“I ken it, m’lady, but I am nay sure that ewe will be a good breeder for ye as the one it came from wasnae, but it will eat a lot and will need care, aye? Unless ye have a starving time at the keep, that ewe will be with ye until she dies of old age and I dinnae ken exactly how long that will be.”
Annys did not even want to think about that. She promised to send him the coin. Then she told him that he should make a list of his losses and damages and send her that information. While the butcher tied a rope around the lamb’s neck so that Benet could lead the animal back to the keep, Annys took one last look at the village. Due to the efforts of Harcourt and his men, no one had died or been seriously injured and the damage was far less than it could have been had they not been there to warn everyone and lend them aid. There was still a lot of work to be done now to get the village looking better and return homes to the ones waiting to get inside them again.
Harcourt slowly rode by as she and Benet walked back to the keep. Annys looked up at him, idly considering how handsome he looked astride his mount, and caught him grinning at her. He looked at Benet and then the lamb, then looked back at her and cocked one dark eyebrow. She thought wistfully on shaving it off his face while he slept.
“Look, Sir Harcourt,” Benet said, dragging his lamb forward so Harcourt could see it better. “The butcher gave me this lamb. ’Tis a girl lamb, ye ken. I am calling her Roberta.”
“A good name for a ewe. Dinnae ye think so, Lady MacQueen?”
“Dinnae ye have some hunting to do?”
He laughed, nodded, and rode away to join his men. Annys glared at his broad back and saw his shoulders shaking with laughter. She ached to throw something hard at that back but a quick glance to the side showed her that Benet was watching her. Sighing at the lost chance, she started walking again and had to smile at the way he walked and talked with his lamb.
Once in the bailey, Annys turned coward. She did not want to face Dunnie so she sent Benet and his lamb off to the man without her. A quick look around revealed there were plenty of men within the walls of the keep and they all took a moment to notice where the child was going.
By the time Annys got to her room, she had lost the humor of Benet’s wanting the lamb and the annoyance caused by Harcourt’s amusement over that. She shed her gown and washed away the stink of burning buildings. All the while her spirits sank lower and lower until she knew she was very close to sitting on the bed and wailing like a bairn.
Tugging on a clean gown, she poured herself a tankard of cider and went to sit on the bench in front of the window. It overlooked her gardens and could often lift her spirits. Annys was not sure they would this time as gardens were pretty to look at but they offered one no advice on how to save people or land. Seeing the destruction in the village, knowing how easily there could have been many people killed or scared by burns, she felt helpless.
She had to wonder if it was all worth it. It was just land, just a building, yet she was fighting for it as if she had no choice. There was a choice. She could hand it all over to Sir Adam, pack up her things, and find another place to live, something small but comfortable, something that would never draw the greedy eye of a man.
“Nay, Mary Two, ye must nay touch the flowers. They are Lady Annys’s and they are to look at and smell, nay to pick or play with.”
“They are verra bonnie. And they do smell verra nice. Like ye do, Mother.”
“Thank ye, love. Come let us sit here for a moment.”
Annys struggled to hear the words and leaned closer to the window. Below in her garden a young, large with-child woman walked with a little girl. The child looked to be about Benet’s age. She thought a moment and then realized she knew who these people were. Mary Two was what Dougal the weaver called his little girl because his wife was also named Mary. They had all come to the keep because their home had been badly damaged.
“Do ye think we can have a bonnie wee garden at our house?”
“That would be lovely, dear heart, but we really dinnae have the room.” Mary idly picked the dead blossoms off the roses. “I do love this, however. Mayhap your da can think of a way for me to have a wee corner for a few flowers.” She sat down on the bench and Annys could almost hear the sigh of relief the woman gave as she got off her feet.
“Did ye have a garden when ye lived with your family?”
“Nay, but there was a lady near to us who did and she would allow me to help her tend the flowers. My da thought it a waste of time and good earth that could have grown some food.”
“Nay, I like it. Do ye think we can come visit this every day?”
“We will go home soon, dear heart. It willnae take your da that long to fix what needs to be fixed. But, mayhap, someday, if we ask verra nicely, Lady Annys will let us come back for a visit.”
