by Mia Marlowe
“As well as might be expected. ’Tis cold and cramped and damp. We made do with winter apples for supper and expect more of the same for breakfast. Can we not send to the kitchen for aught else?”
“Cook is busy feeding the men who are defending the castle,” Katherine said, remembering the way Cook’s orders had rung in shrill tones as she’d passed by the kitchen. No general ever demanded—or received—such instant obedience. “I dinna think she has time for much more, but I’ll see what may be done.”
William had assured her the souterrain was the safest place in Glengarry, but to Kat’s nose, beneath the acrid smell of the torches and the press of too many unwashed bodies, it had the moldering stink of a crypt. She’d take any excuse to climb the uneven stone steps back to daylight.
“Wait, my lady.” Dorcas reached out a hand to stop her, then seemed to remember herself and drew it back. “I dinna suppose ye’ve heard from Nab.”
Katherine shook her head. “’Tis fifteen miles to Inverness. With luck, he’s made it there, but we canna expect him back this soon even if he turned around and walked all night.”
Not to mention that it was the dead of winter and Nab had never been to Inverness before. Katherine hadn’t voiced her concerns to William about his decision to send Nab, but the fact that all hope of rescue rested on the shoulders of a man who couldn’t even keep the Scepter of Badenoch safe did not give her comfort.
“I should have gone with him. Four eyes are better than two.” Dorcas worried her lower lip. “Even if he makes it past MacNaught’s watch, what will Nab do once he reaches Inverness?”
“He must only find the king and his court,” Katherine said with more confidence than she felt. “Then my brother will know what to do.”
If he believes the word of a fool.
Nab couldn’t feel his feet. His nose hairs were so frozen, they’d never unthaw and he’d have those little shards of ice in his nostrils forever. Nevertheless, after a terrifying night of dodging MacNaught’s men and startling at every owl’s hoot, dawn found Nab on the Abriachan ferry, drawing closer to his destination.
The chimneys of Inverness were belching out a dark cloud of smoke on the horizon. As he disembarked and drew nearer, he forgot about being cold and began to fret about getting lost. He’d never seen such a big town.
“If I were king, where would I lay my head?” he mumbled.
There was a castle situated on a high bluff overlooking the River Ness. Or at least part of one. It looked as if it too had been bombarded by MacNaught’s machine at one time. Nab decided to head for that structure since it was still the largest and arguably the most defensible one in town.
Once he was admitted at the town gate along with a farmer and his draught wagon laden with hens bound for market, he made for the street that looked as if it might lead him to the castle. He hadn’t gone very far when a gang of three men singled him out.
“And what might yer business be in Inverness, yokel?” one demanded as he placed himself directly in Nab’s path. As much as Nab generally disliked association with others, he’d have given his left pinkie to see a familiar face from Glengarry just then.
“We dinna want any more beggars in town,” another said, grasping Nab’s arm and dragging him into a narrow side street.
“I’m not a beggar,” Nab stammered. “I’m a fool.”
“Like as not, that’s true,” said the first with a laugh that was anything but mirthful. “Ye do look a fool.”
“It is, and I am—fool to the Earl of Glengarry, that is. What I mean to say is that I bear a message for a member of the king’s court, Lord—”
“Lord love him, listen to that. He expects to be let in to see the king! We’ve no need for such a ninnyhammer here in Inverness. The parish coffers are stretched enough with our own bird-wits,” the biggest man said. “Ye’d best turn around and be gone, gaberlunzie.”
The men had mistaken him for a licensed beggar. Nab realized he must look a fright after his wild scramble through the woods dodging MacNaught’s sentries and traipsing along the loch’s rugged shore, but he’d never begged in his life. Not for money, at any rate. He’d begged to be left alone plenty.
“I’m not a gaberlunzie,” he said.
“Show us yer purse then.”
Unfortunately, he’d spent all the coin William had given him on the ferry. “I have nothing ye’d want.”
