As they sailed into the harbor, Celia was very aware of the difference between the Campbells' village and Argyll's. Even taking into account the miserable state of the weather and the dreariness of the hour, the filthy, run-down group of huts reeked of absolute squalor and poverty. Huddled around the stony strand that ringed the small harbor, the thatched turf hovels all displayed the evidence of the fishing trade that was barely supporting them. Before each house, a small boat lay idle on the pebble beach, and nets in various stages of disrepair spread around them.
The dripping, threadbare group of villagers who gathered at the beach stood and gawked as Colin and his entourage landed. Celia, standing behind Colin with the other squires, looked into these thin, haggard faces, into the vacant stares of the skinny, ragged waifs that huddled about them, and she knew that she wasn't going to like the man who spent five months of every year in the old-fashioned castle overlooking the harbor.
Wading up the slippery mud path that led to the castle, Celia considered the situation she was facing. She didn't need to like the earl of Argyll. It had to be enough for her that the earl of Huntly had sent her to him. But before she did anything, before she revealed herself to Argyll, Celia was determined to see Father William and learn the reason behind his message. Surveying the barren countryside around her, she could not see the abbey, and decided finally that it must be in a direct line behind Argyll's small castle. She was wondering about the possibility of getting to the abbey tonight when Colin broke into her thoughts.
“You will stay close to me,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow we'll see that you get to the abbey.”
Celia nodded to him and continued to trudge up the short hill to the drawbridge spanning the filthy pit that surrounded the castle walls.
Inside the curtain wall of the old fortress, Celia saw that the main building of the holding was not much bigger than Kildalton's stables, though its two wide square towers gave it a substantial, formidable appearance. A set of portable wooden steps led from the courtyard to the elevated main doorway into the building. Celia thought that this was a man who was either too cheap to spend his wealth on his holding or too insecure about defending it.
At the top of the steps, a gaunt, large-framed man stood looking down at the approaching contingent. His wide shoulders were covered with furs that flapped loosely about his wasted body like rags on a scarecrow. To Celia's thinking, the smile that he directed toward them looked more like a grimace.
So finally I meet Kit's uncle, she thought.
“Welcome to my home, Lord Campbell and Lord Macpherson. Come in, come in.”
Argyll's voice had an odd quality to it that Celia took a moment to consider. It was the voice of a big man, but there was a hollowness to it that made her think he was sick. Certainly his appearance substantiated that. But there was something more in it, a certain waver.
Fear, she thought. Argyll is afraid of something. Of Colin perhaps. Or Alec. She couldn't be sure. But she knew that he was afraid.
Celia's eyes sought out the faces surrounding her. Colin and Alec were like strangers to her. Their faces were hard as steel, and their voices, in response to his greeting, were formal and polite, but hardly friendly.
Celia and a number of the entourage followed the warriors into Argyll's hall. It was a high-ceilinged affair with a great cooking fire burning in the center of the room. The benches that ringed the smoky hall were crowded with soldiers and servants. Women who appeared to be there for the primary purpose of entertainment were circulating and laughing at soldiers' outrageous comments. They seemed to be teasing the men, moving from lap to drunken lap.
As the Campbell contingent entered with Argyll at the lead, some of the warriors stood, and the noise lessened somewhat, but for the most part, the carousing continued unabated. Only the women seemed to take real interest in the newcomers, and Celia watched with annoyance as several moved toward Colin like bees to honey.
Runt's brother Emmet, who was in charge of Colin's select fighters, stood beside Celia. Colin had entrusted him with the true identity of his squire Jack, giving him the task of shadowing her and shielding her from any difficulties. He had spoken with her on the ship, and Celia had been impressed with his devotion to Colin and the Campbell family.
Celia realized, as the revelers gravitated toward the newcomers, that between Emmet and Colin and Alec, she was completely encircled. They were taking no chances with her. She could barely see Colin's action in waving away the wenches, but their quick alteration in course was evidence of his effectiveness in dismissing them.
Argyll was shouting at servants to clear places at the head table for Colin and Alec, and those knights who were sitting at the table gave up their places grudgingly. Colin took hold of the earl's arm and spoke into his ear, whereupon Argyll gestured for one of his stewards.
“Oswald, before they eat, our guests want to be taken to the rooms that were prepared. And see that a bowl of fresh water is put in each of their rooms.” The earl gave Colin a wry look. “Although I hope you've not become one of those court fops who bathes more than twice a year.”
Colin's lack of mirth was hardly lost on Argyll, who turned quickly and moved to his place at the table.
“Emmet...Jack,” Colin said, turning to his people. “You come with Alec and me. I want half of you to stay on this side of the hall. The rest of you try to avoid getting the pox from these wenches.”
Oswald, a rat-faced, greasy-looking little man, led them up a winding stone stairwell into one of the two squat towers that rose above the castle's main building. At the top of the first flight of stairs, two doors opened off a damp, narrow landing.
“Lord Macpherson,” Oswald whined, pointing to one of the doors. “And Lord Campbell, in here.”
The steward pushed open the two doors and turned unceremoniously to retreat down the stairwell.
