In early afternoon young Murdoc came home complaining that Agnes Carr would not allow him in her cottage after he had driven her home in the cart. His brothers laughed heartily at his discomfort, and told him that the prince had worn the woman out. She would not be ready to entertain a randy cock for several days.
“We need more whores,” Murdoc complained, and his brothers laughed all the harder. “Well, Conal, I knowwhat you do, but what do you do, Duncan?” the aggrieved young man demanded to know.
But Duncan smiled mysteriously, and said nothing much, to Conal’s amusement and Murdoc’s irritation.
Adair was curious as to how they would know when the prince or Patrick Hepburn would come again. “I cannot entertain a houseful of men if I do not know when to expect them. Our winter larder will go just so far.”
But Conal told her, and Duncan agreed, that they would not receive any prior notice. Those involved would just appear. Adair sent the men of the keep out once more in the short and cold days to seek more game for the larder. She liked finding herself in the thick of things again, but she would not have Cleit’s hospitality criticized. And as if the forces of nature understood her dilemma, game was suddenly in great supply. Soon Cleit’s winter larder was filled with the carcasses of deer, game birds, and three wild boar hanging from the heavy iron hooks. And fish was caught, to be smoked and salted. Adair was satisfied that Cleit would not be found wanting.
The first snow came, spreading its mantle of white over the border hills. It glistened in the moonlight on the cold long nights. The village midwife had been consulted, and advised the laird to contain his lust.
“Your wife is not in the first flush of her youth, my lord. She is already three years past twenty, and this is her first bairn. I would, for her sake, advise that you contain your lustful nature until after your bairn is born.
Cleit needs heirs, and it took you long enough to wed,”she half scolded him.
Adair was relieved at the midwife’s verdict. She was sick more times than not with the child growing in her belly. But she had to admit that Conal Bruce knew how to soothe her. Twice each day he brushed her long hair.
And at night he caressed her breasts gently, and then his big hands would enclose her burgeoning belly in a tender embrace as he talked to his child. And as November came to an end Adair could feel the faint stirrings of the infant within her. Now she began to wonder if she would give him a son for Cleit, or if it was a daughter that she carried.
December came and went as her belly grew larger.
They celebrated the Christ’s Mass in the hall, with the priest coming from the village in deference to the lady of Cleit. The hall had been decorated with branches of holly and pine. They had found a great log in a wood that was dragged in to be the hall’s Yule log. Fresh candles made over the autumn months blazed in every corner.
“You look happy again,” Elsbeth noted one icy morning as she brought her mistress fresh bread, butter, and bacon.
And Adair realized that she was happy. Really happy, for the first time in a very long while. She looked around her clean, warm hall with its Christmas decor. The furnishings were comfortable. The young wolfhound she had christened Beiste in honor of her old dog snored before the fire. Her husband and his brothers sat at the high board with her, eating and laughing. She didn’t know when it had happened, but suddenly all the anger and bitterness had gone from her heart, and she was finally content.
Chapter 15
The days were now growing longer, and on February 2, which was known as Candlemas, Adair
presented the priest with a year’s supply of candles for the village church. Lent came with its fasts and its fish.
Suddenly one day strangers began arriving at Cleit, and Adair realized that the prince’s adherents were coming for a meeting. Whether they had met at other obscure keeps before, she had no idea. She went to the kitchens to warn Elsbeth and the others.
“There isn’t enough fish,” Elsbeth told her.
“I doubt they will worry about a Lenten fast,” Adair replied. “Roast a boar. There are two left. And three of the geese. Make six rabbit pies and a large vegetable potage. Send Murdoc and young Jack to fish. They must break the ice if they have to, but we must not be found wanting by our guests.”
“It’s a great deal of food,” Elsbeth noted. “How many are there?”
“I have no idea,” Adair replied. “But I would rather we cook too much than be embarrassed by not having enough.” But to Adair’s relief her guests numbered less than two dozen, including the men at arms who had ridden in with their masters.
Ian Armstrong had been sent for, and he had come,for Duncan had explained it all to him. The laird of Duffdour was unmarried, and much resembled Duncan.
They were several years apart in age. Adair, her great belly before her, greeted each of her lordly guests as they entered Cleit’s hall. She wore a dull red gown, but even close to delivering her child she was beautiful.
Conal was by her side, as was Duncan, who knew all of the men involved in what was now a conspiracy to de-throne King James. The prince was not with them, for he could not be seen to be involved, although he knew all that transpired.
There were Alexander Home and Patrick Hepburn, both the prince’s closest friends. There were the earls of Angus and Argyll, representing the Red Douglases and the Campbells of Argyll. There was the bishop of Glasgow himself, who ate a heaping helping of roast boar and devoured at least half a goose, while eschewing the trout. They paid no attention to Adair after having greeted her, and so she listened as they planned.
“We must do this as quickly as possible,” the Earl of Argyll said.
“Aye,” the bishop agreed. “We don’t need a civil war.
The MacDonald would only use it to consolidate his power in the Highlands even more, and the prince doesn’t need that, does he?”
“The lad can charm the MacDonald,” Patrick Hepburn said.
