The gates rose before them, the light of their torches illuminating the road. “Who comes here?” cried a sentry, again speaking in Norman French. Duncan was well aware that his garb would earn him few friends in this place.
“And so I must vouch for you, Duncan,” his companion said softly.
“Do you mean to do as much?” Duncan asked, noting that the crossbows were loaded and pointed at him.
“You have saved my life. What else could a man of honor do?”
Duncan turned to look at the knight, uncertain how to interpret his tone.
Fitzpatrick smiled thinly. “See that you do not betray my trust.”
Duncan surveyed the wall, bristling with warriors, then looked back at his companion. “If you offer me sanctuary, I would advise you not to betray mine either,” he said with quiet heat.
“Spoken like a man whose word is his bond,” Fitzpatrick said. “Welcome to Inverness, Duncan.” He raised his voice. “It is Fitzpatrick, Captain of the Guard, returned. I demand safe passage and shelter for this man, one Duncan, for he has saved my life.”
To Duncan’s relief, the crossbows were lowered and the gates were opened.
It was only as he passed beneath the shadow of the gates that he wondered if he was the one who leaped from the fat to the fire.
* * *
The babe was perfect.
Washed and swathed in soft cloth, the little girl kicked with as much force as she had within her mother’s womb. She had an abundance of black hair, a legacy of her father, and surely was possessed of more determination than most babes. Radegunde cuddled her, imagining that she would show her force of will in more ways than the speed of her arrival.
Lady Ysmaine was clean and garbed in a fresh chemise, the bed linens changed and all set to rights in the solar. Radegunde passed the little girl into her father’s embrace, liking how he smiled with pleasure at his daughter.
Her own mother had said that one could never anticipate a man’s reaction to a daughter, but it was clear that Lord Gaston was delighted with his first child.
He sat on the side of the great bed where Lady Ysmaine reclined, and they both admired the marvel who had entered their lives with such gusto.
With her labor done for this night, Radegunde made to leave the solar. No doubt the babe would awaken early and Lady Ysmaine might sleep late. Until she found a wet nurse, Radegunde would take responsibility for most of the little one’s care.
“You have not evaded the tale, Gaston,” Lady Ysmaine said, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Where would you journey, if not to Outremer?”
“Radegunde, I would ask you to remain for a moment,” Lord Gaston said. “And close the portal, if you please.”
“Aye, my lord.” In truth, Radegunde wished to know this detail as well as her lady.
Lord Gaston gestured and Radegunde drew up a stool alongside the bed. The babe gurgled a little and seemed to drift off to sleep as her father rocked her.
“There is concern in Paris about the safety of a certain item we have defended,” Lord Gaston said quietly. “Although it seemed wise to entrust it to Fergus at the Yule, I have been requested to see it hidden.”
“Hidden?” Lady Ysmaine echoed. “Not secured in a treasury for worship?”
“It is of great value, and there is much doubt about the future. Richard’s battles have left many uneasy about his plans, and it is clear that his father nears the end of his own life. I have heard rumors that Philip means to attack some of Henry’s keeps on the border, while Henry is in England collecting tithes for the coming crusader. Richard will doubtless aid him in creating trouble. It is thus feared that any known safehold will be revealed in the turbulent times that many see ahead.” He frowned. “I am instructed to secret it, with as few people knowing the truth as possible.”
“But when and how will it be retrieved?” Lady Ysmaine asked.
“It may never be,” her spouse replied. “It is seen to be preferable to hide it forever than for it to fall into the hands of those who would not revere it.”
“But it is at Killairic,” Lady Ysmaine said.
“That it is. And any number of records document the names of those who led our party from Jerusalem. It would be simple to seek the prize in the holding of myself, Wulfe, Fergus, or even Bartholomew.”
“Then where shall it be safely secured?” Lady Ysmaine asked.
“I have an idea.” Lord Gaston traced a map on the coverlet with a fingertip. “We will take a short journey this summer and leave Châmont-sur-Maine under the vigilant care of your father. We shall visit Fergus and meet his father. Then we shall ride east and south, to Northumberland, that we might see the holding Bartholomew has claimed.” He slanted a glance at Radegunde. “And of course, we shall take Radegunde with us.”
“Northumberland is on the Scottish border,” Lady Ysmaine said.
Lord Gaston smiled. “Indeed. Unless I miss the guess, the name of one warrior in our party was not noted by many, and truly, there is someone in our household most desirous of seeing him again.”
Radegunde gasped with delight that Lord Gaston should accommodate her thus. “But I do not know where Duncan is.”
“Nor do I, but I am certain he can be found,” Lord Gaston said. “Indeed, I will ensure that he is, for since he has left you with child, it is only honorable that he wed you in truth before a priest.” He kissed Lady Ysmaine’s hand. “My lady and I will argue noisily about her maid’s state, and I will vow to ensure that the man responsible treat her with honor. We shall then sail to Inverness to begin our hunt for the culprit.”
Radegunde clasped her hands together with delight.
Lady Ysmaine frowned, looking between her husband and her maid. “But Radegunde is not with child.”
