Prologue Scotland, 1465 “Sir Eric! Sir Eric!” Sir Eric Murray sighed and turned to face the too thin man hurrying through the garden toward him. He had found himself a nice secluded spot in the castle garden, or so he had thought, in order to read the news from home. Although he liked Sir Donald well enough, he did not appreciate his rare moment of peace being so abruptly ended. As Sir Donald stumbled to a halt in front of him, Eric sat up straight on the shaded stone bench. “I didnae ken ye had returned,” Sir Donald said, using a small scrap of linen to dab at the sheen of sweat upon his narrow face. “The errand the king sent ye on was swiftly tended to, was it?” “Aye,” was all Eric replied, unsure of just how secret the king meant to keep the business and knowing how avid a gossip Sir Donald was. “The king awaits ye. He doesnae ken ye have returned, either.” “Nay, I havenae told many. I ken I will be kept verra busy and wished for a moment of quiet to read the news from home.” “And is your bonny lady wife weel? And your children?” “All weel, although I begin to feel a need to return and nay just for the love of them. My wee lass Gillyanne has taken it into her head to go and see her dower lands. My love isnae sure how long she can rein in our headstrong child or even if she should.” “Weel, now, there is a fine coincidence. ’Tis your daughter Gillyanne’s dower lands the king wishes to discuss with you.” “I hadnae realized anyone kenned she had any. ’Tis something we have tried to keep quiet, at least as concerns the what and the where.”
“Most of the court now kens the what and the where.” “How?” Sir Donald swallowed nervously. It was just one word, but it had been spoken sharply and Sir Eric’s expression was hard, almost threatening. “Weel, three knighted lairds have been pressing the king about that tower house. It borders all of their lands, yet they didnae ken exactly who held it. They tracked a hint of something to your clan, but your steward refused to answer their queries. The king demanded an answer of the mon and ’twas finally given. Then the king told the three lairds that the land was the dowry of your lass, that she was as yet unwed, and it seemed to him that they must now seek ye out.” He took a hasty step back when Sir Eric suddenly stood up, every inch of his lean body taut with anger. “They are all landed knights and lairds, Sir Eric. I cannae see that ye would object to wedding your lass to any one of them.” “Oh, but I would object,” Sir Eric said softly, coldly. “I object most heartily. One, I wish my child to wed for love, as I did, as my brothers did, as many of our clan have. Two, I certainly dinnae wish men hungry for a piece of land trying to gain it through my wee Gillyanne. Are any of these knights still here?” “Nay. They lingered for a few days after hearing who held the lands, but ye didnae return and so they left. Actually, one left quietly in the dark of night and the other two left swiftly the next morn. They are probably planning to seek ye out later, mayhap e’en court your lass.” “Aye, or they have hied away to see who can gain hold of my wee lass first and drag her afore a priest.” Sir Eric started to stride out of the gardens, a wide-eyed Sir Donald stumbling along behind him. All Eric could think of was his tiny Gilly — so like her mother with her red-brown hair and faintly mismatched eyes — being dragged off and hurt by some fool who hungered for her land and the thought enraged him. “The king has unleashed a pack of wolves upon Gillyanne. I pray my wife has kept the lass locked up tight, and does so until I can get home.”
One Scotland, 1465 “I dinnae think our mother was verra pleased about this, Gillyanne.” Gillyanne smiled at the handsome auburn-haired James who rode at her side. He was the brother of her heart, and even he knew that the woman he called his mother was actually his aunt. Soon he would claim his heritage, become laird of Dunncraig, but Gillyanne knew it would be only a distance of miles that would separate them, never one of heart or spirit. She also knew that he did not think she was completely wise in her decision to travel to her dower lands. “And did ye have to bring those thrice-cursed cats?” he muttered. “Aye. There may be rats there,” she replied calmly. She reached down to gently scratch the ears of her two cats, Ragged and Dirty. Ragged was a huge dark yellow tom who well fit his name, with one eye gone, one ear missing a bite-sized chunk, and numerous battle scars. Dirty was a sweet, delicate female, a mottled patternless blend of black, grey, orange and white, who had not truly suited her name from the moment she had been rescued and cleaned. They traveled everywhere with her in a special fur-lined leather basket that was firmly attached to her saddle. The three of them had not been separated in three years, not since the day she had found them where they had been cruelly tossed into a rat-infested dungeon cell at a neighboring keep. Both of them had been weak and bloodied, the cell littered with more dead and dying rats than she had had the stomach to count. They had both more than earned their keep since she had brought them home with her. “Oh, aye.” James nodded and reached out to briefly pet both cats, revealing that his harsh words were not heartfelt. “ ’Tis nay like home at Dubhlinn. S’truth, Mither and I could gain little knowledge about your tower house save to learn that ’tis nay a ruin. Mither felt that the trouble was that the mon she traded messages with didnae truly understand what she was asking of him or what she wished to hear. The mon thought safe; she thought clean. The mon thought protection; she thought comfort. She finally decided safe and protected would suit us for now, that ’twas clear a woman’s eye was needed.” “ ’Tis because this used to be MacMillan land and ’tis a MacMillan mon who guards it. Mither doesnae
ken him weel, save that my great-uncle MacMillan praises his worth, and the mon doesnae ken Mama. Weel, this visit should mend all of that.” “I but pray it is comfortable.” “If it has a bed, a bath, and food, I will be content for now. The comforts such as exist at Dubhlinn can come later.” “Aye, true enough.” James eyed her curiously. “I am nay sure I understand your stubborn need to come here, though.” “I am nay sure I do, either.” Gillyanne smiled at her cousin, then sighed and shrugged. “ ’Tis mine. I can say no more than that. ’Tis mine and I wished to acquaint myself with it.” “In truth, I think I can understand that. I keep feeling drawn to my lands though I shallnae set my arse in the laird’s seat for another year or more.” “Nay too much more,” she said encouragingly. “Nay, I think not. Dinnae think I resent or regret being held back. ’Tis best. I need seasoning, need more training, and have only just gained my spurs. Our cousin holds my place weel and I need to be able to fill his large boots. An untried laird will do my clan no good at all.” He frowned a little. “I wonder how those who live upon your dower lands will feel when a wee lass comes to claim the prize.” “Mither wondered as weel and sought some assurances. It appears it willnae matter. ’Tis but a small keep with few people and Mither got the feeling they would welcome just about anyone. The only one they call the leader is an aging steward. They have all been left a wee bit uncertain of their future and would like it settled.” “That is in your favor then,” agreed James. “Why do I think that ye are considering staying here?” Gillyanne shrugged again, not surprised he had guessed her thoughts. She did indeed have the occasional thought about setting up her own household at Ald-dabhach. And, mayhap, she thought with a small smile, changing the name to something more interesting than old measure of land. There was a restlessness inside of her which she did not understand. She loved her family dearly, but they only seemed to make that restlessness worse. Perhaps, if she had her own lands to tend to, she would feel useful and that would sate the hunger gnawing at her insides. Although she was reluctant to admit it, there was another reason she was finding it difficult at home. It tasted too much like envy, but she was finding it more and more difficult to be around so many happily married couples, to watch her cousins build their own families. Each new birth she attended was, for her, a blend of pleasure and increasing pain. She would be one and twenty soon and no man had ever looked
