struck: take the furnishings and leave the manor intact. I don't know. I do know that I do not particularly care to have the Campbells sleeping in my bedsteads or eating off my pewter. So, good Seamus, I suggest we deprive them of their loot" He rose to his feet, like a cat, in one silken motion, brushing off the twigs and fragments of weeds from his leathers.
"Come," he said and the big man lunged to his feet and followed after. "Show me the lay of the land." Back in the depths of the forest, with those who served longest here at Alva to assist him, de Wynter
drew a crude map with the point of his baselard in the dirt.
"Divide the troop. Send twenty or so on our fastest horses upstream to cross at Dolour. Good Seamus, tell ten—no, make it fifteen—of your best fighting men to travel with me. The balance you will hold back to attack the rear."
Like the experts they were, the men quickly singled out the twenty freshest and fastest horses. These were caught up and ridden out by the lightest and best riders, each paring his equipment down to lighten the horses' load. At the last minute they were stopped by de Wynter.
"Something is untoward here. I should just as soon not advertise who we are until we know what the whole play is. So divest yourselves of the Mer-Lion badge before going into battle... and if you need a battle cry, let it be something bewildering. Cry"—and he smiled as if at a secret joke—"Hydaspes!"
The men were too well trained to question their lord, but as they rode off, Seamus could see them rolling that strange battle cry on their tongues.
Now, there was nothing to do but wait. De Wynter lay down, his back comfortably against a tree. His son did the same alongside. The two talked quietly in French, de Wynter gesturing lightly with his hands. Seamus caught a word now and again, but the gist escaped him.
At last, again with the uncanny grace that seemed so natural to him, de Wynter rose and brought the boy over to where Seamus sat.
"Seamus, your height is a giveaway. Stay behind and protect my son." De Wynter smiled, and this time the smile warmed his blue eyes. "However, it is only fair to warn you, that I have instructed Jamie to stay behind and protect you since you are, I told him, a very old man."
Seamus sputtered, "Old—?"
De Wynter was enjoying himself. His eyes gleamed, his voice savored his plans. "When we ride forth, the carters should instinctively draw closer to protect themselves. We shall encourage them in this by going slow and making great show of arms. But being so few, we will not engage them; instead, we will ride past. They may either shift defensively or even come after if not satisfied with their present loot. In either case, in their concern for us, they will not be prepared for an attack on their rear. I assume you'll have one of your sons lead it. Remind me to have you tell them apart for me later. Once the Campbells are engaged by this rear attack, we, joining up with our other force, will take them from behind. The crab never fails. Remember? No? Seamus, I'm shamed for you. Alexander used it to defeat the Indian army at Hydaspes. Well, gentlemen, shall we go?"
Seamus decided mis Scot was as bloodthirsty as the rest. In this at least, the years in France had not changed him. Setting his cap securely to conceal the tell-tale hair, de Wynter swung up into his saddle with ease. Taking up his cloak, he swiftly and expertly rolled it about his left arm as a makeshift shield. He checked the baselard to make sure it was well seated in the top of his boot. Then, brandishing his sword, he led the column into the water.
From Seamus's vantage point, he could see the Campbells react. Hastily pulling the clumsy carts up close, the men as one rode to the rear to face de Wynter's troop. Fifteen was just the right number. Large enough to inspire concern, small enough to seem unwilling to attack a superior force. As de Wynter and his men swept past, the Campbells followed, maneuvering their horses always between the strange riders and the carts, leaving their rear totally unprotected. Seamus whistled. His men led by Dugan swept out of the woods and through the ford. The Campbells, undecided, lost much time before rushing back to their rear. That, plus some mischievous Alva men, lost the battle for them. De Wynter and his now-reinforced group fell upon them from the other side. Caught by surprise in a pincer movement, the Campbells' defense collapsed. De Wynter, surveying the scene, came to a decision, his voice carrying over the water: "Strip them down to their short clothes and put all in one cart. Drive it up to the fork and leave it where the Waters of Care and Sorrow come together. Then, head into the hills and make your way home. Keep your wits about you... and no gossiping within earshot of these. I want no' reprisal raids if I can help it."
Only when the Campbells were out of sight, did de Winter signal
Seamus to ride forth, a small, sword-brandishing Jamie riding before him in the saddle. Already the carts had been reversed, lazy Simon this time in the lead. A short word from de Wynter and the man moved out smartly, setting a pace hard for the others to maintain.1 As they went, Seamus questioned the drovers. Then rode forward to report.
"They say your Lady Mother ordered them to do it. That she stood aside and let the Campbells strip the place, even pointing out things they had missed." Seamus swallowed hard. "Do you suppose she's gone balmy out of grief or something?"
"I propose to find out. How many redheads do we have among us?"
