The Maiden Switch

by Allie Borne

  “Come, ye must be hungry. We will build up the fire and have some of that rabbit I see dangling from yer horse. We’ll take the first watch...” Arthur trailed off as he saw Sir Andrew, cradling Mary. Until that point, he hadn’t really wondered why Andrew had not come to aid them.

  Now, he and Aiden rushed to his side. They were relieved to find her conscience. Sir Andrew had tied a strip of linen from the bottom of his shirt around the slit in her throat. A few crimson dots had seeped through, but nothing overly concerning.

  Her throat was about all they could see of Mary’s visage, however, as Andrew had her wrapped up in his arms, covering her face with tiny kisses.

  “Eh-um,” Arthur cleared his throat.

  Immediately Sir Andrew looked up, angry, and a bit embarrassed at the intrusion. “I suppose ye would like to know that The Impostor has been restrained,” Arthur reported, containing his laughter.

  “Thank ye, Arthur,” Sir Andrew responded, looking up at the two men. “And thank ye, Aiden. I can no’ tell ye how grateful I am that ye rescued Mary. I am forever in thy debt.”

  Mary did not look up. She had nuzzled her face into Andrew’s chest, too overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions to interact with the others just now. Sir Andrew smelled of some spice, she simply could not put a name on. Something to do with autumn...That was it! It reminded her of cloves used in harvest pies, for some reason, and she started giggling. It was a nervous, uncontrolled laughter.

  Sir Andrew looked up at the other two men, glowering. They got the message, returning to their meal preparation. Andrew lifted Mary and carried her back into her tent. Andrew set Mary upon her own covers, then spread out next to her on The Impostor’s bedding.

  Mary had stifled her hysteria to the point that only small hiccups and a few tears escaped her control. “I...am...a...coward,” she sniffled.

  “Why?” Andrew asked, “Everyone feels a wee shaky after they have jest escaped death. There is naught for which ye should feel ashamed. If anything, I am the coward. I hadn’t the heart to risk yer life and thus could not act to save ye. I nearly lost ye due to fear.”

  “Ha,” Mary scoffed. Yet, she was pleased at his reaction. He seemed truly enamored and she returned the sentiment whole heartedly.

  “I will let Arthur and Aiden watch over the witch tonight. We will take tomorrow night.”

  “You will stay with me?” Mary pleaded, embarrassed that she was so frightened to be left alone that she would ask such a thing.

  “Thou wilt remain by my side for the remainder of this trip, Mary. I will no’ again let ye out o’ my sight.”

  Normally, the words would have felt constraining. Just now, Mary felt immeasurable relief.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lord Redland was exhausted. He had barely slept for the last three days. Still, the business of the manor must be tended. Sir Robert had still not been found; he was short three of his most trustworthy men; and, somehow, the rift with the Cumyn clan would need to be resolved. It could wait, Bryan decided, sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling off his boots, and climbing beneath the covers with his wife.

  His eyes had barely closed when a knock sounded at the door. Groaning, Redland rose to answer it. The chamber maid, Rachel, stood on the other side. “Sorry to disturb ye, Laird. The gatekeeper, he sent fer thee. The Cumyns are at the gate. They are demanding to see thee.”

  Rachel whispered, peering around Redland to check on her lady. “I’ll watch over thy lady.”

  “No, thank you, Rachel. I would jest as soon lock her in. Tell the gate keeper I will be down anon.”

  Rachel curtsied and scurried off. Bryan returned for his boots. He was grateful that Merianne continued to slumber. He would not fancy having to answer her questions just now. Thus far, she had been too happy of his attentions to ask why others were not tending her, or to notice that the door remained locked.

  He did not want Merianne to realize that he did not trust his own people to keep her safe. It would break her heart. It was the last thing she needed to worry over just now.

  Treading quietly down the steps, he strode out into the sunlight. Bryan had to shade his eyes, to find his direction. Jared met him half way, running. “Laird, they have a body with them. They are armed and insistent. If we let them in, I fear a fight.”

