Satisfied, Marmaduke relaxed his shoulders, let some of the tension ease out of him. “The wedding is but a few days away,” he said, turning to Father Tomas. “You, Sir Priest, shall inform the villagers they will receive mailed shirts and whatever surplus weaponry we can spare.
“The day of nuptials,” he went on, “they are to crowd the roads and church, but disguise the hauberks beneath their normal wear and hide any weapons as much as is possible.”
Alec muttered beneath his breath, earning an elbow in the ribs from Ross.
“Have done, all of you.” Marmaduke eyed them, then turned to the holy man. “Regarding my lady’s people,” he began, “assure them Dunlaidir is once again in strong hands and shall remain so. Once Sir Hugh has been dealt with, repairs to their homes and fields will be seen to without hesitation.”
Gowan snorted. “Outfitting farmers with steel, tending their fields-”
“Father,” Marmaduke cut in, “you will give them these assurances on my knightly word. Let it be known any villager yet fearful may seek shelter within these walls until they feel safe enough to return to their homes.”
“Braw words, English,” Sir Ross said, and sounded so much like Duncan MacKenzie, Marmaduke almost whipped about to see if that great lout stood behind him.
He did smile, but bittersweet, for, of a sudden, he felt a powerful urge to see his old friend.
A burning desire to be home again.
Home at Balkenzie.
And to be there with his new bride beside him.
Blinking against the unexpected emotion stinging his good eye, he threw back his shoulders and faced his men.
“Hear me well, friends, for I won’t say this again. You will deliver the hauberks and arms,” he said, appalled by the thickness still swelling his throat. “For secrecy, you’ll work nights, preferably between the fall of darkness and first light, hiding the gear in a secure place until Father Tomas has met with the villagers.”
“And when do we begin this noble undertaking?” Gowan again.
Some inner devil, but not his usual ones, made Marmaduke glance the chapel’s tall lancet windows. Narrow and pointy-topped, they aimed at the heavens, even as blackest night pressed against them, stealing the color from their multi-hued panes, and cloaking the world beyond in shielding darkness.
A perfect night for stealth.
Alec followed his gaze. “Nay, Strongbow, you cannae mean this night?”
Marmaduke almost chuckled at the stricken look on the other man’s face. Instead, he gave him a friendly clap on the arm. “You are more quick-witted than I’d thought.”
His tone almost jovial, he added, “I shall reward the lot of you a thousandfold and then some when we return home.”
Rolled eyes and grumbles met his offer, but one by one, his men took their leave and he knew they’d have much accomplished before the sun cleared the horizon.
“God go with you,” the old priest murmured into their wake, not quite able to keep the catch out of his voice. When their footsteps faded, he turned grateful eyes on Marmaduke.
“You are a good man,” he said. “Our people will not fail you.”
“Nor shall I fail them, that I promise you.” Marmaduke reached for Father Tomas’ hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Then he, too, left the chapel. But unlike his men who’d descended into Dunlaidir’s bowels, he climbed a winding turret stair to his lady’s chamber, a wry smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
A good man, the priest had called him.
Not this night.
Nay, far from it.
This night, he intended to be bad.
Very bad, indeed.
Chapter 25
