by Sherry Ewing
The Drunken Bard Tavern
Edinburgh, Scotland
Boisterous laugher filled the overly crowded tavern as men banged their cups upon heavy oaken tables whilst awaiting them to be filled, yet again. Serving maids busily went about their business, trying as best as they could to replenish their customers’ ale, without too much abuse to their already bruised backsides. An outraged squeal of protest, as a playful slap landed squarely on one pretty maid’s bottom, only caused another round of loud guffaws.
A scuffle broke out whilst yet another set of intoxicated louts attempted to lay claim to the same maid who worked the inn for a bit of coin. She was rudely tossed aside as one of the ruffians took his chair and slammed it upon the head of the other. Splintering wood flew in multiple directions, whilst complaints were bellowed from those nearby, as the two combatants continued their fight on the floor. ’Twas only at the shouting of the barkeep, informing his patrons they would be paying for any damages incurred, that the two rose and took the matter outside to be settled where things of this nature should be resolved in the first place.
“Now, this is a tavern more to my liking!” roared Turquine as he lifted his mug and drained its contents. “I like my inn to have some flavor and not be so meek and civilized like the last one we visited.”
“Ale!” called his brother Taegan. The serving maid hastily filled his cup, but with a wink of her eye, she plopped herself right down into his lap. His hearty laughter filled the room as he began to nuzzle her neck much to her approval.
Ian held out his own tankard as another serving wench answered his call. When she came up to him, she leaned forward practically spilling out of her gown. He did not mind the view she freely offered him for she was well endowed. With a promise in her smile, she wound her arm around his neck and settled herself in his lap ’til a most unladylike shriek rent the air.
Another woman rushed over and stood shaking her fist in outrage. “Eh now, sod off! Ye know I’s ’ad me eye on this one!” She gave the girl a hard push ’til Ian’s arm snaked around the irate wench’s waist, bringing her closer to his side.
Ian chuckled as they began to bicker between themselves. “Now, now, ladies, enough of all that. There are more pleasurable ways to spend the eve. I think there is more than enough of me to go around.” He gave each a quick kiss on the cheek, which seemed to pacify at least one of the maids. The other looked as though she was not of a mind to share what she had laid claim to. “What of you, Thomas? See something you like?” he asked bringing both women closer upon his legs.
Thomas scanned the room, but only went back to his ale. Putting down his full tankard, he turned his attention back to Ian. “I suppose one of us should remain sober and alert to the dangers that surround us,” he muttered.
Taegan only laughed and reached out to thump Thomas on his back. He got a meaningful glare for his effort. “Danger? What danger? We are but enjoying a bit of sport, are we not lads?”
Thomas snorted in disgust. “Standing on Scottish soil dressed as English knights is nothing to jest about. I am surprised we have not been knifed in our sleep already for coming this far north.”
Turquine downed his ale and slammed his tankard upon the table. Standing, he made a striking figure as he all but preened, showing off his impressive form. “What say you, Ian? Think you any of these Scots would be up to the effort to have a go at it with one lately of Dristan of Berwyck’s guards?”
Ian laughed, watching his comrade strut in front of the fire, much like a fancy peacock with his tail feathers fanned out to catch the attention of its mate. “None would dare, Turquine,” Ian responded loudly. “Have another cup, and let us enjoy our sport this night. I do not relish testing the patience of any who may be foolish enough to take up your challenge.”
Ian took no further notice of his traveling companions, since he had two women to better occupy his efforts. He took turns giving each his undivided attention and whispering the words most women wanted to hear afore they were bedded.
’Twas the harsh sound of a sword being released from its scabbard that caused Ian to unceremoniously dump both wenches to the floor. He stood quickly with his sword ready in his hand. ’Twas an automatic reaction from living many a year on the road, keeping danger at bay. It tended to ensure one’s safety and ability to survive yet another day.
Thomas held two men off at the point of his sword, whilst Ian eyed them both warily ’til he noticed the tartans wrapped around their bodies. He may not recognize the men, but the plaid they wore with obvious pride was one he had not thought to see any time soon. What the hell are they doing this far south? Replacing his sword, he placed his hand upon Thomas’s shoulder. “Hold, my friend,” he said firmly, waiting ’til he felt Thomas relax his stance.