  “Let me see fer myself,” Redland responded. Climbing to the top of the wall, he looked down at the scene before him. About fifteen Cumyn men, and a couple of Robert’s men stood waiting to be let in.

  Redland called down to them, “What brings thee to my home?”

  “We seek to speak with thee, Lord Redland. It seems we have some items to negotiate.”

  “Lay down thy weapons, and ye may come inside.”

  “To be slaughtered? We think no’. We will remain as is.”

  “Then ye will no’ be given admittance.”

  “We have information about thy wife that might be of some interest to thee.”

  “I will believe nothing that comes from thy lips.”

  “Then believe the words of her kin. We have documents that are undeniable.” Bryan’s heart raced. Was it possible that Merianne had truly deceived him, all of this time? Impossible. He knew her as he knew himself. She would never betray him. Had that been her intent, she would have done so by now.

  “Verra well, then I will ask for yer word that ye will not draw yer weapons against my people except in self defense.”

  “Agreed,” called their ferret-faced spokesperson below. Bryan nodded and Jared cranked the wheel that opened the monstrous gate. In single file, the men entered. Bryan noted the two men from the Murray clan. They were distant cousins who lived and worked on Sir Robert’s estate. They bore the body of their dead kin.

  Redland approached, looking at his cousin’s lifeless frame. The crusted blood about his middle was already infested with flies. Bryan then looked at his kin. They bore several day’s worth of whiskers and purple smears beneath their eyes. “We have brought thee proof of thy cousin’s death,’ one man remarked, watching for Redland’s reaction.

  “I am sorry for the necessity of my actions. I loved my cousin. I will grieve his loss. Please, take him to the church. We will see that he has a proper burial.”

  “But my Lord,” complained the priest who had come to witness the arrival. “He did not give his last confession. He cannot be buried in consecrated ground.”

  “Robert gave his confession to me. He told of all of his sins. There was no priest about. God will understand.” The priest bowed and followed Robert’s kin into the tiny sanctuary.

  “Where can we speak, alone?” Demanded the other twelve men. The Cumyn’s blues stood in stark contrast to the Murray reds. The Cumyns prided themselves on their royal heritage. Twas a shame, how far they had fallen in the last few years. Death, disease, and poverty had driven their clan to the brink of extinction.

  These were proud and desperate men who stood before him. Bryan took stock. They were not all young warriors, as he had first assumed and expected. Nay, instead, the men before him ranged in age from forty to seventy. They were their village’s elders, their wise men...their council? But, Sir Phillip had dissolved the council, preferring to make decisions on his own.

  Councils had gone out of practice in most estates. Bryan was intrigued. He might consider resurrecting the concept. “Come with me,” Bryan offered. “With so many of ye, I think it best we meet in the hall. Anything ye have to say, be it truthful, will no’ be kept from my clan.”

  The men nodded, and followed him to the great table. When they were seated, a small man with thick spectacles came to lay a series of documents before Bryan. “At the death of our Thane,” the tiny man began, “this council was convened to determine how best to proceed. The people need a laird, a figure head about which they can relate. The council is well and good but it needs a leader. As thee well know, the Cumyn line has met with much tragedy these last fifty years.

  “We decided to track down the next in line and secretly de
termine his suitability for our people. We did no’ wish a repeat of the last laird’s cruelty.”

  Bryan nodded and the man continued. “We began by looking at family genealogy. Sir Phillip’s father was the second son to Sir Liam. His first son died, along with his heir. but Sir Liam also had a daughter.

  “I remember her,” offered the eldest man in the council. His long, thin beard rubbed the table as he spoke. “She was a red-haired spit fire. She was her father’s pride and torment. She ran off and married a Brit. We had not heard from her since.”

  “So,” continued the squirrely scholar, picking up his story, “some months hence, we tracked down the records of her marriage. I traveled to England, to the town of her last known address. It seems our Miss Cumyn married a Lord Berringer.”

  Bryan’s blood ran cold. His ears rang. Where was this story leading? “Get to the point,” he ordered.

