The Night Side (11 page)

She thought she had inured herself to such bodily pleasures, that she had even resigned herself to a life of prayerful sterility that lacked all passion. But Colin awakened all her old, frivolous desires and urged them to voice their longing.

“Ah, Holy Father! May the black vomit seize me!” Tearlach exclaimed, just loud enough to be heard in the room beyond. “You think he means tae take her tae holy deadlock?”

“That is
wedlock,
” George corrected sternly and with less volume. “And I certainly hope that he may, for I like him a great deal and Frances must marry someone.”

Mortification rushed over Frances, causing her to pull away. How could she have so forgotten herself as to allow this man to kiss her? And before an audience?

“Sorry,
ma belle,”
Colin said again softly, also taking a step back and dropping his hand from her face. When he spoke next it was as a gentleman should. “I should offer some sign of remorse for this embarrassment. But I cannot in sincerity do this. I even dare pray you will not shut yourself away from me hereafter. How would I bear the woe if you forbade me from your presence? Say you’ll not make it your pious office to stifle my pretensions, for it would be most cruel of you.”

Frances stared at him, her mind all abroad and her body still much shaken. Finally she murmured: “I have not forbidden you from my presence, though I probably should. That was not well done. By either of us.”

“I cannot help but disagree, as I am sure that it was done just right. I am however greatly relieved that I am not banished.” And then he smiled. It was a wonderful thing, magical and distracting.

“But, Colin, I do not wish to be…” She hunted for a word.

“Courted? Wooed?”

“
Oui
! I do not wish to be courted before Tearlach and the others. This must not happen again. If I am to have a—
friendship
—it shall not be with the whole of my people looking on. You will recall my dignity—and your own,” she ordered. “It is our duty to behave with decorum. To set an example.”

“Duty: she is a merciless deity, mistress. Let us render our respects to her but not worship there.”

“Monsieur, it is only proper that…” she began. Then a sudden thought occurred to her, causing her eyebrows to again draw together. Her voice lowered. “Are you quite certain that you did not do this simply to help MacJannet escape unnoticed?”

Colin’s smile widened. “Oh, aye, mistress. I am quite certain that I did not kiss you for MacJannet.”

The intelligence probably shouldn’t have pleased her, but it did. Of course, she wished to first be considered worthy of participating in intrigue and of being an able guardian for any of his plans or confidences, but one did not want to be kissed for any such dishonest reason. Not when one enjoyed it so very much!

The old hound whimpers crouched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.

—
Walter de la Mare, “The Song of Shadows”

“Where is Tearlach?” Colin asked sternly of the giggling Frances and George. He reckoned rightly that only something of an evil nature would have the two of them pressing heads together and looking mischievous. “You do know that virilia is a felony in my country, don’t you?”

“Virilia?” George asked.

“He is ill,” Frances answered promptly and then, with a clear demonstration that she knew at least some things that a lady should not, “No one has emasculated him. The fool flagellated his—his—himself with nettles and then made a…what is the word, George? A glister? And now he is probably dying.”

“A what?” Colin asked, his turn to be puzzled by a word.

“Actually, it was a feague,” George answered. “And it isn’t that he’s truly dying—just wanting to, you see.”

“No, I do not see. I am still, in fact, quite unenlightened,” Colin pointed out patiently. “What is a feague?
And why did he flagellate himself with nettles? And did either of you have anything to do with it?”

George colored. “Of course we did not! We could not. I mean, a feague is…um…it is when someone puts ginger up a horse’s fundament.”

“And if I were to flagellate him, it would not be with nettles,” Frances added.

“And may the good Lord preserve us from this linguistic morass,” Colin muttered. “Did you truly just say that a feague was something done to horses?”

Seeing Colin’s horrified expression, George hurried on: “It encourages inferior beasts to keep their tails up and be lively in their step when they are being shown to buyers. It isn’t strictly honest, of course, and a gentleman wouldn’t do it. But in any event, Tearlach gave himself one and it has made a terrible feff. It’s worse than if he had taken surfeitwater.”

“A feff?” Colin found himself missing MacJannet. He didn’t comment upon the late lord’s obvious lack of morals in resorting to such trickery when selling livestock, but rather concentrated on the peculiar and possibly dangerous activities of those Balfours closer at hand.

“
Puer
. He had a fleshquake,” Frances translated kindly. “Use real words, George. Colin does not understand the silly local language.”

“A fleshquake?” Colin asked, turning toward his amused lady and enjoying the way her eyes shone above her belatedly prim mouth.

“
Oui.
And he is now the color of a
feuille mort.
And his flatuosity has cleared the privies and most of the hall. Even the kitchen has complained. We shall be lucky to have any meals prepared today.”

“Well, if he has turned the color of a dead leaf, then we must assume that ginger has failed to aid him in—what precisely
was
this supposed to aid him in? You mentioned surfeitwater. Was he suffering from overfullness?”

