Once Upon a Plaid (22 page)

—From “The Coventry Carol”

 

 

 

—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry

Chapter Twenty-Eight

William chafed at the delay, but Lord Glengarry insisted on wearing his station in rich velvet and satin instead of his customary drab plaid. His mount was saddled with the finest Spanish leather tack, and the hilt of his sword glinted with a carbuncle big enough to choke a horse.

“What do I care if that snot-nosed bastard’s arse is sore from sitting his horse so long?” the laird growled. “He’s the one who came calling unwelcome. He ought not be surprised that I make him wait.”

The earl mounted his horse and kneed him into a brisk trot through the raised portcullis. Will followed and, as he’d ordered, the iron bars lowered behind them after they cleared the gate. He didn’t look back, but he knew the curtain wall was lined with bowmen waiting for the shouted orders “Nock! Draw! Loose!” Will’s archers would turn MacNaught and his second into pin cushions if they put so much as a toe out of line.

“Well, nephew,” the laird began in a low tone, “does your mother ken ye’ve turned on your own blood?”

“Aye, she does,” Ranulf returned in a surprisingly cordial tone. “Mother sent me off with a benediction and, since ye’re her favorite brother, she said for me to tell ye she prays that your death will be swift and nearly painless.”

The distended vein on the earl’s forehead pulsed but he said nothing.

“Look around, MacNaught,” William said. “Ye’ve amassed a sizeable force, I’ll grant ye, but they’re no match for the walls of Glengarry. Have a care for the lives of your men. If ye launch an assault, the corbies will feast.”

“Let me worry about my men. Trust me, Badenoch, ye’ll have enough to fret about yourself before long. Besides, ye’re not laird here,” Ranulf said, then skewered the earl with a penetrating gaze. “Now, to business. Surrender now, Uncle, and I give ye leave to ride out of Glengarry with your family and the clothes on your backs, but no weapons and no wealth. The people, the livestock, the stores, ye’ll leave for me and my men.”

Lord Glengarry laughed mirthlessly. “And I give ye and your men leave to freeze your balls off outside the walls whilst we lie snug by the fire with plenty of food laid by and an inexhaustible supply of fresh water.”

“We saw nothing but abandoned crofts on the way here, which means ye’ve far more mouths to feed than usual.” Ranulf smiled unpleasantly. “Lots of women and children too.”

Lord Glengarry leaned on the pommel of his saddle. “No worries on that score. Long before we feel the slightest pinch of a siege, King James will hear of it and come to rout ye. My son, Donald, has His Majesty’s ear, ye ken.”

“As I understand it, our young king is thoroughly occupied with a chase for a white stag at present. He’s not likely to want to give up a portent like that. Not even for your precious Donald.” Ranulf narrowed his eyes at William. “Besides, no one will be able to break through our lines to deliver a message to His Majesty in any case. We’ll kill any who try. Depend upon it.”

“Show some sense, man,” the laird said, his face now a livid purple. “Go home, Ranulf, and let your men live out their lives. A siege has never worked at Glengarry. The walls are too stout.”

“A siege has never worked because I have never commanded one,” MacNaught said. “I give ye one last chance and that only because we share a bond of blood. Will ye yield, Uncle?”

“I’ll see ye in hell first.”

“I was hoping ye’d say that.” Ranulf raised his hand in signal and a commotion started behind his line of men. Two long lines of Highlanders pulled a heavy, wheeled platform out of its concealment among the trees and onto a level spot. Upon it stood a tripod of timbers with a complicated system of ropes and pulleys. William had never seen the like before and didn’t know what to make of it.

However, Lord Glengarry obviously did, for his eyes grew wide and his cheeks drained of all color. His mouth moved, but he seemed to be having trouble forming the words. The left side of his lips drooped, but he finally managed to whisper, “Trebuchet.”

“Aye, Uncle, I’ve a trebuchet and the will to use it. Dinna ye wish ye’d taken me up on my offer?” Ranulf said. “I’d make it again, but ye’ve vexed me sore with your refusal to give me what’s due me. So now, I’ll just raze the castle walls and take what’s mine.”

Lord Glengarry babbled a string of nonsense sounds and dropped the reins because his left arm suddenly hung loose. He swayed uncertainly in the saddle. Will grasped him and turned both their mounts back toward the Glengarry portcullis with as much speed as he dared.

