The Night Side (12 page)

Sine’s mouth fell open and her eyes went wide.

“They were assassins sent to kill George?” Frances asked, her face suddenly as pale as the piper’s. She didn’t find this adventure exciting.

“I doubt it,” Colin answered calmly, nipping incipient hysteria in the bud. “But the temptation might prove irresistible if an enemy were granted an opportunity. We’d best not appeal to their worst natures.”

Sine’s mouth was still slightly agape. “But they said they were hungry,” she expostulated. “To refuse them entry was not generous.”

“Perhaps not. But it was prudent,” Colin said.

“Stop haverin’, woman. They had some bannocks and water,” Tearlach interjected, looking her over with a haggard eye. “They willnae starve. And the night shall be a fine one, sae they shallnae freeze.”

“Colin is correct. I am sorry, Sine, to be so unkind. I know it is not the custom to be inhospitable to strangers, but we must be cautious. This was most wise of you, Tearlach. I had not thought you so shrewd,” Frances said, pushing herself away from the wall and coming toward him in a rush of sudden gratitude. Her newly found respect stopped short of allowing herself to touch him, but she managed a smile. “We must all be very vigilant and see to George’s protection.”

“Aye, that we maun! Or end murdered in our beds,” Tearlach agreed, turning about and heading back for
the keep. He moved clumsily, as though all his bones were loose in their sockets and uncertain of keeping themselves aligned.

“I was born in England and intend to die there, not in the wilds of Scotland,” Colin began.

“Some men hae nae ambition tae better themselves,” Tearlach muttered scathingly, proving that though his legs were unstable, his ears were still keen, and his mind reasonably coherent.

“Sine,” Frances said to the disturbed older woman, as Tearlach disappeared inside the castle. “Perhaps we should brew Tearlach a posset. We have milk and wine,
oui
? And perhaps there is still some tincture of the moon?”

“Aye, we do have some. Mayhap that would calm his—uh—stomach. And perhaps a bit of rosemary and sage vinegar as well. I’ll see to it,” she promised, hurrying away, but not before sending a long and very worried look in George’s direction.

“Sine,” Frances called after her. “Wait! I know you are concerned by events, but do not gossip with the sculleries. We must be discreet and not cause alarm. There is already talk because of the dungeon and suddenly repairing the privies.”

Sine’s eyes widened as she considered Frances’s words, but she nodded reluctantly.

“Those men were truly after me?” George asked, finally finding his tongue. He also pushed away from the cold wall. He said in a small voice: “Having men want to kill me suddenly seems worse than hellhounds. And is especially unfair when I don’t even wish to be the heir to this drafty keep.”

“They want the keep, of that I am certain,” Colin
answered. “It would be most strategically valuable to the clans warring in this region. And being unaware of who is actually in charge here, they may feel that getting rid of you would force Frances and her supposed men into surrendering the castle.”

“Only there are no men,” George said. He was a trifle pale, but two spots of angry color had bloomed in his cheeks. “Just you and Tearlach. Bloody hell! They could have slaughtered the women, had they been let inside. What if Tearlach had not thought to close the gate against them? And what if they had gotten Frances?”

“They would not have killed the women. And do not forget yourself while counting up men,” Colin reminded him, soothing his young wrath with more measured calm. “You’ve grown proficient with the bow and would be a strong adversary in a fight.”

George’s thin chest expanded under the praise. “I
have
gotten better,” he said. “But you truly think that they would not have harmed the women if they had gotten inside? I have heard some dreadful stories of things happening in the South.”

Colin looked into Frances’s worried eyes and answered carefully. “They should not have killed them, of that I am fairly certain. In any event, we need not go leaping to the worst conclusion about our visitors. They may have been what they seemed. Still, we can’t have them gossiping about affairs at the keep. To have your neighbors learn that there are few men here would be bad. They do not know your cousin’s stubborn nature, and, thinking her weak-willed, they would be tempted to besiege the castle and try to force a surrender.”

“Bloody bastards,” George muttered again, and then, with a guilty start he said to Frances: “Sorry, cousin. I forgot your presence.”

“Do not be troubled, cousin. I have been thinking much worse things—only in French. Colin, I believe it is time for us to take George into our confidence,” Frances said firmly, laying a hand on George’s shoulder. She looked up into Colin’s eyes and said persuasively: “It is not right that he should think the danger of the spectral hound is nothing when it is actually quite real.”

“I agree, but we cannot discuss this before the others in case there is an intelligencer in the house,” Colin answered, picking up the pannier of clubs and his sword. “Tonight, after we dine, we shall retire to chambers and have a council of war. There I will explain my strategy and suspicions, and we shall make a plan that includes George and his talents.”

