by Lynsay Sands
“Nay,” she said on a laugh, pressing her hands to his chest. “You have to get up.”
“Why are ye up and dressed already?” Rory asked as his hand skimmed over her arisaidh.
“Your bairn was restless and woke me early,” she explained. “Now up with ye.”
“Nay. Come back to bed, love. Ye canno’ wake a man like that and no’ expect him to get ideas,” he complained, sweeping one hand down her back to her bottom and squeezing gently. “Ye ken I love lovin’ ye in the mornings.”
“Aye, I know,” she laughed. “But you must get up. Our gift from the king is here and you must come and see.” Eyes twinkling with excitement, she added, “I just know you will be so pleased.”
Rory hesitated briefly, desire warring with curiosity, but when Elysande pulled out of his hold and straightened to head for the door, he allowed curiosity to win and tossed the bed furs aside to get up. He didn’t rush after her, however, but took the time to splash his face and tend to personal needs, then donned his plaid and headed out of the room.
Ella, the maid Jetta had sent for Elysande, was the only one on the main floor when Rory made his way downstairs. Before he could ask where his wife was, the woman smiled and pointed to the door, so he continued outside. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw his brothers Alick and Aulay waiting for him on horseback, and he started to smile in greeting, but that smile died under the weight of concern when he spotted Elysande mounted on her mare with his horse saddled beside her.
“What are ye doing, lass. You should no’ be riding in yer condition,” he said at once, moving to her side with every intention of lifting her back to the ground.
“I am with child, not ill, husband. And I have three months until my time,” Elysande said, waving him off with exasperation. “Besides ’twould take too long did we walk. I promise I will go slow and be careful. Now mount up. I cannot wait for you to see our gift.”
“Neither can I,” Aulay said with a dry amusement that made Rory glance at him in question. His brother did not answer the silent question though, and merely said, “Mount up, brother. There is a boat in my bay that I should like out of it as quickly as possible.”
“A boat?” Rory asked, moving to mount up.
“Aye. It brought your gift,” Alick told him on a laugh, and then apparently unable to contain himself, he set his horse to trot toward the path to the beach.
Elysande headed out right behind him at a more sedate speed as Rory gained his saddle, and he glanced at his eldest brother as he gathered his reins.
Before he could again ask what it was, Aulay shook his head and said, “There are no words.” He then set off after the others, leaving Rory to follow.
It wasn’t far to the beach from the lodge, and that’s all it was, a beach. There was no dock for boats to tie to.
Or three boats for that matter, Rory thought as he stared at the three large ships presently anchored offshore and the many, many smaller rowboats being paddled to the beach, each one full of men who were apparently coming to join the scores of men already milling about onshore.
“What the hell?” Rory breathed, staring at the men coming from the ships bearing the English king’s banner.
“Is it not wonderful?” Elysande asked, her voice filled with excitement.
Rory glanced to his wife to see her attempting to wiggle her way around to dismount and cursed under his breath as he leapt from the saddle to aid her to the ground before she hurt herself.
“Thank you, husband,” she said a little breathlessly once on her feet, but then she turned to wave toward the English army growing on the beach and repeated, “But is it not wonderful? The king’s gift was to send us workers to help build our castle.”
“What?” Rory asked with amazement.
“Aye. He sent a thousand men!” She told him, her mouth spread in a wide grin. “Why, that will double the numbers of our workers and halve the time it will take to build.”
“A thousand men,” Rory breathed with dismay. “God in heaven, he sent an army.”
“They are stonemasons and laborers, husband, not soldiers,” Elysande said with an exasperated laugh.
“They are one thousand Englishmen in Scotland, wife,” Rory countered. “That’s an invasion, not a gift. It’ll start a bloody war.” Scrubbing a hand wildly through his hair, he shook his head. “We will have the clans marching up here to send the bastards running once news of this gets out.”
“What?” Elysande cried with alarm. “But they are a gift from the king. He would be insulted. And they will speed along construction for us. You cannot let the clans chase them off.”
