“Aye. There was some disagreement in the kitchens that she needed to settle. I suspect she will return soon so that we might share our noon meal.”
“She will have to eat alone.” He stood up, and pulled her to her feet. “Ye are to dine with me.”
Jennet tossed her sewing onto the pillowed seat and smiled. “I am, am I?”
“Aye, ye are. We shall enjoy a small repast and watch the men who labor to build my tower house.”
“I have always been fond of watching others labor.”
Hacon grinned, then urged her out the door. Jennet let him lead her along. He was acting so preposterously secretive that she found it difficult to completely smother her laughter. When they reached the hilltop where his tower house would one day loom above the village, she found a blanket spread out for them upon the ground and on it a small feast of bread, cheese, and wine. She shook her head and laughed as he sat down, gently pulling her down beside him.
“So, lassie, what do ye think of our grand home?” he asked as he cut them each a thick slice of bread.
Looking toward where the men worked at digging out the foundation pit, Jennet declared, “I have ne’er seen a grander hole in the ground. Truly, ’tis fine enough for the king himself.”
“Impertinent wench. I thought ye might gain a better sense of the size of it now that ’tis more than a line in the dirt.” He cut the square of cheese into smaller chunks. “Those shall be the storage chambers for the tithings, the grain, and the wine.”
“And for the dungeon,” she murmured, unable to ignore the dark use to which such underground chambers could be put.
“Aye, and one of those too. Howbeit, ’twill be no pit, no oubliette. I willnae have one of those dark holes in Dubheilrig. Their only use is to throw a mon down into them and leave him there to rot.”
“I am glad there willnae be one of those chilling places here. And, aye, ye are right. Now that the ground is dug up, I do have a keener sense of how large it will be.” She nibbled on a piece of cheese before daring to ask, “Hacon? Would it not have been less costly to simply better fortify your parents’ manor?”
“Much less costly. Howbeit, no amount of fortifying would truly make it safe. We always planned to build a tower house up here once we had the funds. Sadly, just as we thought to begin, the land was taken from us. This construction will deplete our coffers, but I willnae wait another day. Though I wish it were not so, a fortress is absolutely necessary.”
“’Twill be a fine haven for the people of Dubheilrig.”
“And us.” He pressed a kiss to her palm. “I intend to have a strong fortress, but I also intend to make a place of comfort and beauty.”
Before Jennet could respond, someone called Hacon’s name. They both turned to look toward the path which led up the hill. Jennet did not welcome the sight of Ranald. The youth looked disturbingly serious.
“Hacon, ye must come back,” called Ranald as he hurried up to them. “A messenger has arrived from the king.”
“Curse the king and his cur of a messenger!” Jennet snapped as Hacon stood and helped her to her feet “I pray their tongues will blacken and their manhoods will shrivel.”
“Now, my sweet Jennet.” Hacon scolded, but his voice shook with laughter. “Ye would feel sorely grieved if those curses took hold.”
“Not now, I wouldnae,” she grumbled as he led her back down to his parents’ residence.
As they drew near home Jennet’s anger began to fade, replaced by worry. Hacon’s family and several of his men stood in the courtyard in front of the Bruce’s messenger, gathered closely around the man. They all looked very serious, far too solemn for her peace of mind. She tensed when they faced the man, dreading his message.
“Our king embarks upon a campaign into Ireland,” the man intoned. “He requests your aid and support, Sir Gillard, new lord of Dubheilrig.”
“When?” Hacon felt Jennet tug her hand free of his but forced himself to pay heed to the Bruce’s man.
“He means to set sail in a fortnight’s time, so ye must return with me. Ye and as many men-at-arms as ye can muster.”
Jennet did not wait to hear any more. She did not dare. The angry, treasonous words she ached to fling at the Bruce’s messenger could easily pull her and anyone close to her into dire trouble. But her escape was halted at the door. Hacon caught her arm, and propelled her to his side. She looked ready to spit her fury at him, but he was not looking at her. Instead he was gazing out at the people gathered around them. He raised their clasped hands.
Hacon did not wish to go off and fight, but he was forced to obey the Bruce’s summons. There was no possible way to have the wedding before he left, yet he did not wish to leave Jennet without the protection of his name and a claim to what was his if he did not return. In truth, he did not wish to leave her free at all, for he could be gone for months.
There was only one alternative. He would have to handfast with her. It would be enough to have her recognized as his wife. All he had to do was proclaim her his wife before witnesses and have her proclaim him as her husband. Glancing down at her angry little face, Hacon was not sure the latter part of the brief ceremony would be easily accomplished.
“Before all gathered here,” he began in a loud, clear voice to draw everyone’s attention his way. “Ye ken that I mean to have Jennet Graeme as my bride.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“The king has bid us to fight for him,” Hacon continued. “This means there can be no wedding ceremony. Howbeit, I willnae leave Jennet without the protection of my name and a rightful claim to all I own. Thus, I choose handfasting. I name Jennet Graeme my wife. Is that heard and accepted?”