“Maybe I just want to give someone a beating this fine morn and methinks ye’ll do.” The man’s fist shot out in a blink and connected with Nab’s jaw. The blow twirled him around. Then he toppled like a felled sapling. The frozen ground rushed up to meet his chin.
As his vision tunneled to blackness, he realized he’d be lucky to end up hanging by his heels this time.
Holly stands in the hall, fair to behold:
Ivy stands without the door, she is full sore a cold.
—From “The Contest of the Holly and the Ivy”
“This doesna seem at all a fair contest to me. My coin, if I had any, is on the one with the most prickles.”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Thirty-Three
The bombardment kept up all day. The only saving grace was that it seemed MacNaught’s men had trouble launching fire, so only three more flaming bundles were lobbed toward Glengarry. One fell mercifully short and fizzled in the snow a few feet from the base of the wall. The other two struck the stable again, now only a burnt-out shell, its charred skeleton still smoking.
Most of the horses had been saved, but not all. Their dying screams still rang in Will’s ears and the scent of seared flesh filled the air. As he’d helped toss buckets of water on the blaze, William had seen little Angus tearing out of the burning building, but the terrier was moving too quickly for him to catch. He hoped the dog would find Katherine in the depths of the keep. It would be a comfort to them both.
“Trebuchet!” one of the watchmen on the walls shouted, and William’s gaze followed the trajectory of the boulder as it hurtled toward the eastern bastion. With a shuddering crash, it took out the steeply sloped roof above the corner watchtower along with one of the sentries who hadn’t scrambled away quickly enough.
“They’re getting better at it.” Hew MacElmurray leaned over the crenellated wall to peer down its length. Since his disgrace over disobeying Will during the sortie, the young man had been hovering at his elbow, looking for ways to redeem himself. “Their aim is improving.”
Will nodded, wishing there was another way to see things. “Without reinforcements, it’ll be a matter of only a few days before the walls are breached.”
“Judging from the number of meal fires burning on the hillside, it seems MacNaught’s forces are holding despite the stinging we gave ’em in that sortie.”
“Ranulf’s the type to give orders to kill his own deserters,” William said, wondering how many of his men would slip away if they could. He wasn’t going to wait around to find out. The need to do something burned in his veins.
Another boulder came soaring toward them. It cleared the wall and clipped a corner of the chapel.
“Saddle up Greyfellow and a mount for yourself.”
“Aye, my lord, where are we going?”
“To stop that damned trebuchet.”
Within a quarter hour, he and Hew were riding out the main gate under a flag of truce. The bombardment ceased, but it took Ranulf another quarter hour to deign to present himself along with one of his lieutenants. Ranulf brought Sinclair as his second this time.
Slick bastards, the pair of them, Will thought, but held his peace as they took their time picking their way down the hillside.
Twilight encroached on the short winter day, casting long grey shadows. Will’s men lined the curtain wall, brandishing torches to light the proceedings. Ranulf’s troops stood shoulder to shoulder in a surprisingly well-ordered line before their hulking machine. None of the fighting men could hear the parley, but ever
y ear strained in the direction of it in any case.
“Had enough, Badenoch?” MacNaught asked.
“The question should be whether ye have,” Will returned smoothly. “Ye hope to be master of Glengarry when this is over. Do ye really mean to rule over naught but a pile of rubble?”
“If need be. I’ll raze the place to the ground if I must.” Then Ranulf’s hard expression softened a bit. “The offer of safe conduct still holds for Lord Glengarry and his family, should he wish to surrender.”
“How touching, but the laird will not abandon his people to ye.”
Ranulf scanned the curtain wall. “I dinna see the dear earl, and he didna seem so healthy when we parted last. How fares my uncle?”
“Well enough to send ye to hell.”
MacNaught’s laughter bounced from the walls of the castle and echoed on the hillside. “Maybe in his prime the old wolf might have bested me, but he’ll never do so now.”
