"Aye."
"A bow and arrows," she repeated indignantly.
Laughing he said, "If you only had your--
"-- bow and arrows," she finished and smiled, her mind’s eye imagining the determined and strong-spirited brother Mairi had told her about.
Below, a dairy maid in a work gown and blue apron, wearing wooden clogs moved across the bailey toward the dairy byre swinging empty milk buckets on a wooden yoke. A laundress came out and another followed, talking as one lit a fire under a huge, black clothes kettle with an oil torch that made the air smell like the grease from roasting meat Moments later they carried out overloaded baskets of dirty linens and laundry they stacked between the clothes poles and the cooking kettles, still chatting amiably. Their work day was beginning, as was her life.
That new beginning sun was whole now, balancing precariously on the edge of the horizon, fiery and colorful. A sharp whistle made her gaze follow the sound. In one of the crofts beyond the wall, dog trailed after a shepherd boy with a long pole who was skipping and side-stepping as the hound barked and happily frolicked after him.
She took a long and quivering sigh and closed her eyes for a moment.
“I’m sorry about your hound,” Lyall said quietly.
“Fergus?” she said and he looked down at her.
“Aye. Would that it had been safe to stay behind. But ‘twas not.”
Can you not even call him by his name after he is dead?But she could say nothing aloud after Mairi’s story about her brave brother and a hound named Atholl. She leaned her head against his chest, because that was where she felt comforted. “I miss him.”
“I know, sweetheart.” And she understood he knew better than anyone else. His hand slid up and down her back, soothing her with a tender touch. They stood like that, arms about each other, holding together, the day dawning before them in light the color of the flesh of a salmon, each lost inside their own thoughts. He turned to her, lifted her face with gentle hands and kissed her.
The chamber door flew open with a bang and the baron filled the doorway.
Lyall turned her away to shield her from view with his body. “Get out.”
“What did you say?” The baron’s red face turned redder. “I am the lord of Rossi.”
“You should know to knock at a closed door,” Lyall said unfazed. “Else I will have to find another place to sleep.”
Ramsey angrily pulled the sheet from the bed and tossed it to Lyall. “Cover her.”
The Lady Beitris came rushing in, tying a belt at the waist of the thick, damask robe she wore over her sleeping gown. About her head was a tight silk cap that still hid half her face behind a deep bluesarcenet veil. She looked at them, naked and in each other’s arms, and her hands went to her bright face as she said. “Oh, Lyall no… You did not!”
Those few words held such disappointment that Glenna flinched slightly and looked down, staring at the pale, golden hairs at the bend in his spine. She felt Lyall’s hands tighten on her.
“See how your son defies me under my own roof?” Ramsey gritted and stormed from the room.
Lady Beitris looked from Lyall and Glenna to the bed. She walked over and picked up her chemise and held it out to her, her voice unemotional, “Get dressed, Lady Glenna.”
“We are husband and wife, my lady,” Glenna argued from behind him.
“Do as she asks, love. Trust me. This is not yet done.” Lyall turned and his hands were soft on her bare shoulders. He gave her a slight shove towards his mother.
Glenna obeyed and slipped the chemise over her head. When she slid her arms into the green gown it gaped open in the back, and Lady Beitris pulled the pieces of torn ties together, knotting them in each eyelet again and again, tightening them before finally clucking her tongue. “Really, Lyall. This gown is just made.”
“I would advise you to make future gowns with fewer ties, Mother.”
Glenna glanced at him over her shoulder, and they exchanged a private look. She thought he might smile, something like one teased the corners of his mouth, but his stepfather came back in the room followed by three armed men.
“Shackle him,” the baron ordered.
“Donnald!” Lady Beitris rushed to her husband, her hand on his arm. “Nay. I beg of you. Do not do this.”
But the baron spoke directly to Lyall and ‘twas clear his rage had not waned. “I have somewhere else for you to sleep,” he said, throwing Lyall’s defiant words back at him. “You are under the mistaken impression that you have the freedom to leave. You do not.” The baron turned to the men who were standing by Lyall, holding his arms as the other clamped thick iron manacles on his ankles and wrists.
Lyall stood there with his head up and his eyes unseeing, not showing that he was vulnerable, wearing nothing but the iron clamps and chains. But Glenna could see something else. For aman so strong and tall and acting emotionless, something about him he tried to hide from the world was fragile as spun sugar, ready to crack and shatter into a thousand small pieces.