at her with the slightest warmth. Several trips to court had not helped, had in fact been painful proof that men simply did not find her desirable, and all of her family’s love and reassurances did not really ease the sting of that. At times she grew angry with herself. She did not need a man to survive. Deep in her heart she knew she could have a full, happy life with no man at her side. But, right beside that knowledge was the fact that she ached for the passion, the love, and especially the children a husband could give her. Every time she watched one of her cousins with her children, watched the heated glances exchanged between husband and wife, she knew she did not need that to find some sort of happiness, but it did not stop her from wanting it all. “If ye hide yourself away here, how will ye e’er find a husband?” James asked. It took a moment but Gillyanne finally quelled the urge to kick her cousin off his horse. “I dinnae think that is a problem I need fret o’er, Cousin. If there is a match for me, and I have seen little proof that there is one, he can find me here as easily as he can at Dubhlinn or the king’s court.” James grimaced and dragged his hand through his hair. “Ye sound as if ye are giving up. Elspeth and Avery were about your age when they found their husbands.” “Near, but still younger. I believe they also experienced the occasional twitch of interest from men ere they were married.” She smiled at her cousin when he continued to frown. “Dinnae trouble yourself so. My cousins met their mates in unexpected places. Mayhap I will, too.” Gillyanne broke through a line of trees and announced, “Ah, and there it looms. My keep and my lands.” Ald-dabhach had obviously consisted of little more than a peel tower at one time. Over the years two small wings had been added to the thick tower and it was now surrounded by a high, sturdy wall. Set upon a steeply inclined hill, it would be easily protected. The tiny village which sat in its shadow looked neat, the fields all around it were well tended or used to graze cattle and sheep. A small creek wound its way behind the keep, the setting sun making its waters sparkle and gleam. It was, Gillyanne decided, a rather pretty place, and she hoped it was as peaceful as it looked as she urged her mount toward its gates. * * * “ ’Tis sturdy,” James said as he stood next to Gillyanne on the walls of her keep after the evening meal. Gillyanne laughed and nodded. “Verra sturdy.” There really was not much more to say about her dower property. It was clean, but had few of those gentle-womanly touches such as linen cloths for the tables in the great hall. This was not surprising since mostly men resided at Ald-dabhach. There were those women who slept within the keep, two older women married to men at arms, and one very shy girl of twelve, the cook’s daughter. Sir George the
steward was sixty if he was a day and had both poor eyesight and bad hearing. Most of the men at arms were in their middle years. Gillyanne had the distinct impression that Ald-dabhach had become a place where the MacMillans sent the weary and, she glanced down at one of the few young men at the keep limping toward the stables, the lame. It rather reconfirmed her opinion that it was a peaceful place. The five men who had traveled with her with an eye to staying were young, strong, and had been greeted almost as effusively as she had been. “I think your men will stay,” James said, “which will please the maids here.” “Oh, aye. We did end up with a sudden rush of serving maids for the evening meal. They must have been watching our arrival from the village.” “And ran straight here. Clearly, there is a shortage of hale young men.” James sighed. “I was rather hoping the not so hale lads here had found mates because the lasses were nay foolish enough to think such things as a limp mattered. Now I must wonder if it was just because there was no choice.” “With some, but others show more sense.” She nodded toward the man with the limp just disappearing into the stables. “I saw his wife and him together ere she left to go to the village. The lass looks at him as if he is the handsomest, strongest, bravest young mon e’er born.” “So I may cast aside my moment of disillusionment.” “Aye, your hope in the goodness of people is restored.” “Yours, of course, ne’er faltered.” “With some people it doesnae just falter, it trips and falls flat on its face,” she drawled and smiled when he laughed. James draped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Ye see too much and see it too clearly ’tis all.” “I ken it.” She stared out into the increasing dark. “I can see the good of that. It can warn us, cannae it. Elspeth says ye just have to learn when to be deaf to it, but I am nay sure I will e’er have that useful skill. I can ignore it all if the person is just, weel, ordinary, but if there is aught about him to make me wary or curious, ’tis as if I want or e’en need to see what is there. Elspeth mostly senses things, sees something in the eyes. Me? I swear I can often feel what is there. Elspeth is verra good at guessing if one lies, senses fear or danger as it flares up. Me? Let us just say that, at times, a crowded room can be a torture.” “I hadnae realized it was that strong. It must be verra difficult to be constantly battered by everyone else’s feelings.”
“Not everyone’s. I cannae always read you, nor most of my family. The worst one to catch a sniff of is hate. It feels appalling. Fear isnae so good, either, for a part of me kens ’tis nay mine own, but that fear occasionally deafens me to my own good sense. I have blindly fled places only to suddenly come to my senses. ’Tis then that I realize the fear is gone for I have left it with the person who truly felt it.” “And this is what Elspeth feels as weel?” “A little. She says her skill is a more gentle thing, like a scent in the air she can put a name to.” “ ’Tis glad I am I dinnae suffer from such skills.” “Ye have your own special one, James,” Gillyanne murmured and patted his hand where he had rested it upon the wall. “Oh?” He eyed her with suspicion, not trusting her look of sweetness. “What is it?” “Ye can send a lass to paradise. All the lasses say so.” She giggled when he blushed even as he scowled at her. “Cameron is right,” James grumbled. “Ye werenae beaten enough as a child.” “Humph. As if Avery’s big dark knight worries me. He has been muttering empty threats for nearly eight years.” “And ye enjoy every one.” “He has a true skill. One can only stand back and admire it.” She grinned briefly when he laughed. “Do ye sense much here, Gilly?” he asked quietly. “Anything I should fret o’er?” “Nay, although I have learned nay to stare at every person I meet. If I must be cursed with this skill, ’tis glad I am that my fither chose the Murray clan to be adopted by, a people who understand my gift since so many of them possess such gifts themselves.” She rested her arms on the top of the rough stone wall and stared out over her lands. “At the moment, all I feel is a calm, a peace, a gentle contentment. There is also a sense of anticipation, of waiting, yet I cannae feel any fear in that. I feel as if I made the right decision in coming here. This place or mayhap just these lands, give me a sense of belonging.” “Your parents will be hurt if ye choose to stay.” Gillyanne sighed and nodded, acknowledging the one true regret she felt. “I ken it, but they will
understand. In truth, I think that is one reason Mither tried so hard to stop me, or, at least, hold me at Dubhlinn ’til Fither returned. I dinnae want to leave them and, God’s tears, I will probably continuously mourn the fact that I willnae be stumbling o’er kinsmen each time I turn around. I suffered some doubts as we rode here, but, once through those gates, I felt this was right. This is where I should be. I dinnae ken why or for how long, but, for now, this is where I should make my home.” “Then ye must stay. Ye must heed that calling. Ye wouldnae feel so without cause.” She leaned against his warmth and briefly smiled. James did not share in any of the odd gifts that seemed to run rampant in the Murray clan, for he was no real blood relation, either. His strengths were compassion and a sweetness of nature. He never questioned, however, never doubted or feared the gifts of others. In fact, James’ complete lack of any gift was one of the things she found most endearing about him. That and the fact that she rarely sensed anything about the way he thought or felt. They were just two ordinary people when they were together and she did not think he would ever understand why she found that to be such a comfort at times. “I am nay sure ye will find a mon here, though,” he continued. “We have had ample proof that there is a lack of them.” “True,” she replied, “but it doesnae matter. There are enough to defend us all if the need arises.” “I wasnae talking about defenders, or someone to lift heavy things, and ye ken it. Here is nay where ye will meet your mate.” It was not easy, but Gillyanne resisted the urge to strike him — hard. It was a severe reaction to what had been a simple statement of fact. There were no men to choose from here, and, according to Sir George, the men from the three clans which encircled her lands were not ones to pay a visit. Worse, Gillyanne had gotten the strong feeling George was very thankful for that oversight on the part of those lairds. Any visit by someone from one of those clans would certainly be treated with trepidation and a great deal of wariness. No feud, but no friendship, either. That meant a continuing paucity of men. Gillyanne hated to think that the peace, the contentment, she felt was not from seeing her lands and keep, but from accepting, deep in her heart, that she would always be no more than Aunt Gilly, maiden aunt Gilly, spinster aunt Gilly, dried up old stick Gilly. “It doesnae matter,” she finally said, not believing a word of it. “I dinnae need a mon to be happy.” “Dinnae ye want bairns? Ye need a husband to get yourself a few of them.” “Nay, just a lover.” She almost laughed at James’ look of shock. “Or,” she hurried on before he could sputter any response, “I can train the lasses to be ladies of their own lands and households. Or, I could collect some of the forgotten children one is always seeing on the streets of every town, village, and hamlet. There are many bairns in dire need of love, care, and a home.”