Ranulf’s laughter followed them the whole way.

 

 

From her place on the curtain wall, Katherine couldn’t hear what the men were saying beneath the flag of truce, but she knew something was wrong when her father nearly lost his seat while his horse was standing still. She skittered down the stone steps and lifted her skirts to fly across the bailey toward the portcullis.

As soon as Will and her father cleared the gate, Will was off his mount without stopping and was pulling her father down from his. The laird couldn’t stand without assistance, and one whole side of his face drooped in sagging pockets of flesh.

“Ge’ me t’ the wall,” he garbled as he leaned on William.

“He needs to be put to bed,” Katherine said, positioning herself to support her father on the other side.

William shook his head. “If he can bear it, I need him to see what’s happening and explain it to me.”

Her husband half dragged, half carried her father up the stone steps to the crenellated top. Katherine followed miserably. When her father had had his bout with apoplexy last year, it had taken them a few days to hear of it and rush to his side. By that time, he was on the mend. His speech had almost returned to normal, though his left arm would never be as strong as it once was. Seeing the indomitable earl in such a weakened state frightened her more than all the fighting men and that strange contraption beyond the gate put together.

“What is it?” William pressed the earl to speak. “And how do we defend the keep against it?”

His lordship’s speech was gone again. He made sounds that echoed the rise and fall of normal conversation, and the steely look in his eye told Katherine her father thought he was making sense, but the words were gibberish.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord,” said Sawney MacElmurray. Katherine was surprised to learn the man could talk because when she and William had visited Sawney’s croft on Hogmanay, he couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise with his large brood gabbing all at once. “I believe I ken what it is. Not that I’ve ever seen one, mind. Only that my grandsire’s stories told of it. To tell ye the truth, I thought he was pullin’ our legs.”

The earl growled out some frustrated incomprehensible nonsense.

“Well, what is it, man?” William said.

“A tre . . . trebbie bucket.”

“A trebuchet, ye mean.”

“Aye, that’s it,” Sawny MacElmurray said. “I thought ye didna ken what it was. My mistake.” He shuffled back to his place on the wall.

“No, wait.” Will stopped MacElmurray with a hand to his shoulder. “All I know is what it’s called. What does it do?”

A screech of gears made every gaze turn toward the machine halfway up the hillside. A crew of men swarmed over the scaffoldlike apparatus like ants on a bread crumb. They were preparing it for something.

“As to what it does, I’m afeared we’ll know soon enough. I just remember my grandsire saying the laird had to limit the number of men on the walls when that . . . that trebbie-bucket thing was in use.”

That went against the rules of war. In a siege, the more men at the curtain wall with bows to hand, the better. If a battering ram was used, the team at the murder holes was ready to pour scalding water on any who breached the portcullis. If somehow Ranulf ’s men managed to mount ladders and started to scale the walls, Glengarry would need every able-bodied fighter to beat back the attackers. How could they defend the walls if they used fewer men?

The earl babbled again and pointed emphatically. His color was high again and the vein on his forehead throbbed.

There was a loud clanking and shouts and the men who’d been working on the machine scrambled away from it now. Then suddenly its tall arm dropped down and another sprang up, launching a large stone like a giant slingshot. With a zing of ropes and pulleys, the timbers fell back into position while the stone flew toward the castle.

William pulled Katherine behind him as if his body would protect her from the several hundred–pound weight hurtling toward them. Left unattended, the earl collapsed to the parapet, but Katherine couldn’t get past Will to reach her father. There was such a crush of so many bodies on the wall no one could move to avoid the oncoming projectile.

The flying stone crashed into the wall a scant fifteen yards from Will and Katherine, above the portcullis, near the men tending the fire under the cauldron for the murder holes. Defenders screamed and shouted as they were showered by shards of granite. One man fell into the flames that heated the cauldron and rose shrieking along the parapet. He lost his balance and fell headlong into the bailey, landing in a smoldering heap at the foot of the stone stairs.

“Merciful Christ,” William said under his breath, then ordered the archer nearest him to go beat out the flames and move the man. Kat suspected the fellow on fire was past caring, but the last thing they needed was for the flames to spread.

The earl began convulsing at their feet.

Katherine’s chest constricted with panic, but she forced herself to remain calm as she dropped to her knees beside her father. She took his hand and tried to say something soothing but feared she was making no more sense than the earl. This time, he didn’t answer. He didn’t even babble.

