The Forest Laird (19 page)

“He didn’t, when he thought I was just another tomcat circling around his daughter. But he changed his mind once he discovered I was a tomcat with influential friends and could support a wife. Bishop Wishart knows the man and he vouched for me.” He paused, then asked, “Is that all right?”

“Of course it is.” I realized how stupid that sounded and raised my hands. “Forgive me, Will. That took me by surprise and it should not have. I hope you will be very happy together. Will you take her with you to Glasgow?”

“I will. ‘Whither thou goest …’ I know I have no need to tell you where that comes from.”

“No, you don’t. But it was Ruth who said it to her mother-in-law, not to her spouse. But I know what you mean … You’ll see the Bishop while you’re there?”

“Aye, as soon as I get there, as I promised him. And he said he would see to it that my arrows were sold for the best price. Besides, Murray once said he keeps a fine table, and I enjoy good food while I’m listening to anything profound … Speaking of which, I’m starved. I’ve been on the road since before dawn and it’s close to noon. Have you eaten this morning? Can we go by the kitchens while we talk?”

Time passed as quickly as it always did in his company, and when the bell for nones summoned me to noonday prayer we parted, me to my duties and him to Elderslie and Sir Malcolm. I had not the slightest doubt that I would see him again very soon, but in those days I had not yet learned the folly of expecting anything in life to turn out as we expect.

CHAPTER SIX

1

T
hey came for him in Elderslie the following Saturday at first light. Sir Malcolm himself heard the hammering at his doors and roused himself from his bed to cross to the window, where he could look down into the grey dawn from his upstairs room. The yard was full of soldiers wearing the red saltire on gold of Bruce of Annandale. Ordering his startled wife to stay where she was, the knight charged out of his bedroom and made his way downstairs, shrugging hastily into a thick robe to cover his nakedness. He shouldered his way past his steward, who was holding the door open while attempting to bar entry to the men outside, and found himself face to face with a large, glowering man clad all in black.

“Who in Hades are you, and what madness brings you here like this to Wallace’s door? D’you come seeking criminals in my house, or are you merely looking to provoke my wrath?”

The stranger raised a gauntleted hand, holding out a rolled parchment stamped and sealed with a broad wafer of heavy, red wax. Sir Malcolm frowned suddenly, recognizing the elaborate seal.

“What is this?”

“A warrant for the arrest of one William Wallace. Are you him?”

Sir Malcolm’s fury had vanished and he drew himself up and answered mildly, his voice pitched low. “No, I am not. And I think you know that. I am Malcolm Wallace, knight of the realm and lord of this estate. Who are you?”

“Walter Armstrong, bailiff to Robert Bruce, Lord of—”

“I know who Robert Bruce is, man. He has held my oath and my loyalty all my life, as he held my father’s before me. I have already asked you what nonsense brings you hammering so damnably at my door at this hour, for I cannot believe Bruce himself would send you thus. Did he?”

“I hold a warrant for the arrest of one William—”

“
Did Bruce send you here?
” Sir Malcolm’s roar cut the words from the bailiff’s mouth and brought up the heads of the soldiers at the fellow’s back.

A sullen flush crept slowly over the man’s cheeks and he looked as though he wanted to spit in the knight’s eye, but both of them knew it would mean his death to do so. “No,” he said. “But I am here on his authority.”

“No,
what
? Are you insolent to every knight you meet?”

The bailiff’s eyes grew angrier, but when he spoke again his words were subdued. “No, Sir Malcolm. Lord Robert is in Glasgow, on the business of the realm. But I was sent on—”

“Be damned to you, you oaf. You were sent here by someone who hopes to see you dead for it, knowing your surly tongue.” Sir Walter looked down in silence at the warrant until he had recovered himself, and then he spoke again in a calm voice. “William Wallace is my nephew. What does this warrant concern?”

“Poaching. The slaughter and theft of deer belonging to the Lord Bruce, from his lands adjoining your own.”

Sir Walter reared up again. “That is arrant nonsense. My nephew is a verderer, my senior forester, and a justiciary officer of this estate. Such a crime is beyond his nature. When did this atrocity take place?”

The bailiff smirked. “Four days ago, Sir Malcolm. And as for it being beyond your
nephew’s
nature, that may be your opinion, but it needna be the case, not if the man wields a long yew bow and shoots white-fletched, white-banded arrows. Your nephew does both, I’m told.”

Sir Malcolm felt a sour sickness roiling in his gut. He had watched his nephew paint the broad white band around the midpoint of each of his arrows. That, plus their distinctive white snow goose fletching, made them, Will had explained, easier to find in featureless clumps of undergrowth. He nodded his head slowly.

