Читать книгу Bride of Lochbarr - Margaret Moore - Страница 10

ADAIR BOLDLY STRODE toward the hall, silently daring any of the Norman’s soldiers in the courtyard to question or challenge him. He’d like nothing better than to send a few of them sprawling in the mud.

Yet as he headed toward the massive hall, no one—not the workmen, Sassunach for the most part, or the soldiers—said a word to stop him. Their master should thank God he wasn’t an assassin sent to kill him, if this was how they guarded his fortress.

But what could you expect from men paid to serve you? Scots’ loyalty and power came from blood and family, not payment in coin, or the promise of reward.

As for Lady Marianne, she was a lying, scheming Norman like all the rest. Of course she’d been sneaking somewhere, and either she was running away, or taking a change of clothes for some other purpose. She probably had been going to meet a lover, and was sorry she’d been caught.

At least at first, because say what she would, she had wanted to kiss him. She’d relaxed against him and passionately pressed her lips to his as if she’d like nothing more than to be his lover.

God save him, he’d wanted that, too, forgetting that she was a Norman. There was no excuse for his lustful weakness and he ought to be ashamed.

He was ashamed.

Adair shoved open the door to the hall and marched inside the chamber big enough to hold a herd of cattle.

He spotted his father sitting on a bench, his shoulders slumped, not speaking or moving. Adair couldn’t remember ever seeing his father quite so still first thing in the morning, and there were circles of weariness under his eyes. Clearly, a night on a stone floor, even one cushioned with rushes, had proved intolerably uncomfortable.

He marched toward his father. “The bastard should have offered you a bed.”

Seamus rose, his movements slow and stiff. “It’s nae wise to call a man names in his own house, my son,” he said as he gave Adair a wry smile. “And he may not have an extra bed.”

“The devil he does. He’s rich. This place is proof of that.”

“This place, my son, is proof that he’s spending a lot of coin to fortify Dunkeathe,” his father replied, his gaze roving over the high-beamed ceiling and stone walls before returning to Adair. “It doesnae mean he has muckle in the way of beds.”

“So you think he needs more money,” Adair inquired significantly, thinking of the missing cattle.

“Maybe. But we don’t know the man’s business, so it’s better to make no guesses.”

Lachlann nodded. “Especially when we’re in his castle.”

“Aye, and where the devil have you been?” Cormag demanded.

Adair saw no need to explain himself to Cormag. He also saw no reason to tell his father, or anyone else, about his encounter with the Norman’s sister. That unforeseen meeting represented no danger to his clan, because he was sure it would remain a secret. In spite of her bravado, the lady wouldn’t dare to tell her brother that they’d been alone together. Otherwise she’d have to explain how she came to be in the courtyard in the middle of the night.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went out for a wee walk about the place,” he replied, which was true, as far as it went.

He’d left the hall after he’d lain awake for a long time, thinking of this fortress and the danger it represented to his clan and his country. He hadn’t planned on meeting the lady, and he should have left her the moment he saw her. Yet she had been frightened and tense, even after she’d pushed him into that hut. His curiosity had been roused enough to try to find out what she was up to, and then if she was in any danger.

He should have known better than to have any sympathy for a Norman, even if the Norman was a woman.

“The bonnie lass with the mole on her breast, was it?” Cormag asked with a sly, disgusting smirk as he adjusted his feileadh, pushing and pulling the fabric so that it bunched less around his middle. “Was she grateful that you acted like a servant to Sir Nicholas?”

Adair’s lip curled. “I didn’t go out to meet a woman,” he replied. “And only a desperate lout—or a Norman—would expect a woman to show her gratitude the way that you’re implying.”

“That’s enough, you two,” his father said. “I’ve plenty to think on without you fighting like mongrel dogs.”

“Aye,” Lachlann seconded. “And we shouldn’t quarrel among ourselves while we’re here. How will that look to the Normans?”

Lachlann had a point, and Adair resolved to try to ignore Cormag, at least until they were out of Dunkeathe.

His father stretched and glanced at the servants setting up the tables. “That Norman’s idea of an evening meal was not mine, and they’ll have no notion at all of what a man needs in the morning, so I think it’s time we were on our way. Roban, see to the horses.”

