by Tarah Scott
A serving girl brushed past and gave Cailean a sidelong glance.
“Mere moments and you already have captured the attention of the prettiest lass in the room,” Brody said.
“Lady Julianna is the prettiest lass in the room,” Cailean said.
“Unless you are an earl or a wealthy knight, ye would do well to forget about Lady Julianna. Lady Ravenstone has high hopes for Lady Julianna on her second marriage.”
“Lady Julianna has been married before?” Cailean asked.
“Two years ago, her husband Walter died and left her childless. His brother inherited most of his property. Lady Ravenstone claimed the land should have been theirs, but Sir Grray refused to fight.”
Cailean nodded, recalling what renowned medieval historian Bernard Mackay had written about the knight. “Sir Grray was a fierce knight, but he didn’t fight without good cause.”
Brody frowned. “Was?”
Cailean broke from his thoughts.
Brody regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You speak as if he is dead.”
Val really was forcing him to act as if he were living in the fourteenth century.
“No’ dead,” he answered in a deep Highland burr, “I only just remembered what my father told me of Sir Grray. He fought alongside him at the Battle of the Shields.”
Brody stared at him for a long moment, then grinned. “Fought alongside him against the mighty Sinclairs, did he?”
Cailean nodded. “Aye. My father said he was one of the fiercest warriors he’d ever seen. He swore the Clan Gunn laird even named the fight after Sir Grray’s plan to scatter men in the hills around the fighting ground and then order them to beat their swords against their shields in timed waves so the Sinclairs would think more clans came to join the Mackays and the Gunns.”
“That is so.” Brody chuckled. “Clan Gunn would be dust today if no’ for our help in that battle. Sir Grray is a brilliant leader. And he was still young then. One of the finest battles he ever fought was down at the cattle market at Crieff. Two clans hired brigands to steal nearly all the beasts there. Sir Grray rode right through a stampede, swinging his blade left and right, cutting down the fleeing thieves and no’ hurting a single beast in the herd. Ye should have seen him.”
“I wish I had,” Cailean said, and meant it. “The bards claim his sword weighs upwards of twenty pounds.”
Brody nodded, clearly pleased with Cailean’s praise of his laird. “He is a good man. And a strong one—as the storytellers love to sing.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt, rocked back on his heels. “Fair, and slow to wroth.”
“I have wanted to meet him,” Cailean said.
“Mayhap you will,” Brody said. A speculative light entered the big man’s eyes. “Do ye like cider, Cailean?”
Cailean grimaced. “I’ve had your cider. Gave me a bloody hangover unlike any I’ve had since I was a boy.”
Brody’s brows rose. “If a little cider gets ye drunk, then you are in need of more practice drinking it.”
“I didn’t say it got me drunk. I said it gave me a hangover.”
“An ale-head?” Brody laughed good-naturedly. “Say what ye will, lad. Come on, let me show you how to drink cider.”
*
Julianna hadn’t missed Lennox and Cailean’s arrival—and the way Cailean studied her and her mother. She’d been careful to keep her mother’s attention focused on her. Lady Ravenstone was as sharp as a hawk, and just as quick to swoop in on prey. If she got the slightest hint that Julianna had noticed any of the warriors in the room, she would seek out that poor man and interrogate him about every aspect of his life. Any warrior who fell short of her mother’s expectations for Julianna’s prospective groom would be summarily cast aside and thrown from Raghnall if he further displeased her. If Cailean remained as evasive with her as he had been with Julianna and Lennox, Mother would start by having him flogged.
Julianna wanted to scream when Lennox left him with Brody. Brody was incapable of remaining inconspicuous. A man stepped into her view. Julianna recognized Sir Lawren and started.
He glanced at Julianna before turning his attention to her mother. “Lady Ravenstone.”
“I am pleased to see ye, Sir Lawren,” Lady Ravenstone said.
“I am pleased to be here, my lady.” He inclined his head, then shifted his gaze to Julianna. “Lady Julianna, would you honor me with a stroll in your mother’s garden?”