Frances and George both blinked at this announcement.

“In the meantime, you must both go about your day as usual and show no trepidation. It would not do to let anyone suspect that we are in any way fearful of what they might do. Not until we have designed the right trap and want to lure them into the open. I shall see you at table.”

“
Incroyable
!” Frances breathed, watching Colin’s tall figure depart.

“I’ve never been part of a council of war,” George said, clearly pleased with the idea. His color had returned to normal.

“Nor have I, for it is not at all conventional for females to do this,” Frances answered. “But he is a
creature of much decision, and I believe we are fortunate to have him for a guide.”

“Unless he is the enemy,” George added, suddenly thoughtful.

“I do not believe that he is,” Frances answered, trying to sound completely sure of herself. She pointed out: “Had he wished you harm he could have killed you already and opened the gates to our enemies.”

“That is true,” George said cheerfully, prepared to forget his momentary suspicion. “Then we have nothing to worry about from that quarter—which is fortunate, as I quite like him, and I am certain he will be able to teach me to play gowff well. Eventually.”

Frances nodded, but did not speak any of the thoughts passing through her mind as they turned toward the keep. It would not be kind to alarm her young cousin by mentioning that Colin was a much more subtle man, and probably quite capable of finding some way other than bloody murder to get rid of the young heir, if that was what he had a mind to do. She did not want to look their gift horse in the mouth, lest suspicion swallow her and send her newfound hope down the long black gullet to despair that always waited these days. But she would still have to keep an eye upon him. It was belatedly occurring to her that Colin Mortlock was too masterful to be a mere instructor of gowff. What had she been thinking? Only a man well born would have such intimate knowledge of the English king.

She sighed softly. It was hard that their problems should be so large. One year ago, all she had worried about was escaping the boredom of the convent. Now she had to agonize over the welfare of all those who
lived at Noltland, especially her young cousin. It made for a trilemma, trying to decide which was more dangerous: the hellhound, the possible spy in their midst, or Colin Mortlock trifling with her heart.

O wha is this that has done this deed,
And tauld the king o me,
To send us out at this time of the year
To sail upon the sea?

—
“The Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens”

Colin looked at his two small companions and had to smile wryly at the thought of them being his soldiers to command. They were the tiniest, least physically imposing army he had ever seen. Still, he had waged wars of wits with less intelligent allies and carried the day, so he was not concerned overmuch by their intrusion. He actually welcomed their thoughts. The only trick would be to assure their safety while he tracked down the traitor in their midst and dealt with him or her. He had a feeling that both George and Frances would strive for more active participation than he had in mind.

Colin carefully poured out three glasses of wine from the bottle he had brought to Frances’s bedchamber and assumed a suitably serious mien. He had already decided to begin their council by explaining the benefits of welcoming William Kirkcauldy, Bishop of Orkney, into their nominally Catholic midst. This would be the tricky part, for the Catholics of Scotland had every reason to fear the reformers massing around
them. The Anglicization of Ireland and Scotland had gone further than King Henry had ever envisioned when he had declared himself the head of the Church of England, in order to attain an annulment from his first wife, and had started importing reformers over the border. He hadn’t even needed to waste many resources murdering the annoying Catholic Scots, for the Protestant Reformers who embraced Luther’s war cry had happily done it for him. The Catholics of Scotland still had the throne behind them, but Colin was certain the Protestants would eventually have their way. The pageantry and corruption that went with the wealth of the Catholic Church had never sat well with the poor but honest Highlanders. And many former Catholic priests, young John Knox among them, had enthusiastically embraced the new faith and its promised reforms.

Personally, Colin found both sides of the religious skirmish to be annoyingly dogmatic, and as dangerous and unreasonable as a pack of rabid dogs. Yet a tool was a tool. He needed a weapon of defense and the Bishop of Orkney was conveniently at hand. The trick would be to not stand up so tall that anyone wanted to lop their heads off when the Protestants came scything for blasphemers. It was Colin’s experience that much would be forgiven, but not religious impudence.

“Our greatest weapons are of course our minds and the knowledge accumulated therein,” Colin began. “That said, I do not despise cold iron, and suggest that henceforth you both go about armed. At the very least you must carry a
sgian dubh
in your boot. Nor should you venture out alone.”

Frances and George nodded solemnly, their eyes very large.