“Sawney MacElmurray, Nab!” William shouted. “His lordship is unwell. Take him to his chamber and put him to bed. Katherine, ye go as well to see that he stays there.”

The clanking and shouts from MacNaught’s camp began again as they readied the trebuchet for another volley. She met Will’s bleak gaze for a sickening heartbeat.

“Hurry,” he said and then turned away from her to order all but every tenth man from the wall.

Katherine hurried down the steps ahead of the fighting men. Mr. MacElmurray stooped and slung the earl over his shoulder, leaving Nab to scoop up his weapons and follow after. Once in the bailey, they trotted across what used to be open space but was now filled with the temporary tents and stalls of the crofters. Shrieks and muffled cries rose up from the families huddling in those flimsy shelters. The sickening thud of another stone striking the wall made Katherine turn back, like Lot’s wife, to look.

A chunk of the protective crenellations was gone near the east corner of the curtain wall. Men were scrambling to obey Will’s command to empty the parapet of all but a little more than a dozen defenders. With room to move, the men could avoid the flying stone and shout out where it would land to the rest of the force milling ten feet or so from the foot of the wall in the bailey. As far as she could tell no one was killed by the second volley, but several were bloodied by flying debris. William was striding along the parapet offering encouragement to the few men who served as both targets and lookouts.

The clanking began again and Katherine realized another shot was being prepared. At this rate, the trebuchet would slowly eat up the curtain wall in relentless bites. Once there was a breach big enough to admit a large force, her cousin would throw his rested fighters at William’s beleaguered ones.

“My lady.” Nab tugged at her sleeve. “William said for us to put the laird to bed.”

“You’re right. Let’s away.” She led Sawney MacElmurray, who shifted the burden of her father’s inert form on his broad shoulders, into the great hall. Nab stumbled along behind, bearing her father’s fine sword and heavy targe.

A cold lump of dread congealed in her belly. Her father might be dying. Every soul in Glengarry was in mortal peril.

But all she could think was that she should have told Will she loved him while she had the chance.

—From “I Sing of a Maiden”

 

 

—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Katherine met Dorcas coming down the spiral stairs. Because the space was so narrow, the maid had to turn around and head back up to where the earl’s chamber veered off in order for Katherine and the men to continue climbing. The maid followed them into the laird’s room and skittered around MacElmurray and his burden to pull back the counterpane on Lord Glengarry’s bed before they reached it.

Katherine noticed that the maid shot a quick glance at Nab and then studiously ignored him, unnecessarily smoothing the linens that were bound to be rumpled again soon.

When Nab tugged off her father’s boots, he didn’t stir so much as an eyelash. Katherine tucked the coverlet up to his chin and was relieved to see that it rose and fell. He was still breathing.

“May I have yer leave to go? I was just off to fetch Beathag, my lady,” Dorcas said breathlessly. “Lady Margaret is in a bad way.”

Katherine’s heart sank to the tips of her kid-covered toes. “Go. And after ye’ve found Beathag, get ye to the nursery and collect my nephews. Tell Nurse she’s to mind them in the souterrain till Lord Badenoch says different.” All the small round faces of the children who had descended on the castle with their humble parents rose in her mind. “We have to get the crofters out of the bailey as well. Tell them to take their little ones to the souterrain too.”

“All of them?”

“All. The mothers too. They can help Nurse keep watch over them.” The castle would have to be razed to the ground before the trebuchet would reach the children there. “’Tis the safest place.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, milady,” Sawney MacElmurray said, twisting his bonnet in his work-rough hands. “I dinna think I can do his lordship much good here. My boys are all with Lord Badenoch on the wall. If ye’ll give me leave, I’d like to join them.”

“Verra well, Mr. MacElmurray,” she said woodenly as she hitched a hip on the side of the earl’s bed.

Normally her father’s cheeks were ruddy, but now his complexion was like fine alabaster, pale and fragile looking. She had no idea what could be done for him. Since he was unconscious, he couldn’t be fed strengthening broth or given any healing herbs, even if she knew what those might be. She didn’t think leeches would help, and in any case, she couldn’t bear the thought of breaking out Margaret’s store of the slimy things.

So she did the only thing she could do. She put a hand to Lord Glengarry’s chest, closed her eyes, and loosed an arrow of a prayer skyward. Her father was in God’s hands and she would have to leave him there.

