by Mia Marlowe
“What is it?”
The boy grinned but shook his head. “ ’Tis a surprise. Please, m’lady, he’ll think I’ve not done my job if ye dinna come.”
“Go,” Margaret said, raising her ponderous bulk to her feet and ambling back to the window. “The sooner ye go, the sooner ye can return to tell me what’s afoot.”
Katherine didn’t need to see her sister-in-law’s face to know Margie hoped the surprise was that Donald had ridden back to Glengarry or sailed down the half-frozen loch and was unexpectedly going to be present for the birth of his sixth child. It was why she kept going to the window.
Kat suspected she was destined for disappointment.
After wrapping a warm brat around her shoulders, Katherine followed Fergie down the twisting stairs and through the great hall. It was Hogmanay, the last day of the year, so the yeasty scent of baking spilled out of the kitchen and into the hall. The little ones who called Glengarry home would make their rounds as soon as the sun set, begging for treats.
An old song from her childhood flitted through her mind.
Hogmanay, troll-a-lay, Hogmanay, troll-a-lay
Give us your white bread and none of your grey.
Katherine used to think she was singing away the trolls and other evils that might threaten those she loved through the coming year. If only evil could be turned aside by a song. If only life were that simple....
Still, she hummed the tune to herself as she and Fergie continued outside and across to the bailey.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the stables.”
She wondered if a new litter of pups had been born, but she didn’t remember noticing that any of her father’s deerhound bitches were in whelp. Still, if there were puppies, William would want to show her. He knew how she doted on small new things of any stripe. And speaking of small things . . .
“Have ye seen Angus about lately?” she asked Fergie. “The wee fellow has been making himself scarce.”
Once her terrier had gotten the lay of Glengarry Castle, he’d made it his personal hunting grounds. He still stayed clear of the deerhounds, but beyond that, he might be found anywhere—winding around Cook’s ankles, hoping for something delicious to drop to the floor in the kitchen; licking up the drippings in the brewery; looking for a friendly word or an idle pat from the folk who worked in the carpentry and stonemason’s shops.
“Aye, yer wee Angus is part of why we’re going to the stable, m’lady. Ye’ll see.”
William and Nab were waiting for her just inside the big double doors.
“There ye are,” Will said with a wide grin. “Wait till ye see.”
His excitement was infectious and she grinned back. “What is it?”
He took her arm and led her to the slanting haymow ladder that was almost a staircase. Will gave her a gentle push upward and followed closely behind. A few slats of sunlight shafted in through holes in the thatch, setting the dust motes swirling. The air was heavy with the sharp scent of fodder and warm beasts, along with an undernote of the less wholesome smells of a stable.
There, on the topmost mound of hay was Angus, sitting upright, with his ears perked and his eyes bright. As if he were some kind of doggie potentate, he had the Scepter of Badenoch clenched fast between his teeth.
“He’s the one who stole it?” Katherine said.
“Nay, he found it, I should think,” Nab said. “We’re pretty sure the original thieves hid it in the thatch of the chapel roof. Ye mind the low northwest corner”—he waited for her to nod, indicating that indeed she did know of that spot on the chapel roof where goats were wont to roam on occasion—“weel, that’s where the wee beastie found it, I’ll be bound.”
“How could ye know that?” she asked as William took the scepter from the terrier. To Angus’s credit, he didn’t put up much of a fuss beyond a brief whine.
“Because we caught them looking for it there—Ranulf MacNaught and his friends,” William explained as he stooped to give Angus a pat on the head and a scratch behind one ear. “But they were outfoxed by a wee dog.”
“Has the scepter been damaged?” Katherine swallowed back an unworthy knot of disappointment. That scepter and all it represented was why she’d fled Badenoch in the first place. It was a painful reminder that Will had no son to whom the rod could one day pass.
Will ran a finger along its length, pride in the symbol of his family’s line radiating from his face. “A few scratches in the silver, but those can be polished out. All in all, ’tis not much the worse for wear. Here, Nab. Take it back to the great hall to show everyone that it’s been found.”
He scooped up the terrier and held him out to Nab as well. “Ye promised whoever turned up with the scepter would be seated in the laird’s chair. Ye never said it couldna be a dog.”
Nab accepted Angus but drew back from the silver rod. “Nay, William, I canna take it. Ye’ve seen how slippery a thing it is in my keeping. Ye’d do better to trust it to the wee beastie.”
“In a few days, it’ll be Twelfth night.” William pressed it into Nab’s hand. “Ye can give it back to me then.”
Nab relented and took the scepter. Bearing both Angus and the rod, the fool scrambled back down the ladder, missing his footing and nearly tumbling off completely. But when his feet touched the lower level of the stable, he scurried toward the keep. Fergie ran ahead of them, shouting the news that the scepter was found and the “hero” would shortly be seated on the laird’s thronelike chair.
William made no move to follow.
“Ye dinna care to see the spectacle of a wee dog in the laird’s judgment seat?” she asked.
“No, this is Nab’s moment. Let him enjoy it.”
After they climbed down the ladder, she hooked a hand in his elbow. “It doesna bother ye to turn loose of the scepter?”