“I know there is some trepidation about bringing the Bishop of Orkney to visit Noltland, but I think I can put your mind at ease about this matter. Though we have passed through an unsettled time, and the religious strife is by no means completely behind us, I can state with near certitude that the reformers are going to have their way politically here in Scotland. There will be holdouts like Cardinal Beaton, who will resist with heroic stupidity until he is assassinated, but they will not prevail, and it is important in the greater picture that Noltland be seen as being friendly to, if not actually aligned with, the forces of change. We are, so to speak, going to walk the crown of the causeway and try not to wet our feet in the spiritual tidewater.”

“But—” Frances began, starting to frown.

“However, political consideration is for another day. What is of more immediate importance is that we have some strong ally here at Noltland to hold your greedy neighbors at bay until your men return home. We need someone both powerful and honest to serve as our shield.”

“And they say hen’s teeth are rare,” George muttered. “Where are we to find honest but powerful men?”

“Don’t be despairing,” Colin answered. “Fate has encompassed us with a tremendous sea of misfortune. But while we are encumbered, we are not completely enclosed, and we can escape this trap as long as we remain vigilant, with a firm hand on the helm until the wind of change comes about.”

“The men
will
return then?” Frances asked. “And soon? And the bishop’s people shall not need to linger once they are here? I cannot help feeling that we shall attract much unwanted attention if he remains for
any time. Our neighbors are not fond of the new religion.”

“There shall return as many men as still live and can be found by MacJannet in reasonable time. It is a somewhat tricky task, but in this search he will be aided by William Kirkcauldy, since it is in the bishop’s interest to prevent this keep from falling to unfriendly Catholic hands. I believe the terminus, at least of this difficulty, is within sight, so we may be at ease. Stop frowning. These worried looks you wear quite kill my optimistic mood. One would think you had no faith in me,” he chided.

Frances and George both exhaled loudly and Colin went on: “The trouble of your neighbors setting about to scare or capture you, George, is another matter entirely. And one not so easily settled. Henceforth, neither of you is to leave the castle grounds unless I am with you. Not for any reason, and not even in the company of the bishop’s men. I don’t care who summons you. Unless MacJannet or I am with you, you must not leave the safety of the keep. And even within it you must be cautious. It is not beyond all possibility that your neighbors have a confederate within the castle.”

“No!” Frances denied swiftly. “It cannot be. Everyone here is Balfour by blood or by marriage.”

“I am sorry, but it is a possibility—nay, a probability—we must not ignore. I know the thought is distasteful, and it is not my desire that you feed on the bitter bread of distrust, but you must bear in mind that someone might be playing the part of intelligencer for what they perceive to be an innocent reason. They may even be carrying out tales unaware. Can you be absolutely certain that no one ever has contact with the outside world? What of the beggars who stopped
here earlier? What of the widows who might have allegiances with their blood families? Or someone who has a lover? Can you risk your own and George’s life on this naïve hope of complete Balfour clan loyalty?”

Frances and George exchanged a glance.

“
Non,
we cannot be certain,” she finally said. She turned her troubled gaze upon Colin. “There are probably those who would say I am most foolish to trust you, that
you
might be the intelligencer who wishes us harm.”

George gasped softly at her audacity, his eyes going wide and owl-like.

“Very true,” Colin agreed affably. “I am, after all, related to the MacLeod. Of course, this hound was heard before my arrival, but it might be a subtle plot concocted by my cousin when he was last here, one to which I am now joined. George, don’t look so disturbed. Have some more wine. Your cousin and I are merely fencing.”

Frances frowned, trying to imagine the MacLeod being subtle. The image would not form. Nor could she see Colin as being the subordinate Judas to any man. She felt certain that if he intrigued, it would be for his own ends, and she could not see anything he might want that he could not have by easier means.

“Are you an intelligencer for your cousin?” she asked straightly, making George choke on a mouthful of wine.

“Nay, I am not. But he certainly intended for me to be,” Colin answered with breathtaking frankness, staring into her pleading gaze and wishing he could kiss the worry away. He tried not to think how close this was to an outright lie. He wasn’t intriguing for his cousin, but he was definitely an intelligencer. “And if
the MacLeod can plan such a thing, so can others. You are wise to remain wary.”

George’s seizure of coughing grew worse with Colin’s answer, causing Frances to momentarily look away from her Master of the Gowff.

“My cousin, are you well? You are quite red of face.” She laid a hand over her bosom, as though to still her own turbulent heart.

“Aye,” George whispered, wiping away a tear. “I breathed when I should have swallowed.”

Colin took a sip of his own wine before going on. “
My
own cousin, however, forgot the first rule of puppetry. One must be very sure of one’s creations before sending them out onto the stage. He did not pause long enough to consider that I might have allegiances elsewhere that superseded the ties of blood. That is a very Scottish mistake, assuming that blood ties are always valued above all other things. It is not always true. Politics and marriage—and greed—can make other bonds just as strong.”

