‘Well, I know his ardour was strong, but Wymon might find it hard to fulfil his husbandly duties from his deathbed. The old fool has caught an ague and is wheezing his way to the grave. Father got word.’
‘Oh, thank the Lord. My prayers have been answered,’ gasped Cecily. Morag clapped her hands.
‘That is wicked of both of you!’ cried Rowenna.
Bran came over to warm himself by the fire, and Rowenna caught a whiff of ale and stale sweat from his clothes. He had broad shoulders and fine grey eyes, and he could have been handsome were he not a drunken, lazy sot with a greedy eye for coin and pleasures of the flesh. Already, he had the ale-soaked bloat of an older man.
‘Were you not too fond of your intended, Cecily?’ he teased. ‘Such a fine specimen and rich too. Father will have to cast about for another.’
‘No, he won’t. Maybe he’ll find a rich widow to take you, Bran, and solve all our strife - someone old but still possessing some teeth.’
‘And in need of a vigorous young man to please her in bed,’ added Rowenna.
‘Shut your mouths, both of you,’ snarled their brother.
‘If it vigour she wants, she’d best look elsewhere than our brother,’ cried Rowenna. ‘There’s more vigour in a corpse than in Bran.’ She ducked as Bran hurled his apple core at her head. He came at her, grabbed her around the waist, and began to squeeze the life out of her. Rowenna stamped on his foot, and he howled and let go. Bran might be big, but he was witless.
Cecily’s laughter at Bran hopping about the hall was cut short by the clatter of hooves in the yard below. They all rushed to the window and peered out. A group of riders thundered through the gates of Fallstairs. At their head was a blonde man with a fur slung over his shoulders. He scattered the ducks and geese as he pulled his horse to a halt and shouted, ‘Rufus MacCreadie! Come out of your rats’ nest. I have business with you.’
‘Why has Father let armed men inside the wall?’ said Rowenna.
‘Because that man would not stand to be refused,’ said Bran, swallowing hard.
‘Does Father know them?’ said Cecily, wide-eyed.
‘I should hope not.’ Rowenna shuddered at the man’s stern countenance. He was youngish, and his blonde hair was scraped off his face, adding to the severity of his expression. He was big across the shoulders, powerful, like a bull, and if he had not been so enraged, his face might have had some claim to beauty.
‘God’s teeth, who is that, Bran? He looks thunderous,’ said Cecily.
Brans said in a quiet voice, ‘That man is Jasper Glendenning, damn his eyes, and he always looks like that.’
‘Jasper Glendenning!’ Morag let out a squeal and ran from the hall, holding her skirts high.
‘Why is she so afraid? What is he to us?’ said Rowenna.
‘My undoing, that’s what he is,’ said Bran.
‘Bran, what did you do?’
He gave Rowenna a vacant look as if he was not really seeing her, then he frowned and said, ‘Nothing.’ He grabbed onto her arm. ‘You must both go above and stay there until they have gone. I’m off.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t argue. Go, now, up the back stairs.’
‘But you cannot leave us with that wolf at our door!’ cried Rowenna, but Bran was already rushing out, so she grabbed Cecily’s hand and dragged her upstairs.
The man shouted for their father again, his voice steely and impatient. ‘Come out and face me, you bloated whoreson, or else I will set fire to this midden you call home and roast you alive!’
‘Good God,’ gasped Cecily, peering out of the chamber window. ‘What a brute.’
Rowenna regarded Jasper Glendenning with a growing sense of dread. He had a pale pink scar running from his ear across his cheek and days-old stubble on his jaw, darker than his hair. It made his face seem wolfish. Another man, burly and black as pitch, came alongside him, and he was even more of a ruffian.
Her father’s voice floated up from below – cordial, deferential, but she could not quite catch his words. Jasper Glendenning dismounted and pounded into Fallstairs. Silence fell, and Rowenna strained her ears. The quiet was worse than the shouting.
What had Bran done now? Feuds in the Marches could turn murderous in a heartbeat, and with most of their servants having absconded and their fighting men left to wallow in drink and whoring, they were all but defenceless.
After some time, Morag came rushing up the stairs and breathlessly declared, ‘Your father says you must come below, both of you, and be gracious and welcoming to his guest.’