Annys watched as the woman suddenly looked in the direction of the gates. She whispered something to her child who smiled widely and they hurried off. The men had returned and Annys suspected Dougal the weaver was amongst them.
Her sense of hopelessness had eased and her battered spirit had strengthened. Mary and Mary Two were the best reasons of all to keep fighting for Glencullaich. They would find no welcome in any garden Sir Adam might have. It was such a small thing but she knew it was almost a sign, something showing her what she had to do and why.
For the sake of the two Marys, mother and daughter, for Master Kenneth who raised a lamb and was doubting he could now kill it although he made his living as a butcher, and even for Old Meg who wept at the loss of her tiny cottage, she made her choice. They were but a few of the many reasons she had to hold fast and fight. A man like Sir Adam would crush such people beneath his boot. Annys was determined not to give the man the chance to do so.
Chapter Eight
Sweat dripped down from his forehead and stung his eyes. Harcourt wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt. He was ready to ride back to the keep. He, Callum, Tamhas, and Gybbon had been riding around the boundaries of Glencullaich since dawn, trying to find any sign of Sir Adam and discovering nothing. It appeared that Sir Adam had directed his attention elsewhere although Harcourt knew that could not be true.
It was not easy but Harcourt beat down a creeping concern for Nathan and Ned. They had been gone for three days and there had been no word. It was not an unusual length of time to spend trying to gather information on an enemy. Harcourt knew that. His concern was born of the fact that spying was dangerous work and he had been the one who had asked the MacFingals to do it.
“They will be fine,” said Gybbon as he rode up beside Harcourt. “MacFingals are hard to kill.”
Harcourt looked at his cousin and frowned. The younger man was neither sweating nor dusty despite the long hours they had all spent in the saddle. His hair was still neatly tied back with a leather thong. That was grossly unfair in Harcourt’s opinion.
“Did ye stop for a bath in the burn and change your clothes?” he asked, not even trying to hide his suspicions.
Gybbon laughed. “Nay. I simply dinnae ride about in a frenzy when I am looking for something. Or someone.”
“I wasnae riding about in a frenzy. Dinnae see the sense in ambling along like an old mon, either. And how did ye ken that I was thinking of the MacFingals? Or can say that they are fine with such confidence?”
“I just ken it. Decided ye were looking for signs of them as hard as ye are looking for signs of Sir Adam.”
“Weel, I sent them out on the hunt, didnae I. It has proven to be a heavier weight than I had kenned it would be.”
“They are MacFingals, Harcourt,” said Gybbon, smiling. “What ye asked of them is what they do with a skill unmatched by any other. They were born kenning how to slip about, hearing secrets, finding lost things, or people, and, of course, stealing.”
“Thought they stopped stealing.”
“Hard to break such a habit. ’Tis nay a way of living for them anymore, though. As Nathan likes to say, at times ye come across someone who simply do
esnae deserve to have all he has so ye feel compelled to relieve him of some of it. But, as to them being hale, I just ken it.” He shrugged.
“Ah, ye have a wee gift then. I just ne’er had cause to notice it before now. Runs rampant in the clan, doesnae it. Missed me.”
“Nay, it didnae. Ye just have one that doesnae raise any questions.”
“Gybbon, I dinnae have one.”
“Ye do. Ye can see the patterns of things, look at something and see it as if ’tis drawn up by the finest mapmaker in the land. The defense of Glencullaich looked fine to all of us yet ye could look about and see the smallest of weaknesses.”
Harcourt shook his head. “’Tis just a good eye.”
“Then ye have the best eye I have e’er seen. Wheesht, ye could fill a purse or two just offering your skill to those who wish to be certain their defenses are as strong as they think they are. Ye cannae see it because ye just do it, but ’tis a gift. By my oath, I think ye could look out on a cleared field and find that one tiny hollow or dip and rise that could be used by an enemy. ’Tis as if ye can see it all played out from the field itself to how the enemy could use every blade of grass. That is indeed a gift. Trust me to ken it. I have seen enough to ken how different what ye can do is to what any other soldier can do, even the most skilled and experienced one.”