“True, but ’tis nay the same, is it.” “Nay, but ’twill do if naught else comes my way. Dinnae fret o’er me, James. I am capable of making my own happiness, A future with a loving husband and bairns would be best, but I can find joy in living without such blessings. In truth, one reason I wished to leave home was because I grew weary of trying to make people believe me when I told them that. Their loving concern began to become an irritation and that is nay what I want.” “Sorry,” James murmured. “I was doing the same, wasnae I?” “Some. I feared gagging on my own envy at times, as weel, and that is nay any good. Though it hurts to be apart from my family, if I am to remain a spinster, if that is truly my fate, apart is probably for the best. I would rather lead my own life than become too ensnared in theirs. I would rather be visited than housed.” “Do ye truly believe they would treat ye unkindly, Gilly?” James frowned at her with an odd mix of uncertainty and condemnation. “Ne’er on purpose, James,” she replied without hesitation. “Yet, they are all so content in their lives, with their husbands and their bairns, they quite naturally wish the same for me. So they introduce me to men, drag me to court, sweetly try to clothe me better or change the way I wear my hair.” Gillyanne shrugged. “I am twenty now, but, as the years pass, that prodding may grow a little stronger, their worry more obvious. Nay, ’tis best if there is some distance. They can cease trying to find me a mate and I will no longer feel their sad concern when none appears.” She hooked her arm through his and started down the steep, narrow steps that led to the bailey below. “Come. Let us see what our beds feel like. It has been a verra long day.” James said no more although Gillyanne got the feeling he wanted to. She suspected he wished to encourage her, soothe her with flattery that somehow made her tiny, thin self sound bonny, but could not think of anything good enough. It was the same with the rest of her family and it was one reason she had begun to feel uncomfortable around them. Each time one of her family tried to boost her pride or sense of worth, she was painfully aware of why they felt the need to do so. As she readied herself for bed, she idly planned a few improvements for her rather barren bedchamber. There was work for her to do here and she knew she could find satisfaction in that. She would make these lands her future, her life. Perhaps, if she and her family ceased looking so hard for her mate, he would finally come her way. When she had to give a little hop to get up on the high bed, she sighed and scrambled beneath the covers. She suspected her size might have something to do with her lack of suitors. There really was not much of her, in height or in womanly curves. Men liked a little flesh on the bones of their women and
she had almost none of that soft fullness they craved. Her cats suddenly joined her on the bed, Dirty curling up against her chest and Ragged against her back, flanking her with their warmth. As she closed her eyes, she wished men could be as easily pleased as cats. A warm place to sleep, a little stroking, and a full belly and they were content. Her cats did not care if she had small breasts, a sometimes too sharp wit, and the skill to sense a lie, sometimes even before it was uttered. What she needed was a man of simple needs, one who could see past her lack of curves and her odd ways. In her dreams he existed, but Gillyanne feared that was the only place she would ever find him.
Two “They be here.” Gillyanne glanced up at George before returning her attention to her meal and dropping the occasional piece of cheese to Ragged and Dirty who lurked beneath the table. She had been so occupied with thoughts on all she wanted to do in her new home, she had not even seen the man walk up to her. The man’s thin face was drawn into its usual somber lines and Gillyanne sensed that he was worried. Since that was the feeling she had constantly had from him since her arrival two days ago, she did not allow it to alarm her. George seemed to savor being worried. “Who are they, George?” she asked, teasing Dirty into standing on her hind legs to get the offered piece of chicken. “The lairds,” George replied. “Which lairds?” “The three that we ne’er see and dinnae wish to.” “Ah, those lairds.” “They will soon be kicking at our gates.” “And should I open those gates?” George sighed heavily and shrugged his thin, rounding shoulders. “I have to wonder why they have come, m’lady, when they have ne’er done so before. Oh, they cross our land from time to time, but nay more. Sent messengers a wee while ago asking who held these lands and I told them ’twas the MacMillans. Ne’er heard a word after that, so I decided that news hadnae troubled them. So, I be asking meself, why now? Why come here now?” “And a verra good question it is,” Gillyanne said. “Since they are the only ones who can reply to that, I
believe we must put the question directly to them.” “Let them in?” There had been a definite squeak of fear in George’s voice, but Gillyanne politely ignored it. “Only the three lairds — alone and without their weapons. If they but come to talk, that should be agreeable to them.” “Aye, a good plan.” “Get Sir James to stand with ye,” she called after George who was already leaving to carry out her orders. “Another good plan,” he said even as he went out the door. Approval felt nice, Gillyanne decided, but knew it would be fleeting. She suspected most of George’s came from the fact that she was allowing only three men inside the walls, an easily overcome number. The man would soon realize that her plan left Ald-dabhach encircled by whatever men the lairds had brought with them. Seeing young Mary entering the great hall, gracefully dodging the fleeing cats, Gillyanne instructed the girl to see that food and drink were set out for their guests. Within hours after arriving at Ald-dabhach, Gillyanne had seen that Mary showed true promise of becoming an excellent helper, despite being only twelve. Confident that her orders would be carried out swiftly and correctly, Gillyanne turned her thoughts to her uninvited guests. It was almost impossible to make a plan before facing the three lairds since she, nor anyone else apparently, knew why they had come. Until she knew that, Gillyanne decided the best thing to do was to act the laird herself, to be regal and aloof, yet not so much so that she caused any offense. She sat up straight in the laird’s chair, glanced down, and hoped that none of the lairds would notice that her feet did not quite touch the floor. When she heard the sound of people approaching the great hall, she stiffened her back and began to repeatedly remind herself that Ald-dabhach was hers. James led in three men who were closely followed by two of her men at arms. George slipped in behind them all and tried to disappear into the shadows at the side of the doorway. The three men looked at her, blatantly searched the room for someone else, then turned their full attention back toward her. The two shorter men openly gaped at her while the tall man briefly, subtly, quirked one light brown brow at her. “My lairds, I welcome ye to Ald-dabhach,” Gillyanne said. “I am Lady Gillyanne Murray. Please, come and sit at my table. Food and drink will arrive.” The black-haired laird was the first to step forward and bow. “I am Sir Robert Dalglish, laird of
