Duff managed a cold laugh. “The innocence of youth. So trusting. If we’re at war, they join up with the Normans and sweep the north clean, take my land and yours for themselves and divide it up with the English.”
Duff took a bite of the bread he’d been given. Andrew did the same. The meeting was over.
All the men were on their feet a second later, backing slowly from the clearing, watching each other intently.
Andrew did not turn his back until he was sure the MacLeishes were gone. Only then did he relax, breathing out heavily as his men muttered amongst themselves.
“What now?” Gillis asked as Andrew mounted his horse.
“We go home. I dinnae trust him not to ambush us in the dark. We ride fast. Keep a keen ear out for MacLeish archers.”
“And what of the words he spoke?”
“I dinnae ken. You think he spoke the truth?”
“I only ken he has more to lose from clan war than us.”
The men mounted up while Andrew turned his horse toward the castle. He rode as swiftly as he dared in the dark. Though he knew the route well, he dared not risk his horse falling in one of the many potholes and ruts that littered the road. Making the surface of better quality was just one more thing on his list for the future.
He needed to decide what he was going to do next. It did look as if Duff MacLeish was telling the truth. If that was the case then bigger problems were just around the corner. The castle was in no fit state to defend itself against the might of the Norman forces.
He remained lost in thought for most of the return journey, only brought out of his reverie when he spotted bright lights ahead of him. “Are there torches on the walls?” he asked, squinting and trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
“Aye, looks like it,” Gillis replied.
“Did you order them lit?”
“Nay, my laird. I said nothing before we went. Rory perhaps?”
Andrew kicked the sides of his horse, sending it ahead of the group until he could make out what was happening. He came to a halt about fifty yards from the gate. The place was a hive of activity and none of it made any sense. People were milling around the portcullis, a pile of stone beside them. To the left, part of the wall had been torn down and more was being tossed down from one laborer to the next, stone by stone. Had there been a battle? If so where were the dead? Why was the portcullis still open?
In the earthworks people were digging out stones and handing them up the steep sides to others stood by carts. What was going on?
He rode up to the portcullis and had to slow to make his way through, the crowd too thick to notice him until he was on top of them. “Make way for your laird,” Gillis called from behind him.
He was already through them before they even knew what was happening. Was he no longer in charge of his own people?
Calling out for a stableboy, he jumped down to the ground and caught sight of Rory in the distance, the torch in his hand lighting his face in the darkness. “Rory,” he called, waving him over.
“My laird,” Rory replied, scurrying across. “I expect you have some questions.”
“Perhaps you might explain why my walls are two feet lower than I left them.”
“About that-”
“Then you can explain why men are digging in the earthworks.”
“Well, you see-”
“And then after that you can tell me why the portcullis is wide open and lit up like the noon day sun. Are we no longer taking precautions at night?”
Rory began to talk but Andrew wasn’t listening. He was staring in disbelief at a tent that had been set up at the base of the walls. Out of it a woman had just walked and she was lit by the orange and yellow glow of the torches, making it look as if her hair was on fire.
It was her.
He silenced Rory with a wave of his hand. “Why is my captive over there with a line of men listening to every word she says?”
Rory at least had the decency to look sheepish, not meeting Andrew’s eye. “You might want to come and meet your new master mason.”