At Alva, a warning trumpet sounded at the first sight of the baggage train turning into the road leading up to the manor. Brazenly, the outriders, their red hair uncapped and wild myrtle badges worn prominently on their chests, rode into the cobblestoned courtyard to face a one-woman welcoming party. No frightened lady this, but a very angry Lady Islean.
As they drew to a halt in a semicircle, she launched her attack. "You Campbells, can't you do anything ri—You're not Campbell-grown! Shaun! Rob! What—what are you doing here, you're suppose to be with Seamus!" Her eyes widened.
"Seamus MacDonal," she screamed, "show yourself, man, or I'll ha' your hide nailed to ray stable door." From back within the train, Seamus rode forth, another man falling in behind. A happy, flustered, suddenly younger Lady Islean picked up her skirts and ran to meet them.
Without a look, she went past Seamus and straight for the second man. A stream of emotions coursed her expressive face as she drank in the sight of the son she'd not seen in eight years. Tall, elegant, head held high, he was everything a mother could want in a son: "Jamie, my boy, give me a kiss and let me look at you."
With that fluidity that characterized his every move, Jamie dismounted. He would have kissed her hand but she was too fast for him, throwing her arms about him, pressing her cheek to his broad leather-covered chest. He froze. Not an emotion appeared on his well-schooled face as he fixed his gaze well over her head. Seamus, watching the scene intently, thought—Nanny Goodall over tea later, tch-tched in agreement—mat this was no fit greeting for a son to give his mother.
Rebuffed by the lack of response, Islean drew back shocked, hurt, bewildered by her son. "Jamie, what's wrong?"
"Wrong, madam?" Now he took her hand in his, kissed it courteously. "Wrong? Not a thing. You sent for me. As always, I follow orders. I came."
He might as well have struck her. Her eyes opened wide and she flushed with anger. "And not a day earlier than you needed to."
Not even her anger could strike a responsive chord. Smiling civilly, he agreed. "Not a day earlier, then again, not a day later. You will find, madam, mat in the last eight years I have grown very punctual." Catching himself as if this line of talk might lead elsewhere, he gestured toward the train. "Besides I brought you a present, or did you not want your things back?"
Retreating a step to better look up at him without hurting her neck, she said, "Since you ask, no, I do not!"
Slightly taken aback, de Wynter waited for her explanation. She, enjoying herself, was in no hurry.
Seamus, looking from one to the other, was struck by how much alike the two looked. Refined, typically inbred Scottish faces they had. Pale-complexioned, high-cheekboned, finely chiseled, with deep-set eyes.. Yet there was nothing masculine about the lady... nor anything feminine about her son.
Finally, with a quizzically upraised eyebrow, de Wynter conceded defeat. "You didn't want them returned?"
She was devilish. "No, not for a week at least."
"Not for a week," he repeated, letting her enjoy her fun, "at least?"
"At least." Then, in triumph she gave in. "I lent them to the new chatelaine of Castle Dolour, the third Lady Campbell."
He heard only what he wanted to hear. "Lent them? Has the mine played out? Are you in such sad need of funds, the
n? I would have helped—"
"No, no, nothing like that." She took his arm, and again he froze momentarily; then, keeping his distance as best he could, he allowed himself to be led toward the manor steps. She noticed his reaction but chose to ignore it. "No, I just don't want to eat off trencher bread two days hence."
He stopped. That didn't make sense. "But without your plate, that's exactly what we'll be doing."
"Here, yes." Her eyes sparkled, but she suppressed her delight. "But not when we attend the banquet Lord Campbell will be giving for James V." Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she continued, "Someone, it seems, has filled the king's head with stories about the excellent hunting to be had in the copse round Castle Dolour during June. Now you know and I know and Campbell knows that the hunting's really nothing exceptional, but the king doesn't know that. I won’t tell and Campbell doesn't dare, poor man."
She pretended to sigh as if very much put upon, but she could keep a sober face no longer. Sucking her lip with delight, she rushed on. "So, he's coming. Within the week. And you know Casde Dolour—no, I guess you don't. Anyway, it's well named. Gloomy, dreary, dank, not fit for civilized people to live in. Fits the Campbells perfecUy." Suddenly contrite, she added, "Except for Campbell's young bride. A lovely child, but she's beside herself. I really feel sorry about getting her into this. However, good neighbor that I am, I rode over and offered to help Lady Ann in any way I could. Well, when we took inventory of the place, I was shocked. What Campbell does with his revenues I don't know, but he certainly doesn't lavish them on decent appointments. So naturally I offered to lend her what she needs. Just as naturally, she invited me to attend the banquet in the king's honor... which I allowed myself to be talked into accepting. Campbell will be furious. What he says when he finds out I'm sure won't be fit for young ears. Speaking of which"—she had a disconcerting habit of abruptly changing the subject—"have you taken a dwarf into your service, or is that a child I see peering round from behind Bonn's back?"