“Without another word about the cattle?” Adair asked as his friend dutifully headed out of the hall.

His father nodded. “Aye, my son, there’ll be not another word about the cattle—for now. We’ve no proof, and arguing with Sir Nicholas like a hotheaded lad isn’t going to provide it. We’ve warned him and he knows we’re suspicious, so that will have to do.”

“Aye, Adair. If you can’t hold your temper, you’ll have us at war with our neighbors,” Cormag added.

Adair shot him a look. “I don’t mind a fight.”

Cormag’s hand went for his missing sword. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“I’m saying I don’t mind a fight, if it comes to it,” Adair replied, trying to control his frustration with Cormag, Sir Nicholas and the Normans in general. “Better a battle than surrender.”

“I’ll fight when the chieftain tells me to, and not because you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head,” Cormag retorted.

“It’s not your place to chastise my son, nephew,” Seamus said, standing between them. “Now let’s be gone.”

“We’re not taking leave of the lady?” Lachlann asked. “It’d be only right to say farewell and give her our thanks for her kindness.”

“We’ll take our leave of her if she comes to bid us farewell,” Seamus answered. “She was too ill to eat with us last night, remember?”

“Aye, poor thing,” Adair replied. “Probably sickened from whatever that was they served us. Might have been anything under all that sauce.”

The men started to laugh, until Seamus held up his hand to silence them. “Wheesht. Here comes the man himself.”

Sir Nicholas strode toward them from the bottom of the curved staircase, carrying himself with the ease of a soldier welcomely divested of heavy chain mail and armor. He was the same height as Adair, and looked as if he could lift ten stone. Some Normans went to fat when they quit going to war or tournaments. Adair doubted this man would.

“Good day to you, Sir Nicholas,” his father said in French, his tone jovial, although Adair didn’t doubt his father had noted that the man was wearing his sword belt, the bronze hilt of his weapon gleaming in the morning sunlight streaming in through the narrow windows.

“And to you, Seamus,” the Norman replied, coming to a halt. “I regret I have no priest in residence to say mass today.”

Despite his words, he didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

“Oh, well then, I think it’s best, my lord, if we take our leave at once. We mustn’t be in a state of sin when we break the fast.”

His father wasn’t being any more sincere. He wasn’t a religious man, and the priest of their kirk was notorious for his disagreement with several of the rules of Rome, particularly the one regarding chastity. As for eating before mass, Father Padraig always said God would understand that it was difficult for a man to contemplate anything but his own hunger on an empty belly.

“If you insist upon leaving, naturally I won’t detain you,” Sir Nicholas said, his expression betraying no hint of dismay or regret, “but I shall be sorry to see you leave without eating and drinking with me once more.”

“We really must go,” Seamus answered. “Please give our thanks to your lovely sister for her fine hospitality. We hope she’ll soon recover.”

“I will, and I believe her illness is not overly serious, if wearying. Unfortunately, I doubt she’ll have an opportunity to meet you again. She’s betrothed and will soon be going to Menteith to be married.”

“Oh?” Seamus said, raising a brow. “To whom?”

“Hamish Mac Glogan.”

“That greedy, grasping, lecherous old wretch?” Adair cried in Gaelic to his father, aghast at the thought of Lady Marianne married to Hamish Mac Glogan.

“Go and help Roban with the horses,” his father said sharply.

It was a command, not a request. Nevertheless, Adair didn’t move. “You can’t allow this, Father. An alliance between the Normans and that auld lecher. Mac Glogan’s lands are too close to our western border. Between the two of them and the sea, they’ll have us encircled like a snare.”

“I know where Hamish Mac Glogan’s lands lie, Adair. Leave us!”

Scowling fiercely, Adair turned on his heel and marched out of the hall.

“WILL YOU NEVER LEARN to think before you speak?” Lachlann demanded as he joined Adair near the stable a few moments later.

Holding the reins of his white horse, Neas, and Lachlann’s nut-brown gelding, Adair didn’t reply. A little ways off, Roban waited beside their father’s black horse, as well as his own feisty roan.