Retaking his seat, Ian hardly gave a second notice of the two women, who were still in the process of picking themselves up off the floor. He waved his now empty tankard at them. “Be good lassies, and bring food and refill our cups,” he ordered them. Ian inwardly continued his assessment of the two Scots, who still waited to gain his attention, as he subconsciously drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
“Well?” Ian asked the strangers, hearing for himself the sarcastic tone in his voice. “What do you want from us?”
One was clearly braver than the other, since he stepped forward, although he eyed Turquine and Taegan cautiously when they moved closer to Ian’s side. “We could not help but over hear yer conversation. Be ye, Ian MacGillivray, lately o’ Berwyck?” he inquired.
Ian flinched. The achingly familiar brogue brought unwanted memories of his childhood rushing into his head. Ian was momentarily lost whilst unwelcome visions assaulted his mind of when his older brother had all but thrown him out of the only home he had ever known. He could still see his mother standing in the doorframe, pleading with him to beg his brother’s forgiveness. As leader of the clan, his brother’s word was law, and as younger brother, ’twas not Ian’s place to question the running of the lands, no matter how poorly a job his sibling had been doing. Even as the younger son, he would have been blind to not have taken note how his brother was already governing the estate into the ground.
Hatred burned in his veins for a past life he could not change. He felt once more the bitter sense of betrayal, as though ’twere but the eve afore when his life had been torn asunder. He blinked his eyes when they began to blur with memories that should remain in the past. The last thing he needed was to look a fool and shed a tear for the pain of his youth caused by his bastard of a brother!
Ian shook his head, trying to dismiss his thoughts, but ’twas not as easily done as he would have liked. “Aye, I am he, but what concern is it to you, may I ask?” he questioned harshly.
“I told ye ’twas him, Angus, although he looks more like a bloody Englishman than a member o’ our clan!” the other Scot sneered, pounding the man in front of him on the back. “Sounds like one, too…”
“Shut yer trap, ye fool!” the first Scotsman said. “Me apologies, me laird, fer this buffoon o’ a companion. Connor and I have been searching many a month tae find yer whereabouts.”
A gruff laugh escaped Ian afore he could hold it back. “Laird? Eh gads man, you have the wrong MacGillivray, if you address me as laird!”
“No disrespect intended, fer I would not gainsay yer words, but if ye are in truth Ian, lately of Berwyck castle, then we have the right man,” Angus replied. He began reaching inside his shirt but the sound of swords being drawn once more halted his movements. Angus held up his hands in surrender afore carefully pulling out a well-worn piece of parchment. He handed the missive to Ian. “Mayhap, this can put the matters aright. ’Tis from yer mother, me laird.”
Ian held out his hand for the document. “My mother?”
“Aye, me laird. The Lady Fiona gave explicit instructions tae give this tae none other than yerself.”
“I see.” Ian unfolded the parchment and began scanning the words afore his eyes. His b
row furrowed in anger as he read. He had little sympathy knowing his brother was dead, leaving the clan without a leader. They had never been close, and, as a ruler, he had been a tyrant. He was not sure how the people had been fending, if his mother’s dire words were not a falsehood. Fields had been left fallow with little coin to purchase seedlings. Livestock had been stolen by neighboring clans with no one to take control of ensuring they remained on MacGillivray land. “How did he die?”
“Ambushed, me laird, whilst returning from Inverness,” Angus answered.
“And my Uncle?”
Angus hesitated and took a sideways glimpse at Connor afore answering. “He is attempting tae take o’er as head of the clan. ’Tis why yer mother sent us posthaste tae find ye.”
Ian handed the parchment to Thomas who began perusing what had been hastily written by his mother’s hand.
Thomas guffawed. “’Tis nice of them to pick out a bride for you, Ian, especially not knowing you would ever return.”