“And who knows of that but you?” Lord Gaston asked. “Nay, I think Radegunde must be with child, as you were, my lady, at the Saint Bernard Pass.”
“Oh!” the two women declared in unison, understanding his scheme.
“Which means, since you must have conceived in December, that we shall ride north in August, when you are so ripe that your state cannot be denied. At Killairic, your burden may become a little heavier.”
“You must begin to round,” Lady Ysmaine said and Radegunde nodded.
She turned to Lord Gaston. “You would entrust Duncan with the prize?”
“He carried it most of the way from Outremer. I know he will defend it with all his power.”
“But,” Radegunde protested. “If I remain with him, it will become evident that there is no child. I cannot remain pregnant forever.”
Lord Gaston smiled. “Of course not.” He rocked his daughter, waiting for the women to discern his ploy. “I had the idea this very night, when I saw how much you feared for my daughter’s survival,” he added, giving them a hint.
“I will lose the babe,” Radegunde whispered.
“No doubt from the strain of the journey,” Lady Ysmaine added.
“And it will be buried in a churchyard with a stone to mark the spot,” Radegunde concluded.
“Hidden in plain sight,” Ysmaine agreed, then cast a glance at Radegunde. “Which means you will need the goodwill of a priest. I would think that you and Duncan will have to exchange nuptial vows after all.”
“I would be glad to do as much,” Radegunde said.
“And if Duncan has won a home for his bride, I do not doubt that he would agree,” Lord Gaston said.
“If not, I shall have much to say of it, to be sure.” Lady Ysmaine smiled. “And now that Marie has faced the king’s justice, we can leave Châmont-sur-Maine under my father’s trusteeship without concern.” She reached to kiss her spouse on the cheek. “Your scheme is brilliant, Gaston!”
He smiled, well pleased with the reception to his plan. “And so we have a plan, as well as a maiden in need of a name.” He eyed his sleeping daughter and then his wife. “I think there can be only one choice, lady mine.”
Lady Ysmaine smiled
up at him, then caressed her daughter’s cheek. “Welcome, Euphemia,” she whispered and the babe cooed happily.
Radegunde smiled, for truly, there could not have been a better choice.
And she was going to Scotland!
Soon, she and Duncan would be together again.
* * *
Duncan had anticipated a challenge, and he did not have to wait long for it. He was brushing down Caledon in the last stall of the stables, well aware that the knights and squires regarded him with suspicion.
He felt the presence of the man at the end of the stall before he heard his words. “Is this a ploy to gain admission to the keep?” a man demanded in Norman French, his voice a low growl. “If so, it is a poorly contrived one. Had you garbed yourself like one of us, your ruse might not have been so readily discerned.”
“It is no ruse,” Duncan replied calmly. He turned to face the other man. That knight was almost of an age with Duncan, his face lined and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I saw a man in peril and I aided him. Surely that has some merit.”
The knight snorted, his eyes bright. “You have a fine horse and speak French well. How can you look like the outlaws who assault our borders yet speak like us?”
“Perhaps I would defy your expectation in other ways, as well.”
“Aye, that is the root of my concern.” The knight stepped into the stall. “Whose steed did you steal?”
“Caledon has been with me all the way to Outremer and back.”
“So you say. What is your objective in coming to Inverness?”
“On this night, to find shelter that the wolves might not attack my destrier or myself.”
“And beyond that?”
“I seek my family. I have been abroad many years.”
“Wife? Child?”
“Father. Brother.”
The knight’s jaw set. “There are hundreds of your ilk beneath that cairn at Torvean, as well as too many of my own men. The river Ness ran red with blood for days.” His tone was bitter. “My own father, governor of Inverness, rode out against Donald MacWilliam, who led this rabble, and slaughtered him before he was killed himself.”
Duncan stiffened, though truly he could not mourn his father’s loss. Of course, the knight would not use the Gaelic version of his father’s name. “What of Donald’s son, Adam?” he asked, curious whether this man could confirm Murdoch’s tale that Adam was dead.
“Dead at Coupar Angus, declined sanctuary for his crimes and slaughtered in a church, with all his followers.”
So, it had been Adam.
They were both dead.
Duncan felt a surge of relief, then recalled his younger brother.
The knight’s gaze brightened when Duncan did not speak. “Father. Brother.” he mused, and Duncan knew he understood. “You resemble him. I see it in your profile.” He spat in the straw. “I had a good look at your father’s head before sending it to King William’s court. Should you wish to see it, I suggest you ride back to Edinburgh.” He turned then to walk away. “You will leave this keep in the morning.”
Duncan had to ask. “What of Guthred?”
The knight looked back. “There is another son?”
“Three sons,” Duncan supplied. “The eldest dead at Coupar Angus, as you say. The middle son abroad for many years, estranged from his father.”
“And now returned,” supplied the knight.
“The youngest groomed by his father to continue the battle to regain the crown.”
The knight frowned in displeasure.
“Where is the brooch?” Duncan asked.
The knight eyed him with uncertainty. “What brooch?”
“The penannular brooch, one of three given to the daughters of Malcolm II, King of Scotland, when he wedded them to neighboring barons. Possession of the pin marks the son of that line with a legitimate claim to the Scottish throne.”