Rory frowned at her distress, and moved to slip an arm around her. “Calm yerself. I’ll think o’ some way to explain this to the neighboring clans so it does no’ cause trouble.”
“Ye’d best think quickly, brother. It looks like that explaining will be soon,” Aulay commented, and Rory glanced around toward him, and then followed his gaze to the path to see that it was filling with men on horseback. He had just recognized the MacGregor, Aulay’s neighbor on one side, when Elysande squealed happily.
“’Tis Tom and the boys. Oh, and there is Betty and Eldon.” She was off at once, waddling up the beach toward the quickly growing group.
“Did she just call Conn, Inan, Fearghas and Donnghail ‘boys’?” Aulay asked with amazement.
Rory waved away his brother’s outrage and hurried after his wife. The woman was remarkably quick for her size, and she had nearly reached the group before he caught her up. He was about to take her arm to draw her protectively to his side while he sorted out what was what, when she suddenly squealed again and put on a burst of speed that carried her past Tom and into the crowd where she was enveloped in the arms of an older woman. Her old nursemaid, he realized when she said, “Ethelfreda! You are here! Thank you, I was so worried you would not agree to come.”
“Of course I came, love,” the old lady murmured, hugging Elysande tightly and rocking her from side to side. “I’d go to hell itself and even come to Scotland for you and those bairns I see you’re carrying.”
“Oh, Ethel,” Elysande sniffled, pulling back to kiss the woman’s cheek before her gaze landed on someone else, and she opened her arm to include a younger maid in the hug, crying, “Betty! Thank goodness you are all right. I was so worried for you.”
“I am fine, m’lady,” the young maid whispered as she stepped into Elysande’s arm.
“But she nearly wasn’t,” a young lad with a fresh scar running down his cheek announced, rushing to the women. “De Buci beat her something awful, m’lady. As bad as he did you. But she didn’t tell him nothing. She was ever so brave,” he told her, and then bit his lip and admitted, “It was me who told him ye’d headed north, m’lady, and I’m sorry I did. Ever so sorry,” he added, tears in his eyes. “I didn’t tell him when he was beating me, but I couldn’t bear to watch him beat Betty another minute. He was surely gonna kill her and I couldn’t bear to watch. But I’m sorry I told. Really, I am. Please don’t be angry and send me away.”
“Oh, Eldon,” Elysande sighed, releasing Betty to hug the boy. “You did the right thing. You saved Betty, and despite your telling, de Buci didn’t catch us. I am not angry. All is well.”
“Thank you, m’lady,” the boy said on a sob, and buried his face against her stomach as she hugged him.
“He’s been fretting that she would be angry all the way here,” Tom murmured, watching his mistress soothe the boy.
Rory nodded, but then turned to the MacGregor as he dismounted, noticing only then that the man alighting from the horse beside the clan chieftain’s was his brother Niels.
“Niels,” he greeted with surprise, hugging him and thumping him on the back. “What are you doing here?”
“I was on my way back home from business in Glasgow when I came across your men and their escorts,” Niels said with wry amusement as they stepped apart. “I thought I’d best join the party too to make sure the
y all got here safely.”
Rory chuckled at the claim. “Two women and a boy hardly merit . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized what Niels had said. Your men and their escorts, not your men escorting this small group. His gaze slid to the MacGregor, and then to the other men who had now moved forward to join them. He recognized most of them and each were heads of clans: the Douglas, the Ferguson, the Kennedy, the Wallace, the Stewart, the Erskine and the MacGregor.
“Escorts?” Rory asked uncertainly as Aulay and Alick joined them.
“Ah, m’laird,” Tom said suddenly, drawing his gaze around to see that the English soldier was looking extremely uncomfortable and rather nervous. “I know we were really only sent to bring back Betty, Eldon and Ethelfreda, but ye see . . .”
“The others wanted to come too,” Donnghail announced when Tom faltered.
“The others?” Rory asked carefully, his gaze moving toward the group surrounding his wife to see that it wasn’t all soldiers as he’d first assumed. It was women, and men, and children he had never seen before, all in English dress, and at a rough count he could see at least thirty of them crowding around his wife.
