by Mia Marlowe
The men of the castle had drilled each day. The fletchers produced arrows at a breakneck pace. The smith’s forge flared all night, turning out swords and axes. The cooper ceased barrel making and instead prepared round targes covered with hardened leather and studded with metal discs. The small shields would turn an enemy blade in close combat or shelter a fighter from a hail of arrows.
But with each passing day, the strain of waiting for something to happen frayed tempers. William had broken up a number of petty fights. If MacNaught didn’t come soon, Katherine’s father was likely to send everyone home.
“Waiting is the worst thing in the world,” Will said with a sigh.
“Tell that to Margaret. She’s about to pop.” Katherine snuggled next to him, soaking up the warmth of his body. “Ye’ve done all ye could.”
“Tell that to the earl.”
“Would ye have done anything differently if this were Badenoch ye were defending?”
“No.”
“Then ye’ve nothing to reproach yourself for.” Fortunately, Badenoch was at peace with its neighbors, but if the worst happened in William’s absence, his four brothers—Eadan, Kieran, Ross, and Sean—would stand shoulder to shoulder against all comers. Sean, the youngest, was only fifteen, but he could already look William in the eye and was probably going to be the tallest of the brood. The five Douglas brothers were a force to be reckoned with.
Unfortunately, only one of them was in Glengarry.
The smell of baking wafted up the spiral stairs. Below in the kitchen, Cook and her gaggle of helpers were already hard at work even though dawn wouldn’t come for some time.
“Winter nights are long,” Katherine said with a sigh.
William patted her rump. “God be praised.”
“Hmph. Speaking of the Almighty, ’tis Epiphany, ye know,” she said. “Will ye go to mass with me?”
“Aye, I’ll go. God and I are no longer at war.”
“Good. Ye’ll enjoy the miracle and mystery play Father Argyll has prepared. He’s gone all out since the castle is so full of souls for him to save. Wee Tam is playing Baby Jesus this year, but I’ll not say he’s warmed to the role.”
William’s belly quivered with a chuckle. “He’s a good lad. Just not the sort to take to ‘swaddling clothes’ without a fight, I’ll be bound.”
“No, Tam’s the one who’s being bound and that’s just the trouble. About the time Father Argyll gets him all bundled tight, as the Scriptures say, and settled in the manger, he pitches the most unholy fit.”
A cock crowed. This was followed by a slamming door, the tramp of feet, and a muffled call as a few of the castle’s residents began to wake and stir. William threw back the blankets and swung his long legs over the side of the bed.
“If I canna sleep, I may as well walk the walls. The hours before dawn are the worst for a watchman. It’ll do the lads good to have some company.”
“Maybe ye’d like some company too.” Katherine slid out of bed after him and drew on her arisaid, belting it tightly over her leine. “Besides, I willna sleep more without ye.”
The terrier, Angus, had no such trouble. Now that his humans had vacated the bed, he left his spot at the foot and wormed his way up to burrow under the pillows till only his stubby tail showed. After chasing vermin, going to ground among the linens seemed to be his second favorite pastime.
“I’m glad to hear it. I dinna want ye to sleep without me,” Will said. “Not here. Not back at Badenoch. Not anywhere.”
It was William’s way of reminding her that she’d threatened to send to Rome for an annulment after Epiphany. Katherine still hadn’t told him whether she’d given up on the idea or not.
Mostly because she didn’t know herself. She and Will were closer now than they’d ever been in their marriage. They’d finally wept together. They’d loved each other through tears and emerged from the torrent all the stronger. They’d started to behave like a normal man and wife again.
Better than normal. They talked and laughed together, even though the castle was in turmoil. And they swived each other with enthusiasm every chance they got, without considering whether or not they’d created a child.
In Margaret’s case, that wasn’t so usual.
“Your brother Donald is verra parsimonious with his seed,” she had confided to Katherine. “He spends it to make a child and when that task is accomplished, he’s off to tend to other interests in other places. Storing it up for the next time I need to be gotten with child, no doubt. Leastwise, I hope he’s storing it up.”
William certainly wasn’t. He gave himself to Kat at every opportunity without reservation.
More than their intimate life was being reborn. In other ways, the connection between them grew stronger each day. They finished each other’s sentences. They shared secret glances in the most public of places and understood the thoughts behind them without a word.
But Katherine still wasn’t sure an annulment wasn’t the best thing for William, so she hadn’t ruled it out. Their marriage was all that was warmth and light in her world, but that didn’t signify when measured against the coldness of her cradle and Will’s need for an heir. The reasons behind her decision to seek an annulment still applied.
But could she love the man enough to set him free? That was the rub.
Wind whistled through the arrow slits, keening like a lost soul.
“I’ll be glad for your company,” Will said as he draped her cloak over her shoulders and handed her the new muff. “But bundle up. Sounds colder than a banshee’s tits out.”
“And since when do ye know about any other tits but mine?” she asked tartly.
He pulled her close and fondled her through the layers of her clothing. Her nipples perked at his touch despite the wool and linsey separating them. “I do only imagine, love. Yours are the only tits for me.”