George glanced at Frances and lowered his voice a notch. It wasn’t sufficient to prevent her hearing, but showed an inclination toward discretion that few in the castle possessed. “Nay, it was hippuris.”

“He thought this would cure, um…” Colin stopped. He was a plainspoken man, but would not speak of this affliction in front of Frances, no matter how much he lowered his voice.

“He says it was from riding a bad horse three years ago, but I have never heard of horseback riding causing…this ailment. Personally, I think he used this excuse because no one believes him about the ghost. Besides, everyone knows you shouldn’t use ginger insufflation on people. It doesn’t cure
that,
even in horses. It just causes friskiness and is always followed by bowelhives.”

“I suppose this explains the nettles, too,” Colin muttered. The sexually adventuresome in his own country had been known to use nettles as a stimulant. He was tempted to ask about the ghost but decided not to interrupt the present conversation to chase down another point.

“What I find most annoying is that he had ginger root and did not share it with the kitchen,” Frances announced. “What a thief and
cochon
!”

“Don’t insult the pigs,” Colin scolded, but mildly. “Swine are not made the way this creature is. Nor do they steal. Still, that is an interesting point. I wonder
where he got the ginger root. That is a bit exotic for this far north, not at all the common stock of a swygman.” He, too, could use some local dialect.

“Nay, it did not come from a peddler, I am certain. I believe it was left by my uncle’s horse chaunter,” George answered. “And as he is dead now, I don’t think it was stealing precisely if Tearlach took it.”

“That is true, George,” Frances conceded. She did not admit to Colin that he was correct about the swine. In fact, she seemed suddenly disinclined to look at Colin at all. Her long lashes were pulled down like a veil and her face was slightly averted. She no longer smiled, perhaps recalling their meeting last night and wondering again where precisely he stood betwixt the boundaries of earnestness and game. She was new to the game of formal dalliance, but still aware that it existed and was played by others.

“I thought I heard a dog fooffing last night and thought maybe it was the Bokey hound,” George said, seeming to change conversational direction abruptly. “But I see now that it was only Tearlach haunting the privy.”

“That is something to gratulate about,” Frances told him, glancing up. Her voice was firm. “You should rejoice that it was not a hound of Hell roaming our castle. Cleaning up after them is most tiring.”

“I do congratulate myself,” George assured her, but with only half of his heart. “It is just that it would be very different and exciting to see a hellhound. And I can’t think that it would hurt me anyway because I
like
dogs. Even ghostly ones.” He paused. “Or so I believe.”

“You would not want to see one if it meant some-one
were to die. And hellhounds are
not
dogs.” Frances frowned, laying a hand on the curve of his cheek. In another year or two it would firm up, but for now it was still the skin of a child. “George, I know that it has lately been most boring here,
mon cousin
—”

“Nay,” he denied instantly, meeting her eyes. “I did not mean to complain. And certainly I don’t want anyone here to die—especially us. I was forgetting that part of the legend.”

“I know you are not complaining. It is just that…
Je regrette,
” Frances murmured, spreading her hands wide. “I should not have brought you here until it was safe. I wasn’t considering what could happen when I brought you here.”

The two young cousins looked at one another, their fondness and concern—and unhappiness—for one another’s position clear for anyone to see.

“Perhaps I should send for the myomancer,” Frances suggested daringly, proving to Colin that idleness was in fact the mistress of vice. Prophesying was frowned on by priests of both religions. These two needed diversion of a healthier nature.

“Nay, you know what happened last time. We had no sooner started the divination than the mice got free and ran up Sine’s skirts, scaring her into hysterics.”

Frances’s expression grew a shade darker. “Perhaps the tyromancer?”

“Do you really want to spend all day looking for portents in coagulating cheese?” George asked practically. “I should prefer not to.”

Frances sighed. “Well…then the gyromancer?”

George snorted. “I do not believe that watching people spin until they fall down is a true form of
divination.” He grinned suddenly. “Of course, it is very amusing to watch, so you may have them up if you will. Perhaps Mr. Mortlock would enjoy it as well.”

Colin opened his mouth to reply in the negative, but Frances sighed and spoke before he could answer.

“I don’t know what is best to do. Surely there must be something that would put your mind at ease about hellhounds. If sealing up the wall has not reassured you,
mon cousin
…” Her delicate brow furrowed.

“It has,” George replied. “At least, it has assured me that no one shall steal inside the castle through that old hole. I am just mopish today because Tearlach ruined my sleep. Don’t concern yourself anymore. I shall go and…and…practice archery.”

Colin was an observer of his fellow man, not prone to interference, but he suddenly and passionately wished to intervene in this small domestic unhappiness. Both Frances and George struck some hitherto unnoticed string in his heart and it resonated at a compassionate hum, which was hard to ignore.

