For his bed had disappeared from the raised dais, and his fair lady wife was likewise absent.
“Hie yourself in here, you bandy-legged he-goat, lest I-”
“Lest you what, laddie?” The object of his wrath bristled from the shadows of the screens passage.
One of his favored hidey-holes.
And where he’d no doubt been lurking simply for the pleasure of spying on Duncan’s distress.
Taking his time, the old man shuffled forward, his scraggly-bearded chin thrust out in defiance. “Lest you shout these walls down with your bluster?”
“Where is my wife?” Duncan put all the dread in his heart into the shouted words.
His concern for her, hisfear, working him into a fine, fuming rage, he aimed a pointing finger at the raised dais which, once again, held the innocently mute high table.
“What have you done with my bed?” he roared, not even trying to contain his fury.
The seneschal folded scrawny arms and glowered back at him.
And said not a word.
Duncan glanced up at the hall’s vaulted ceiling and inhaled deeply.
At length, and in somewhat better control of himself, he turned his attention back to his grizzle-headed steward. “The bed – and my lady – were here before I left to make my rounds not an hour ago,” he said, his deep voice calmer.
A little bit calmer.
But not enough to pry answers from Fergus.
Duncan heaved a great sigh. “So-o-o, Fergus, you’ve restored notable order to the hall,” he said, trying to imitate a certain one-eyed lout’s winning manner with servants by spouting praise and resting a hand on Fergus’ knobby shoulder.
“And I see you’ve had the last of Strongbow’s frippery hauled down to the boat for our last trek to Bal-”
Breaking off, Duncan narrowed his eyes at the recently emptied front section of the hall. Not a single stick of furniture or stack of prized gewgaws blocked the entrance.
Everything was gone - piled high in Eilean Creag’s largest galley to await transport.
A sick feeling in the pit of Duncan’s belly joined the tightness banding around his ribs, comprehension washing over him in cold and hot waves.
And so he tore his gaze from the spotlessly tidy entrance area and looked back at Fergus.
The quivering of a muscle in the old man’s jaw told the truth: Duncan’s bed and his lady were, even now, happily ensconced on the galley, jammed in amidst the remainder of Strongbow’s household wares and nonsense.
Goods that awaited the journey to Balkenzie Castle.
In defiance of his orders.
“Bluidy hell!” Duncan released all his savage fury in one ear-splitting roar.
“’Twas her own doing,” Fergus dared to extract himself from the dark deed. “You ken how persuasive she can be, and she swore it was time-”
“Time?” The word curdled Duncan’s blood. “Time for the bairn? And her planting herself and the wee one in a boat?”
“Nae, lord.” Fergus shook his head. “Time for the Sassunach to return.”
“And she thinks to await this glorious day at Balkenzie?” Duncan’s head would soon split. “Tell me you didn’t encourage her in this foolery?”
“She said if I didn’t help, she’d find some other way to get there.”