“Nab, I need ye to stay.”

The fool had started to trail Sawney out of the chamber. “My lady? William wants all the men to—”

“Not you. Someone must stay with his lordship. In case he wakes.”

“And what should I do if that happens?”

“Keep him in bed. If ye can.” Another crashing boom sounded closer this time, and a collective scream rose up from the bailey. Katherine flew to the window. The brewery roof was staved in by a large chunk of granite, the timbers of the rafters snapped as if they were no stouter than a child’s dollhouse.

Another wail sounded, this time one much closer than the bailey. It was so full of anguish it made Kat’s chest ache.

“Lady Margaret,” she said.

“But milady, I dinna think I—”

Katherine left Nab still jabbering his excuses of how inadequate he’d be to tend the earl. She fled from her father’s chamber and up the circular stairs to her sister-in-law. Margie was in her bed, but struggling to climb out of it.

“What are ye doing?” Kat asked. “Should ye not be lying back?”

“Not anymore.” Margaret rolled to one side, dangled her legs over the edge of the bed, and tried to push herself into a sitting position. “My waters have burst and the bedclothes need to be stripped or it’ll seep through and ruin the feather tick.”

“Trust ye to be concerned with such a mundane thing as a mattress at a time like this.” Katherine hurried to her side to help her rise to her feet.

“Oh!” Margie cradled her belly as another contraction hardened it and more of her birth waters pattered to the floor between her legs. A guttural groan escaped her throat, and she dug her nails into Katherine’s forearm hard enough to leave marks.

“I ask your pardon, Kat,” she said between gasps. “I didna moan so with the others. D’ye think it means a girl-child?”

“God knows.”

Along with the mildly sweet smell of Margie’s birth water, memories of her own childbed ordeal flooded Katherine’s senses. When she’d labored with Stephan, she’d needed to move. She must have paced miles within the confines of her chamber in a gritty struggle as her body fought to expel him. The respites between contractions were all too brief. Her attendants’ whispers sounded like a hissing ball of adders as she sank into delirium.

Katherine cleared her throat, hoping her voice would not break. “Will ye walk a bit?”

“No.” Margaret trembled. “This child is coming. I need the chair.”

Katherine stayed beside her, supporting her until the pain subsided. Then she moved the birthing chair from its place in a corner of the room to a central location before the fire.

The special chair was made of pine with a U-shaped seat to support Margie’s thighs. But the open seat left plenty of room for the child to slip through into the midwife’s waiting arms when the time came. It had a reclining back, curved to match Margaret’s spine, and had been painstakingly sanded till it was as smooth as glass all over.

The chair brought back more memories. Katherine had thought her labor was nearly finished once she settled into her chair. The pains were close together. Her midwife had assured her all would be well. Instead, she’d labored for hours to bring forth a child who couldn’t seem to be born.

When Stephan finally arrived, the sudden silence in the chamber was a physical thing, a weight like a shroud. She wondered if she’d been struck deaf, except that the silence echoed not in her ears, but in her heart.

The child made no cry.

From the tail of her eye, she’d seen the midwife carrying away a small, still bundle. Then someone had put a cool cloth to her brow and lied soothingly about how next time everything would be different.

Katherine blinked back tears. It wouldn’t do to show weak eyes to Margie while she was birthing her bairn. Instead, she arranged her sister-in-law’s skirts around her so that if anyone should happen into the chamber, she’d be decently covered.

Before Katherine was brought to childbed with Stephan, she had dreaded losing her dignity while giving birth. She was determined to remain in control of herself. After a very short while, the illusion of being able to control anything fled. Her body was not her own. Forces as old as the tide swept her past Death’s door. She had no say in whether or not it would send her rushing headlong through it.

Another contraction started and Margie gritted her teeth for as long as she could, but a cry of pain pushed past her lips despite her efforts. Her whole body stiffened.

“This is different.” She panted shallowly once the moment had passed. “It feels . . . I can scarcely draw breath. Something’s wrong.”

Katherine dipped a cloth in the water basin and applied it to Margie’s forehead. “’Tis the way of things. All mothers-to-be think something’s amiss, my midwife said.”

“But something
was
wrong for ye.” Margie bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “Ye knew it. D’ye not think a woman knows?”

“Hush now. ’Twill be all right. Just breathe, my dear one, till the next pain comes.”