Dunspier, the lands which border ye on the east and south.” He sat down on her right, leaving space for James who was quick to take her place at his side. The squarely built red-haired laird stepped forward next, his bow so curt as to border upon being an insult. “I am Sir David Goudie, laird of Aberwellen, the lands bordering ye on the west and the south.” He sat down opposite Sir Robert, but kept his hard gaze fixed upon James. Slowly the tall man strode forward, scowled briefly, then stiffly bowed. “I am Sir Connor MacEnroy of Deilcladach. I am laird of all the rest of the lands which surround you.” He sat down on her left. Mary, with her young brothers acting as pages, brought in the food and drink, giving Gillyanne a welcome moment to catch her breath. There was an unsettling mixture of wariness, tension, and belligerence emanating from the men and Gillyanne had to fight to keep it from affecting her. It told her, however, that these men were not here to simply welcome her to Alddabhach. She wanted to demand an immediate explanation, but knew that could easily make her look weak, could reveal her uneasiness. As she sipped her wine, she tried to draw strength from James, to imitate his calm. Sir Robert did not seem such a bad fellow. His bow had been elegant, his words spoken politely, and, after his first look of surprise, his expression had become one of mild interest. Sir David made her wary. The man seemed to challenge her right to sit in the laird’s chair. Gillyanne got the strong feeling that Sir David did not like the idea of a woman holding land, or anything else of value. Sir Robert was a courtier and Sir David was a somewhat brutish warrior. Gillyanne knew it was an extreme simplification, but it would still serve in helping her deal with each man until she could learn more. The man seated on her left concerned her the most. Gillyanne could feel nothing when she fixed her attention upon the impressively large Sir Connor, nothing but the faintest hint of wariness directed toward the other two lairds. She was not even sure she was actually feeling that, but might simply be making a guess based upon the way he looked at the other two men. The man rarely looked her way. He unsettled her yet Gillyanne was not sure if that was because of his size, her inability to feel anything when she concentrated on him, or, she inwardly sighed, his beauty. Sir Connor MacEnroy was tall, broad-shouldered, and possessed a lean muscular strength that gave his every movement grace. His hair was a rich golden hue and hung in thick waves past his shoulders. His features were the sort to make a woman sigh despite the large scar that ran from the corner of his left eye in a faint curve over one high cheekbone to just below his left ear and the slight irregularity in his long straight nose that revealed it had been broken at least once. There was a small scar on his strong jawline and another on his forehead. His gently curved eyebrows were several shades darker than his hair as were his long, thick lashes. The few glimpses she had gotten of his eyes had caused her heart to beat a little faster. She did not believe she had ever seen such a lovely blue in anyone’s eyes. They were the color of bluebells, a flower she had always been fond of. A quick glance down at his hands revealed that they, too, were beautiful — strong, well-shaped, with long, graceful fingers. The scars on the backs of his hands told one that, despite his youth, he had long been a man of battle.
“So, ye claim Ald-dabhach, do ye?” Sir David asked, his tone of voice making the question sound very much like a demand. “Aye, ’tis mine,” Gillyanne replied sweetly. “My great-uncle gave it to me as my dower lands. ’Twas most kind of him.” “Dower lands are for a lass to give her husband. Are ye wed or betrothed?” “Nay.” It was an impertinent question and Gillyanne found it increasingly difficult to speak kindly. “My great-uncle assured me that I dinnae need a husband to lay claim to Ald-dabhach. These are my lands.” When Sir David scowled at her and grunted, Gillyanne felt a strong urge to hit him, but James suddenly placed his hand over her clenched fist. “Ye need a husband, lass,” Sir David announced, “and that is why we have come here this day.” “To get me a husband?” “Nay, no need to go searching. We will marry you.” “All of ye? I dinnae think the church will allow that.” Gillyanne heard a soft grunt from her left, but decided not to take her gaze off Sir David in what would probably prove a vain effort to guess what Sir Connor’s grunt meant. “Nay. Ye will choose one of us.” The fact that Sir David responded as if her words were to be taken seriously almost made Gillyanne laugh. Sir Robert was looking at the man as if he could not decide whether to laugh or strike the fool. A quick glance at Sir Connor revealed that he was closely watching her now, although she dared not even try to guess why. “And why should I do that?” Gillyanne asked. “A lass cannae hold land on her own,” Sir David said. “Ye need a mon to lead here.” “M’lady,” Sir Robert said quickly, before Gillyanne could reply to Sir David’s arrogant remarks, “my friend here may nay speak with the softest words, but there is some truth in what he says.” Gillyanne thought that if Sir Robert was trying to soothe her, he was doing a very poor job of it. “These are nay peaceful times, m’lady,” Sir Robert continued. “Each clan must strive to be as strong and as battle ready as possible. Clever and willing as ye may be, ’tis a job a mon is trained to.”
“I ken it. ’Tis why I feel so secure here — as laird. Not only am I ably assisted by my cousin Sir James Drummond, laird of Dunncraig, and the men my fither Sir Eric Murray trained, but by Sir George, a verra experienced mon chosen by my great-uncle.” Gillyanne folded her hands on the table and smiled widely at the three men. “And I am surrounded by three strong lairds whom Sir George assures me have ne’er troubled nor threatened us.” “M’lady,” Sir Robert began. “Leave it be, Robbie,” snapped Sir David. “ ’Tis fair clear that the lass refuses to see reason.” “Reason? Ye have said that I am in need of a husband and I have politely disagreed with ye,” said Gillyanne. “Nay more, nay less.” “Dinnae play the fool. Ye ken that we want this land, want one of us to be holding it and nay some tiny lass given it as a gift from a fond kinsmon. Ye choose one of us as a husband or we will be doing the choosing for ye,” Sir David said even as he stood up. After a brief hesitation both Sir Robert and Sir Connor also stood and Gillyanne sighed with honest regret. “And so agree all of you? Ye all stand together?” When Sir Robert nodded in reply, she looked at Sir Connor. “Ye have said naught, Sir Connor. Do ye stand with these men, agree with all their plans for me and my lands?” “They are fine lands, m’lady,” Sir Connor replied, “and ones we have all coveted for a verra long while.” Gillyanne nearly cursed as the three men strode away, James quickly moving to escort them out of the gates and secure those gates firmly behind them. Two scant days at her keep and she was already at odds with three neighboring clans. That was a disastrously short period of time in which to end what appeared to have been years of peace. She quickly refilled her goblet with wine and had a long drink. “I believe we may have a wee problem,” James drawled as he strode back into the hall. “Nay. Truly?” she murmured. James gave her a mildly disgusted look as he sat down next to her and helped himself to some wine. “They want you.” “They want this land.” “We are doomed,” said George as he emerged from the shadows by the door, walked to the head table, and slumped into the seat on Gillyanne’s left. “There are a lot of men out there.”