“Aye, o’ course it does. The fool is like to lose it again.” William shrugged, but she knew he wasn’t as indifferent as he tried to appear. “But if I dinna give him a chance to succeed this time, he’ll always fail.”
That was one of the many things she loved about him. William always gave people another chance, and when he did, they were usually so grateful they’d lop off their right arm rather than disappoint him.
He’d certainly given her plenty of chances.
“I’ve been chosen to be the first-foot for your father’s crofters,” he said as they strolled back toward the hall.
“That doesna surprise me a bit. Ye’re perfect for the job.”
The custom of the first-foot decreed that the first person to cross a threshold after midnight on the first day of the year would determine the luck of the household for the coming twelve months. Since a fair-haired visitor was considered unlucky, a well-favored, dark-haired man was usually chosen to serve as the designated first guest for all the homes in the surrounding area.
“’Twill take a while to ride out to all the crofts, and since there’ll be no moon tonight, I’ll need someone who knows the way,” he said. “Will ye go with me?”
It had been a couple of years since they’d performed this service for their own people. Katherine had started fearing that no matter how fine her tall, dark husband was, she was unlucky and her presence might lead to misfortune for their crofters.
But William obviously didn’t think so.
“Aye, I’ll go.” Things had been so good between them, if he wanted her along, she wasn’t about to say him nay. “I’ll need a bit of time to arrange for the gifts.” She’d have to organize the small parcels they were to deliver from the castle’s stores—a coin, bread, salt, coal, and a small flask of whisky for each of their stops.
“If we’re to be the harbingers of prosperity, food, flavor, warmth, and good cheer, it willna do to neglect any of the symbols,” Will said. “Though truth to tell, most of the menfolk would be satisfied with just whisky.”
“All the symbols are important,” she reminded him.
“So they are.”
“We’ll ride double on Greyfellow, then,” William said as they parted ways at the door to the great hall. Katherine would have to venture into the souterrain to assemble the gift parcels.
“Remember what happened the last time we rode out on that gelding.” She stood on tiptoe to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Let’s hope ye’re luckier this time, Will. Ye dinna want to end up walking home again.”
At Christmas be merry and thank God of all,
And feast thy poor neighbors, the great and the small.
Yea, all the yearlong have an eye to the poor,
And God shall send luck to keep open thy door.
—From “Get Ivy and Hull”
“It does seem to be a rule that’s been woven into the fabric of things that whatever ye give, ye get. Only it’s been my experience that the getting oftimes comes long after the giving.”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Twenty-Five
The night was moonless, but it didn’t matter. The sky was so thick with clouds, that not even starlight penetrated to the narrow game trails William and Katherine took. Fortunately, she was cat-eyed enough to recognize the correct way even in the gloom, and the cloud cover kept the night from being as stingingly cold as it might have been.
Riding at a leisurely pace, Katherine snuggled up close to William, pressing herself against the warmth of his strong back. She was slightly foxed from too many cups of ale, for every cotter they visited had insisted upon toasting them. A low fire glowed in her belly from the alcohol, and the sharp wool and leather of William’s scent made the glow dip lower in her body to simmer between her legs.
Will was her man, to do with as she pleased. And it pleased her to touch him. She slipped her hand around to run her palm under his kilt and along his muscular thigh.
“What are ye doing?” he asked.
“Passing the time between crofts.” She brushed his stiffening member, reveling in her power to rouse him. “Do ye not like it?”
He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl, but she knew he was pleased. “That’s not in question. The thing is, how can I hope to first-foot for your father’s crofters when my cock is like to be the first thing through the door?”
She laughed and gave him a hard stroke from root to tip. He was so warm in her hand, almost feverish.
“Mercy, woman.”
“I have none.” She raised herself and nibbled behind one of his ears. When she took his lobe between her teeth and gave him a nip, he reined Greyfellow up sharp.
Will was off the gelding’s back in a heartbeat and pulling her down with him. His mouth was on hers, demanding and gaining entrance. He tasted of ale and heather honey from the sweet cranachan they’d been served at the last croft.
His hands parted her cloak and found their way in around the folds of her arisaid. He kneaded her breasts. He pinched her sensitive nipples the way she liked, and still she wanted more. She wanted his mouth on them, sucking and biting, but this wasn’t the place for prolonged love play.
When he pressed her spine against a broad yew tree and raised her skirts, she hooked a knee around his hip to help him. He wasn’t the least gentle, but she didn’t want him to be. She was wet and ready, and when he thrust in, she tilted her pelvis to meet him.
She’d never felt so wanton. The thrills swirling over her skin had nothing to do with the cold. She wanted this man to take her, to pound into her body, to drive himself home and claim her indelibly. She wanted to take him into herself and never let him go. If a whole troop of woodsmen chanced past them at that moment, it wouldn’t have mattered a bit. She was beyond shame.
They came at the same time, with pants and helpless noises of release, limbs jerking. The connection between them pulsed with life.
When the last contraction was over, she sighed and rested her cheek against his chest. “Oh, Will. Ye do me so fine, ye know.”