Where on earth was Beathag?

She crossed to the bed and stripped off the soiled linens. Another crash sounded out in the bailey, but Margie cried out again and Kat hurried back to her. Margie’s grip ground the bones in Katherine’s hand against each other, but she didn’t pull away. Margie needed her. No matter if the castle was shattering around them, she couldn’t tear herself from her sister-in-law’s side.

 

 

“Nock! Draw! Loose!”

In the interval between the flying rocks, William had lined the curtain wall with archers. Their shafts flew in a high arc toward the deadly machine on the hillside, but fell far short of the mark. A cheer went up from MacNaught’s men, and a long line of them bent over and flipped up their kilts to bare their arses in a show of contempt. Then they began reloading the trebuchet.

“He’s got it all planned out, my lord.” Hew MacElmurray pointed off to the right. “Ye see the crew workin’ over there. That’s where they’re getting the stones. There’s a goodly sized outcropping of granite.”

Will ground a fist into his palm. All of MacNaught’s men were out of range of even the best bowmen. The Glengarry defenders were outnumbered too severely for Will to consider abandoning his defensive position. But the trebuchet was negating the advantage of the thick curtain walls with each volley. He’d ridden Greyfellow over the hillside that rose to the north of Glengarry countless times, but now he surveyed it with a strategic eye.

“There’s a bit of a dip in the land halfway between us and that damned machine. It would shelter a group of archers. D’ye see where I mean?” William asked Hew.

“Aye, that’d do. And it would put us close enough to do some damage,” Hew said with a nod. “Shall I gather some men and make for it?”

“Not now.”

MacNaught had at least twenty mounted men flanking the trebuchet. A cavalry charge would decimate men with nothing but bows in their hands. MacNaught had also stationed a group of his own bowmen at the ready about twenty yards in front of the trebuchet. Ranulf was a better general than William had expected.

“Pick the best archers we have and assemble a team, but we’ll wait for dark. They won’t be expecting us to sally forth then.”

Hew gave his forelock a tug in respect and loped away to do Will’s bidding.

“Trebuchet!” someone shouted. “Headed for the western ramparts!”

A three hundred–pound weight of stone hurtled through the air and crashed with a sickening thud against Glengarry’s wall. One of the defenders hadn’t scrambled away in time and was thrown from the parapet like a rag doll.

William cast an eye at the sun, wishing there was a way to speed it along its pathway. Shouting orders to redeploy the men along the curtain wall, he thanked God that winter days were short. Darkness was their friend, and the desperate sortie he had in mind was like to be their best hope.

 

 

Margaret wasn’t moaning any longer. She was screaming. She’d even stopped apologizing for it during the short rest periods between contractions. Katherine had reached the end of what she knew to do for her. She could only let Margie squeeze the life out of her hands and pray that Beathag would come soon.

Finally, the midwife dragged herself up the spiral stairs. A strip of muslin had been tied over her head and under her jaw, covering what looked like a jagged cut along one of her cheeks.

“Beathag, what happened to you?”

“I was in the brewery when the roof collapsed, my lady. Dorcas helped pull me out.” Beathag waved a bony-knuckled hand. “Dinna fash yerself on my account. I’ve a bump on my head and a cut on my cheek, but I’m well enough for all normal purposes. Lord knows there’s them what are worse off than me.”

One of those unfortunates was ensconced in the birthing chair. The midwife bustled over to Margaret and settled herself on the short stool in front of the lady’s elevated knees to take stock of the situation. Her brows lowered in a frown and she made a tsking sound with her teeth and tongue.

“That’s bad, it is,” she muttered. “The babe’s turned ’round.”

Margaret’s chin had sunk to her chest as if she’d swooned, but now she lifted her head. “What do you mean? I thought you said the child was ready to come.”

“He was. But sometimes they take an odd notion at the last moment. This one’s coming feet first.” Beathag forced a smile to her thin lips now that she realized Margie was still sensible enough to hear and understand her. “Dinna fret, my lady. ’Tis not the first breech bairn I’ve brought into the world and, God willing, ’twill not be my last.”

Another boom sounded in the bailey and another chorus of screams rose to greet it. The pull toward the window was strong, but Katherine couldn’t answer its summons. Margie was in the throes of another contraction and Kat wouldn’t take her hand away.

Besides, if Will was in the path of one of the flying boulders, she didn’t want to know.