“Aye,” the Kennedy said, amusement on his grizzled face as he took in Rory’s dismayed expression. “It seems yer wife and her parents were well loved by their people. Not surprising, I suppose. I hear Lady Elysande’s mother was a Scot born.”
“Aye,” Rory said with a frown as he tried to count exactly how many servants there were. It was hard to tell, there were so many soldiers crowding about now.
“’Tis just unfortunate the servants and all are English,” the Ferguson said now. “When my man came to tell me there were at least fifty English traipsing through with a passel o’ Scots, I had them stopped. O’ course, soon as I realized it was yer men and yer wife’s people and that they were headed to you, I rounded up me men to help escort them. No telling what trouble could ha’e befallen them their being English and all. Some clans would no’ take that well.”
“That’s about what happened when they reached my land,” the Douglas announced. “And I gathered some men to join the escort too.”
The others quickly added that it was the way it had been with them too, and Rory nodded and murmured a thank-you, but then turned to Tom and asked, “Fifty? Ye brought fifty o’ them back?”
“And more are coming,” Fearghas announced. “They’re just moving a bit slower because o’ the sheep and all, so we left them behind with Conn and Inan to escort them while we brought this group here. I’m guessing the others’ll get here in a week or so.”
“More?” Rory squawked. “What sheep? What the—”
“Oh, husband!”
Rory snapped his mouth closed as Elysande rushed up beaming happily.
“Is it not wonderful?” she cried, hugging him tightly. “So many more survived than I’d hoped, and they all wanted to come live with us.” Pulling back, she told him, “Why, now we have a blacksmith, a cook, a miller, two grooms, the alewife, our own seamstress and maids and—oh, just a whole castle full of people!”
“But no castle to put them in,” Rory muttered, reaching up to rub his forehead.
“Not yet, but soon,” she said at once. “Why, with the men the king sent to help we should have a castle in no time.”
Elysande didn’t wait for his response to that, but whirled away to hurry back to the others.
Rory stared after her, noting how happy she looked. He suspected he was seeing the Elysande she had been before de Buci had marched in and raised such havoc in her life. Or as close as she would ever become to that young woman again. She was damned near glowing with joy at being reunited with these people. But then she had grown up with them in her life for so long and they had loved her enough to follow her to Scotland. She was getting her home back without actually having to set foot in the castle that held the terrible memories of her parents’ murder. And somehow, he had to figure out a way to let her keep that home, these people, with her.
“They are no’ going to all fit in the lodge,” Aulay said suddenly as if somehow following his thoughts.
Rory closed his eyes briefly and then speared Fearghas with a gaze and asked, “Sheep?”
“Aye. Sheep, a wagonload o’ chickens, a dozen cows and even a few horses, but mostly sheep, about a hundred I’d say,” Donnghail said when Fearghas merely nodded. He then added, “The English king hadn’t sent a guardian out to take over watching the land ere we left. I suspect whoever it is won’t be happy when he arrives to find the place pretty much empty, but we figured he’d just blame de Buci and it should be all right we brought Lady Elysande’s people here.”
“Dear God,” Rory moaned, rubbing his forehead harder. He had sheep. And cows, chickens, servants, and nowhere to put them.
“They are definitely no’ going to all fit in the lodge,” Aulay repeated as if Rory might have missed it the first time.
“Isn’t that the English king’s banner?” the Erskine clan chieftain suddenly asked.
“Aye, ’tis,” the Stewart chieftain responded. “Why do ye ha’e a bunch o’ Englishmen gathering on yer beach? Are we being invaded?”
“’Tis a damned good thing we came if the English are thinking o’ invading,” the Wallace chieftain said grimly, tugging out his sword. “We’ll send the bastards running in a hurry.”
