Laird Anderson pushed himself away from the table. “If ye will excuse me, gentlemen, I have to send word to the rest o’ me clan.” And he did not even look at Bruce Duncan as he left the hall, and why would he? Bruce was only a common soldier compared to all those important men seated on the dais.
“Be sure that I have yer answer—and the gold—by the end of the week!” Laird Roy shouted out to Laird Anderson’s retreating back. The other men left in the hall cheered at this. “Now, what should I do with yon giant?” Roy asked the captain. “There’s nay dungeons at the lodge.”
The captain stood up, saying, “Have nay fear of him escaping punishment, m’laird. There’s an auld dungeon that can still hold a man in chains in the castle tower. The stone stairs leading down to it are crumbling away, but the room should hold him well enough for a few days.”
Roy gave a signal to show he approved this course of action, and the guards led Bruce away. It was not far to walk back to the castle tower, but Bruce had to fight the impulse to look back at the lodge for a glimpse of Laura’s window. Both wings of the castle had crumbled into scattered piles of rocks littering the cliffs, but the old watchtowers were still standing. The guards led Bruce to the empty tower. As they drew near, a flock of ravens flew up into the gray skies with mournful cries.
Bruce kept his head down and did not follow the birds’ flight like the guards’ eyes did. He wanted to give them the impression that he had lost all hope. The stone steps leading down to the dungeon were narrow and precipitous on one side. There was no balustrade to hold on to, and a man’s booted foot was too large to fit on the tread without his toes hanging over the edge. “It’s right dark down there,” one of the guards said, after attempting to go first, holding a lantern in front of him to light the way. “Perhaps ye should go first, Duncan, an’ if the steps crumble away under yer weight, it’s no sad loss. If the steps give way, well, there’s no one to mourn ye. I doubt the fair Lady Laura will ever look yer way again after she found out about how much ye value her sweet busses.”
Two of the guards stood at either side of the dungeon’s entrance, and two stood behind Bruce. The prisoner seemed to be debating whether the steps would hold his weight. Bruce craned his head through the dark portal. “I dinnae like the look o’ yon steps, lads. What the hell is that down there!?”
The two guards could not resist sticking their heads inside the doorway to look. Bruce promptly picked both men up by the scruff of their necks and threw them down the stairs. The two remaining guards were so shocked that their docile prisoner had acted so swiftly, they did not immediately attack him, just lowered their swords, their eyes goggling with surprise. But it was too late. Bruce knocked the blades aside as if they were wooden spoons and then bashed the men’s heads together. The goggling eyes rolled back in their skulls, and they dropped like two bunches of rags.
He did not run back down to the stables. People tended to notice Bruce more because of his height. He walked at a steady pace down to the lodge courtyard, acting as if he had no cares in the world. Once he was inside the stables, he jumped onto Maegli’s back and pointed her head in the direction of St. John’s.
“Run like the wind, auld girl,” he said. “Our lives depend on it.”
* * *
Mary was not going to allow her mistress to fall back into a decline. She had seen the young girl through one emotional crisis, and the old maid had no plans to see Laura through another.
“I was there at the back of the hall, Lady Laura, and I have no hesitation in telling ye that this is a shameless attempt at him trying to get his greasy hands on yer gold!”
Laura had been weeping into her pillow but sat up at Mary’s words. “He didnae need me gold! He was probably getting lots of gold from that wretched bet of his!”
Mary sighed to keep her temper. “I’m no’ talking about Bruce Duncan, mistress. I’m talking about that crafty auld besom, Roy Halkerston. Sit up an’ listen to what I have to tell ye!”
Wiping her eyes, Laura sat up. “Good girl,” Mary said, and began to tell her mistress her theory.