The sun shone brightly, and a warm breeze brought the scent of damp earth to their nostrils, along with wet sand, stone and mortar from the growing walls. All around them they could hear the workmen calling to one another, or talking among themselves in the rough tongue of the Sassunach. The mason, a slender fellow who looked as though a strong breeze would blow him away, bustled to and fro, ordering and chiding and complaining as he created this foreign monstrosity on the sacred soil of Alba.

Lachlann nodded at their father, who marched toward his horse without so much as a glance at his sons. “Father’s in a right foul mood now.”

“So he should be, but not with me,” Adair answered as he swung into the saddle. “With those scheming Norman bastards and Hamish Mac Glogan. It’s not enough the Normans are stealing our land with the king’s help. Now they’re doing it by marriage.”

Their father, mounted on his horse, raised his hand to signal his men to head toward the gate. He was at the front of the band, followed by Roban and Cormag and the others, while Adair and Lachlann brought up the rear.

Adair could feel the animosity in the stares of the Norman’s soldiers, and he glared right back at the thieving foreigners. Let one of them draw his weapon. He’d be feeling the tip of Adair’s dirk at his throat before he took another breath.

Lachlann gave Adair a warning look. “These aren’t the men who killed Cellach, you know.”

“I know.”

“And she died years ago, Adair.”

It was easy for Lachlann to put Cellach from his mind. He hadn’t been the one who’d found her ravished, broken body.

Lachlann sighed, and changed the subject. “Sir Nicholas’s sister is certainly lovely. It’s too bad she didn’t come back to the hall, but it was obvious her brother was angry with her for inviting us to stay.”

He’d been livid, if Adair was any judge. That’s why he’d been worried the Norman had hurt her. He wouldn’t put it past the man to beat his sister. Yet she’d denied it, and he didn’t think she was lying. There’d been no hidden hint of falsehood in her shining eyes. Not then, anyway.

“I think she liked you, Adair,” Lachlann noted with a smile. “No surprises there, I suppose.”

“She didn’t like me.” Except, perhaps, to kiss—a notion that rankled.

“Aye, she did. I saw all the usual signs when she looked at you.”

“I wouldn’t trust any ‘signs’ she gives, any more than I would her brother.”

“Then it won’t matter to you that she’s watching us right now.”

Adair stiffened. “The devil she is.”

“Aye, she is, from her window in the apartments beside the hall. She’s peeking out as shy as a novice stealing glances at a handsome priest.”

Adair glanced up and over his shoulder. Lady Marianne was there, standing at the window and watching them. He couldn’t see her face well enough to make out her expression.

She was probably delighted he was leaving and taking their secret with him. The duplicitous, deceitful, beautiful, passionate…

Then Sir Nicholas came to stand behind her, looming tall and stern in the shadows behind her, like some sort of judge. Or executioner.

He could well believe that Lady Marianne had been trying to get away from her brother, no matter what she said.

Perhaps she’d been fleeing because she didn’t want to marry Hamish Mac Glogan—until he’d stopped her, putting her neck right back in her brother’s noose, as if he were Sir Nicholas’s henchman.

“Adair!” his father called, gesturing for his son to ride to the head of their party.

He hesitated.

“Adair!”

“What’s the matter?” Lachlann demanded in an urgent whisper. “Have you lost your hearing, or do you want to linger longer here among the Normans?”

“Nay, I don’t want to linger here,” Adair muttered as he punched Neas’s side with his heels and went to join his father.

RIDING BESIDE ADAIR at the head of their party, Seamus drew in a deep breath. They were in a pine wood between Lochbarr, their village on a long lake, and Dunkeathe, recently given over to the Norman. Several small streams splashed their way down the rocky, needle-covered slope to the loch.

Lachlann had moved forward, so that now he was behind Adair and his father, and beside Cormag. The rest of the men came after, including Roban, who was robustly singing a bawdy song at the top of his lungs, scaring the birds and sending the wildlife scattering.

The chieftain raised his voice to be heard over the sound of Roban’s deep voice and the jingling of the horses’ accouterments. “This is better than being in that Norman’s castle. A man can breathe out here.”

“Aye,” Adair agreed. “I felt like my belt was too tight the whole time I was in that place.”

“Not too tight to keep you from wandering in the night,” his father pointedly remarked. “Where were you?”