He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and they headed down the spiral stairs. Katherine sneaked a glance into Margaret’s chamber as they passed and saw Beathag dozing in a chair beside the bed. Margie seemed to be resting comfortably.
“Careful,” William whispered as they continued down. “Nab’s sprawled out here.”
How the fool could sleep with his head on the earl’s threshold and his body draped over a couple of the stair risers was a wonderment. But Nab’s stentorian snore proved he managed it well enough.
Katherine and Will picked their way through the great hall, successfully avoiding the many retainers, crofters, and guests who’d wrapped themselves in their plaids and claimed a bit of floor space. One of the deerhounds near the massive fireplace lifted his head as they passed, thumped its tail, and settled immediately when it recognized them.
Outside the great hall, the bailey was swathed in a low-lying fog that muffled sounds and obscured the pathways. The brewery, the well house, the chapel, and other outbuildings rose from the white haze like islands in a becalmed sea. William grasped Katherine’s elbow and steered her to the stairs leading to the top of the curtain wall.
A sentry challenged them and was embarrassed when he saw who they were, though William praised the man for his thoroughness.
“What news?” he asked.
“Nothing, my lord,” the fellow said. “Leastwise I hope ’tis nothing. The woods have been rustling something fierce this night, but it may just be the wind.”
The new moon was setting, but there was enough light to make out the dark pines and bare-limbed alders that began growing halfway up the slope to the north of the castle. Their trunks were swathed in mist, but their topmost boughs rose above it like pointed spears or bony fingers clawing heavenward. Katherine leaned on the crenellations as the eastern sky lightened to pale grey. A flash of something deep in the woods caught her eye.
“There’s something there, William,” she said softly, pointing to the place where the meadow left off and the forest began. Another flicker made her breath hiss over her teeth. “Is that—”
“Hush.” Will c
ocked his head to listen. It was a low, plodding crunch, the footsteps of hundreds of men marching through packed snow. As more of the mist lifted, dawn reflected off another bit of armor.
Glengarry was situated on a spit of land that thrust out into the loch. The dark waters of Loch Ness served as its rear guard. It was only accessible and only vulnerable from the north, where the woods stood on a steep slope. As the world turned a sickly greenish grey, Katherine saw that among the trees, there were men-at-arms.
Hundreds of them.
As the light strengthened, she saw more of them. Someone gave a shouted command and they formed up, a long snaky line that cut off both access to the castle and escape from it. When the last of the natural fog faded, the men’s breath rose in the air, an unnatural dragonish haze.
Grim-faced, William turned to the sentry. “Wake his lordship.”
The man tugged his forelock, his face as white as the fog had been, and scrambled down the stairs.
“There are so many,” Katherine said. She was no expert, but it seemed the men outside the walls outnumbered those inside by three or four to one.
“But we are safe behind the walls of Glengarry.” Will pulled one of her hands from her muff and pressed it to his lips. “No need to fear.”
“Ye’d say that whether it was true or not.”
Will’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “It was worth a try. But it is true that your cousin will break his forces on the walls of Glengarry if he tries to scale them. We are more than enough to defend this castle. Dinna be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid for myself,” she said, though something inside her that had nothing to do with the cold was beginning to make her shiver uncontrollably. “Not so long as I’m with you. But what about Margie? And all the children, hers and all the crofters’?”
“They’ll need to be kept inside. Out of the open bailey and as low in the keep as ye can arrange.”
She nodded breathlessly. They’d been preparing for this, but it still seemed unreal. She turned to go, but he didn’t release her hand.
“Kat, we haven’t spoken of it in a while, love, but . . . weel, I just wanted to make sure ye’ve put away any thought of sending to Rome.” His dark gaze burned through to her inmost part. Even if she wanted to tell a lie, she couldn’t. He’d know it. He knew her heart as well as she did. “Tell me ye’ve changed your mind.”
She was spared from giving an answer by an unexpected helper—her cousin Ranulf. At that moment, he broke through the tree line, mounted on a beautifully caparisoned palfrey. Filib Gordon fell in beside him on a less impressive mount, bearing a white flag of truce. The pair rode down the slope toward the gates of Glengarry and stopped about a hundred yards shy of the wall.
“What now?” Katherine asked.
“Looks like he wants to parley. I’ll ride out with your father and see what he has in mind.”
Katherine scanned the long row of fighting men. They were too far away for her to be able to read their expressions, but their forms bristled with weaponry. “I think it’s fairly obvious what my cousin has in mind.”
“Aye, but if Ranulf wants to play the gentleman and offer terms, we’ll do him the courtesy of listening.”
“My father will never surrender.”
“Of course not, but we might learn something that will help us turn the tables on him.”
She’d resisted the urge to accuse her cousin of treachery, but now he’d convicted himself of it by amassing this contingent of fighting men around Glengarry’s one vulnerable side. “But what if Ranulf doesn’t mean to play the gentleman?”
“He knows better than to try anything underhanded beneath a flag of peace, but just in case . . .” William signaled to another of the watchmen and told him to order the archers to the walls. “May as well give MacNaught an incentive to remain honest.”
Katherine put her arms around him, heedless of who might be looking on, and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. “Be careful, Will. My heart goes with you.”
