The McColls were here too, and at their head, Caolan Bannerman. They locked eyes, and the younger man nodded a cold greeting. Jasper had known Caolan since he was a skinny, sulky lad, but he was no lad now. He was imposing and had a way of intimidating anyone who stood in his way. For that reason, Jasper had always liked him.
How strange was the hand of fate? Caolan’s brother, Seaton, had been a firm friend, a good man to have by his side in a fight, and one with a taste for debauchery equal to his own. But the breach formed by Seaton taking Jasper’s woman would never heal, and those days of careless carousing and adventuring were long behind them all. Sometimes, Jasper wondered if the woundwas so deep because he mourned the loss of Seaton as an ally as much as he mourned the loss of Brenna as a wife.
The thought was banished the moment his bitterest enemy, Peyton Strachan, entered the hall with Griffin Macaulay. Peyton caught his eye and strode over. He was a hard-bitten bastard, belligerent to a fault and blunt in his manner. He immediately went on the attack.
‘How are you enjoying your stolen land at Liddesdale?’ he sneered.
‘It was not stolen. It was won in a fair fight, which you lost, Strachan, and I am enjoying Liddesdale immensely.’
‘I suspect that feeling will be short-lived, Glendenning,’ he said with an acid smile.
‘Perhaps the land would still belong to you Strachans if your laird had watched what he ate. Though what man expects treachery at his daughter’s poisonous hands?’
Jasper could have sworn he saw Peyton flinch. The shame of having had two murderers in the clan still burned deep, and Peyton was only a laird because Robert Strachan’s death at the hands of Caolan Bannerman had left the clan leaderless.
‘How are you enjoying your ill-gotten gains, your position as Laird Strachan?’ said Jasper. ‘I hear you are not wanted by your kinsman, and yet you are still clinging on by the skin of your teeth.’
Peyton leaned in. ‘Ah, my kinsmen want me well enough. I hear you are in search of a new wife, or rather an alliance to prop up your fading fortunes.’
‘A strong man holds onto what he has, with or without a wife.’
‘Aye. They are a distraction, women, are they not?’
‘A distraction from what?’ snapped Jasper.
‘The trouble that is coming our way,’ said Strachan, his expression grave. ‘And though our enmity runs deep, ‘tis better we all stand together against a common enemy, is it not?’
The man almost seemed to be reaching out. Was Peyton Strachan suggesting an alliance? And if he was, what did he know that Jasper did not? Either way, Jasper was on the back foot.
‘I would as soon put my head in a noose as trust you as an ally, Strachan. And if you need my help, you are not long for this world.’
‘None of us are. If what I have heard is true – you, me, Bannerman – we will all be wiped out.’ He came closer, and a lesser man than Jasper might have been intimidated. ‘I may want to slit your throat as I stand here now, but I would also stand beside you if it means Clan Strachan survives.’
A clap of hands interrupted the odd exchange. Laird Murtaugh Gunn stood on the dais. ‘Attention, please. I will get straight to it. I have dire news.’ The hall fell silent. ‘Our Lord Warden of the Marches, Sir Walder Moffat, has died.’
Murmurs went around the hall, and Jasper watched the faces of the men he had grown up fighting with or against. The news of Sir Walder’s death was a surprise to some but not to others. Peyton Strachan did not look the least bit surprised. But Caolan Bannerman met Jasper’s eye and slowly shook his head. He had not known, and why? Caolan had fought his way to becoming laird of the McColls, and he was clever, with spies everywhere. His right-hand man, Fraser, whispered something in his ear, and Caolan looked away, his jaw working.
‘How did the fat, old fool die?’ shouted Peyton Strachan.
‘He has gone to God. That is all that matters,’ said Murtaugh Gunn.
‘Gone back up the Devil’s arse,’ murmured Strachan.
Caolan Bannerman spoke up, and his voice carried authority. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say that we hope Sir Walder had a gentle passing. But we would know the manner of it.’
Murtaugh Gunn glowered. ‘T’was the bloody flux that took him. It came on suddenly, two days ago.’
Murmurs snaked around the hall, rising to a hum like swarming bees.
‘An unpleasant way to go and well-deserved,’ muttered Strachan.
‘Is there a reason you are whispering in my ear?’ said Jasper.
Peyton stared him down. ‘I am not whispering. And I’ve lots more to say if you would only humble yourself to talk after this nonsense is done, for I, too, have lost cattle and kinsmen to so-called reivers these last months.’
‘Are you sure it was not some other malady that took Sir Walder,’ shouted Caolan, stepping forward.
‘And what might that be?’ said Murtaugh Gunn, who had gone very red in the face - a sure sign he was lying.
