Pride of the Clan (16 page)

“Lice,” Tannoch replied. “Pesky buggers. Naught for it but to shave it off.”

Rheade suddenly had to scratch his scalp. Indeed his whole body itched.

Garth had dismounted and joined the conversation. “But he didna do it willingly. He scratched for three days while we watched the executions. Drove us mad. Finally had to hold him down while we removed every hair.”

Emotions churned in Rheade’s gut. Would he ever be rid of the vision dancing behind his eyes—his brother tormented by vermin while watching a gruesome execution, evidently unwilling to tear himself away to take care of the problem? And what of the poor souls around him? The Grassmarket would have been packed with spectators wriggling like maggots to catch a glimpse of the horror.

Tannoch had probably considered the barbering his own form of torture. Rheade imagined the shouts of protest. But a different realization stunned him into silence.
 

Logan’s hoarse voice echoed his shock. “Yer the spitting image of our Da without all that hair.”
 

~~~

For a moment Rheade wanted to fling his arms around this brother he’d never gotten along with and beg his forgiveness for doubting his parentage. But a wary look from Logan stopped him.

Instead he cast his eye over the twenty or more horses the ancient ostler was attempting to take care of. “I’ll find somebody to give the auld man a hand,” he muttered.
 

“No need,” Tannoch exclaimed, still grinning like a lunatic. Rheade noted with disgust that the barber evidently hadn’t been paid enough to pull the rotten teeth.
 

Tannoch waved to the rear of the column where the tired horses had stirred up a cloud of dust. “We brought an ostler. Stumbled across him walking the Edinburgh road. Man’s a bit simple, but he’s a way with horses.”

Rheade’s heart stopped beating as he peered into the dust, finally making out Joss’s heavy frame as he gentled several horses, leading them to the stables. The urge to rush over and ask what had happened to cause the servant to abandon Margaret was overwhelming. He clenched his fists, the soles of his feet burning. Had she been taken to Edinburgh? Surely his newly shorn brother would have said something?

Perhaps he should send Logan to Joss, but his younger brother seemed to have disappeared with Garth.

“Are ye ill?” Tannoch asked.

“Nay,” Rheade hissed through gritted teeth.

Tannoch suddenly fingered Rheade’s trefoil brooch and pressed his nose to the sachet. “Still pining for the Ogilvie woman, are ye?” he asked.

Rheade stiffened his spine. He no longer feared Tannoch and sensed his brother knew it. “I will wed her, whether ye like it or not.”

Tannoch snorted. “Surprised, were ye?”

Rheade frowned, not understanding.

“That I look like Da?”

Rheade wasn’t sure where this discussion was headed. Probably nowhere good. “Why would I be surprised?”

Tannoch ran a hand over the fuzz on his head. “I’ve often wondered meself,” he rasped close to Rheade’s ear. “We’re verra different, ye and me and Logan. And Da left his brooch to ye. A body has to ask—why?”

Rheade stared hard into black eyes inches from his own, and wasn’t sure what lurked there. “Tannoch, ye are my older brother and my chieftain. There’s many a family with sons and daughters who dinna resemble one another. As for why Da passed the brooch to me—”

Tannoch smiled. “Because I asked him to.”

This was a perplexing revelation. “Why would ye do such a thing?”

Tannoch shrugged. “I’m sure Fion has told ye what befell our Mother?”

There was no point in lying. “Aye. But not long since. I had no idea.”

“I can likely tell ye the day ye found out. I saw it in yer eyes, and in Logan’s.”

“But how did you ken?”

“Da told me the day I turned twelve.” He inhaled deeply, staring off into the Grampians. “He told me because he feared someday others would raise the issue. He wanted me to be prepared.” He swallowed hard. “He assured me he believed I was his son.”

Rheade suddenly understood. “But ye’ve doubted it.”

Tannoch studied his feet. “’Tis obvious ye’d make a better chieftain than me. Yer more our father’s son than I’ll ever be.”

Rheade wondered what on earth had transpired in Edinburgh to cause his brother to reveal these thoughts. “It doesna matter, Tannoch. Both our parents loved ye. As far as I’m concerned—”

His knees came close to buckling when Tannoch abruptly landed both hands on his shoulders. He may have shaved and purchased new raiment but the offensive odor hadn’t changed. “Dinna mistake my meaning, Rheade. I am still chieftain, and I intend to remain so. I’ll brook no attempt—”

Rheade gripped his brother’s wrists. “Ye have always had my allegiance, Tannoch. I swear it, but I’ll fight ye every step of the way if ye persecute Margaret.”

Tannoch narrowed his eyes. “Aye, well, if she’s as innocent as ye say—”

“Stop it, man,” Rheade exploded. “Why persist in this? Ye dinna believe her guilty of anything.”

Tannoch’s eyes suddenly took on an eerie glow. “Then how did she ken Robert Stewart would be here, at Blair Castle? This is where ye captured him, right?”

Rheade’s mouth fell open. Tannoch had never been a smart man, but surely he didn’t believe—

“Ye canna be serious.”

Tannoch scowled as they became aware Garth and Logan had rejoined them. He let go of Rheade’s shoulders and strode off angrily.

From the gobsmacked expression on Garth’s face he’d wager the Black Knight had overhead Tannoch’s admission. But he’d no time to be concerned with that. He had to talk to Joss.