“A lot?” Gillyanne asked James. “Aye, but I dinnae think they will come at us all at once,” James replied. “Nay? Why not?” “Whilst they will nay stop one of the lairds from claiming you, none of the other lairds will help him do so. I believe they will each make a try upon their own.” “I wonder how they will decide who will go first.” “Draw lots, toss a coin, throw the dice?” James shrugged. “Does it matter?” Gillyanne shook her head. “Nay. It seems great-uncle’s gift isnae the blessing I thought it was.” “Ye have just received three offers of marriage.” James laughed and ducked her half-hearted attempt to hit him. “Why dinnae ye just accept one of them, m’lady?” asked George. “Each mon is a belted knight and a laird, and, though I cannae guess at what spurs a lass’s choice, none of them appeared to be too hard on the eye. Young and strong, too. Good lands.” “I am sure each one is a fine mon,” Gillyanne said, smiling at the distraught Sir George. “They dinnae want me, though, do they? They want this land. ’Tis clear they dinnae want to start a battle or e’en a feud by just grabbing what they crave, but they see in me a chance to take it without causing such trouble. And, if I had chosen one o’ them, ’twould serve to keep them from fighting amongst themselves. I shall now become the prize in some game. Not exactly the chivalrous wooing of a lass’s dreams.” “Few lasses get that.” “Sadly true.” She sighed, and lightly drummed her fingers on the table. “Yet, I dinnae wish any blood to be spilled o’er this.” “Cannae see how that can be avoided if ye mean to make them fight for you.” “I do not believe it will be a hard fight in the beginning. They will wish to test our strength and skill first. Nor do I believe that they wish to see much damage done to Ald-dabhach and its people.” “Oh, nay. And, they must be careful nay to harm or kill you.”
“It would be a little difficult to wed me and claim my lands if I am dead. That would also set them at odds with my great-uncle, something they appear reluctant to do. Nor would they want to anger my own clan. I am clearly not considered as great a threat. Odd, though, that they would risk angering my greatuncle by forcing a marriage down my throat.” James frowned and rubbed a hand over his chin. “Once they discovered this land was held by an unwed lass, they may weel have begun to fear that ye might soon wed someone, and someone with an eye to gain more land. The MacMillans have shown themselves to be peaceful neighbors if nay true allies. Whate’er mon ye might marry could easily prove to be far less amiable.” “With it being so peaceful here, I would have thought that these lairds would attempt to treaty first,” Gillyanne said. “It wasnae always peaceful here, m’lady,” said George. “The fathers of those three lairds, and their fathers afore them, and afore that, too, were a bloodthirsty, covetous lot of men. Ald-dabhach suffered, too, but mostly from being crossed by raiding parties, and treated as a larder for all those fools. Treaties were made and broken time and time again. Betrayal was common. This land fair ran red with the blood of all three clans and some of ours as weel.” “What ended it all?” asked Gillyanne. “The lairds’ fathers killed each other off. There wasnae much left but scorched earth and far too many graves, though I think the MacEnroys suffered the most. Mere boys the lairds were, but they stepped out of the ruins and made a pact with each other. The wars and the slaughter would end with them. They didnae become dear and trusting friends, but they will nay fight each other. If one breaks the bond and attacks another, he will find himself facing the other two lairds. They willnae rush to aid each other if one must fight another enemy, but they willnae help that enemy, either.” “A peace, but not necessarily one of mutual aid.” “Exactly, m’lady, and so it has stood for near twelve years. There have been a few times when some crime was done one or some insult was given, but it didnae start a battle or a feud. The lairds met and thrashed out a solution.” “Weel, I suppose, if it really was that bad,” began Gillyanne. “M’lady, by the time the old lairds died, I was stunned that there was anyone left alive to pull himself out of the rubble those fools had left behind and start again.” “Ah. That does explain why they want no stranger to come here, wed me, and claim my dower lands.” Gillyanne sprawled more comfortably in the large chair and stared at the top of the thick wood table
trying to sort through her tangled thoughts. What she needed to do was buy some time, time in which her father could arrive. Instinct told her he would hie to Ald-dabhach as soon as he was done with his errand for the king. Then he would turn his fine coaxing skills on the three lairds and untangle this mess. Until that happened, she had to somehow hold firm to Ald-dabhach and her maiden state and yet not get anyone on either side killed or injured. It was not an easy problem to solve. “Ye are going to fight, arenae ye, lass,” George said, looking very close to tears. “Nay hard,” she assured him. “I promise you. What I need is time. My fither will come soon and he can help to sort this tangle out. Those lairds will treaty with him, I expect.” “Aye,” agreed James, “but we cannae be sure exactly when he will come.” “Which is why I wish to reassure George that I willnae fight hard and long. Nay, I but mean to drag my feet for a wee while, praying that Fither will ride to my rescue. Demeaning, but necessary. ’Tis just my luck that the first real difficulty I face here is one where a mon is required, an older, more powerful mon than ye, James,” she added with a brief grin. “So, we prepare ourselves to repel an attack or two.” “But gently, as I truly wish no real harm done to either side.” “Ah, then I shall toss pillows at them.” He laughed and easily ducked another half-hearted attempt to swat him before growing serious again. “Trickery is needed, lass. We need clever ways to halt or divert any attack made against us.” “Do ye think the first attempt will come on the morrow?” “I do. Those three want the matter settled as much as we wish to hold on until our fither arrives.” “Then I had better begin to brew my first surprise,” Gillyanne said as she stood up. “What will that be, m’lady?” George asked as he and James followed Gillyanne out of the great hall. “Something that smells as wretched as I can make it smell and which will stick weel to whate’er it is poured upon. One doesnae have to hurt a mon to make him wish to flee, far and fast.” “But, if it will smell so bad they will run from it, willnae we be tormented as we brew it?” “I fear there is always some price to pay for indulging in such battle tactics.” Gillyanne laughed at the grimaces her two companions pulled. “It willnae be so bad. I will leave the worst stench to be added at