He smiled gently, but she read in his eyes the memory of their last encounter. She had considered their meeting this morning when she’d broken her fast with Lady Ravenstone in her chambers, as they did every morning. Lady Ravenstone had given no indication she knew that Julianna had been out of her room last night. But it would be like her mother to remain quiet until she had enough information to confront Julianna with whatever demands she felt were necessary to bring Julianna to heel.
But it was unlikely Sir Lawren had told Lady Ravenstone he’d caught Julianna outside her room. After all, he was wooing her into marriage, which meant she traded one master for another. Would he be an easier master than her mother? A twinge of guilt surfaced, but she did not allow the reaction to gain a foothold. Lady Ravenstone loved her children, protected them at the risk of her own life, but she ruled them with an iron hand.
From the corner of her eye, Julianna glimpsed Cailean sitting at the table to their far left. His shoulders filled out his shirt even more snugly than Brody’s. He laughed heartily at something Brody said. Warmth rippled through her and she realized she was smiling. His eyes turned toward her. Julianna dropped her gaze, heart pounding. By the Saints, she’d been staring.
“Julianna.” Her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Go along with Sir Lawren. I can manage here without you.”
Sir Lawren? She’d been so lost in thought, she’d forgotten. Lost in thought? She’d been watching Cailean.
“Julianna,” her mother urged.
Ire flared. She might be willing to go with Sir Lawren, but her mother’s command that she wed—and her meddling—had worn thin her patience. But Julianna’s feelings were of no consequence. She knew better than to gainsay her mother, particularly in front of guests.
Julianna nodded and accepted the hand that Sir Lawren extended. She rose and his fingers tightened as she stepped from the dais. She didn’t have to look back to know that her mother had turned her attention to her nephew. Lady Ravenstone had not one fear that her daughter would disobey her.
Sir Lawren led her between the tables and she caught Cailean’s attention as she passed. His gaze sharpened on Sir Lawren’s hand, covering her fingers where she grasped his arm. A corner of Cailean’s mouth twitched upward and Julianna resisted an urge to yank her hand free of Lawren’s grasp. She wanted to throttle both men.
She and Sir Lawren passed Cailean and her frustration grew with the intuitive knowledge that he wouldn’t give her—or Sir Lawren—a second thought. Once she escaped her mother’s sight, Julianna could feign a headache and retire to her bedchambers. No. Sir Lawren would return to the festivities and her mother would immediately head to her bedchambers. They exited through the hall’s arched entry. If only she could send Sir Lawren from Raghnall. No, that wouldn’t work any better. Her mother would ferret out the truth. She always did.
Sir Lawren led her down the three steps into the bailey and then over to the garden gate. When they reached the stone bench surrounded by her mother’s favorite roses, Julianna plopped down there.
He sat beside her. “Is something amiss, my lady?”
“What?” She looked at him. The lights of Raghnall shone behind him, casting his face in shadow, but the concern in his voice told her she had hurt him.
She offered a gentle smile. “Forgive me.”
He touched her arm. “Have I displeased you?”
Her guilt deepened. He hadn’t done anything to offend her, not truly. She’d been peeved with his interference last night, but his actions were nothing less than she had expected. Yet her ardo
r had cooled so suddenly and completely that she would have spent the next four Sundays in chapel on her knees if it would keep him from kissing her.
“You have been…distracted,” he said.
“Aye,” she admitted. The last two days had been far more eventful than she liked. Her thoughts swung between the memory of what she’d seen Crowe and his men do in the forest and questions Cailean incited in her.
Lawren gave a slow nod. “You worked hard in preparing for the celebration. I should have realized how tired you were. Forgive me.”
“You are too kind,” she said.
He leaned closer. “I live to please you.”
That, she thought, would end all too soon. But that, too, was natural, and it was uncharitable of her to find fault in him for being human.
“Let me escort you to your bedchambers.”