“If by that ye mean I took ye like an animal in rut, I’ll have to plead guilty.” He stroked her hair and cupped the back of her head, holding her close.
“Ye’re always so in control. Sometimes, it pleases me for ye to lose command of yourself for a bit.” She glanced past his shoulder. “Dinna look now, but ye’re about to lose control of our mount. Greyfellow is wandering off.”
Will pulled out of her and ran after the gelding. The horse had stopped on the other side of the clearing to paw at the snow in hopes of finding some grass beneath.
“Weel, this is what comes of vexing me, woman,” Will told her as he helped her up onto the gelding’s pillion once again. Katherine was a little sore, but she was totally satisfied with the result of his “vexation.” “’Tis what ye may expect when ye tempt a man beyond bearing.”
“Do ye promise?” She snuggled against him once he mounted ahead of her. Sated and still slightly tipsy, she was likely to fall asleep before they reached their next stop. Katherine was in no danger of falling off the horse, though, for William had wrapped the end of his plaid around both of them.
It occurred to her that she’d gone all day without thinking of Stephan or conceiving or the empty cradle in their chamber at home. And it was a good thing.
“If this is what happens when I vex ye,” she murmured as her eyelids drifted closed, “dinna be surprised when I do it again. Often.”
The croft of Sawney MacElmurray was the northernmost and farthest from Glengarry Castle of all the households that counted themselves attached to Katherine’s father. But it was certainly not the least. MacElmurray boasted eleven strapping sons and seven pleasant daughters.
And one very overworked good-wife.
Still, Mrs. MacElmurray was a veritable Martha of a hostess and presented Kat and Will with hot cups of spiced cider after William “first-footed” through their door. After all the ale, Katherine accepted the cider with gratitude. Mrs. MacElmurray insisted they take off their wraps and have a bit of broth to warm them as well.
The MacElmurrays were a musical family and, accompanied by a homemade harp and small bone flute, the brothers and sisters sang half a dozen carols for William and Kat before they had finished their cider and broth. When William rose to give them thanks and make their good-byes, Mrs. MacElmurray pulled Katherine aside.
“Afore ye go, my lady, ye must needs hear what my wee Hew has seen.” She motioned to one of her offspring. “Hew, fetch yerself here and tell our noble guests what ye stumbled across yesterday.”
Wee Hew turned out to be a lanky young man who was so tall he had to duck to avoid the ceiling beams in the low croft. He nodded respectfully to Will.
“I was trapping north of here when I seen ’em.” Hew tugged on his bottom lip and his brow wrinkled, clearly concerned. “I’ll not get into trouble for hunting off Glengarry land, will I?”
“Not with Lord Glengarry,” Will said. “I canna answer for the landholder ye were poaching from.”
“Och, I take yer point. No harm in telling ye then.” His legal questions assuaged, Hew launched into his tale with broad hand gestures. “Anyways, whilst I was setting some snares, I chanced to see Ainsley MacTavish and nigh onto fifty men tromping through the woods after him.”
“My Hew can count all the way to a hundred, my lord, so ye can trust his word,” his mother cut in with a beaming smile.
“I take it these men weren’t hunting,” Will said.
Hew shook his head. “They scared away the game for miles with all their clankin’ and jawin’.”
“Clanking?”
“Aye, there be some in armor and some in mail. They bore crossbows as well as swords. Ten were mounted.”
“From what I overheard—they was bumping their gums something fierce as they marched along, ye ken—they was on their way to MacNaught’s stronghold.”
“Do ye think MacTavish means to attack my cousin?” Katherine asked.
“No,” Will said, his face grim. “I think your cousin means to attack your father. He’s gathering fighting men and MacTavish is turning away from the earl to support MacNaught’s challenge. Doubtless the rest of your cousin’s cabal are following suit.”
“Surely Ranulf doesna mean to besiege the castle.”
“That seems to be his plan unless he has a way over the wall.”
A denial died on her lips. It was exactly the kind of thing grasping, defiant Ranulf would do. In the absence of her brother, Donald, her cousin had become restless and ambitious. Her father was growing older, more feeble. Without a visible heir, without Donald to keep the fighting men loyal to Glengarry, allegiances had shifted.
“We need to warn my father.” Katherine thanked the MacElmurrays for their hospitality and William counseled them to move to the safety of the castle as soon as possible.
“What about our stock?” Mrs. MacElmurray asked.
Katherine had counted one shaggy milk cow, two goats, and half a dozen hens in the listing stable, but they no doubt represented a goodly portion of the family’s wealth.
“Bring them with ye to Glengarry,” she told the woman. “Dinna tarry. If an army marches through here, there’ll be no safety for any of ye.”
“Hew, take three or four of your brothers and visit the other crofters hereabouts. Ye mind where they all are, aye?” William said as he wrapped his plaid around his shoulders. “Tell them to make for the castle with all speed. We’ve no idea how soon MacNaught intends to move. Come, my lady.”
William didn’t need to urge her to haste. She ran beside her husband to the stable, where Greyfellow was sheltered with the MacElmurrays’ beasts.
