Caillen stood up and went to the washstand to ready himself for bed, saying, “ ‘Twas something else entirely...Pay nae attention to me, Gil.”
Gilby gave him a wry smile, picked up Caillen’s discarded clothes, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
When he heard the door click shut, Caillen splashed his face with water and threw himself onto the bed.
He stared up at the red velvet canopy above him and then across to the bedposts on either side. The richly polished and oiled mahogany posts reminded him of something.
‘Tis the color of Emer’s hair when I saw her standing in the stables.
He remembered the sweet words of comfort she had been speaking to the pony and smiled. Whether she was the girl he had kissed on the night of the feast or not, he felt better knowing it was her little hands that made his bed now.
Chapter Ten
“Chieftain Lochart here to see ye, me Laird,” the footman announced, sticking his head through a crack in the open door of the library, in between the crossed halberds of the guards outside.
“Well, dinnae keep him kicking up his heels in the great hall, Dewar, invite him upstairs!” Caillen said irritably. He was up to his eyes in correspondence and was fast coming to realize how difficult it must have been for his father to be both an administrator and a man of action.
The footman’s head disappeared in a flash, and not five minutes later, Angus Lochart was walking in the door.
“Well met, Angus,” Caillen walked around his desk and went to greet the chieftain in true Highland fashion: a hearty grip of each other’s forearms and then a hard pat on the back, “what brings ye to the keep?”
The chieftain waited for Caillen to finish pouring him a goblet of wine from the flagon conveniently placed on the bureau next to the new strong room, drank it down in one gulp, and then answered.
“An envoy came to me from the Sutherlands, lad, but this time he wasnae so well informed.”
He held the goblet out for a refill, waited for his drink to be refreshed, and then continued, “Before, the Sutherlands had knowledge of me arrangement with yer faither, down to the last farthing. They knew tariffs, fees, and annual payments. When the envoy came a-visiting this time, it was more like he was feeling his way in the dark. Questions like, ‘what made ye go back to ye auld agreement?’ and ‘whatever he offered ye, I’m sure we can go one better,’-but I find the most significant part of all the chitchat was this: nae more promises about being able to offer me protection if I made a bargain with them and it ended up angering the Maclachlan's.”
“Then it was hardly worth their time in visiting ye,” Caillen said after contemplating what Angus had just told him for a few moments, “wasnae the whole point of their previous negotiations basically sayin’ – ‘we can do what we like and so can ye ‘cause there will be nae reprisals,’?”
“Aye,” Angus said grimly, “and that means the next stage-if there is one-will be threats...”
Caillen nodded, “Ye might be right in yer guess there. But from what I can gauge, I think the Sutherlands prefer underhand dealings to straightforward confrontations, at least, so far as it goes when it comes to getting their own way and expanding their influence too subtly for anyone to notice. And this might be a clue as to who is leaking them the information from inside the keep.”
Angus emptied his goblet again and stood up from the armchair, saying gruffly, “Ye might be right, Cai, but me own bet is that it’s someone in yer stables or on yer staff inside the castle-someone who can watch when ye leave and when ye return, and then goes running to the Sutherlands to tell them ye’ve been out mending yer fences, so to speak.”
“Maybe ye’re right...,” Caillen said slowly, the mechanics of his mind turning to look at the possibilities from every angle.
“Ye should be proud ye’ve managed to stem the flow of accurate information,” Angus congratulated Caillen, “this might have had something to do with it,” and here the chieftain banged the side of the new strong room, “but the sneak is still able to watch yer comings an’ goings, but I’ll leave ye to be the judge of whether that could bring ye danger or nae.”
And with that, Angus threw his great kilt over his shoulder again, gave a nod of his head to the thoughtful Caillen, and said he would see himself out.
Caillen had no other choice but to tramp around the castle once more, interviewing and interrogating every single person, from the small boy who fanned the flies away from the milk pails when the milkmaids were filling them to the gardener’s apprentice.
Caillen never knew he had so many staff working for him. He met with what seemed like dozens of small, frightened children, scared witless to speak with the Laird when he asked them if they had been near the stables on the days he rode out. Their mother or father would be standing by anxiously, wringing their hands, earnestly telling him the child was too busy helping out to have the time to watch who came or went.
He realized he must be more methodical in his approach. He went to Steward Banting’s chambers, not bothering to knock before banging open the door.
Caught all unawares, Mister Banting had a serving maid on his lap and was merrily chucking her under her chin. Caillen did not know who was more shocked and embarrassed by his sudden entrance, the blushing maid, or his steward. The girl hurried out, squeezing past him as she scuttled through the door. Mister Banting himself felt there was an explanation necessary.
“Me Laird, beggin’ yer pardon, it being nuncheon and Clary being so kind as to bring me a meal, and all.”
Caillen held up his hand to stem the flow of apologetic words, “Nae need, Banting, only be sure to keep yer wooing to girls of marriageable age and amiable disposition. Believe me, ye’ll thank me when ye have nae irate husbands or faithers shaking their pitchforks at ye.”
Banting, still shaking like an aspic jelly from Caillen’s sudden entry, nodded and then got up from his chair to bow, “How may I help ye Lairdship this day?”
“Aye, I need ye to jaunt all over the keep, nae neglecting the gardens, and find out every single individual who has access. If they are parents, take note of their bairns. If the children are old enough to talk, write down their names and ages and whether they work here. It does nae matter if they pick up leaves in the garden or hold the horses for the grooms at feeding time, every soul of every age and occupation must be recorded.”
Banting, keen to show he was grateful for Caillen’s lenient attitude to his wenching, scribbled these new orders down on parchment with all the efficiency he could muster, “Is that all, me Laird?” he enquired, looking up.