“I’ve been downstairs, talking to the servants, Laura dearie, which is what ye should have been doin’ instead of rolling in the hay with yer braw warrior!” Laura tried to defend her actions, but Mary hushed her. “Did ye ken that Laird Roy Halkerston had three sons already grown? He fathered them on the housekeeper! For all intents an’ purposes, it is Mistress Brigitte Nordholm, the housekeeper, who has been acknowledged mistress of Huna Lodge for the last five and twenty-odd years. We are so far north in these parts, m’lady, many of the chieftains use the auld ways to choose a wife. They make their vows over a mug o’ mulled wine, wrap their hands together with a ribbon, and declare themselves married! This is very convenient for the man because he can marryanotherwife in the kirk if he wishes, which is what they generally go an’ do if the first wife does nae produce a son.”
Laura had been listening to Mary listlessly at the beginning of the story, but now she was intrigued. “The auld dog,” she muttered.
“Aye!” Mary was glad to have Laura agree with her. “Now, the problem with the arrangement is this: a housekeeper does nae come with a dowry. But if Roy was to marry another woman and produce more sons, that is what leads to inside the clan wars. The first batch o’ sons fighting the second batch! And then there’s the dowry. Auld Roy needs a dowry because paying fine warriors such as yer man, Bruce Duncan, does nae come cheap! He needs money! Signs of it are all around us. A crumbling castle means only one thing—Roy has to protect his boundaries with soldiers, and he’s poured all o’ his gold into doing that. So he needed yers.”
Laura sobbed. “He’s prepared to ruin me reputation so he can winkle me dowry gold away from me without a wedding? And that blasted Bruce Duncan gave him the perfect opportunity to do it!”
Mary nodded.
Laura bounced out of bed, her tears forgotten. “Where are ye off to?” Mary asked, but her question fell into empty air. Laura had run out of the room.
16
Bruce arrived at the cottage well before nightfall. If he had known the full truth of the matter, he had been a good many miles on his way to St. John’s before the guards even rose to consciousness; Maegli could gallop like the wind when her master wished for it.
“Bruce!” Alice yelled out when he pushed his way inside the small doorway. Old Agatha was sitting in the armchair beside the fire, stirring a small cauldron pot with a wooden spoon. He bent down to hug his sister, very relieved to see she had not suffered a relapse or fever, although he had to fight the urge to feel her forehead to check if it was hot.
Alice laughed and pointed a finger at Agatha. The old woman was so deaf now, she had not heard Bruce come in the door. “Agatha!” Alice said loudly, “Look! Bruce is home!”
The old woman tried to stand up, but Bruce walked over to her before she could, begging her not to get up and kneeling beside her armchair to listen to what she had to say. Alice’s legs were withered, and he did not know how long he could keep the little household going when Agatha became too infirm to care for Alice, especially in spring and fall when the villagers were all busy with the sowing and the harvest.
He went to sit next to his sister and lowered his voice. “Alice. I have bad news. We will all have to leave the cottage—an’ the village—for a while. The laird used me as an excuse to squeeze gold out of Lady Laura Munro, and if we don’ have Henry Munro beating his way to our doorstep in a few days, we most definitely will have Halkerston here in a few hours, wanting to recapture me. I’m a fugitive until I can clear me name.”
Alice’s eyes widened. She was inclined to think this was her brother’s way of entertaining her but could see that he was serious. “Lady Munro?! The sweet lady who came here and asked me to weave a plaid arisaid for her in Duncan colors? What on Earth did ye go an’ do, Brither?” she whispered, not wanting to alarm Agatha.
He looked down, avoiding her eyes. “I went an’ lost me heart to Lady Laura Munro, Alice. Ye would understand better if ye ever get the chance to ken her a wee bit better.” He closed his eyes to imagine Laura’s face. “She’s such a bonny lass, Sister. So bonny an’ kind. Does nae look down her nose at folks and—”
“Hush!” Alice hissed, grabbing his arm and cocking her head to one side. “D’ye hear that, Brither? Horses are approaching!” The keening winds that howled around the clifftops were not loud enough to whisk away the sound of horses’ hooves trotting up the pathway toward the cottage. For one wild moment, Bruce thought of drawing his sword and fighting but knew he could never hold off a troop of Halkerston soldiers.