“Weel, I am nay sure I agree, but I am pleased that, if I do have a gift, ’tis nay one that causes the trouble some of our kin have to deal with.”
Harcourt tensed. Something was wrong. A moment later Gybbon tensed as well. Before he could ask Gybbon if he had any idea what had them both on alert a sound reached his ears and he cursed. A quick glance at Callum and Tamhas told him that they had also heard the sound. Some herd of animals was headed their way at a gallop.
“I would guess cattle,” said Gybbon.
“Aye.” After looking all around, Harcourt pointed toward a small hill, the faintest hint of a dust cloud rising above it. “O’er there and headed straight for us.” When the other two men joined them, Harcourt advised, “As soon as they are in sight we will ken which way we need to go to get out of their way. Dinnae hesitate, either. Just move. They are nay interested in harming us, only in getting away from whate’er is driving them.”
“Ye think they are being driven?” asked Callum.
Harcourt nodded. “’Tis a panicked run. Ah, there they are.”
The cattle poured over the hill, thundering toward them at a reckless pace. Following them were four men on horses driving the beasts onward with whips and even swords. As he rode to the side of the stampede he had to wonder how many cattle would be lost to this new attempt to get at him and his men.
The waste infuriated him. That anyone would think he and his men too stupid to evade such an attack deeply insulted him as well. As soon as the cattle had passed, Harcourt drew his sword and went after the men driving them on, his men quickly following him.
It was a quick battle much to Harcourt’s disappointment. One man escaped, turning his horse quickly and fleeing over the hill. Tamhas pursued him for a while but turned back before getting too far away from Harcourt and the others. Harcourt killed one and Callum killed another. Gybbon wounded then captured the man he had fought with. Dismounting, Harcourt walked over to where Gybbon held his captive at sword point and looked down at the man who was clutching his bleeding arm and wailing like a bairn.
“Cease that noise,” he ordered and lightly kicked the man in the hip.
“I am bleeding to death!”
“Then ye will miss your hanging.” Harcourt folded his arms over his chest and nodded in approval when the man paled and grew quiet. “One of Sir Adam’s men, are ye?” The man nodded. “Where is the bastard?”
“I dinnae ken. He sent us to stop ye looking about.”
“And ye thought sending noisy, scared cattle at us would do that?”
“Nay, I thought it a witless plan but Jaikie”—he glanced at one of the dead men—“he thought it was brilliant. Boasted how we would be trampling ye into the mud and finally be rid of ye all. Told him ye were on horses and could just ride out of the way but he cuffed me offside the head and did it anyway.”
“Where is Sir Adam?”
“I dinnae ken. Done told ye that.”
Harcourt placed his sword point at the man’s throat. “He gave ye the orders. Ye saw him.”
“Nay, I didnae and ye will get nay more answers from a dead mon than ye get from a live one. The mon sent another mon to tell us what to do. We are nay more than his hirelings. Mon wouldnae spit on one like me if I was on fire. I saw him but the once when we were hired. He came to look us o’er like cattle he meant to buy and slaughter. Nay more than that. When he wants us to do something he has Clyde come and tell us. Clyde be his second, ye ken.”
“Aye, we have learned that much. Now we take this fool back to Glencullaich.”
“Och, mon, I told ye all I ken,” the man said, his voice a pain-filled whine as Gybbon none too gently yanked him to his feet. “Why dinnae ye just let me go?”
“So ye can go back to Sir Adam? Mayhap tell him all ye ken?”
“I dinnae ken a thing, do I?”
“Nay, ye will come with us. We may yet have need of what little ye do ken.”
Annys gaped at Harcourt and Gybbon when they strode into the hall. It was not that they appeared as if they had been in a battle that shocked her for a quick look at them revealed no wounds. It was the body Gybbon had flung over his shoulder. A body that was filthy, bloody, and very still.
“Where do ye keep your prisoners?” Harcourt asked.
“Ah, so he isnae dead then,” she said as she stood up and started to walk out of the great hall, waving at the two of them to follow her. “I wasnae sure.”
“Nay, he is nay dead,” said Gybbon. “Does have a wee wound that he should probably have tended to though.”