He knew something about loneliness and loss, and of being a stranger in a foreign land where others assumed you should belong because of your family’s blood ties. More than anyone at the castle, he could understand how the solitary situation would weigh down the spirits of two young people used to more genial society and amusements.

But because he had learned long ago to secure his safety by protecting himself from any betraying or weakening emotion, even to friends, he did not make any announcement of this heartfelt revelation of empathy for their plight. Such confidences only came late in friendships, if they ever came at all.

Still, he felt he had to do something. Before Colin
stopped to consider the wisdom of his words, he heard himself saying: “Enough of this superstitious nonsense. Next you’ll be calling for a
taghairm
and wrapping yourselves in slaughter bullock pelts and waiting for ghosts to appear. The gloom and bad air is obviously affecting you. Since we can’t remain within the castle while Tearlach is ill, we had best go out. I’ll fetch the clubs. I think it is time we had another lesson. You’ll entirely forget the last one else.”

“I should greatly enjoy that. But is this wise?” Frances asked, glancing at the gate. She had not forgotten that danger threatened the boy.

Colin stared at her expressive face, where longing for the outdoors and responsibility for her young cousin were doing battle. “Nay,” he answered frankly. “But sometimes we must do what it good for the soul at the risk of the body. King Henry himself said that youth must have some dalliance. We shall be vigilant. I shall bring a sword, and you two must also carry dirks.”

The two cousins nodded solemnly, looking a bit like the sad monkey King Henry kept at court. The only time the beast appeared truly happy was when he was allowed to fling food at unwanted guests. His aim was usually quite good.

Colin grinned suddenly. “On second thought, if we are attacked, Lady Frances, you had best use your club on our attacker. Your swing is deadlier than the sharpest blade. Were you a bit stronger I should be tempted to train you in the use of the mace and morning star.”

“
Oui? Merci, du compliment.
If you are sure that this is best for George, then I am most happy to comply!” Frances announced, not at all put out by his words. It seemed silly to her that women were not
taught to fight with swords and other weapons. She added: “It has just occurred to me that today at least we shall not be followed by the hedge-creep, as he is too busy poisoning the privy with colic to pursue us. And perhaps—with the hole gone—he shall suffocate himself with bad air and even be dead when we return. He already looks like whey.”

Colin shook his head at this normal if impetuous speech and wondered if he should even try curing her of her lack of compassion for the piper. It was amusing, but also a bit alarming that the piper’s possible demise should cause such unhealthy enthusiasm.

“Monsieur Mortlock, do you wish to dress in your official attire before we depart? You do not seem to enjoy wearing the
coleur de roy
I chose for you.”

“Under other circumstances,” he lied tactfully, “I should be happy to wear the garments of office that you kindly provided. But I think more subtle clothing is what we need. In fact, it would be best if you left off your crimson cloak for the green one.”

Frances met his eyes for a moment and then nodded briskly.

They returned from their uneventful and only slightly imperiling game of gowff, to be met with some interesting, and even alarming, intelligence from inside the lowered gate.

Sine was waiting for them at the yett and signaled immediately that it should be raised to let them all in. Her state of agitation and indignation were obvious as she fluttered up to them.

“That odious Tearlach!” she whispered as they hurried under the heavy iron trap that thudded shut behind them. “I can’t believe his inhospitable nature.”

“What has he done now?” Colin asked, setting down the pannier of clubs and laying his sword aside. “I thought he was too ill to be making a nuisance of himself.”

“We had visitors,” Sine began, only to be interrupted by the arrival of a still very pale Tearlach.

Frances and George both frowned at his appearance, and took a step backward from the piper, as though fearing he were still ill and might infect them with his rude smell.

“They were nae visitors. They were rufflers begging charity at the gate.”

“They were not rufflers, but rather soldiers lately returned from the war!” Sine objected.

“
Pshaw!
They were naething of the sort. They had the look of fighting men, I’ll grant ye. But they were nae returning frae the war. Use yer God-given senses, woman! There is naething here tae return tae—except Noltland. If they were Gunns, MacDonnells, or MacKays, then they wouldnae have been stopping here with their own kin sae nearby. And beyond us there is nowt but sea.”

“How many were there?” Colin asked quietly, adding to himself: “They could not have come by boat, for we were near the cliffs and would have seen them.”

“Twoscore—that I could see,” Tearlach answered. “But more may hae been concealed in the rocks. I was about tae set out after ye.”

“Perhaps there were, though we saw no sign of anyone lingering there while we were out. George, come away from the gate,” Colin said, his absentminded tone not matching his alarming words. “Don’t leave your back exposed that way. I’d hate for an arrow to find you.”

Both George and Frances whirled about to look through the iron lath of the yett, and then whisked themselves into the protection of the stone wall. They peered cautiously around the corner, searching out enemies on the moor. There was alarm but also excitement in George’s face.