She gave a short laugh. “That would not please my mother.”
He stood and extended a hand. “Then we will not tell her.”
The castle lights lay behind him and she couldn’t discern his expression, but she heard the amusement in his voice. It would be some time before he let her forget that he knew her little secret. Did he intend to draw her closer by keeping more secrets from her mother? The idea bothered her. So much about him suddenly irritated her, but she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
She would have to be careful. What would he do if he knew she’d spied on Crowe? Or that she had hidden a stranger inside the walls of Raghnall?
Chapter Ten
Brody had been right. A little practice drinking the cider made all the difference in the world. Cailean finished off the cider in his goblet. He could grow to like the sour drink. He’d paced himself a little better than last night and a pleasant buzz hummed through his body. The man to his right picked up the pitcher of ale and filled his mug, then filled Cailean’s goblet.
“I’ve been drinking cider, man,” Cailean said with a laugh. “If I mix the two, I’m sure to have a headache in the morning.”
The man looked at Brody, who sat to Cailean’s left. “The lad needs a lesson in drinking.”
Brody nodded. “Aye. I have taken him under my wing. He is a quick learner.”
The other man grinned, then lifted his mug. “To Lady Ravenstone.”
Brody clinked his mug against the other man’s mug, then looked expectantly at Cailean.
“When in Rome.” Cailean lifted his mug, clinked it against their mugs, then followed suit when they drank their ale in several long gulps.
The men clapped him on the back and for one terrible instant Cailean feared the ale would come back up. Thankfully, he didn’t embarrass himself, but he groaned inwardly when the other man refilled all three of their mugs. This was going to be a long night.
A long night that brought much laughter, more cider—much more cider—ale, food that was as perfect in a medieval castle as was possible, and pretty serving girls that made Cailean wonder what had become of Lady Julianna. She hadn’t returned after leaving with the tall knight. The look she’d cast Cailean when she’d passed him almost had him believing she wanted him to leave with her. But such thoughts were probably alcohol induced.
A man reached between Cailean and Brody, picked up the half-eaten pork bones sitting on the table, and dropped them in a basket he carried. Cailean leaned back and allowed the man to gather pieces of bread and other scraps scattered across the table.
He dropped the last crust of bread into the basket, then bent and picked up a bone that lay in the rushes. He then continued down the table until he’d finished cleaning up the rest of the scraps.
Cailean pushed to his feet.
“Where are ye going, lad?” Brody asked.
“To get rid of some of this cider.”
Brody grinned. “Making room for more?”
Cailean wasn’t sure about that. He looked around for signs of a lavatory, then grimaced. He didn’t relish using an alcove like the one in the cottage. Worse, the kind he suspected he’d find: little more than a closet-sized, barely ventilated structure protruding from the tower or curtain wall, a ‘seat’ that was only a hole cut into a wooden plank and a chute to the cesspit. No thanks. A private bush outside would do the trick. He threaded his way through the crowd to the entry arch, but when he neared the door, the two guards who’d been standing there talking, straightened and crossed their spears in front of the door.
Cailean frowned. “I’m only stepping outside to use the facilities.”
The men didn’t reply, but neither did they move their spears. Cailean had seen people coming and going all evening long. Yet he wasn’t allowed to leave the great hall?
“At least have the decency to direct me to the privy,” he said.
The two men exchanged a glance, withdrew their spears, then the warrior on the right nodded to a staircase on Cailean’s right. He skirted the crowd near the table and hurried up the narrow staircase to a small chamber with several alcoves on the right wall. A welcome breeze wafted through an open window. With a sigh, Cailean started for the corner alcove, wondering how long Val thought he would put up with medieval ‘plumbing.’
After he’d finished using the facilities, blessedly not the wall-protrusion variety, he headed for the door, but paused at the window when he caught sight of a crowd gathered below. He braced his hands on the ledge and leaned out to see two dozen people dressed in peasant clothing pressed close to an open door.