“As you say, he does. And so he must plainly answer to you, on whatever grounds he may stand accused. I will bring him to you, but he is not here now. Not on my lands or anywhere within reach this day. You have my word on that, on both counts. Tell me about this supposed crime.”

When the bailiff spoke next his voice lacked much of the truculence that had marked it earlier.

“There’s no supposing involved, sir. We ha’e sworn testimony frae an eyewitness who saw the accused William Wallace slaughter a small herd of deer and leave them where they fell, a wanton atrocity. He cut out all the arrows afterwards, save one that he could not dislodge, and he cut the end off that, to hide the fletching, but he mistook an’ left one broken bit o’ flightin’ behind him.”

“And you have that piece of feather.”

“We do, sir. Forbye the cut shaft. It bears white paint. No’ much, but enough to mark it plain enough.”

“I see. So my nephew is not merely a felon, he is a careless fool, to boot. I must say that surprises me. I had not thought him foolish. Why would he do such a thing? It seems senseless. Wanton, as you said.”

The bailiff nodded, seeming more sympathetic now that the knight’s anger had died down.

Sir Malcolm looked beyond the bailiff, out into the yard. A full score of soldiers stood there, all of them armed and watching the group at the open door, and the knight’s gaze took in the two halfarmoured sergeants-at-arms who stood vigilantly at the bailiff’s back, missing nothing. He sighed.

“These are ill tidings, Bailiff. A sore start to any day. But you have my attention and my belief, and I fear I do you a disservice, keeping you here like this on the doorstep.” He stepped back from the door. “Come you inside and bring your sergeants with you, and we’ll decide what’s best to do. Come.”

The bailiff hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Commendable distrust, I suppose,” Sir Malcolm said. “You fear I ha’e lied to you and my nephew might escape while I detain you.

Well, I’ll ignore the slur upon my honour because of the circumstance, and you may have your men search the grounds and buildings while we talk. But mind you see they do no harm. There has been damage aplenty done to me and mine already this morning. Make your arrangements, then my man here will bring you to me when you’re done. I’ll be back down as soon as I have calmed my goodwife and put on some clothes.”

Neither man required much time to do what he must do, and Sir Malcolm heard the sounds of shuffling, mailed feet on the flagstones of the hallway as he reached the head of the stairs, having left Lady Margaret waiting anxiously in their bedchamber.

“Sit ye down, gentlemen,” he said, entering the large family room where they awaited him. He took his own big chair while they seated themselves, the two sergeants-at-arms removing their steel bonnets. Fergus the steward was already pouring mugs of the household’s ale, and the men drank in silence, until the knight set his cup down on the small table by his chair.

“So,” he began. “A sorry tale, and one I had no need to hear, this day or any other. A herd, you say? How many?”

“Seven, sir. A buck and six does.”

“And left there? To rot?”

“Aye, Sir Malcolm, just so.”

“And it was done out of sheer malice? Are you sure of that?”

“As sure as any man who wasna there can be. Assured on oath, as witnessed.”

“Is your witness trustworthy?”

“He is, sir. One of our own. A verderer himself. He saw it all.”

“And made no move to stop it?”

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty disturbed the bailiff’s gaze. “He was alone, Sir Malcolm, and feared for his life.”

Sir Malcolm’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “His life? Are you telling me now my nephew is a would-be murderer as well as a poacher of deer?”

“Our witness thought so, sir, being there alone. And I canna say I blame him. Who can say what any man will do, caught in a crime?

There’s no’ a man among us who doesna have the power to do murder, ’gin he’s provoked enough.”

Sir Malcolm growled deep in his throat. “Aye. Provocation makes the difference. Who is this timid verderer of yours?”

“His name is Francis Tidwell, sir.”

“That sounds English.”

“It is—he is English born and bred. He came to Lord Robert’s employ as a verderer ten years ago.”

“So when did this happen? The crime was discovered four days ago, you say?”

“Aye, sir, on Wednesday. Six days after the accused man, William Wallace, was observed returning here from—” He stopped short.

Sir Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “He was
observed
? How and by whom?” He did not wait for an answer. “Does it not strike you as strange, Master Bailiff, that my nephew should be
observed
days before he supposedly commits a crime? And even stranger that the observer should know he was
returning
from somewhere?”

“Aye … Well … I canna answer that. I ken only that Tidwell mentioned it, but I canna tell you how he knew it.”

“I’m sure you can’t, but there’s one thing you can’t deny, since it came from your own mouth. Someone was watching my nephew long before he was accused of anything.” Sir Malcolm leaned back in his chair. “So, who sent you here to arrest our William, Master Bailiff? You said Lord Robert is in Glasgow.”

