“Almost. I’m going to the hall to eat,” he said, bending to give her a quick kiss.
“I will be down shortly,” she said as he left the room.
In the hall the men were gathering. Flora and Grizel were bringing in the trenchers of oat stirabout. Young Jack followed, placing butter, bread, and cheese upon the trestles. Then, along with the women, he helped fill the men’s cups with bitter ale. Conal Bruce slid into his place at the high board.
“You look like you had a good night,” Duncan said with a wicked grin.
“And you look like you had a hard night,” Conal said with an equally wicked grin.
“Agnes wanted to bid us a farewell. Murdoc is still with her. She swears he’ll be with us when we ride out,”
Duncan said. “With Ian’s lot we’ll number fifty. He’s bringing twenty men, and his captain, who was our da’s bastard. They’re only a few months apart in age. Our father got a son on Mam’s serving woman while she was full with Ian. She was furious with him, but she never held it against Tam’s mother.”
“Fortunately our da had no by-blows,” the laird noted. “Mam was very strict. She would have been more than put out with me, the way I treated Adair when I first brought her to Cleit,” Conal Bruce said with a smile.
“She would have been more put out with Adair for not wedding you when you first asked her.” Duncan laughed. “And here is the wicked wench now, come to bid us farewell,” he said. “Good morning, madam.”
Adair busied herself making certain that her husband and the others were well fed. God only knew when they would eat decently again. And then the hall was empty-ing and only Conal Bruce remained. She pressed a bit more bread and cheese on him. “You will be careful,”
she said quietly. “And you will come home to me safely.
We still must make a son for Cleit, my lord.”
“We will,” he promised her. “This business is not apt to take long. It will be fierce, but brief, I am certain. We will have the summer ahead.”
They walked together into the courtyard of the keep, where the men were now mounted and waiting for their laird, young Murdoc among them, looking slightly worn. Adair straightened Conal’s red Bruce plaid, bur-nishing his silver clan badge with her sleeve. He mounted his horse and, bending, kissed her swiftly.
Then, gathering the reins in his gloved hands, the laird of Cleit raised his hand and signaled his troop to depart.
Only once did he glance back at her, and she waved her hand in reply.
Adair stood at the gates of Cleit Keep, watching as her husband and his men rode down the hill. She stood for some minutes gazing as men and horses gradually faded from her view. Then, with a sigh, she ordered the gates of the keep closed, and retired back into the hall to help the women clean up the remains of the morning meal.
The young Beiste shadowed her everywhere in the next few weeks. He never allowed her out of his line of vision, and insisted on sleeping in her bedchamber at night. It was as if he understood that the master of the house was gone, and it was up to him to watch over Adair.
The countryside was suddenly very still, as if waiting for something to happen. They saw no one, even from the heights of the keep, where a man watched the day long and through the night, for with the brief nights there was really no time when they might let down their guard. Adair ate in the kitchens with Elsbeth and the others. During the day she occupied herself with her small gardens. The herbs, both cooking and medicinal, were growing well now. And she had managed to bring life again into the flower garden that had once belonged to the previous lady of the keep. The time passed very slowly, and then one day the watch on the heights called down that there was a rider who appeared to be making his way toward Cleit.
When he was almost to the gates Adair came into thecourtyard. “Do not open the gates until we know who he is,” she said.
“He’s wearing the Hepburn plaid,” the watch called down.
Then the man at arms on the gates opened the small portal window and, peering out, said, “Who are you, and state your business.”
“Hercules Hepburn, with a message from my master to the lady of Cleit,” came the reply.
“Open the gates and let him through,” Adair said.
The man at arms opened half the gate, just enough to allow the rider through. He entered and, dismounting, went immediately to Adair, bowing politely. “My master wanted you to know that all is well,” he said, seeing the concern in her face.
Relief poured through Adair. “Come into the hall, Hercules Hepburn, and have some wine,” she invited the man. He was a huge fellow standing close to seven feet tall.
Inside she poured the rider his wine, watched while he drank it down, and then refilled his goblet as she invited him to sit by the fire. Seating herself opposite him, she leaned forward and asked, “What has happened?
You say my husband is safe?”
“Aye, and the battle decisively won, my lady,” was his reply.
“Let me call our folk into the hall, Hercules Hepburn, so they may hear what you have to say,” Adair said.