“Steward,” Colin commanded. “Have the water brought up now. And send up a heating brazier for each room, as well.”
Celia watched Oswald avert his eyes from Colin's fierce glare, and with a furtive “Aye, m'lord” disappear down the steps.
“Emmet, I want you on this landing for now. I'll send one of your men up.” Colin turned and looked into the room.
As Colin began to step through the door, Alec took Celia's arm, winking at her. “Jack, my good squire,” he said, loud enough to stop Colin in his tracks. “I'll be needing you to help me with my armor.”
Colin glared at him over Celia's smiling head. “If you need any help with your gear, Macpherson, I'll come in and help you.”
Taking her other arm, Colin detached Alec's hand from her elbow and pulled her into the room.
“Emmet,” he said, taking one of the torches from the landing wall. “You're here to guard my squire from any intruders—including the one next door.”
Colin closed the door behind him and moved across the room, placing the torch in a sconce on the wall by the curtained bed.
Celia watched in silence as the warrior investigated every inch of the small room. The only furniture in the room was the bed, and the narrow archer's slit in the wall served for a window. The opening was covered with a piece of skin that flapped about in the chilly breeze.
The wood floor was covered with rushes, but nowhere were the rushes thick enough to hide a trapdoor. Nonetheless, Celia watched him inspecting the floorboards, peering under the bed and out the window, then running his fingers over the internal stone walls, obviously searching for another entrance. This was a lesson in itself.
Once he'd completed his search, he turned around and placed his dripping cloak and satchel on one of the pegs near the bed.
Based on what she'd seen already, she could almost understand Father William's hesitation over having Kit brought out here any sooner than necessary. The castle and its surroundings were filthy, but more importantly, the obvious lack of discipline that the earl of Argyll allowed made Celia wonder if he could even protect himself, never mind Kit. It was hard to believe
that this man was married at one time to so noble a lady as Kit's aunt.
Celia had not known her; she had left the court for the west and her marriage to Argyll long before Celia had arrived in Scotland. But although she had been illegitimate by birth, she was still of the noblest blood of the realm and had brought wealth and honor to Argyll’s household.
“I can see there is no love lost between you and the earl,” Celia said, remembering Colin's shortness with Argyll.
“I do not trust him,” Colin said, removing his light armor. “And neither should you.”
Colin had known the man all his life and never liked him. But Argyll was kin to the king, and had been James IV’s strong arm in the west early in his reign. While the Campbells had kept their distance from the court, Argyll had actively traveled the avenues of power. When the Highlanders had openly rebelled against the Stewarts years earlier, Argyll had been the royal force in the west, while the earl of Huntly had taken James’s battle to the Northwest Highlands.
For years now, Argyll had been living off the rewards of that loyalty, draining the lands of their value, living a life of personal luxury, never building for the future. By contrast, Huntly had used his power and prestige to build a better, more unified Scotland.
Right now Huntly was working to secure the future for the young King James V. That was what the Campbells and the Macphersons and a few other powerful clans wanted as well. That is why Colin had come to Argyll’s winter castle. He wanted the earl’s written commitment that he had not forgotten his allegiance.
“We're going back down to the hall, aren't we?” she asked. Celia was eager to get another look at the earl himself. She realized that, so far, her judgment of him had been based solely on the condition of his keep and the village, but that was not quite fair. It was only until Huntly finished the negotiations that she and Kit would have to stay with Argyll. But Celia knew that she would not come here until she at least felt safe.
“I am,” Colin answered. “But you are not. If one of those wenches were to get close to you, you'd be discovered in a moment. And who knows what would happen then.”
“But—”
“No buts, Celia,” he continued in a commanding tone. “We'll get you to your priest friend tomorrow. But until then, you stay put.”
Colin was not going to lose the sight of her in that crowded hall downstairs. But it was even more than her safety that he was concerned about right now. He knew that never on her father's ships, nor at court, would she have witnessed the type of sordid entertainment that Argyll would probably be providing.
“Well, now I know what Emmet is really out there for,” she responded stubbornly. “To keep me locked up here.”
Celia knew that Colin had a point about the possibility of being discovered down there. She had fooled many men with her disguise, time and time again, but with women, she hadn't had much experience. But how else could she get close enough to the earl to make a judgment of her own?
“Not to keep you locked up, but to keep you from harm as much as I can,” Colin replied, moving over and standing in front of her, his hands resting on her shoulders. His gaze locked on hers. He knew full well that he had to convince Celia to stay put in this room. Emmet would be no match for her, if she didn't agree.
“Celia,” Colin continued. “You've asked me to do things and to make promises without letting me know your reasons. But still, I have gone along with them because I trust your judgment, and because I think of you as an intelligent, reasonable person who would not endanger anybody's life, including your own. Now, I am asking you to make a promise. You have to trust my judgment on this. Going down there is a very bad idea.”
Celia knew that everything Colin said was true. From the beginning, he had been so generous, so trusting, so caring. He had accepted her for the person she was inside, and for what he could see, not for the woman he'd heard about. That was all a part of why she loved him so much. Love? she thought in amazement. Love.
