A short while later,Caterine peered across the smoke-hazed great hall, her gaze reaching the circle of whirling, energetic dancers just in time to see James stumble. Unable to keep up with the dance’s strenuous pace, he tripped and fell face-long to the floor.
Barks of laughter accompanied his plight as dancers leapt over or sidestepped his sprawled form. Her heart twisting, she looked on as he pushed to his knees in the thick layer of newly spread rushes, his face dark, the cruel taunts of a few ale-headed revelers reminding her why she must convince her husband to stay.
Across the table, unaware of James’ embarrassment, Father Tomas coughed discreetly. “My good men,” he began, turning to Marmaduke and his knights, “how will you persuade Sir Hugh to concede defeat?” he wanted to know. “His arm is long and his treachery great.”
“Sir John’s was the blackest treachery,” James ground out, limping up to the table. He drew back his laird’s chair with a painfully loud scrape, and sank heavily into its oaken embrace. “The man was an adder.
“I’ve no doubt it was he who fired an arrow into the back of the miscreant who took aim at Strongbow and my stepmother the afternoon of the wedding,” he said, nodding stiff thanks to Eoghann as he plunked another steaming platter of roasted meat onto the table. “He surely thought to still the man’s tongue before Black Dugie could haul him before us.”
Murmurs of agreement and hearty nods circled the high table.
James dabbed at his brow, his fury at Sir John’s duplicity clearly vexing him more than losing his footing in the dance. “The man broke every rule of hospitality long held sacred in this land, and all the while he consorted with the devil behind our backs.”
“And now he sups at the horned one’s own table,” Sir Ross commented, helping himself to a long draught of ale. “His friend Sir Hugh will be joining him there anon lest he is wise enough to ride south on a very swift steed.”
“Hugh de la Hogue has learned he cannot whisk aside the good folk of Dunlaidir like a swarm of pesky midges,” her husband said, placing his hand over hers on the table, idly kneading the tops of her fingers as he spoke, her heart quickening at his touch.
He glanced at her then, a knowing glint in his good eye, before he turned back to his men.
“Either he has made a wise retiral to England by the time we return to Kinraven to fetch the remaining Keith cattle or he can prepare himself to make peace with his God,” he said, pouring himself a generous portion of hippocras. “A sad prospect, for I doubt the good Lord will greet him kindly.”
“And Kinraven?” That from James.
Caterine waited, noting the hardening of her husband’s features. As she watched, he took a sip of his wine, exchanged telling glances with his men.
“Kinraven will be no more,” he said. “Naught shall remain but soot and ash. Allowing it to stand will only invite another of the same ilk to take Sir Hugh’s place.”
“And how shall you turn as well-watched a stronghold as Kinraven into a burning pyre?” Caterine masked her concern with note of pique.
What shall I do if – this time – you fail to return?Her heart demanded.
“I do not like the worry on your brow,” he said, looking right past her lifted chin and into her heart. “You’ve no need to fret yourself for I shall return without the merest scratch. We all shall.”
“But…”
“Never you worry, my sweet.” He brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss in the center of her palm. “We shall take Kinraven as we’ve taken other such occupied holdings in even more turbulent times of the past.”
“How?”
Calm as always, he released her hand and chucked her under the chin. “With stealth.”
“Stealth, a dark night, and well-sharpened blades,” the bearded Sir Gowan tossed out, sitting a bit forward and looking as if he’d relish the fight. “That, and enough good men to scale the walls and turn the whole keep to a burnt, blackened shell before they ken-”
“Nay, my friends,” her husband’s objection came swift. He gave them each a long and level look. A warning look. “That will not be the way of it. We shall not sully ourselves by adopting their methods of villainy.”
He raised a silencing hand at their protestations, the grumbles rising from the nearest long tables.
“The garrison men at Kinraven are no different from ours. They merely fight under de la Hogue’s banner,” he said, speaking loud enough to be heard by all. A calming, authoritative voice in the chaos.
He again looked from one to the other, waiting for them, and those at other tables, to still their tongues before he continued. “They will be given a choice: return to England and their families on their knightly honor never to cross the border again, or remain and die with Sir Hugh.”
Silence greeted that…silence, and creased brows.
“What of de la Hogue?” Father Tomas wanted to know. “What of him?”
“I shall challenge him,” Sir Marmaduke returned. “He can die by the sword, and on his feet, as a man of worth should hope to do - or within the burning walls of Kinraven as a coward.”
He stood, drawing Caterine up with him. “That, good sirs, shall be his choice.” He wrapped his arm around Caterine’s waist. “The man has made his fate.”