It was the opening William was waiting for. “If ’tis single combat ye wish, I shall oblige ye.”
“I didna say that.”
“Did ye not? It sounded that way to me.” William turned to the man who bore Ranulf’s standard. “What think ye, Sinclair? If a leader has a care for the lives of his men, what better way to show it than to agree to single combat to settle the matter?”
Sinclair’s mouth opened and then shut abruptly. The glare Ranulf sent him would have melted steel.
“If I win, your men will be allowed to return to their homes provided they leave the trebuchet,” William offered to Ranulf. “I vow there will be no retribution on them.”
Ranulf bared his teeth. “And if I win, your men will be allowed to stand aside protecting their own arses while we rape the women and plunder the castle.”
It wasn’t a fair exchange, but he didn’t expect one from MacNaught. “When shall we meet?”
“I’d say why wait, but ’tis getting too dark. Besides, I want my dear cousin on the wall watching while I turn the snow red with your blood.”
“Dawn then,” William offered. “And there’s to be no more bombardment in the meantime.”
“Verra well.” Ranulf’s lip curled but he nodded curtly. “I want ye rested when I skewer your liver, Badenoch. Give my regards to your lady wife, my cousin. She was ever a fetching piece. Tell her I’ll see her soon.”
Gossip always travels fast within a castle. It takes wing when the castle is under siege.
Young Fergie, who’d sneaked out of the souterrain and had been peering over the wall with the rest of the defenders while William parleyed with MacNaught, came flying back to Katherine’s side with news of the impending single combat, that he had overheard Will telling his men about when he’d returned to the castle.
Katherine’s chest constricted and her vision wavered uncertainly, but she schooled her face into an impassive mask. “I see. And where is Lord Badenoch now?”
“He’s taking his turn on the watch,” the boy beamed. “Just as though he were any other man. Only he’s not. Not at all. I figure he’s about the finest laird there is.”
“That he is.” Katherine allowed herself a small smile and handed Angus to the boy. Since the stable had burned, the terrier had been under foot and claiming her lap every time she sat down. If the lad didn’t hold him, Angus would probably trail after her and she didn’t have time for the wee dog at the moment. “Now I want ye to do something for me, Fergie.”
“Oh, aye?”
“I need to see my husband, and Lady Margaret needs someone to watch over her and her little ones while I’m gone. Will ye be her extra pair of hands and eyes?”
His lips, pouty as a girl’s, tightened into a thin line. Fergie was nimble-minded enough to realize this was also Katherine’s way of making sure he stayed in the relative safety of the souterrain. But his frank idolatry of William was strong enough that he couldn’t say no to her.
Katherine went first to her chamber to retrieve a warm cloak for Will. He’d left the scepter on the clothes trunk. Something about seeing it there, discarded with the other things they’d abandoned when the tower was evacuated, made her realize William really had given up on his dream of continuing the Douglas line.
Sadness, hope, despair, fear—there was such a boiling soup of emotions simmering inside her; she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. But she knew she didn’t want to leave the scepter where it was. She wrapped it in the cloak and then stopped by the kitchen for some food for William.
The bulk of the men had been dismissed for the night. They streamed toward the keep to find their families. A few watchmen were still posted on the landward curtain wall. Katherine recognized Will’s profile near the ruined eastern bastion.
“I can hear your belly rumbling from here,” she said with false brightness as she approached him. “Trust ye not to take a moment for yourself.”
“I was taking a moment. A grand moment actually,” he said as he fell to eating the bannocks and sliced cold mutton she’d brought. “I was just standing here wondering at how unnecessarily beautiful this world is, what with the loch and the mountains and the trees all around. And why I’d never really noticed till now.”
His tone was casual. There was a smile in his voice, but it was a brittle smile. His words were those of a man who expected to be leaving the world soon.