Turquine leaned over Thomas’s shoulder so he, too, could see how fate was changing the course of Ian’s life. “Just where did you say your home is, Ian?”
“I do not believe I ever mentioned it, men.” Ian took a sip of his ale remaining silent in his thoughts ’til he felt a nudge from Taegan. Setting down his tankard, he at last answered him, although he did so hesitantly knowing just how far home truly was. “’Tis far north, on Loch Ness, and ’tis called Urquhart Castle.”
Taegan began to squirm where he stood. “Not sure if, us being English and all, we will fit in with all those Scots, Ian. No offense…”
Ian gave a snort, knowing how he felt. “None taken, my friend. Besides…I have not said I will be returning, now, have I?”
“But me laird, the clan needs ye!” Connor interjected loudly.
“Needs, me?” Ian ran his hand through his hair whilst his eyes raked the two Scots afore him. He let out his heavy breath. “Aye, I suppose they may at that, but Urquhart has not been a home to me for many a year. I will not be told I must needs marry some lass I know not, just to appease the elders of a clan who did not claim me as their kin! I will not be used as some bargaining tool, just to bring peace between our neighbors.”
Ian stood and strode to the hearth where he rested his arm on the mantel. Staring into the red glowing embers of the fire, the image of a fair young lassie with flowing blonde hair came to the forefront of his mind. Her name whispered across his memories. Lynet. Just thinking her name brought a smile to his face whilst he remembered the innocent lass he had left behind. These memories were unexpected, and yet, with thoughts of her, they became welcoming all the same. If he must take a wife, why could it not be her? At least the decision would be one of his own choosing.
“Ye will come?” Angus asked with hope ringing in his voice.
Such a question startled Ian to think his face must have shown his answer afore he could verbally give it. “Aye, I will return home,” he began, but held up his hand to halt any further words from Angus who clamped his mouth shut with a snap. “I must needs travel south to Berwyck first, for I have a matter to resolve there. You may travel with us. Be prepared to leave come the morn.”
The two Scots left their group and went back to their ale, whilst Turquine and Taegan returned to their sport. Thomas took a seat next to Ian. They each grabbed their tankards and took a long pull then wiped their mouths in unison with their sleeves.
“She may not wish to marry you, you know, especially after the note you recently sent her,” Thomas offered.
Ian was taken aback. “How did you know where my thoughts were leading?”
Thomas shrugged. “What other reason would take you to Berwyck? Besides, I was of Amiria’s guard, if you care to remember. ’Twas not hard to miss the infatuation a certain young girl had for her sister’s captain.”
Ian grinned at Thomas’s words and continued to drink his fill. Confident Lynet still cared for him, he turned his attention to the food laid out afore them and began to eat with a hunger he had not known he even had. As he enjoyed what was left of the eve, it never occurred to him the lady herself might not be all that pleased with his offer of making her his wife.
Chapter Three
Lynet rushed across the outer baily, clutching the herbs the castle’s healer, Kenna, had asked her to fetch. She had taken extra care to ensure they had been crushed completely in the mortar she still held, and, with other needed ingredients, she had formed the concoction into a sticky paste. ’Twas a procedure she had executed many times over the past six years whilst under Kenna’s tutelage. She could have performed such a task with her eyes closed. Knowing who the recipient was to receive her administrations caused her to run faster to reach his side.
She saw a group surrounding his body when she neared the lists. He barely looked injured, for he sat propped up against a tall oak as though he had not a care in the world. ’Twas not ’til she drew closer that she saw the grimace on his face. Unable to miss the injury to his arm, Lynet gave him a small grin for reassurance and plunked herself down near his feet. Peeking at him through lowered lashes, she saw he watched her every move. Still…she was unsure if he was appearing ill from the wound or the berating he was receiving from the company around him.
“You fool, Rolf!” Amiria yelled shaking her fist at him. She returned her sword to its sheath afore she continued her tirade. “How could you be so careless?”
“Bested by a woman!” Bertram interjected with a laugh, as others joined in on the merriment. “He will not live this one down anytime soon.”