A man carrying a basket emerged from the door and began handing its contents to the people. When a young boy snatched something from the man’s hands and stuffed it into his mouth as if starving, Cailean realized the man was the one he’d seen cleaning the table. Only he hadn’t been cleaning, but gathering scraps for the poor as an almoner would.
The man disappeared back inside the castle and the crowd edged closer to the door. Seconds later, he returned with two more baskets in hand. Cailean watched in amazement as the people took all the scraps. Some ate greedily on the spot, while others carefully wrapped the scraps in small pieces of fabric then hurried off.
Even the most authentic reenactments hadn’t included almoners. How had Val known he would be looking out the window at that moment to see this? He couldn’t have—which meant there was someone else at Raghnall Val wanted to see that particular reenactment. Someone else like Cailean who was taking part in this bizarre fantasy. How many others had Val plucked from the festival and dropped into this strange place?
The man handed out the last of the scraps and said something Cailean couldn’t distinguish. A murmur swept through the crowd, but they turned and walked toward the curtain walls. He watched until they disappeared through the gates, then went back down the stairs. Cailean returned to the great hall, stopped, and scanned the room. Who here wasn’t a citizen of Heatheredge? If he could find a couple Edgers maybe they would have answers.
A shout rose above the din and Cailean yanked his attention toward the door as a man rammed his fist into another man’s jaw. One of the guards standing at the door lunged toward the two fighting men. The warrior struck the first man hard across the ribs with the blunt end of his sword.
The man howled in pain, spun, and charged the warrior. The warrior sidestepped him and Cailean realized the warrior’s intent. Cailean lunged toward them, but the warrior whacked his spear against the back of the man’s head before Cailean could reach them. The man fell face first onto the floor, scattering rushes like dandelions. Cailean pushed through the gawkers to the man who lay motionless, and dropped to one knee beside him. He placed two fingers against the side of the man’s neck and breathed relief at the steady pulse that beat against his fingers.
He looked up at the warrior. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”
“Who are you?” a woman demanded.
Cailean swung his gaze onto the speaker. Lady Ravenstone stood beside him.
“This man needs a doctor,” Cailean said. “Don’t you think things went a little too far t
his time?”
“My husband’s men know how to deal with rabble,” she replied.
The man moaned, rolled onto his back and blinked up at them. He looked from Cailean to Lady Ravenstone, then pushed up onto his knees. He braced his hands on his thighs and pushed to his feet. Cailean rose and started to turn toward Lady Ravenstone. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man shift his stance and flick his eyes in Lady Ravenstone’s direction. Cailean spun and the man collided with Cailean’s chest. They crashed to the stone floor, Cailean on top of the man. The man slammed his fist into Cailean’s ribs.
Pain shot clear to his kidney. Cailean blocked a blow to his nose, then froze when two spear blades jammed into his view, the points pressed against the man’s cheek. The points didn’t break skin, but if the man moved even a hair, they would. Strong hands seized Cailean’s arm and he yanked his gaze up as Lennox pulled him off the man.
“What happened?” Lennox demanded.
Lady Ravenstone joined them, her eyes on the man. “Take him to the dungeon.”
Lennox’s head snapped in her direction. “The dungeon?” He looked from the man, who the guards had yanked to his feet, back to Cailean.
“He tried to attack me,” she said.
“Attack you?” Lennox glanced at the man as the guards pulled him past the onlookers toward the kitchen. Lennox returned his gaze to his mother. “Who is he?”
She shook her head. “I do no’ know him.”
“And you, Cailean,” Lennox said. “What have you to do with this?”
“He stopped the man,” Lady Ravenstone said. “Who are you?”
“Cailean Mackay,” Lennox said before Cailean could answer. “From Durness.”
“Ye have my thanks, sir,” she said. “Will you sit with me?”
“Of course, my lady.”
She turned and walked toward her seat. Cailean started after her, but stopped when Lennox grasped his arm.
“Unless ye want to end up in the dungeon with that man, you will not tell my mother you are a Ross.”
