The sisters exchanged glances. ‘But Bran said to stay out of the way,’ said Cecily.
Morag shrugged. ‘Tis not my fault. Your father has some fell purpose. There is talk of a village burnt out and Bran being involved. And Jasper Glendenning says that Bran is in great debt to him, and there’s menaces if it is not paid,’ she hissed. ‘Hurry now. Don’t keep the man waiting, for he has a scowl fit to scorch the flesh off your bones.’
***
Jasper surveyed the damp hall and its owner with distaste. He should have been at Kransmuir enjoying a warm hearth and good food, but he was being driven mad by the incessant nagging of his mother, the witless antics of his sisters and the worm of despair wriggling deep into his heart since Isobel had been put in the ground. He had needed an occupation to turn his mind away from his troubles when a rumour reached his ears that Clan Gunn men might have been responsible for the raid on Dungarnon. Bran MacCreadie had been throwing about coin in a whorehouse of late when his clan were gutter rats without two pennies to rub together. And Bran MacCreadie kept company with the Gunns, so Jasper’s suspicions had been aroused.
Jasper sniffed the air. How the MacCreadies had fallen. There was no fire in the hearth, yet the weather was bitter. Remnants of last night’s meal had yet to be cleared from the table. A chicken carcass had been picked clean by Fallstairs’ hungry occupants, and now a flea-bitten cat was munching on what was left of its bones. The whole place smelled like meat about to turn rotten.
As to its owner, he was beneath Jasper’s contempt. It was said that Rufus MacCreadie had once been an impressive man with a pleasing countenance. But all Jasper could see was a shrivelled husk in stained clothes, bent with age, stinking of drink. The pitiful wretch before him was not worth bullying, and his son had made himself scarce, so Jasper’s blood was up, with nothing to vent his frustration on.
‘Tell your son that he cannot hide forever, and when I catch up with him, I will know the truth of it, one way or another.’ Jasper let his threat hang in the air.
‘I swear my Bran knows nothing,’ said Rufus, all innocence.
‘He keeps company with the Gunns, does he not?’ said Randel.
‘Aye, but he is innocent of any wrongdoing.’
‘I doubt that very much,’ said Jasper.
‘My Bran is a fine lad, but he does not have the wit for schemes and plotting. Now, please accept my hospitality. Fate has not been kind to you these past weeks, Laird Glendenning, and I feel for the loss of your wife.’
‘You had best steer clear of that subject if you value your head.’
‘Aye, of course, the pain is still raw. Forgive my insolence, but I heard that you were casting about for a new bride.’
‘You heard wrong,’ snarled Jasper.
Rufus beckoned to a fat servant and whispered in her ear. She rushed away, lowering her eyes when she caught Jasper’s glare.
‘Forgive my mistake. But a man needs to produce heirs - fine, sturdy lads to carry on the name, eh?’ said Rufus, risking a violent end.
‘In that respect, I hope to do better than you did, MacCreadie,’ Jasper replied. He paced about the hall for a while, letting the silence swell to intimidate the old man. ‘Right. Let us be clear on this matter. I do not need your hospitality nor do I wish to converse with you about my want of a wife. I want only your son and the coin he owes me. As he is gone, perhaps I should extract payment from you in blood or coin.’
Jasper took a step forward and stood over Rufus.
‘Jasper, hold,’ cried Randel.
Two lasses walked into the hall. One was blonde, graceful and blessed with a flawless, delicate beauty - only slightly marred by the terrible pout on her face. She hurried to her father’s side, leaving the other lass standing before him.
The light streaming in from one of the small windows struck the lass’s red-blonde hair, and Jasper’s heart lurched. Just for an instant, it was Brenna standing there, but a more dishevelled version in a tatty dress with a smear of what looked like soot on her cheek.
So shaken was Jasper by the resemblance that his words failed him, and he could only stand like a fool, trying to recover his wits.
‘My daughters, Cecily and Rowenna,’ said Rufus, gesturing at the two lasses. ‘They are as eager as I to make you welcome at Fallstairs, aren’t you, my dears?’
Jasper glanced at the blonde, Cecily. She looked down at her shoes, and his gaze was drawn back to the other one as if by some dark design. She was bolder than her sister and gave him a warm smile, bobbing a little curtsey. Then the slattern of a servant bustled in with a jug of ale and some cups and offered them.
‘No. Rowenna will serve.’ Rufus snapped his fingers, and the bolder lass with the red-gold hair rushed to pour the ale.
Randel took his cup greedily, gulped on it and grimaced.
‘If that is not to your liking, there is a little whisky,’ said the lass, Rowenna, smiling.
‘Tis fine. I thank you,’ managed Randel.
Jasper was offered a cup and drank from it. By God, it was rancid - stale old stuff - but somehow, he could not bear todisappoint the lass with the hair like honey mixed with fire and a smile sweet enough to melt the hardest heart.