The other man stirred and his boots scraped on the floor as he shifted his weight. “I was sent by Master Bellow, Lord Robert’s factor.”

“Ah, Master Bellow. I should have known. Master Bellow has harboured little fondness for me or my kin since he and I fell out, nigh on twelve years ago. He is a dour man. A fine factor, no doubt, but an unlikeable man … Would you know where Lord Robert is, in Glasgow? Exactly? You said he was on the business of the realm, did you not?”

The bailiff blinked. “Aye, I did, but how would I know where his lordship bides? I’m his bailiff, no’ his friend. He wouldna even know my face, was I to meet him.”

“Then I might be able to help you. In all probability he is in residence at the Bishop’s Palace. That is where most of the realm’s business is conducted nowadays, at least in these southern parts. And that, if my guess is sound, makes this entire affair very interesting …”

“What d’ye mean?” The man was frowning now.

“I mean, Master Bailiff, that if Lord Robert Bruce is in Glasgow, and at the Bishop’s Palace, he would likely be aware that my nephew, this same slaughterous William Wallace, has been there, too, for this past week and more, conferring with Bishop Wishart. He came home ten days ago from a journey, that much is true. But he left again the very next day, bound for Glasgow, to meet with Bishop Wishart at his lordship’s invitation. He left at daybreak, to be in Glasgow by nightfall, so I have little doubt that his going was
un
observed, and your story proves that it was. So unless my nephew has seduced the Bishop of Glasgow himself into returning with him to these parts to poach and slaughter Lord Robert’s deer, I would suggest you question your witness more closely as to the truth surrounding the events he was so eager to swear to under solemn oath. The man is plainly a liar, and if I have to bring Bishop Wishart and Robert Bruce himself here together to confront the knave and judge him of the attempted murder of my nephew through false testimony, then by God’s beard I will do so. Have you heard me, Master Bailiff?”

As soon as the bailiff had led his men away to arrest their false witness, Sir Malcolm dispatched two men to summon a family gathering. That done, he called in his wife, whose judgment he trusted above any man’s, and the two of them set to planning what must be done.

2

T
he adults of the family met in session late that afternoon, before the sun began to set, and Sir Malcolm wasted no time in telling us that he had already discussed the matter with Lady Margaret and with Ewan, and they were all in agreement that much had to be done in a short space of time. I did not have the chance to wonder why Ewan should be involved as Sir Malcolm launched into a word-for-word description of what had transpired that morning. He was a natural storyteller and he held all of us enthralled as he brought the morning’s events to life.

“Where is Will now?” Father Peter asked when he had finished. “Do we know?”

Sir Malcolm shrugged. “Your guess would be as good as mine. Somewhere ’twixt here and Glasgow, unless he bides there yet.”

“Who bides where yet?”

None of us had heard or seen his arrival, but suddenly there he was, his arms filled with bolts of brightly coloured cloth that he carried straight towards his aunt Margaret, weaving his way between tables and chairs. He lowered the bundles into her lap and then bussed her soundly while she reached up from her seat to embrace his neck and ruffle his hair in welcome. He winked at me in greeting, and then glanced around at the rest, and his face and voice became grave.

“The Wallaces in conclave. Have I missed something important?”

“Aye, you have,” his uncle replied. “Armed men—Bruce’s men—come to take you away for hanging.”

Will looked sideways at his uncle, a laugh forming on his lips. “For hanging? What, they’ll hang a man now for swearing his allegiance?”

“No, for killing his lord’s deer.” There was no doubting his uncle’s seriousness, and Will straightened abruptly, all signs of humour fading from his face.

“What are you saying, Uncle?”

“I said it clearly and it is true. But it is already dealt with. What did
you
mean by ‘swearing allegiance’? Did you meet the Elder Bruce?”

“Aye, in Glasgow. Bishop Wishart named me to him.”

Sir Malcolm frowned. “To what end? Why would he make you known to Robert Bruce, and you a mere verderer?”

Will’s eyebrows rose. “In courtesy, Uncle. Lord Robert arrived while the Bishop and I were talking, and he asked me who I was. Bishop Wishart introduced us and then left us together for a time while he attended to something else. We talked, the old man and I, and I ended up offering him my allegiance. He remembered my father, vaguely, through the Countess of Carrick, and he knows you, of course, as his own man, but he even knew that my brother Malcolm is another of his knights, riding with his son, the Earl of Carrick. I liked him. He is an impressive old man, if somewhat stiff—distant and old-fashioned.”

“Aye,” said Sir Malcolm. “He has lived long enough to be oldfashioned with legitimacy. And he has the right to be aloof. He is next in line to the throne, should anything befall the Maid. Where is he now, do you know?”