Joan rolled her eyes. “Ye sound just like your husband, God rest his soul, when ye talk like that. So righteous the mon was. Aye, he was old enough to be my father, but I did ken him far longer than ye did. So did my mother and father, God rest their souls. Sir Boyd always talked of honor and virtue and all of that, but wed his first wife for coin and this land, and then wed ye for the coin needed to pay for things for this land and, mostly, that manor. And he didnae do much more than train the warriors, try to breed a son, and act virtuous and honorable.”
“Ye didnae like him at all, did ye?”
“He was my laird and I respected that. E’en my parents did little more than that. We didnae dislike the mon, but he ne’er really gave anyone a reason to like him. My mother once said that she had ne’er met a more passionless or humorless mon in her life, that the mon was nay much like the ones who had come before him. Ye are the one who gave us a good life here, returned this place to what it was—and more—before Sir Boyd’s first wife’s grandfather died. I was pleased that my mother lived long enough to see the promise of ye, for she had oft bemoaned how neither the father nor the daughter’s husband had a true love of Banuilt. They just liked to sit in the laird’s chair and wave their swords about.”
Triona grimaced. “I fear I had that thought myself now and then, and then would feel so disloyal and ungrateful. Yet, I could ne’er fully shake the feeling. He didnae e’en like to talk about what needed to be done about plantings, or harvestings, or livestock. He always told me to speak to the steward or one of you, for ye would all ken what to do.”
“And so we do, but we need the laird to be certain we have what is needed to do it. Until ye came, all we had was that steward, and he was useless. But ’tis nay the laird’s failings we need to speak of, and one ne’er wishes to speak ill of the dead if one can avoid it. Nay, we need to speak of how ye have a verra fine mon smiling at ye and ye are nay smiling back like any lass with blood in her veins would do.”
For a moment Triona could only stare at Joan in shock. They had become friends within a fortnight of her arrival at Banuilt as Boyd’s new wife. Boyd had frowned upon her being so friendly with a mere weaver, but for once Triona had ignored him and his wishes. Only a few years older, Joan had become her confidante and her adviser. That the woman would now advise her to give in to her passion for a man who was not her lawful husband and would soon walk away from Banuilt, shocked her a little. She was pleased to hear, however, that Joan did not think she was smiling back at Sir Brett, so she had clearly kept her growing desire for the man hidden from most eyes.
“He is trying to seduce me, Joan, nay woo me. He looks for a lover, nay a wife. I am certain of that.”
“Mayhap that is what he looks for now, but that could change in time.” Joan shrugged. “And if it doesnae, then ye go on alone, just as ye did after Sir Boyd died, but this time ye will do so with a few verra sweet memories to ponder now and again.”
“Nessa said the same. She told me to work on that.”
“Good advice.”
Triona was about to express her concerns about losing the respect of her people when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Looking around to find out what had alarmed her so abruptly, she saw only the women working and the children playing. She frowned, for despite the peaceful scene she watched, the wariness that had gripped her so tightly did not fade away. A part of her thought to just shrug it aside, but she had always had a sense of danger and she had begun to learn how to trust in it. Looking down the road that ran through the village, she finally found the reason for her sudden unease. There were men rapidly approaching, slipping from shadow to shadow but close enough that even the shadows could no longer hide them completely from sight.
“Joan, ye and the women grab the children and run for the manor,” she said, never taking her eyes off the men still sneaking up on them, although she did her best not to be too obvious about it.
“What is happening?”
“Some men are trying to creep up on us. I cannae see how many there are, but they are nay ours. Of that much I am certain.”
“Then we had best run.”
“Nay, I will stand firm. Ye run and gather all the others to run with ye. Do your best to hide your fear until ye can play that game no longer, and then run as fast as ye can the short distance to the manor and tell the men what has happened.”
“Aye, and I mean it when I say ’tis best we get started then.”
“Nay. Ye get started. I will stay here to hold their attention, just as we always planned. It is the only way to give all the rest of ye a chance to get to the manor and let the men ken what has happened. We both ken that Grant is after me, so if these are his men, they will be here to try to catch me.”
“Ye cannae fight them all off by yourself.”
“I dinnae plan to even try. I but need to delay them so that the rest of ye can get out of here and sound the alarum. The children need to be gotten away, Joan. Go. Now!”
Despite how pale she had become, Joan walked away from Triona in a calm, steady manner. A quick glance was all Triona needed to tell her that Joan was warning everyone she passed as she walked away. All the women began to move, subtly pulling the children from their games and herding them in front of them. It was something they had practiced from time to time, always expecting Sir John to actually, and finally, openly attack Banuilt. Triona was pleased to see how well everyone had learned the trick. It was almost enough to make her feel like a true warrior who did what needed doing to protect her people.
Knowing that the women and children would start running soon, alerting the men that they had been seen, Triona kept one eye on the men and looked around for something she could use as a weapon. All that was at hand were a broom and a bucket. The bucket was solid and heavy, with a rope handle, so it would be easy to swing. If it struck a man it could hurt him badly enough to make him back off. The broom would, however, allow her to keep the man from getting too close. Because she realized she had very little chance of getting away from the men, she chose the bucket. At least she would leave them with some serious bruises when they took her.