“And mine remains safe in your keeping.” He kissed her back, hard and determined. “What evil can befall us?”
Then he strode away. Katherine looked back down at her cousin, who still waited beneath his white flag. As if he felt her gaze, Ranulf turned his head in her direction and bared his teeth at her in a wolf’s smile.
What evil indeed?
Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All young children to slay.
That woe is me, poor Child for Thee!
And ever mourn and sigh,
For thy parting neither say nor sing,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay.
—From “The Coventry Carol”
“Kind of makes a body wonder why we make so merry at Christmastide since the first one led to the deaths of so many innocents.”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Twenty-Eight
William chafed at the delay, but Lord Glengarry insisted on wearing his station in rich velvet and satin instead of his customary drab plaid. His mount was saddled with the finest Spanish leather tack, and the hilt of his sword glinted with a carbuncle big enough to choke a horse.
“What do I care if that snot-nosed bastard’s arse is sore from sitting his horse so long?” the laird growled. “He’s the one who came calling unwelcome. He ought not be surprised that I make him wait.”
The earl mounted his horse and kneed him into a brisk trot through the raised portcullis. Will followed and, as he’d ordered, the iron bars lowered behind them after they cleared the gate. He didn’t look back, but he knew the curtain wall was lined with bowmen waiting for the shouted orders “Nock! Draw! Loose!” Will’s archers would turn MacNaught and his second into pin cushions if they put so much as a toe out of line.
“Well, nephew,” the laird began in a low tone, “does your mother ken ye’ve turned on your own blood?”
“Aye, she does,” Ranulf returned in a surprisingly cordial tone. “Mother sent me off with a benediction and, since ye’re her favorite brother, she said for me to tell ye she prays that your death will be swift and nearly painless.”
The distended vein on the earl’s forehead pulsed but he said nothing.
“Look around, MacNaught,” William said. “Ye’ve amassed a sizeable force, I’ll grant ye, but they’re no match for the walls of Glengarry. Have a care for the lives of your men. If ye launch an assault, the corbies will feast.”
“Let me worry about my men. Trust me, Badenoch, ye’ll have enough to fret about yourself before long. Besides, ye’re not laird here,” Ranulf said, then skewered the earl with a penetrating gaze. “Now, to business. Surrender now, Uncle, and I give ye leave to ride out of Glengarry with your family and the clothes on your backs, but no weapons and no wealth. The people, the livestock, the stores, ye’ll leave for me and my men.”
Lord Glengarry laughed mirthlessly. “And I give ye and your men leave to freeze your balls off outside the walls whilst we lie snug by the fire with plenty of food laid by and an inexhaustible supply of fresh water.”
“We saw nothing but abandoned crofts on the way here, which means ye’ve far more mouths to feed than usual.” Ranulf smiled unpleasantly. “Lots of women and children too.”
Lord Glengarry leaned on the pommel of his saddle. “No worries on that score. Long before we feel the slightest pinch of a siege, King James will hear of it and come to rout ye. My son, Donald, has His Majesty’s ear, ye ken.”
“As I understand it, our young king is thoroughly occupied with a chase for a white stag at present. He’s not likely to want to give up a portent like that. Not even for your precious Donald.” Ranulf narrowed his eyes at William. “Besides, no one will be able to break through our lines to deliver a message to His Majesty in any case. We’ll kill any who try. Depend upon it.”
“Show some sense, man,” the laird said, his
face now a livid purple. “Go home, Ranulf, and let your men live out their lives. A siege has never worked at Glengarry. The walls are too stout.”
“A siege has never worked because I have never commanded one,” MacNaught said. “I give ye one last chance and that only because we share a bond of blood. Will ye yield, Uncle?”
“I’ll see ye in hell first.”
“I was hoping ye’d say that.” Ranulf raised his hand in signal and a commotion started behind his line of men. Two long lines of Highlanders pulled a heavy, wheeled platform out of its concealment among the trees and onto a level spot. Upon it stood a tripod of timbers with a complicated system of ropes and pulleys. William had never seen the like before and didn’t know what to make of it.
However, Lord Glengarry obviously did, for his eyes grew wide and his cheeks drained of all color. His mouth moved, but he seemed to be having trouble forming the words. The left side of his lips drooped, but he finally managed to whisper, “Trebuchet.”
“Aye, Uncle, I’ve a trebuchet and the will to use it. Dinna ye wish ye’d taken me up on my offer?” Ranulf said. “I’d make it again, but ye’ve vexed me sore with your refusal to give me what’s due me. So now, I’ll just raze the castle walls and take what’s mine.”
Lord Glengarry babbled a string of nonsense sounds and dropped the reins because his left arm suddenly hung loose. He swayed uncertainly in the saddle. Will grasped him and turned both their mounts back toward the Glengarry portcullis with as much speed as he dared.
Ranulf’s laughter followed them the whole way.
From her place on the curtain wall, Katherine couldn’t hear what the men were saying beneath the flag of truce, but she knew something was wrong when her father nearly lost his seat while his horse was standing still. She skittered down the stone steps and lifted her skirts to fly across the bailey toward the portcullis.