“That might be best,” she said as she led them into the ledger room. “E’en if he is one of Sir Adam’s hired swords, I am nay too fond of letting anyone rot down there.”
She unlocked a door at the far end of the room, one that blended perfectly with the heavy wood panels covering the walls quietly telling the men that it was also the door that led to the bolt-hole. She shivered a little as she lit a torch with Harcourt’s help. The air drifting up from below was cool and a little damp. Annys knew that small shiver was also born of a deep dislike of going down into the bowels of the keep. As she led them down the narrow steps, she repeatedly reminded herself that her fear was no more than a childhood scar on her heart and had no place here. This was not her parents’ holding nor was it as cramped, dirty, or smelly as those few cells her father had kept for the occasional prisoner awaiting the sheriff.
As her right foot touched the floor of the cellar, something ran by and she had to clap a hand over her mouth to hold back a scream. Harcourt reached around and took the torch out of her trembling hand. He lit the torch stuck in a sconce on the wall at the base of the steps and she breathed a sigh of relief. Out of the corner of her eye, between her and the cells, was a mouse.
“Oh, that is nay a rat, thank the Lord,” she muttered only to tense when it started to run again.
A heartbeat later something much larger raced out of the shadows only to disappear into them once more as it ran after the mouse. Annys heard a strangled high-pitched sound escape her and she leapt up on Harcourt. He caught her to him with one strong arm, still holding the torch in his other hand. It took a moment for Annys to calm down enough to begin to feel embarrassed by her fear.
“What was that?” she asked, trying to look around without losing her grip on Harcourt. “A rat?”
“Ah, poor Roban to be so cruelly insulted. Nay, t’was no rat. I cannae see that far down into the shadows but I suspicion there is no mouse now, either.”
Attempting to pretend she had not just climbed the man like a tree in her blind panic, Annys eased her stranglehold on him and put her feet back on the ground. “That was R
oban?”
“Aye, it was chasing the mouse.”
“But, how did he get down here?”
“How does the cursed beast keep getting into the keep, into your bedchamber, and solar?”
“Mon’s getting heavy,” said Gybbon. “Can we discuss the cat’s skills later?”
“Oh, Gybbon, I am so sorry.” Annys took one cautious step toward the cell, looking everywhere for any sign of a rat.
“Give me the keys, sweetling,” Harcourt said, and gently pried them from her clenched hand. “Ye can walk behind me. I will protect ye from the wee mousie if that cat hasnae killed it yet.”
Annoyance at his teasing did a lot to banish her fear, as did walking with him between her and anything lurking in the shadows. “The wee mousie doesnae bother me. ’Tis rats I cannae abide. They bite and they gather in the dark like some army so that they can hunt their prey with nay fear.”
“So, ’tis rat armies ye fear. Weel, that does sound frightening. Just where did ye come by the knowledge that rats wander in the dark gathered up in little rat armies?”
Annys softly cursed as they stopped before one of the three cells and she pointed to the key he needed to use to unlock the door. Harcourt stuck the torch he held into another sconce set in the wall next to the door, unlocked it, and helped Gybbon get their unconscious prisoner settled on the narrow bed. They were quick and efficient but, in the short time that the men left her side, her panic began to rise again. Having avoided coming down into the bowels of the keep for any reason, she had forgotten how deep and strong her fear of rats was.
Harcourt handed her back the keys and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the stairs. “Now, tell me why ye fear rats so much ye tried to sit on my shoulder just to get away from one.”
It was a humiliating story but Annys decided he deserved some explanation for how she had just behaved. “I got locked into a wee, dirty cell in the cellars at my parents’ holding when I was but a child. My father had a prisoner brought up from them and he was so filthy, a bit bloody, and shaking. He answered all my father’s questions and begged the mon to please nay put him back down there. He was babbling and crying and I couldnae hear what troubled him about the cellars. I was hiding in the room, having tucked myself behind a chest in the corner. I wasnae supposed to be in that room and I was verra afraid of being caught there. My father assured the mon that he wouldnae have to go back into the cell. The mon thanked him but then my father informed him that he wasnae going back there because he was being taken out to be hanged. I thought that was rather cruel.”
Highland Guard Page 10