She didn’t know what to say. She’d half hoped to be able to talk him out of meeting Ranulf in combat tomorrow, but she realized he’d never go back on his word. He’d made his bargain with her cousin. William would keep it.
So she chattered about Margie’s new baby while he ate, nattering on about how lustily she cried, how well she nursed, and how intently she met everyone’s gaze. She reminded herself of Dorcas, but she couldn’t seem to stop her tongue from wagging.
“She’s sober as a judge, but bonnie as well as wise. A most precocious lass is our new niece,” Katherine said as she ran out of things to share. “I expect Donald will have to beat the lads off with a stick once young Kitty comes of age.”
William laughed. “I’d enjoy seeing that.”
Then his laughter faded. Katherine put a horn of warm cider in his hand. He held it between both palms for a bit before draining it to the dregs.
Finally, she couldn’t stand the silence that began to grow between them. “Is there no other way?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “No. If I don’t engage MacNaught in single combat, Glengarry will be overrun. The mason tells me another solid blow to this eastern corner will see it crumble to the ground. There will be a breach large enough we willna be able to defend it.” He glanced toward the east and Inverness.
“But what about Nab?” she asked. “He might be bringing reinforcements even now.”
Will handed her back his empty horn. “Do ye really want to trust the safety of all the souls in Glengarry to the fool?”
“No.” She unrolled the cloak she’d brought and draped it around his broad shoulders. “I’d rather trust the Laird of Badenoch.” Then she handed him the scepter. “Take it with ye on the morrow. For luck.”
He tucked it through his belt as if it were a long dirk. “If I should fall—”
“Whist!” She pressed two fingers to his lips. “Ye dinna want to tempt—”
“The devil. Aye, I know.” He kissed her fingertips, then curled them inward and pressed her fist to his chest. “Listen to me, Katherine. If I should fall, your cousin has promised no mercy. Dinna let yourself be taken, ye or Margie or her bairns.”
She swallowed hard as she realized what he was telling her. What he was asking of her.
“D’ye have a blade?”
“Aye.” There was a slim dagger concealed in the busk of her bodice. In a pinch, it would do. If the time came, could she steel herself to the gruesome task? If William was killed, she’d already be dead inside.
They say the dead feel no pain.
She shook off the morbid fancy, surreptitiously making the sign against evil with one
hand. “Will ye come and rest a while?”
“I should be praying in the chapel, but I thought I’d stand the watch so others could rest. Besides, I’ll rest when this is done.” He looked up as the sliver of a new moon disappeared behind scudding clouds. “And I can pray just as well from here.”
“I’ll stand watch with ye, then. ” And pray, she added silently as she leaned on the crenellations and watched the fires in MacNaught’s camp burn on the hillside.
William came behind her and enfolded her into his cloak with him. With his solid chest at her back, his heart beating against her spine, she was suddenly warm and comforted.
If she’d learned anything this Christmastide, it was that while she’d always tried to plan for years into the future, life was really only a string of moments. And each single one was all anyone ever had.
This one moment, standing on the battlements with the man she loved, was a shining one. Damn whatever might come with the dawn. William was right.
The world was unnecessarily beautiful.
“So if Badenoch wins, we’re supposed to lay down our arms and simply go home?” Filib Gordon asked Sinclair, careful to keep his voice low. MacNaught had already turned in for the night, but who knew which of the men milling about might be ready to report a disloyal word. Ranulf had already hanged two of MacTavish’s retainers who’d tried to slip away after the hail of arrows had rained down on the camp. It was brutal, but Gordon couldn’t argue with the results. The hangings rendered the rest of the men sullenly obedient and there had been no more attempts at defection.
“That’s about the size of it,” Sinclair said as he tossed a snow-covered pinecone into their fire and watched it sizzle open. “Badenoch wins, we go home. But if MacNaught wins, we get to do whatever we want, take whatever we want from the castle and everyone in it.”
“That’s more like it,” MacTavish said. “My men willna take kindly to freezing their balls off for nothing.”