  “Yes, well, Lord Berringer and Miss Cumyn had a son by the name of Sir Samuel Warren. Verily, we ‘ave discovered that our last remaining heir is thy wife. She is the granddaughter of Merianne Cumyn.”

  Bryan turned this thought over in his mind, manipulating the ramifications. “Would she be aware of this connection?”

  The scholar shrugged, unconcerned with such a superfluous detail. “The fact remains that we are in need of a laird. Thy actions have deprived us of our own. We demand that ye acknowledge thy first born son as Thane Cumyn.”

  Redland was taken aback. They wanted his son? Long moments passed while he considered his response. The very fact that they had come to him, taken the time to present their argument, meant two things. First, that they were desperate. Second, that they were willing to do what it took to preserve their clan and its surrounding lands. Redland, being of greater standing, would be one of many threats.

  “Art thou stating that ye would be willing to combine thy estates with my own?”

  Irate shuffling and scoffing ensued.

  “What we are saying, Lord Redland,” the elderly man stated, hunching further over the table to peer down its length at Bryan, “is that ye owe us a laird. Thou hast a young wife. She is our kin. She will produce many children. Give us a son.”

  “How can ye ask me to give up my heir, my son? That is unthinkable,” Bryan’s voice rose, barely controlled.

  “Then we will be forced to demand our rights as thy wife’s kin and take her,” the elderly man stated calmly, as the two men sitting closest to Bryan stood quickly and drew their swords.”

  “Thou wilt take my wife over my dead body,” Redland noted calmly. “Without me, ye’ll not produce a legitimate heir.”

  “She can remarry respectably in a few months, to a Cumyn, no less,” a wiry haired blonde called from the back. The rest of the men laughed, making it quite clear what the blackguard had in mind.

  Bryan saw that he had made a grave error. Looking about the table, he noted that only eleven men stood. Horrified, Bryan watched as a rustling came louder on the stairs. Grasping for the keys on his belt, he realized that they were missing. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have not noticed he was being scammed?

  “If ye kill me, my kin will destroy thy village. They will decimate thy crops and leave thy women and bairns to starve. Think before ye act.”

  “It seems, then, that we are at a stalemate. For, we have thy wife and thou art holding our heir hostage.”

  Merianne came down the stairs, head held high despite her pale pallor and disheveled curls. She looked beautiful. A hush fell over the men as they looked at the one women upon whom all their hopes now lay.

  Chapter 10-Sacrifice and Compromise

  “Th-they say I am one of them and am going to live with them, now,” Merianne whispered across the hall, as if it were only she and Bryan in the room.

  Time stood still. Bryan looked at Merianne. Her copper curls framed her face and ran down her back. He had planned on brushing and braiding her hair for her later, as she was not able to do so for herself. It pained him that the other men could see her so, so breathtakingly sensual and alluring.

  A thought came to mind and he blurted out, without thinking, “Who helped ye dress?”

  “Rachel,” Meri whispered, the tears gathering at the edges of her eyes. Then, thinking better of it, she lifted her chin. “Thou art sending me away?” She asked outright.

  Bryan was confused. Of what was she speaking? “Ye are no’ going anywhere,” Bryan responded. “These men think they have a claim on ye, as ye share a common ancestor. I happen to disagree.”

  Merianne looked at Bryan, still unwilling to acknowledge the men around her. “You do not care that I am a Cumyn?”

  “I do not,” Bryan responded levelly, keeping his eyes trained upon hers.

  “Then why did you allow them to come for me?”

  “They brought Sir Robert. They came to speak of our future.”

  “When was I to be consulted?” Merianne’s neck began to flush a telltale scarlet. The room fell silent.

  The squirrely book keeper they called Jenson cleared his throat. “Would it not be best if the woman were removed to another location, so that we might complete our negotiations?”

  “Nay,” Merianne and Bryan stated at once.

  “If this ‘negotiation’ happens to be over my person, then there is nothing to be decided without me. You will take me nowhere or decide nothing without my express consent. Is that clear?” Merianne’s melodious voice rang through the room.