the last moment. And, just remember, we will be able to walk away from it. The poor fools we tip it on will probably stink for days, e’en if they burn their clothes.” As Gillyanne led her companions onward, she found herself hoping that the MacEnroy laird would not be the first to attack and wondered why. He had seemed the most intent of the three and thus could prove to be the most dangerous. She shrugged aside her suddenly confused thoughts, telling herself that it was only that it seemed such a shame to desecrate such a beautiful figure of manhood with the eye-watering stench she was about to brew. * * * “How did ye end up being the third to go?” demanded Diarmot, crouching by his brother Connor who was seated beneath a tree. “Ye usually have better luck.” Connor kept his gaze fixed upon Ald-dabhach. “ ’Tis lucky to be third.” “Lucky to give those two fools a first chance at the prize?” “Aye, and a first chance to fail.” “Did the lass bring an army with her, then?” “Half a dozen hale, weel trained men.” “That doesnae sound like enough.” “If they are as weel trained as she claimed, a half dozen men could hold that place for a wee while. So could a clever laird. And that lass is clever.” Diarmot sat down and looked toward the keep. “A clever lass can be a curse. Mayhap ye should let one of the others win.” “Nay. I want Ald-dabhach. The lands are rich, producing more than those who live here need. We have no such bounty at Deilcladach. Twould also give ye a place to guard and people to lead. Each one of the other lairds has something to give a brother or two. I have four brothers and not e’en a cottage to offer. Clever lass, or nay, there are many reasons to hope that the MacEnroys gain this land.” “How do ye ken that the lass is clever? Ye didnae meet with her for verra long.” “Long enough. Sir David thinks he needs but knock a few heads, march in, and drag the lass afore a priest. He has little respect for the men behind those walls and less for the lass. That is his folly. Sir
Robert is not much better, although he has the wit to foresee some trouble in gaining the prize. I am nearly certain that they will both fail and so I will sit here and watch. I am particularly interested in what the lass will do and how high a cost she will ask of her people.” Connor found his thoughts briefly fixing upon the tiny lady holding Ald-dabhach. There was something intriguing about her and her looks, although he would be hard pressed to say just what. Lady Gillyanne was tiny, might just reach his armpit if she stood up very straight, and her feminine curves were not much more than shadows of those held by so many other women. Her hair was neither red nor brown and her eyes were a mix of green and blue, one having more blue in it and the other having more green. Everything about her was dainty, from her long-fingered graceful hands to her small feet which he had noticed had not quite reached the floor. She was not a woman he would have thought to feel lustful about, yet he did, and that could prove to be a problem. He also had the feeling those odd but beautiful eyes saw a great deal more than most. “So, we may be here a few days,” Diarmot said, scattering Connor’s idle musings about the lady he intended to claim. “Aye. Best keep a guard on that priest,” advised Connor. “He wasnae pleased to be dragged along and may try to slip away.” “Agreed. I will have one of the lads take him to that wee church in the village and hold him there. I have the feeling that just capturing the lass willnae be enough to make the other two claim ye the winner.” “Nay. I must capture that wee lass, wed her, bed her, and get her back to Deilcladach as swiftly as possible.” “Since the lass obviously didnae want to have any of ye as her husband, she may have a complaint or two o’er such a hurried wedding and bedding.” Connor shrugged. “It will matter naught. I will have her and her fine lands. The game will be mine.”
Three “Here they come.” Gillyanne nearly echoed James’ prayer of gratitude. Even with the heavily perfumed cloths tied over their noses the stench of what awaited the advancing army in buckets and pots all along the wall was hard to bear. She was astounded at the foulness of the brew she had made. It was so foul she was not sure the potion she had mixed to clean the pots and buckets would be strong enough. Gillyanne also suspected that, if she offered to mix a potion for anyone at Ald-dabhach after this, they would either flee or beg her on their knees not to do it. “Which laird is it?” she asked George who stood on her left, well concealed behind the wall. “Sir David,” he replied after chancing a quick peek over the wall. “Oh, good.” “Aye, that one deserves this curse we are about to pour on his head.” “I hope I made it sticky enough.” “Weel, young Peter spilled a wee bit on his shirt and it wouldnae come off with water or fierce rubbing.” “Did ye try my cleaning potion?” “Aye, and it worked, but he had ripped his shirt off by then and was scrubbing at his arm.” “Oh.” Gillyanne frowned. “The stench went right through the shirt onto his skin, did it?” “It did, but that wasnae what troubled him. Said his skin was afire and he started pouring water o’er it.” “It burned him?” Gillyanne asked, her voice softened by horror.
“Nay. Once he started washing it away the feeling passed quick and the redness faded so swiftly ’twas most likely all his scrubbing that caused that.” George rubbed at the grey stubble on his chin. “Just a wee hint of a rash.” Gillyanne slumped against the wall in relief. “Thank God. I dinnae wish to maim anyone. Still, mayhap we should be verra careful about pouring it o’er their heads. It could damage their eyes.” She noticed that George gave her the same look of utter male disgust that James did. “These lads coming at us arenae so verra concerned about us,” James reminded her. “They certainly look weel prepared to do a wee bit of maiming and killing. And since they are down there and we are up here, ’tis somewhat impossible not to pour this wretched muck o’er their heads.” “I ken it. Just tell everyone to yell out ‘ware your eyes’ before they throw the stuff down.” When George and James passed that order along, Gillyanne was not surprised to hear a few groans and chuckles over such womanly softness. “I hope someone here can get a goodly amount of this muck on that fool,” she added when Sir David rode close to the walls. Sir David Goudie irritated Gillyanne like a nettle rash. He was full of his own self-importance. She felt certain he was one of those men who felt women were useful in only one way and that he would be doing the world a great service by ousting her from her rule at Ald-dabhach. Gillyanne would love to lock him in a room with the females of her family for a few days of torment and education. “So, if all else fails and ye are forced to accept one of the lairds as your husband, I wager he willnae be the one,” drawled James. “That oaf? I think not.” “Lady Gillyanne,” bellowed Sir David, “are ye prepared to surrender to me?” “Why should I do that?” she yelled back. “Because I have a cursed army before your walls!” “They will certainly feel cursed in a moment,” she murmured, causing James and George to laugh; then called down to Sir David. “My walls are verra tall and thick, Sir David, and, in all truth, ’tisnae such a verra big army.” “Ye would risk the lives of your people just to cling to your maidenhood?” “And this land. But, my maidenhood is verra dear to me as weel. In fact, I think I may become a nun and these lands could be the dowry I bring to the church.”