“Celia, are you listening to me?”
“Aye. You were saying.”
“Promise me,” Colin said as he gently shook her shoulders. He had to get her attention.
“Promise you what?” Celia said, gradually recovering from her own admission. As if she could ever recover from that admission. She looked into those beautiful gray eyes. She could feel his strong grip on her shoulders, his fingers burning her flesh through the layers of clothing. She wished he would hold her in his embrace right now. Kiss her right now.
“Promise me you'll stay here in this room,” he said. “Promise me you will not try to leave or do anything foolish.”
Celia nodded slowly. She wanted to promise him that she would stay with him always.
“Promise me,” he said, bringing his face closer to hers. “Say it.”
“I promise,” Celia whispered.
Colin's mouth came down on hers. The kiss was hard, unyielding, warm, and it ended all too quickly. But Colin let go of her shoulders slowly, looking affectionately at those beautiful eyes and the smudged, dirty face. Smiling, he turned and left the room.
Alec was standing with Emmet, waiting for Colin, leaning against the door to his room in the hall. When Colin appeared, Alec and Emmet both chuckled at the sight of his face.
“You two have a problem?” Colin growled.
“We do not have a problem,” Alec said good-naturedly. “But we do not kiss our squires. Actually, that's a side of you I didn't know anything about.”
Colin realized that some of Celia's muddy disguise must have come off on his face. He ran his fingers over his face trying to wipe off the smudges. Laughing, Emmet and Alec both pointed out in exaggerated terms the incriminating evidence.
The woman bringing the bowl of water up the stairs was greeted at the landing by the sight of two giants trying to wipe the third one's face. Before she could even react to this, the water was taken away from her by one of them, and she was sent on her way with directions to bring more.
Celia, not knowing what else to do, began to arrange Colin's armor on the floor beside the bed. Hearing a light knock, she turned to see the door of the chamber open. Immediately reaching for the sword at her belt, she spotted a young woman carrying in the big bowl of water. The girl gave Celia a quick appraising glance, followed immediately with a half smile as she placed the water in a corner of the room. Without another word, she turned and left, leaving the door open.
From where she stood, Celia could see Emmet standing outside the door. Just a moment later the girl returned, carrying a hot brazier, which she placed next to the water after kicking the door shut with her foot. Celia just stood there, waiting for the girl to leave the room, but she didn't. She just crouched there, busying herself with the turf fuel of the brazier, glancing in Celia's direction now and then.
She was taking forever. Celia was getting very tired of the servant's slowness and scrutiny when finally the girl stood up to face Celia and asked.
“Should I stay, or come back later?”
“Stay?” Celia asked, exasperated. “What for?”
The girl gave Celia a raised eyebrow, followed by a flirtatious look. She moved closer to the bed and began to pull up her dirty smock.
“We have time before your master comes up. Unless maybe you never done this before?” The girl stopped, eyeing her prey with amusement. “Have you?”
“Of course, I have,” Celia stumbled, now understanding completely Colin's concerns.
“Nay, I could tell you haven't. But you can try me first, before your master does.”
“Try you?” Celia snapped. “You think Colin Campbell's going to try you?” She would take his eyes out first, before letting him pull something like this around her.
“Why? You think I am not good enough for your master?” the girl asked saucily.
“That's it,” Celia said. “Actually, there is nobody in this castle that is good enough for Lord Colin Campbell.”
“That might be true right now, but not for
long,” the girl said, bragging.
Celia knew from her days at court that the best pieces of information always came about during conversations like this one.
“Sure, talk is cheap,” Celia said, taunting her. “Your earl never could get any lady of quality up here, not like the ones my master is used to.”
“He could, too. In fact, he's done it. Any day now we are expecting a quality noble lady to arrive.”
“Arrive where?” Celia asked, looking around her. She laughed to herself at the thought that she was the “noble lady” this young woman was speaking of. “In the middle of this dump? This place is so dirty and worn out that no quality lady would stay here.”
“Aye, here. And the word in the kitchen is that the lady will stay, too. My earl is going to have her marry him.”
“He cannot!” This was more than Celia had expected to hear. Her initial dislike of Argyll had just been substantiated. But could Father William have known this?
“He can too. Word has it that this lady has a lot of money, so the earl is going to force her to marry him before anybody finds out. With all her money coming here, this place will look better than where you came from, laddie.”
Celia felt a knot growing in her throat, ready to suffocate her. But she had to get rid of the girl first.
“Get out of here, you scurvy daughter of a leprous harbor wench,” Celia said, half drawing her sword from its sheath. “My master will not need you or any other like you.”
The girl turned and fled the room in surprise at the suddenness of the squire's violent response.
Celia leaned heavily against the stone wall of the tower room before allowing her body to sag to the floor. This whole time her only concern had been to get Kit to safety. But she had never expected that what would be freedom for Kit would be a lifelong imprisonment for her. Getting Kit to Argyll and then waiting for Huntly had been the plan. But she knew Huntly would never be a party to anything like this.
The Thistle and the Rose Page 17