“And do you have other allegiances?” Frances asked, looking a bit white about the mouth as she considered this.

“Aye, of course. All men do—particularly men of property. And, before you ask, none have anything to do with a secret marriage to a woman in York. However, I do not care to share the list of these bonds with you at this moment, as they are not relevant to our task and would require some explanation.”

Frances glanced swiftly at George, and then wisely held her peace, though Colin suspected she wished to question him about the women in his life who might not live in York.

Colin went on: “What is of import to you is the fact
that your well-being and the preservation of this keep from your neighbors is now my foremost concern.”

“But why should this be so? We are strangers to you—not kin, not political allies. I am not your wife.”

Colin looked straight into her eyes. “Why? I think you know the answer to that question. As for being related through marriage or politics, give it some time, my dear. I am not
that
impetuous.”

Frances flushed a shade of vivid rose. George began to smile. His small body relaxed and his wheezing eased.

“All right. If Frances is satisfied, then so am I. Where and how do we begin?” the boy asked.

“First, we find the hound’s lair. If possible, we track the creature and discover our foe, and then lay a trap for both man and beast. If we cannot discover the hound’s master, then we settle for the time being for ridding ourselves of the canine nuisance and making it difficult for anyone to steal out of the castle and carry tales to our enemies.”

Frances and George both leaned forward. Frances asked, “How do we do this? Have you a notion for where to begin the search?”

“Aye. That I do, and we’ll start first thing tomorrow morn.” Colin lowered his voice and said impressively: “Here is what we shall do. George, you will provide a distraction while Frances and I begin the hunt…”

Frances jumped as the chamber door shut softly behind George and she was left alone with Colin. Earlier, she had been so exhausted that she felt she would
drown in sleep the moment the sky went dark. But now she was wakeful, her mind as bright as the noon sun, and whirling like a cyclone with all the plots she and Colin had made.

“You have no final words for me? No questions before I retire?” Colin asked. He added coaxingly: “You were curious enough earlier.”

“I think it is for you to speak first,” she said softly, staring intently at the yellow handkerchief she wound around her fingers. It had been her mother’s, and it was her gesture of continued mourning that she carried the thing with her at all times.

“That is certainly traditional,” Colin answered. “Unless the man is a lady’s servant. Then he might hesitate before speaking plainly of delicate things.”

Frances laughed without humor. “You are not my servant. I have not been so foolish as to think of you as such since…” She waved a hand. “For a long time. And you have never hesitated at plain speech—and more.”

Colin studied her busy fingers, now completely swathed in linen. “It is true that I would not be content to remain your servant for long. Yet I do plan to be of service.” He took her bandaged hand and began unwinding the delicate linen. “And it would greatly relieve me to know that I am not plowing water here. Even the bold sometimes wish for encouragement.”

Frances looked up, puzzled by his words.

“Tell me, lady, that I do not sow the seeds of affection in sterile sand when I court you. Your heart does not belong to another?”

Frances swallowed, and thought how best to answer this. Her heart was saying something with great
vehemence, but she did not entirely understand. Since Colin’s arrival it had been as though she was struck by the brightest light, which dazzled her with emotional lightning. But a part of her knew that after the beautiful lightning, there came a fearful thunder of hindsight and common sense, and it was for this aftermath that she waited, hoping for some determinate sign that would tell her definitively if she should give her devotion to this man.

Her heart said:
follow.
Reason, ever suspicious, bade her flee. She had to favor reason because loneliness could make the heart foolish.

“How can I answer you?” she said at last. “There is no reply that is not either cruel or immodest, and now I have no guardian to answer for me. I do not see at all what we should do.”

“Ah! That is true. Unless Tearlach…”

“Never!”

“Ah! Yet there is protocol for this situation. We must not despair.” His tone was light.

“Indeed?” Frances allowed him to lace their hands together and to turn her to face him. Beneath his fingertips, her pulse raced.

“Aye. One needn’t declare oneself forthrightly, but it is customary to give some sign to one’s suitor. Now, let me consider…You might begin by passing me a rose stripped of thorns.”

“We have none,” she pointed out. “Only thistles. And their thorns are fixed. It seems to me that this would send an altogether repressive message,
oui
?”

“Sadly, this is true. Well, then, you might begin by saying something like, ‘Your face hath taken up residence in my heart.’”

“That is most poetic,” she approved, beginning to smile at the foolishness of their conversation. Some of her anxiety departed. “Supposing that it were true, of course, and a woman did not mind being unsubtle.”