“O’er my dead body!” “ ’Tis a shame I am too soft of heart to take up that challenge,” Gillyanne muttered then, when she saw Sir David signal his men to begin the attack, she called out, “Now, men! Ere they loose a single arrow!” “Ware your eyes!” called many voices all at once. Gillyanne was pleased with how swiftly she was obeyed. She might be a tiny female, but the people of Ald-dabhach showed no hesitation in accepting her as their laird. It probably helped that the men she had brought with her readily accepted her right to command, but that knowledge did not lessen the heady feeling of the moment by very much. As the vile potion was tossed over the walls there was a stunned silence amongst the men below. Gillyanne wondered if the silence was born of terror, the men fearing it was boiling oil or the like, or if the stench had rendered them all mute. Then the howling and curses began. Looking down, she felt a distinct pang of sympathy for a lot of the men were retching. Her people had scattered the foul brew far and wide. She caught sight of several odd objects sailing through the air to hit the men who had not been very close to the walls. Gillyanne cheered with the others on the wall as several struck Sir David. “What were those things?” she asked Sir George. “Some of the lads thought to pour the stuff into a pig’s bladder and the like so that it could be tossed farther out from the walls,” George replied. “Tested it with some water first. Works fine, doesnae it.” “Verra fine indeed. How many pigs were sacrificed for the cause?” “Nay so many. They used a lot of the innards, ye ken, nay just the bladders. Best ye nay look now, m’lady. Some of the Goudies are tearing off their clothes.” “Aye, there are a lot of bare bums fleeing o’er the hills. Shame they left their clothes behind for it keeps the stench a wee bit too close to us for my liking.” “I can send a lad or two out to put them in a pile and set them afire. I dinnae think there will be much risk to that. They will be mucking up our river, though.” “ ’Tis flowing swiftly so whate’er gets into it should run by us fast enough.” “Do ye think the next laird will come at us soon?” “Nay,” James replied. “In the morning. They appear to be doing this in a verra direct manner. Approach, ask Gilly to surrender, then attack. Today is Sir David’s chance. The others will wait to see if he tries
again.” “Ah, so ye think they have each been given a day,” said Gillyanne. “Aye. One day to try their luck. We will keep the watch strong upon the walls, but I truly believe we will see naught happen until the morrow.” “Ye dinnae think Sir David will be back?” “He may want to try again, but he will have a verra hard time pulling his men back to these walls when their eyes are still watering from that smell.” “Then let us retire to a sweeter smelling place and plan our next move.” * * * “Do ye think she poured boiling oil on them?” Diarmot asked Connor as they watched the disorderly rout of Sir David’s men. “I cannae feel she would be so brutal,” replied Connor, smiling faintly when he saw that an increasing number of the Goudies were naked. “If she had poured that evil on them some of them would be nay more than staggering torches, yet, e’en though many seem near desperate to get their clothes off, I see no smoke.” A soft breeze curled around them as they stood on the small rise. Connor’s eyes widened even as Diarmot cursed and clapped a hand over his nose. He swiftly did the same, noticing that every one of his small army was covering or pinching his nose and trying to back away from the smell drifting toward them. “She dumped the contents of the privy pits on them,” Diarmot said. “If the privy pits of Ald-dabhach smell like that no one would stay within its walls,” Connor murmured, noticing that, after the first shock, the stench was faint enough to be endured. “Addled eggs,” one man said, daring a faint sniff. “Nay, ’tis pig muck,” said another. “I still think ’tis the privy pits,” said Diarmot. “And I think ’tis all of it.” Connor shook his head. “The lass must have found every foul smelling thing
she could and made herself an evil brew. And, by the way the men are tossing aside their clothes, I suspect it was made to stick fast.” It was admirably clever, Connor mused. She had routed her enemy ere they had struck a single blow. It was a thoroughly bloodless victory. Connor had felt that Lady Gillyanne would wish no harm to her own people and he was pleased to have been proven right. It was now apparent that she would also try hard not to spill the blood of the very men trying to steal her lands. “Do ye think Sir David will try again?” asked Diarmot. “He has until sunset today. Hours left.” “He may wish to, but, nay, I think this battle is o’er. His men willnae wish to risk a second dousing. And, by the look of it, near half of them are naked. ’Tis said we used to fight naked, but I suspect his men will want new clothes first.” Diarmot laughed then frowned, casting an uneasy look toward the walls of Ald-dabhach. “Do ye think she has any more of that evil brew? Mayhap e’en enough to fend off two more attacks?” “I doubt it. We will ken the answer to that on the morrow when Sir Robert and his men approach those walls. I suspect they will do so verra, verra cautiously. Sir Robert may not have nurtured the same depth of scorn for the lady as Sir David did, but he foresaw no difficulty in winning. ’Twas why he was so angry o’er losing the chance to go first. I believe he will act with more respect for her now.” “Ye suspected her cunning, didnae ye.” Connor nodded. “In truth, I willnae be too surprised if we are all routed on the first try.” “Weel, I will pray that our defeat is a far sweeter smelling one.” * * * Gillyanne crossed her arms and studied the two separate piles of herbs on the head table in the great hall. The second routing of the enemy was not going to be so easy. There were too many things that could go wrong with her plans. Yet, she felt almost desperate to win against Sir Robert if he was to be the next one at her gates. Although she could not say exactly why, she dreaded the thought that he might win and drag her to the altar. He was a handsome man and had seemed courteous, yet everything inside her recoiled at the thought of wedding him. “So, do we make them miserable,” James asked, pointing to one pile of herbs, “or happy?” He pointed to the other. “I dinnae ken.” Gillyanne sighed. “If the wind should turn against us . . . ”
“I swear to ye, m’lady, at this time of the year it willnae,” George said. “It always comes off the river behind us.” “So the smoke should blow out and away.” She rubbed her fingers over her temple. “Of course, ’twill also blow toward the other two lairds and their men.” “ ’Twill serve them right. They shouldnae be sitting out there thinking of how to take what is mine.” “Oh, aye, there is that.” “And, ’twill nay bother them much for it will be much weakened ere it reaches them.” “So? Kind or mean?” James just grinned when Gillyanne stuck her tongue out at him. “I think we will be kind. ’Tis nay that I doubt your word, George, but fate and the weather might turn against me and the wind send the smoke back at us. One ye must breathe in and it will calm ye, eventually put ye to sleep. The other can be a bother if it simply gets on your skin.” “Then, aye, let us be kind,” agreed James. “If the smoke drifts our way, a thick rag o’er our noses might prove protection enough.” “True. We will make sure everyone has one at the ready.” “The other problem is how to get the enemy to stand still near the fires we will build. They are sure to suspect some trickery when they see the fires there. After all, ’twill be morning so we cannae say they are watch fires.” “Oh, aye, we can — if we set them ere the sun rises. Do we have enough wood, George?” George nodded. “We do, but ’twill sore deplete our supply. No matter. We can collect more.” “We still havenae come up with a way to make the fools dawdle near these fires,” James reminded her. “Ye ken there is one way, dinnae ye, but I willnae press ye to do it.” “Aye, I do ken a way.” Gillyanne shook her head. “I have ne’er understood why it affects people as it does, but it would work, and thus I would be a fool not to use it.” “Use what?” asked George. “She will sing to the next laird and his men,” replied James.