~~~

Rheade walked nonchalantly towards the stables, resisting the urge to run. He caught sight of Joss leisurely brushing down a palfrey in one of the stalls, dressed only in a well-worn
léine
. It struck Rheade as odd that a simpleton who’d wandered miles on foot didn’t give off the same offensive odor as Tannoch.

The servant seemed engrossed in his task and Rheade didn’t want to startle him. “Joss,” he rasped.

Joss turned around. “Rheadedonnachaidhstarkeyrobertson,” he said with a smile and a deferential nod of the head.

Rheade was tempted to laugh. He’d never received such a greeting! “Where is the ostler?” he asked, searching for the auld man. “I don’t want him to overhear.”

Joss scratched his head, nodding towards the far end of the stables.

The fellow was indeed out of earshot. Rheade suspected he didn’t hear much in any case. “Good, now why are ye here? Ye have news of Lady Margaret?”

“Misses ye,” Joss replied.

Rheade had dreaded dire tidings. His too-rapid heartbeat slowed. “I miss her too,” he said, sounding a bit too much like a lovesick swain for his liking. They might have only a few moments. He cleared his throat. “But there must be another reason ye came?”

Joss closed his eyes and chewed his lower lip. “Blair,” he announced, opening his eyes and looking satisfied.

Rheade pressed his finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. “Aye,” he replied, trying not to sound impatient. “This is Blair.”

“Blair,” Joss repeated. “Bhac.”

“Back? Back where?”

Joss stared blankly.

“Back where?” Rheade repeated, worried by the confusion on Joss’s round face.

“Rock,” Joss whispered.

“Rock?” Rheade asked.

“Loch,” Joss said.

“Lock or rock? Which is it?” Rheade asked, ready to explode. If Margaret had an important message to send why hadn’t she written it down?

Joss shook his head. “Burn.”

Feeling like he’d aged fifty years in the past hour, Rheade sat down on a bale of hay. “Let me see if I understand. There’s a locked—”

“Nay,” Joss shouted, his face red. “Loch Bhac, west, burn, rock.”

Rheade glanced over at the auld man but he didn’t show any signs of having heard the outburst. A spark kindled in his brain. A memory of a remote wee loch surfaced. “There’s a rock near a burn on the west side of Loch Bhac where we’ll find—?”

“Gram,” Joss declared.

Elation filled Rheade’s heart.
 

But hold on. “Margaret told ye this?”

Joss nodded.

“But how can she ken where he is?”

“Braden,” Joss replied without hesitation.

Rheade feared he might retch. “Her dead brother?”

Joss went back to brushing the horse as if he hadn’t just told Rheade a dead man had passed a message to Margaret. When he started to whistle a jaunty tune Rheade came close to jumping up and throttling him. He dug his fingers into the side of the wooden stall. “I’m supposed to organise a search of Loch Bhac based on a message from a dead man?” he asked sarcastically.

Joss turned to look at him as if he were the simpleton. “Aye.”

APRIL

April brought showers and warmer weather, but it didn’t thaw Margaret’s chilled heart. Since Joss’s disappearance, Triduana had treated her with suspicious disdain, leaving her isolated. She and the gardening nun hadn’t been close, but there had been an ease of conversation between them.

She sensed from the way the nuns eyed her word had leaked out about her betrothal to Robert Stewart. The gossip concerning the execution of the Stewarts had turned to discussion of the whereabouts of Robert Graham. The consensus seemed to be he had fled to France.