  It was as if a magical spell had fallen upon all who heard it. They listened with rapt attention. “Now, what exactly is it that is being negotiated?”

  The spell was broken when an aged, rasping voice chuckled delightedly. “Why, it’s old Merianne, come back to haunt us, lads. She is the spitting image of her Grandmama and has the devil’s tongue to boot.”

  The men smiled uneasily, regarding this slip of a woman who seemed to have sway over them. “I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Sir. We have not been properly introduced.” Merianne continued, facing the elderly member pointedly.

  “Why tis Thomas Cumyn, My lady,” he responded as he rose and bent his bald head towards her. “Tis a pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”

  “I wish I could say I feel likewise,” Merianne continued, “but under the circumstances, you might understand that I might feel a bit put out.”

  The men crowed at her gall, clearly pleased by this performance. Merianne shook off the revelry and continued. “I asked a question, Mr. Cumyn...about what was being negotiated,” she persisted.

  “And here’s yer answer. We have o’ so kindly asked your husband to allow his son to become the Cumyn Laird. Tis a great honor and one that he has soundly refused.”

  Merianne looked at Bryan and then back at the white whiskered man. Both wore a mask of impassivity that was difficult to penetrate. “I do not understand. You wish to combine clans?”

  “Nay, we wish for thee and thy husband to share in thy abundant good fortune by allowing us to raise thy son for our next laird.”

  Merianne’s knees turned to toffee. She must present a strong front, she knew. Despite the laughter and frivolity, these men were deadly serious. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “You would ask me to give up my son? You would ask my husband to give up his heir?”

  “We feel it is a fair trade. An heir for an heir.”

  “The laws do not work that way,” Merianne offered. “I am a female. According to the law of progeny, my son will be my husband’s heir, not thine.”

  “Also, according to the law, his son will be our closest heir as well,” offered Jenson.

  “And you have no wish to lose thy identity by becoming a faction of the Murray clan,” Merianne stated aloud.

  “Precisely,” Jenson retorted, pleased that she seemed to be coming around.

  “It seems that there are fifteen of us here. We can think of a solution that will work for us all,” Merianne continued.

  “Remember, I will not consider any plan in whi
ch I am separated from my children,” Merianne warned.

  “Nor will I consider any plan in which my children or my wife are taken from me,” Redland added, crossing his arms defiantly.

  “Then ye offer us nothing,” Jenson retorted, bitterly.

  “I did not say so,” Merianne continued, before swords could be drawn again. “However, we are in a position of power. You must be willing to listen and consider what we offer. Strong-arming myself or my husband will get you nowhere.”

  “I have an idea,” the elderly Thomas, squawked over the noise. “Tis one that will be supported by our laws and could work for everyone involved.” Meri turned to look at the old man and lifted her brow in inquiry.

  “Aye?” she asked.

  “We are both focused on the oldest son, as the law gives him right to both parcels of land. We could change that. If we gave Merianne the land as a wedding gift, it could be promised to her second son. In that way, he could receive the land and become our laird.”

  “And if she does no’ produce a second son?” the blonde man asked.

  The room grew quiet. Merianne spoke. “It seems to me that the men sitting around the table will function quite well as leadership for the clan until a suitable heir can be trained. Even when that time comes, a council should maintain some power to make decisions. Sir Phillip was able to make so much trouble because of his absolute power. If I do not ‘produce a second son’ as you say, I expect I will produce other children. Their children will have children. A contract can be set up defining the second son as simply the second male heir. It may be years, but at least thy people would have an expectation of an heir.”

  “Nay,” Bryan responded. “No child or grandchild of mine, for that matter, is going to be carted off.”

  “I was thinking more that the child would be raised, knowing that he would one day serve as Thane Cumyn. He would be with us, but spend some time with the Cumyns. We would send the child off to train with another laird eventually, elsewise,” Merianne explained. “Instead of simply training as a soldier or clergy, he could train to head the Cumyn clan.”