The knight’s attention sharpened.
Duncan continued. “The gold and garnet one was granted to the daughter who wed into the family of the King of the Isles. Malcolm III was crowned with that pin upon his cloak.”
The knight took a step closer, his interest clear.
Duncan continued. “The gold and amber one was granted to the daughter who wed the Earl of Orkney, and was surrendered to King David of Scotland by King Eystein of Norway some thirty years ago.”
The knight folded his arms across his chest. “And the third?”
“The gold and amethyst brooch was granted to the daughter who wed into the house of Mormaer.”
“The stewards of Moray.”
“My father wore that brooch when last I saw him. Was it not upon his cloak?”
The knight shook his head. “It was not at Coupar Angus either.”
“Then my brother Guthred claimed it, to be sure,” Duncan said returning to the brushing of his steed.
“They follow whosoever wears the pin?”
“Of course, for that is the man with the claim to the throne through the Mormaer line.”
“Is this why you came? To claim the pin yourself?”
“Nay. I came because my father sent a man to kill me and I would challenge him over that choice.”
“You are too late.”
“So it seems.”
“And now?”
“And now, I have a choice. Or I might have a choice, if you would deem it fitting. Understand that the Scotsmen who plague your northern borders will follow the warrior who wears that pin, and that my younger brother has sipped from my father’s cup of bitterness all his life.”
“But not you?”
Duncan smiled and shook his head. “Not me. I have seen enough bloodshed and devastation to sate me. I have spent the last years in Outremer.”
“Is it true that Jerusalem has fallen?”
Duncan nodded. “The kings will ride to crusade.”
“And you?”
“I would live in peace. I would find a home for my lady, swear fealty to a man of honor I might serve well, and die an old man before my own hearth.”
The knight took a step closer, his eyes bright. “If you would hunt your brother Guthred and claim that amethyst and gold pin, I would grant you that, and more.” He switched to Gaelic. “Fitzpatrick said you were named Duncan, which by this tale would make you Donnchada meic Domnall meic Uilliem.”
Duncan straightened, for he had not heard his name in Gael for a long while. “It would indeed,” he acknowledged and his throat was tight.
“And I am Alexander Comyn, son of the Governor of Inverness and now governor in my own right.” He offered his hand. “Reclaim the pin and take leadership of your kin, pledge fealty to King William and I shall see you in command of a holding upon the March.” He smiled slightly. “I would have peace, Donnchada meic Domnall meic Uilliem.”
“As would I,” Duncan agreed and shook hands with Alexander. He would not have fought to possess the birthright of his lineage, but he would fight for peace, for prosperity, and for a sanctuary for Radegunde.
Friday, August 13, 1188
Feast Day of Saint Hippolytus and Saint Radegund
Greetings to you, Bartholomew, Baron of Haynesdale, and also to your lady wife, Anna—
I trust that all is well in your abode and that the keep has been rebuilt to your satisfaction.
Though it has been long since we have spoken or corresponded, I hope that I may ask of you a favor. I have ridden south this month to swear my fealty to King William of Scotland at his court in Edinburgh, and here have found a knight bound to London to carry my missive to you. The turmoil in the north settles, and I am glad to confess that I have contributed to that happy state. I have claimed my father’s legacy from my brother Guthred, but entered an alliance with the crown rather than rising in rebellion against it. It is time for the Mormaer to join the kingdom and I am glad to lead my people in this endeavor.
As reward for my service and my fealty, the king has seen fit to grant me a holding in the Great Glen, the b
etter that I might aid in the defense of the northern borders of his domain. I dare not leave it undefended, for it is key to our success that I claim Morcreig and defend it soon. Aye, I am now Laird of Morcreig and hold that keep as my own.
The sole disappointment is that this assignment from the king means that I cannot journey to Châmont-sur-Maine before the year and a day of my handfast to Radegunde comes to its end. This vexes me beyond all, for she is—I believe you know—the blood of my heart and the sole reason I have undertaken these responsibilities. I would build a home for her, but it will take a little longer to see it secured.
I hope that you correspond with Lord Gaston, or will see fit to do so in the near future. If so, I would ask your assistance in sending word to Radegunde. I will ride south by the Yule to take her hand in mine forever and would ask her to exchange our vows this time before a priest, as Lady Ysmaine doubtless would find acceptable.
My gratitude to you in anticipation of this courtesy.
Until we meet again,
Duncan MacDonald
Also known as Donnchada meic Domnall meic Uilliem
Laird of Morcreig
Tuesday, September 6, 1188
Feast Day of Saint Bega and Saint Augustine
Chapter Twenty-Four
A weight hung upon Duncan’s heart.
It was a year and a day since Radegunde, his merry Radegunde, had put her hands within his and pledged to be his own.
And yet, they were apart.
On this day above all others, Duncan would have been with her, but he was not. He hoped that Bartholomew had been able to send word of his obligations to Lord Gaston, and hoped yet more that Radegunde understood the magnitude of his responsibilities.
Although, such was his yearning for her company that he would welcome a scolding as well as a kiss. She had to be by his side to deliver either, after all.
The Crusader's Handfast Page 36