If it were true, what would Rheade think of her message, assuming Joss had reached Blair Castle? She scarcely believed Braden had appeared to her in a dream. Rheade would deem her mad, or somehow complicit in Graham’s plans.

Corryvrechan a portal to some future time? She’d certainly no intention of ever mentioning the notion to Rheade, or to anyone.

She closed her eyes, once again seeing Braden standing beside her pallet, as large as life. But he was dead! Perhaps the nunnery was where she should stay. People who fell into madness never recovered. They got worse.

Digging in the dirt eased her melancholy. She looked forward to escaping to the outdoors, even venturing out in the rain. She inhaled the fragrance of the burgeoning apple blossom, delighted in the appearance of snowdrops, bluebells, crocuses and daffodils. Triduana grudgingly showed her how to divide perennials. Some of the roots were difficult to separate, and had to be cut apart with a sharp dirk. Several were kept for the purpose in the tiny tool shed. Margaret slipped one into her sleeve as they were finishing work for the day, hoping Triduana never actually counted them. A woman never knew when she might need a weapon. Once inside, she hid it in the tiny cubby by her pallet.

In a month or two summer would come to Linlithgow. Would she still be here by then? She’d lost track of how many days she’d been at Emanuel, but guessed it was less than a month. She’d grown up with three brothers and was comfortable with men. Perhaps it was the reason she’d been immediately drawn to Rheade.

Women were more difficult. The prospect of spending her entire life as a religious filled her with dread. It was something she’d never contemplated, but then she’d never imagined falling in love with a brave highlander. She’d believed Robert Stewart was her destiny, and look where it had landed her.

She craved Rheade like the winter-hardened earth craved the sun and the rain. Without him she would wither and die. At night, alone on her pallet, she imagined his body curled around hers. She wished he’d taken her maidenhead. She might never get another chance to feel his manhood inside her. She remembered the hardness of him. How was it possible for a man to penetrate a woman? Her brothers had assured her that was what happened, but her mother had shared nothing. The idea of discussing such matters with Edythe was laughable, and the nuns, well, enough said.

She wondered if any of her brothers had ever made love to a woman before life was snatched from them. She snorted with laughter. Knowing the ruggedly handsome Braden, the answer was definitely
aye
!

Wherever he was, she hoped he was happy.

~~~

After breakfast the following day, Margaret was summoned to Mother Superior’s office. While it was a welcome relief not to participate in the scripture readings before Mass, the unknown reason for the summons made her nervous. Had Queen Joan decided to send her for trial, or was she bound directly for the gallows? As she followed in Sister Belinda’s waddling wake she imagined the announcements later in the day.
 

And by the way Lady Margaret Ogilvie is to be hung after Lauds on the morrow.

Most of the nuns likely wouldn’t be listening anyway. She had the impression the majority spent their days in some sort of trance. She wondered how many had come willingly to the Priory.

Belinda ushered her into the office then left. As usual, it was impossible to read anything from Mother Superior’s expression. If the other nuns did indeed know of her betrothal to Stewart, the news could only have come from this office, and she doubted the elderly woman had ever confided any secret to anyone.

She bowed her head. No point being antagonistic. “Mother,” she whispered reverently.

“Sit, Lady Margaret.”

The news was dire if she needed to be seated to hear it.

She looked around quickly and opted to perch on a tall wooden stool, the only piece of furniture in the office other than a well upholstered chair she was certain she wasn’t expected to choose.

“Her Majesty has summoned ye back to Stirling Castle.”

Since the stool had no back or arms to grip, it was fortunate she’d anchored her feet on the bottom strut. “Stirling,” she echoed.

“Aye. Yer clothes are on yer pallet. Change now and be ready to leave within the half hour.”

She opened her mouth to ask how she was to travel, but Mother Superior swept out of the poky chamber so quickly and quietly it reminded Margaret of the bats at Ogilvie House. They were gone before you knew they were there.

She hurried to the dormitory, earning annoyed glares from the nuns going into Mass. “Goodbye,” she wanted to yell.
 

Taking off the uncomfortable habit came as a relief. Once it was folded and laid out neatly she yanked off the stiff coif and wimple, scratched under her chin, then raked her fingers through her hair, thankful she hadn’t been forced to cut it short.