She knew exactly when the women began to run, for one of the men cursed loud enough for her to hear. The men then rushed toward her as she stood her ground. Triona knew she was but a small, easily defeated obstacle, but she only had to make them pause long enough for the women and children to get to safety. As the first man came within reach, she swung the bucket and caught him on the shoulder, tumbling him to the ground, cursing and clutching at his arm. Maybe not such a small obstacle after all, she mused, and swung the bucket at the next man.
Brett was just walking out of the manor when a cry went up from the men on the walls. Instead of the gates being immediately shut, however, several men raced to them, standing and looking toward the village. He moved quickly to join them, thinking to order them to get the gates closed, and then he saw what they were watching. Women and children, some running on their own and some being carried by the women, were making their way to the manor as swiftly as they could. He realized the men were waiting to defend them if needed and shut the gates right behind them.
It was not until the women and children were nearly all inside that he understood what had happened. He could not see Triona. Brett began to push his way through the women, looking carefully for some sign of her. His hope—that she was just hidden in the crowd—was soon dashed. He could not find her anywhere.
Joan pushed her way through the crowd, a wide-eyed bairn in her arms, and after taking a moment to catch her breath, said, “M’lady stayed to hold them back so that we could all get here safely.”
“She thought to hold back the men attacking ye?” he asked, caught between astonishment and fear for Triona.
“Aye. ’Tis how we have practiced it for months now. She kens that Grant wants her and feared that if he actually attacked Banuilt, he would hurt us to get to her. So we practiced escaping while she drew all attention to her. I ne’er l
iked it and tried to get her to come with me, but she wouldnae.” Joan kissed the top of the bairn’s head. “I couldnae wait any longer and risk a child being left there.”
Brett saw Uven and Tamhas and waved them over to him. “Some men, probably Sir John’s, are in the village and Lady Triona is still there.”
He did not even wait to see if they would join him but started to run toward the village. The sound of booted feet on the ground told him he was not alone, though he was not sure how many men were following him. With every step he took, he feared he would find her gone, and was not surprised to find no one in the village. It had been Grant, of that he had no doubt, but the attack had come much sooner than they had anticipated. Triona had believed the man would be cautious for a while after having his men caught stealing, but it had been only three days.
Brian arrived with horses as Brett searched the ground. He found where a struggle had taken place. There was a bucket with blood on it and some blood on the ground. He told himself that it was a man’s, that Triona had attempted to defend herself, but fear was a hard knot in his belly.
“So he finally just took the lass, aye?” said Brian.
“It appears so.” He watched Brian look over the ground and study the bucket for a moment. “I think that is from her attempt to hold them back.”
“So do I. The bucket is probably the one she used to clean the threshold stone. I would wager a few of those men are now wearing some bruises. But such a small lass couldnae hold them back for long, nay even long enough for us to get here. And we got here verra quickly.”
Brett was so startled that Brian would notice something like the fact that someone had been cleaning the threshold stone, he just stared at the man for a moment and then shook his head clear of the distraction. “So they cannae be far away.”
“I wouldnae think so, nay. So we go and fetch her back, do we?”
“Aye. Let us hope he is fool enough to think we will be slow to do so. This time we may just catch him doing something e’en his friends cannae excuse. She is, after all, considered the laird here, and one doesnae just grab a laird whenever one wishes to.”
“Unless that laird is an unwed lass and every mon hereabout believes she needs a mon to rule this place as it should be ruled.”
That was an ugly truth Brett did not want to think about at the moment, even though he was sure that the men of Banuilt did not think like that. He swung up into the saddle of the horse Brian had brought him and, with his gaze fixed upon the ground, began to follow the trail left by the men who had taken Triona. Just outside the village he saw that they had had horses waiting, and he cursed. They could follow that trail as well, but not move as swiftly as the men with Triona could while they did so, as they would be tracking them and would have to stop at times to check for signs. Even the arrival of Callum and Harcourt did not lift his spirits much.
“The mon has to be a bit mad,” said Brian as they cautiously rode along, keeping an eye on the trail left by Triona’s kidnappers.
“I suspect he has ne’er been verra sane as concerns Banuilt and the land he feels was stolen from his clan,” Brett said. “Mayhap trying to defeat a wee lass for nearly two years has finally pushed him deeper into that dark place.”
“If some of his kin were traitors to the king, as I heard they were, then the loss of a wee strip of land was merciful punishment. Most people would do their best to hide that dark part of their kin’s past, nay push to get back the penalty the fools had to pay and stir up everyone’s memories all over again.”
“Who kens how such a mon thinks? There doesnae need to be sound reasoning behind this, just his greed and sense of injustice done him and his family.”
“True. I also wondered if he was so ashamed of the cause of the loss of the land, the tale that there were traitors dangling from the family tree, that he sees getting the land back as a way to clean away that stain. A fool’s idea, but, then again, how can one e’er understand why a mon would do this.”