“Nay!” Rory said abruptly, and then straightened his shoulders. “We’re no’ being invaded. And if any one o’ ye ever wants the benefit o’ me healing skills again, ye’ll leave those men be. They’re a gift to me wife from the English king for saving his life. He sent them to help construct the castle I’m building so she’d ha’e a home to raise our bairns in, and I damned well need all the help I can get now that I seem to ha’e a castle full o’ servants and nowhere to put them.”
There was a moment of silence and then one of the chieftains said, “Aye, ye’re definitely needing someplace to put all these people. They’ll no’ fit in that wee hunting lodge o’ Aulay’s.”
“What ye need is a motte and bailey castle to tide ye o’er until the stone one is done,” another said thoughtfully, and Rory stared at the man with wonder. That was the answer. An old-fashioned motte and bailey castle. A wooden structure on a raised bit of land, or motte, with a wall around it made from timber. That could be built pretty quick. Why, William the Conqueror had managed to make one in eighty days using only fifty men. With the two thousand he had here, they could have one built in a week easily and it would give them somewhere to live until the men finished the castle proper.
“I hope you are not expecting us to build a motte and bailey for you. The king sent us to build a proper stone edifice. We do not build mottes and baileys.”
Rory swung around at that announcement to find that a small contingent of the Englishmen had braved approaching while the other five or six hundred already ashore watched safely from the shoreline. Men were still disembarking from the ship and being shuttled to shore in the smaller boats.
“Now see here,” the Ferguson said, stepping up to Rory’s side. “If the king sent ye here to build, ye’ll build and—”
“Nay, leave off with that,” the MacGregor said, interrupting the older man. “They probably have no’ the skill to build a proper motte anyway. ’Tis better if the Scottish builders do it. We want a stable motte.”
“Do ye think our stonemasons’ll know what to do?” Ferguson asked now with a frown. “It’s an old skill.”
“Do you know how to do it?” the MacGregor asked him.
“Aye,” the Ferguson said at once.
“Well, hell, then let’s do it ourselves. With all the warriors we have here, and the servants too, we’ll have the damned thing up before those English have all their men and their tools ashore.”
Rory stood, mouth agape, as everybody but Aulay, Alick, Tom, Fearghas and Donnghail suddenly walked off, discussing what they needed to do to build him a temporary home.
“It looks like you’re getting a mo
tte and bailey to tide you over,” Aulay said with amusement.
“Aye.” Rory sighed the word as he closed his mouth. He should be relieved, but suspected he had a lot of headaches in his future with the three different groups of men. He sincerely doubted that the nearly one thousand Scottish masons and laborers already working on the castle would take kindly to the arrival of the English masons and laborers, and as for the men who had determined to build him a motte and bailey . . . clans had never been known to work well together.
Shaking his head, Rory pushed those worries away for now and went in search of his wife. He wanted to be sure she was safely back at the lodge with her feet up and as many of her people around her as he could arrange for before he left her to lead everyone to the construction site.
It was a thump and a curse that stirred Elysande from sleep. Opening her eyes she listened to her husband’s hushed apology and smiled to herself. He’d tripped over Eldon again on his way up the hall. Or perhaps it had been Betty, or Ethelfreda, or one of the other women and children now filling the lodge at night. There were many of them—too many, really—and Rory was forced to tiptoe through them and hope he didn’t misstep and tread on anyone when he came to bed at night. But he didn’t complain.
She wouldn’t blame him if he did. The poor man usually didn’t stumble back to the lodge until late at night, and he arrived exhausted from long days overseeing building the castle while helping to build the motte and bailey. Although she suspected he got little actual work done. Most of his time these last two weeks since the king’s men had arrived along with the clans and her people, seemed to be taken up with trying to keep the English masons and Scottish masons from killing each other, and trying to stave off all-out war being declared between the various clans as they tried to work together on the motte and bailey.
She heard the faint creak of the door to the bedchamber opening, and waited silently as he entered, closed the door and crossed to the bed. Elysande heard his plaid hit the floor about halfway across the room. His tunic followed a couple of steps later, and then he was crawling into bed behind her. When his arm came around her and he gently rubbed his large hand over her swollen belly, she smiled and covered his fingers with her own.