“I went to the mason’s hut. I wanted to see the plans for the castle.”

His father abruptly reined in his horse, causing them all to halt. “You did what?”

Adair met his father’s shocked gaze steadily. “I wanted to know more about the fortifications he’s planning on building. That castle makes Lochbarr look like a farmer’s yard.”

“You could have got us all killed!” Cormag cried, his anxious horse dancing beneath him.

Adair twisted in his saddle and studied his cousin, catching sight of an equally thunderstruck Lachlann. “I wasn’t caught.”

Not by the guards, anyway.

“But you might have been,” Lachlann said, aghast.

“I had my excuse ready.”

“Which was?” his father demanded.

Adair put on a pained expression. “That I was having trouble with my bowels and looking to relieve myself.”

His father, Lachlann and some of the other men smiled. Cormag, and those in the band who were his cousin’s friends, did not.

“You were lucky,” Lachlann said.

“Not that lucky,” Adair replied. “I couldn’t find the plans. They must have been locked away in the box I saw in the mason’s hut.”

Beneath the table Lady Marianne had leaned against, watching him warily, as if she was afraid he might bite. He couldn’t bear the thought of any woman being frightened of him—another reason he’d stayed, he supposed.

“What a surprise they weren’t left lying about for anybody to see,” Cormag said sarcastically. “Even your father’s tact couldn’t have saved you if you’d been found looking over the plans. We might all have been hung for spying. But you didn’t think of that, did you?”

In truth, he hadn’t. He’d been too keen to find out all he could about the castle. “Don’t fash yourself, Cormag.”

The chieftain nudged his horse into a walk, as did the others. “Whether you were caught or no,” he said to his son, “I have to agree that wasn’a a wise thing to do, especially when you might have guessed that the plans would be kept away from prying eyes.”

“Aye, ’twas a fool’s errand,” Cormag loudly complained. “We don’t need to see any plans to realize the Norman’s fortifying Dunkeathe in a way that’ll make it hard to beat him.”

“With one wall, or two?” Adair asked, defending his fool’s errand. “I’ve heard that some Norman castles have two curtain walls, and a few even three. They have towered gatehouses and bossed gates, secret passages for escape, dungeons and even a murder hole.”

“A murder hole? Losh, what’s that?” Lachlann asked.

“’Tis a hole in the roof between the portcullis at the entrance to the gatehouse and the gate at the other end. They can drop rocks through it on invaders, or boiling oil.”

“God help us,” Lachlann murmured, and a few of the men crossed themselves, or made the sign against the devil.

“Aye. That’s why I wanted to see what Sir Nicholas was up to. He strikes me as the sort to have a murder hole. And lots of dark, damp cells.”

Perhaps he’d lock his sister away in one if he somehow found out she’d met a Scot in the mason’s hut, or was trying to escape his castle.

Adair shoved that thought away. “Father, I’m thinking we should rebuild our own defenses.”

“Aye, my son, so am I.”

“Especially if the Norman’s making an alliance with Mac Glogan.”

“That’s a bad business, right enough,” his father agreed.

“Can you not put a stop to it? You could go to the king. You’re a thane and a chieftain. Alexander ought to listen to you.”

“Sir Nicholas has Alexander’s favor, so any objections will have to be made carefully,” his father replied.

“Then Adair’d better stay at home if you decide to go,” Cormag said. “Or he’ll likely lose his temper with the king.”

“Shut it, Cormag,” Adair warned.

“If you really want to prevent the marriage, why not seduce the woman, Adair?” Cormag suggested, his voice full of scornful mockery. “Women are helpless to resist your pretty face and braw body, are they not?” He grinned and raised his voice, imitating a woman. “Oh, Adair, kiss me! Hold me! Raise my skirts and—”

Adair was off his horse and dragging Cormag from his before any of the other men had time to blink.

“Father!” Lachlann cried as the two Scots wrestled in the mud of the narrow path, all bare legs and plaids and curses. “Stop them before they kill each other.”

“They’ll not do that,” Seamus said as he continued to ride for home. “Let them fight awhile. Then maybe we’ll have some peace in our hall tonight. Those Normans weary me something fierce, and I need to think.”