“’Tis surely a mad fool who treats such good allies this way.”
“Callum says this is really all Triona’s now. That cannae be disputed, e’en if too many men dinnae like a lass holding land. It is all in the way the deeds and such are written. He thinks it was done so because there was a sad lack of sons born to the McKees, and they didnae want the land passing out of their hands simply because all they had were daughters.”
“Yet the name lingers.”
“Made the men marrying one of their lasses take the name. Sir Boyd did so. Nay every family can produce sons like a MacFingal,” he drawled.
Brian grinned. “Weel, we have to be good at something in life, aye?”
Brett grinned and shook his head, but the brief respite from his fear for Triona was already fading. Sir John Grant wanted her and was obviously tired of waiting for her to come to him. He did not want to think about what might be happening to her in the man’s hands, but his mind was all too ready to show him.
“She will be weel and we will get her back,” said Brian.
“She had better be.”
“Have a fondness for the lass, do ye?”
“I like her and respect her. She cares for this land and her people. She doesnae deserve this.” He grimaced when Brian just grunted. “I am nay looking for a wife, so ye can just dim that glint in your eyes.”
“Ye are five and thirty. Do ye mean to die unwed and childless?”
“My clan willnae suffer if I dinnae have children. I had my chance once and it ended badly. I willnae do it again. I dinnae need another ghost to haunt me,” he muttered.
“We have all lost ones we loved, although I have been fortunate to nay lose many. Death comes when it chooses to and cares nay what we want.”
“Brenda, the lass I wanted to wed, found hers whilst coming to meet me. I will always carry the guilt for that.”
“Why? Did ye force her? Didnae she ken more about why it may nay be a good idea to slip out to meet ye and just how far someone in her family might go to stop her?”
“Nay, I didnae force her to meet me, just tempted her, and it wasnae her family who killed her but her family’s enemies. Some of them caught her out alone and beat her to death. She managed to live long enough to crawl to our meeting place, but then she died in my arms. She and my child that she was carrying.”
Brian sighed. “A sad ending, but I see nay reason for ye to be feeling guilty.”
“She was coming to meet me.”
“As hundreds of lassies have done for hundreds of years, and I suspicion some have died in the doing of it. She could have said nay, refused to slip around and lie to her kin in the doing of it. She could have even stood up and demanded she be able to choose her own mon instead of wedding the one her family chose for her. She also kenned more about the land, what was happening on it, and what dangers were there, than ye, I suspect. Nay, I still cannae see why ye continue to feel guilty about what happened. Sad, aye. Your fault? Nay, I dinnae see it.”
Brett wanted to ask why then did Brenda’s ghost still appear to him? He was afraid that Brian would begin to question his sanity, however. He often did himself. The fact that Brenda’s spirit appeared when he was abed with a woman, satisfying a man’s lusts, would probably make the man laugh, but Brett was all too aware of how chilling it was to a man’s passion. It was why he had been almost completely celibate for so long, the occasional attempt enough to reveal that the haunting had not stopped.
Seeing years of celibacy stretching out before him, Brett decided it might be time to talk to one of his kin. There were a few who claimed to be able to see the spirits of the dead. They might also be able to make those spirits go away. It was not just his ability to bed a woman that was suffering, but each time he saw the ghost, all his guilt returned in force. He might not agree with Brian’s opinion that he shared no guilt in what had happened to Brenda, but he did think seven years of suffering for it should be enough.
He looked toward Harcourt and Callum, who w
ere following the trail left by the ones who had taken Triona. They had to be tired, as they had only just returned from yet another hunt, but they did not hesitate to help. Instead of resting after a long search for the garrison of Banuilt, they were here trying to find Triona. They had all gotten pulled into the need to solve her troubles, but it did not really surprise him: Banuilt was a place of mostly women and children, youths and old men, and it stirred a man to want to help. The fact that the troubles they suffered were inflicted by a man who was supposed to be their ally only added to that need.
“Someone needs to kill that mon,” muttered Brian.
“Aye, but sad and annoying as it is, one has to consider the trouble that would come of a nice, quick end to all this. The mon does have a lot of powerful friends.”
“So do the Murrays.”
“Verra true, and I have thought that, if this isnae ended soon, I would reach out to a few of them. All that allows this conflict to continue is that the ones Triona can turn to willnae accept the word of a woman o’er that of a mon they have claimed as a friend and ally. If naught else, that would so annoy the women in my clan they would push the men to get this ended.”
Brian laughed. “Aye, they would indeed. And it could be a good step to take if this cannae be stopped soon.”
“I had begun to think that soon would be after another theft or another field burned. Now, weel, we will see how Triona fares after this to determine whether I need to make use of all those powerful connections my family has made o’er the years.”
Chapter Ten
The arrogance of the man so stunned Triona that she could only gape at him, the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. She then feared he was mad, that he had caught the fever that had so devastated their lands and had been left with some disorder of the mind. He had to know he could not get away with kidnapping her, that he was giving her the proof she needed to gain justice for Banuilt and put an end to his destructive games.
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