“Weel, lass, I am sure ye have a bonny wee voice, but . . . ” George stuttered to a halt when James held up his hand. “Sing a wee song for George, lass,” James said. Gillyanne sighed, clasped her hands together in front of her skirts, and sang as short a song as she could recall. The silence which greeted the end of her song did not really surprise her; it was a common reaction. She blushed a little when she glanced around to see that George was not the only one listening to her, nor the only one wiping a tear away. “It was a happy song,” Gillyanne muttered. “Oh, aye, it was,” said George and he sniffed. “Purely joyous.” James laughed softly and kissed Gillyanne on the cheek. “Ye cannae hear it as we do, lass. And, ’tis probably just as weel for ye might ne’er finish a song and that would be a grievous thing. ’Tis a sound that caresses the ear, and stirs the soul. Ye were blessed by the angels and I think we can all hear their touch when ye sing.” “Now I am embarrassed,” she whispered, covering her burning cheeks with her hands. “Just dinnae be so shy ye canne sing to our enemies on the morrow.” “I think I will tell all the lads to stop up their earholes,” said George. James nodded. “A good idea. We dinnae want them so caught up in her singing they dinnae notice if the wind changes or if the laird guesses our trickery ere it has routed him. We certainly dinnae want to fall prey to our own wiles.” He winked at Gillyanne then asked, “How will this work, lass?” “We have to get the herb into the fire. The smoke from it will soothe the men, make them act as if they are caught in a dream. Enough of it and they will doze, or get so dreamy some of our men can creep up on them and knock them o’er the head. I had thought of binding some to arrows and shooting the arrows into the fires. That willnae work for, once an arrow is loosed from the walls, ’twill be thought that we have attacked. I dinnae think e’en my singing will make men ignore a sudden flurry of arrows coming their way.” “True. Mayhap we could just toss the packets in.” “It would still draw attention, I think, and ’twould be best if they dinnae grow suspicious about the fires.”
“We can post a lad at each fire,” said George. “Will that be safe?” asked Gillyanne. “Safe enough. No one will think it strange that some lads tend the watchfires. Only a fool leaves a fire unwatched. Then, when the lads see the enemy approaching, they toss in the packets and get themselves behind the walls.” James nodded. “And their swift retreat will be witnessed so none will think it odd that they didnae pause to douse the fires.” “Odd, but having so many good solutions to each problem come so quickly makes me a little uneasy,” murmured Gillyanne. “Ye fret too much, Gilly.” James studied the pile of herbs. “It doesnae look like much.” “ ’Tis certainly enough to gentle that army. I am just nay sure it will make the smoke strong enough to put them all to sleep.” “We have more,” George said. Gillyanne stared at the pile of herbs that, if properly brewed, could knock down a whole army, then looked at George. “Why?” “Ah, weel, the lady in the village, Old Hilda, collects the herbs when the time is right whether we need them or nay. Then she prepares them here. That particular flower grows verra freely around here. We have a small keg full of that herb dried and ground. Old Hilda is paid for each collection, ye ken. Nay much, but she doesnae wish to give that up just because we havenae used what she prepared last time. She also has the right to come and get a wee bit from here if she has a need and I think she likes the idea of there being such a large bounty for her to pluck her choices from.” “Fetch it up, George. We will be sure to leave something behind as there is naught else as good as this to ease one’s pain,” she assured George as she helped him bag the herb she was not going to use. “We can make some packets for the lads to toss into the fire as weel as a few for us to throw in if we think the enemy needs a stronger dosing.” “M’lady, if all goes weel and we leave our enemy asleep upon the ground, what do we do with them then?” “Weel, if none of the laird’s men are able to move, we shall slip out and strip them of their arms.”
“Oh, dear. I think that, when these men take a second try at us, they willnae be so kind nor so easy to fool.” “I fear the same, but I pray my fither will have arrived by then. If he hasnae, weel, as I told ye before, I willnae allow anyone to be hurt just to save me from an unwanted trip to the altar.” * * * “Are ye prepared to surrender to me, Lady Gillyanne?” Gillyanne stared down at Sir Robert who looked quite handsome on his great black gelding. The wind was her friend today, she mused, blowing gently and in such a way as to hold the increasingly thick smoke from the fires close to Sir Robert and his men. It was wafting around them in such a way they could not help but breathe it in and the occasional cough she heard was proof enough of that. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up on the wall, James quickly grabbing her by the ankles to steady her. James had insisted that she dress in her best gold and ivory gown and leave her hair undone. The way Sir Robert’s men were staring up at her told her James had been right in thinking it would catch the eye almost as much as her singing would catch their minds and hearts. She just prayed the smoke would swiftly catch hold of their wits. “Nay, Sir Robert, I think not,” she called back. “Why do ye stand up there? Do ye think to draw me close enough to the walls to douse me with some of that stinking brew?” “Oh, nay, sir. We used it all on Sir David yesterday. One should always be thorough.” “Of course. Weel, get off that wall. I wouldnae want ye wounded or killed during the attack.” He shook his head as if to clear it. Gillyanne noticed several of his men were smiling and a few had even sat down. The smoke from the burning herbs was already doing its work. “All this fighting for the right to claim my wee, pale hand in marriage reminds me of a song I once heard,” she said, smiling down at Sir Robert, amused at how he smiled back, then shook his head again. “ ’Tis one I heard whilst in France. Do ye ken French, sir?” “I think so. Surely I must. Maman was French, ye ken.” “He sounds drunk,” James said.
“I suspect he feels it, too,” Gillyanne replied then began to sing. Gillyanne put her heart into her singing, choosing songs that moved her, ones whose tale or poetry stirred her blood. She had just finished her fifth song, a heartrending one of love lost, when James told her to stop. Even as he helped her down from the wall she glanced down at Sir Robert and his men. Most of them were sprawled out on the ground right below the castle. A few had wandered away and had either fallen down or were still wandering, lost in their dreams. “In truth, James, I simply cannae believe it worked,” Gillyanne said. “Neither can I,” he said and laughed before kissing her on the cheek. “Come, let us get them disarmed.” “Aye. Those fires are nearly out and I dinnae ken how long they will remain unconscious.” “One left.” “Aye.” Gillyanne looked toward the MacEnroy camp, a tall figure barely visible amongst the trees. “That one willnae be as easy to knock down.” * * * “She has killed them all,” whispered Diarmot in shock. “Nay.” Connor shook his head in disgust when one of Sir Robert’s men staggered up to cling to one of his and tell the shocked man what a lovely fellow he was. “ ’Tis some potion to make them senseless. Blind with happiness,” he looked at a man who knelt on the field below screaming at the heavens, “or trapped in their own dreams. She is fortunate none of Sir Robert’s men held secret any dangerous madness.” “But they didnae eat or drink anything.” “ ’Twas in the smoke. When some briefly blew our way did ye nay feel a sense of . . . ” Connor groped for the appropriate word. “Peace? Pleasure in all I could see?” “Exactly. That smoke and her voice. They trapped poor Sir Robert and his men as weel as a spider’s web traps a fly.” “Ah, aye, that singing. We nearly lost Old Nigel because he wandered closer, drawn toward that voice. If ’twas such a delight from here, ’tis nay wonder Robert and his men stood there enraptured until that