Fletcher leaned forward into the circle to confront the man who was currently in the process of cursing at his fellow guardsmen. “I hope whatever you were thinking on was of great worth. You will be working double time in the lists come your recovery.”
Rolf’s gaze flew to Lynet’s. “’Twas of the greatest worth,” he replied with a hushed tone.
She tried to hide her surprise at the gentleness of his words, whilst he looked upon her searching her face. Someone cleared his throat, allowing her time to tear her attention from Rolf’s sea-green eyes and begin unfolding cloth to use as a bandage. She could see a foot being tapped impatiently in her peripheral vision, its owner trying to gain her notice.
Lynet was not sure she should dare ignore such an unspoken plea. Raising her face, she saw her liege lord towered over her with a mighty frown that could only be meant for her. Arm’s folded over his massive chest, she saw his anger brewing in his fierce demeanor whilst it simmered there at a low boil ready to erupt. He held his rage in check, but ’twas only just below the surface of the calming hand of his wife who tried to placate him, if such a feat was humanly possible. He was not called the Devil’s Dragon without reason. How her sister Amiria was able to tame such a beast was still a mystery to her, but perchance they balanced one another. ’Twas apparent by the glare he leveled upon her, however, that she had once more infuriated this man looming above her.
“We will have speech, Lynet,” Dristan demanded of her.
“But, my lord…Rolf needs tending.”
“Kenna will see to it.”
Amiria’s voice reached out to her husband. “Perhaps, now is not the time, Dristan.”
“’Tis well past time if you dare ask me,” he bellowed, whilst his gaze swept the men who lazily stood about, as if they had time to spend at their leisure nothing better to do. “Well? There is training that must needs be attended to, lest you would care to continue well into the eve, instead of fill your cups with ale when the call to sup is announced!”
The men scattered like fallen leaves taken up in disarray from the force of a wild and gusty wind. With one last pleading look at her sister’s retreating form, Lynet rose, wiping her hands on the apron tied at her waist. No help would be found this day from her sibling. Dristan took her elbow firmly in his hand, and she all but ran to keep up with him. He led her to a garden bench, but she chose to stand her ground when she faced him. He was not pleased. I
n no way could she misinterpret his mood.
She watched, as he struggled to keep his fury under control. Apparently, her face once more exposed more of her thoughts than she would have liked, since she knew without a doubt she had erred yet again. “Rolf is a good man,” she declared softly, for she knew where this conversation was leading.
Dristan’s voice cracked like thunder in his frustration. “Aye, he is a good man but one who has nothing but the strength of his arm to offer you.”
Lynet shrugged. “Mayhap, that is all I am in need of.”
“You know nothing, Lynet, of what you are in need of. He is but my vassal. As such, Rolf is subject to the laws I set in place.”
“I thought he was your friend, or am I mistaken?”
Dristan began pacing back and forth in front of her. ’Twas a true testament that he was annoyed with her since he could not stand still. “Aye, he has been a friend these many years but that does not mean he is entitled to wed with a noblewoman. He has no title, no land, and could die on the morrow upon the battlefield, leaving you a widow. Is this the life you wish to lead? A dead husband, buried in the ground, whilst you still have children to raise? Or perchance, becoming some washer woman trying to scrape out some meager existence whilst you reside in some run down hovel you will call a home?”
“’Twould never come to that. Rolf would never allow it. Besides…I could do far worse than to wed with Rolf,” she replied with a toss of her head, “like marry some titled man who only wants me for my dowry so he can enrich his coffers. At least Rolf is honorable and appears to care for me.”
“Care for you?” Dristan objected in concern. “Did he declare himself to you without my permission?”
Lynet felt foolish for speaking her mind in front of the one man who had tried to do what he thought was best for her these past many years. “Nay, of course not. Even he would not dare to proclaim such to me without your leave.”
Her words seemed to calm her liege, for he nodded his head towards her. But his visage suddenly changed, much to her dismay. ’Twas as if he made a decision of great import. “’Tis far past time for you to wed. I have only myself to blame for failing in my quest to see you settled with a husband of worth and a keep to ensure your safety.”
