A Saint at the Highland Court: A Friends to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 6)

by Celeste Barclay

  “I ken some are aboot the Mackintoshes, and some are aboot the Macphersons. There are two from Henry’s father aboot trading sheep. One is from the king. I recognize his seal, so I ken which one that is. Laird Donald sent several aboot our alliance, both hinting at a marriage between David and his daughter and how to weaken the Clan Chattan Confederation. I just dinna ken which is which. I separated them by handwriting, but I dinna ken what script belongs to which writer. Mayhap they should be separated by topic, but I canna do that maself.”

  Blair ignored Hardi and asked, “Have all the members of yer clan council seen these? How many of them can read? Who can? Do ye trust those who can?” She rattled off one question after another, a sense of urgency forcing her to speak. She was so disturbed by what she’d read, she still didn’t notice that she’d reverted to her burr once again. She feared Hardi’s uncle hadn’t read the entirety of some if Hardi so calmly handed them over to her.

  “Ma uncle said there were three or four that I shouldnae share with the council until after I met with King Robert, but I dinna ken which ones those are. I hadnae seen the handwriting when Uncle Farlane read them to me. So nay, nae all the council has seen them. At least I havenae shown them to anyone, and I ken who ma uncle shared them with. If the men have talked amongst themselves, nay one has hinted at it to me. Only two of the men can read. They’re ma father and uncle’s cousins. And nay, I dinna trust them.” Hardi disliked knowing there were members of his clan who he didn’t trust, and it was uncomfortable to admit they were members of his own family and council.

  “Hardi, who read the missive to ye summoning ye to court? It arrived after ye became laird.”

  “Aye. Ma father’s cousin, Faolán,” Hardi answered.

  Blair blinked several times. “He came with yer father when it was time for ye and Dougal to return home. He made me uncomfortable with the way he looked at Maude and me. I remember thinking his name suited him. He was a small wolf. Shorter than ye, yer brother, or yer father, and he had an air aboot him that made me nae trust him. Made ma skin crawl, and Maude’s too. We didna go anywhere without Lachlan or Michael until ye and yer kin rode out of the bailey.”

  “I remember that. He’s always been a lecher. I asked Lachlan and Michael to guard ye both until we left.”

  “Ye asked them?” Blair was surprised. “I thought they agreed because Maude and I asked.”

  Hardi shrugged. “Either way, I wanted to be sure ye were both safe. I didna have any sisters, but ye and Maude were as close as I have ever had.”

  “Do ye recall what Faolán told ye the king wrote?”

  “Aye, he said the king offered his condolences but expected me to appear within a moon to swear ma fealty as a laird and to settle the clan’s taxes.”

  “And?” Blair pressed.

  “And naught. That’s it.” Hardi shook his head.

  “Och, Hardi. Look at the length of this missive. Did ye nae wonder why it would be so long if that was all the king had to say?”

  “Faolán claimed it was just the king’s flowery language when I asked him aboot that. I didna believe him, but the only other person I could ask was his brother. While I think Drostan would tell me the truth, I never had an opportunity to ask. Faolán was glued to ma side or Drostan’s until I departed. It felt as though he was keeping us apart, but he didna do aught that I could call out. I would have insulted him and appeared inept before the clan if I did. I couldnae risk it that soon after being sworn in as the laird.” Hardi watched as anger and apprehension flickered back and forth in Blair’s eyes. “What didna he tell me?”

  Blair’s shoulders sank, dreading having to tell Hardi what the missive contained. “How much did Faolán tell ye yer clan owes the crown?”

  “He said the cáin was six shillings, eight doyt for each sack of wool we traded. Ma uncle grew our herd over the last few years, so we produced five score and ten sacks.” Hardi paused, his expression blank as he looked at Blair. He didn’t know how much that came to. “We also owe the crown taxes for the land itself which Faolán said came to six pounds, thirteen shillings, four doyt.”

  “That’s all he said the land tax was?” Blair was incredulous. The amount Faolán told Hardi was a pittance compared to what Blair expected him to say. “What about the grain ye milled? The whisky ye distilled? How many head of cattle do ye have?” Blair’s heart sank as she suspected Faolán hadn’t sent Hardi with nearly enough funds. The missive warned that failure to pay the taxes in full would mean forfeiting the strip of land the Camerons received as a gift honoring their loyalty to the crown.

  “We didna trade any of our grain this year,” Hardi rasped. He sensed Blair feared the same thing that he did. He would have to stand before the king and be made a fool for not having the correct amount of coins for the levied taxes.

  “Hardi, ye pay for what ye produce, nae just what ye sell or trade. Do ye ken the amounts? There’s a thirlage charged on the grain.”

  “Aye. We have five score cows, twenty barrels of whisky, and nearly fifteen score bushels of grain.”

  “Fifteen score bushels? That’s nearly five score bolls, which is how it’s measured to calculate its value.” Blair had placed a piece of parchment, a quill, and a pot of ink on the table before lighting the candles. She pulled the writing utensils toward her. She wrote out a row of numbers, pausing after each one to show which number each figure represented. Once Hardi committed the figures to memory, she moved on to work out the amount of taxes the Camerons owed. Hardi watched in silence as Blair tallied one column of figures after another. When she finished, she rubbed her forehead before forcing a smile.

  “Do ye see these numbers?” Blair asked as she pointed to the first row. “These are the amounts ye told me. Five score and ten is one hundred and ten sacks of wool. That means we must add together six shillings, eight doyts for each sack. That comes to six hundred and sixty shillings, and eight hundred and eighty doyts. But we can group the shillings and doyts to make merks and pounds. Ye ken there are twenty shillings in a pound. If I had the coins before us, I would take the six hundred and sixty shillings and put them in groups of twenty. I’d have thirty-three pounds. Since there are twelve doyts in a shilling, we would have seventy-three shillings.”

  Blair stopped to look at Hardi, surprised that he didn’t look confused. She feared she went too fast for him, but he seemed to follow her explanation. She raised her quill to make the next set of calculations, but Hardi brushed his hand on her forearm, stopping her.

  “If we have seventy-three shillings, then we should put those in groups of twenty again. Aye?”

  “Aye. That would give us three pounds and thirteen shillings. If we add that to the thirty-three pounds we already calculated, the Camerons must pay forty-six pounds, thirteen shillings.”

  “Isnae thirteen shillings a merk?” Hardi asked quietly. He knew what each coin looked like and what they were worth. He could count and do much of the math Blair showed him, but only if he had the money in front of him and could physically move them into the groups Blair described.

  “Aye, so ye can say it’s forty-six pounds, one merk.” Blair drew her lips in on one side of her mouth as she waited to hear whether Faolán told Hardi the correct amount.

  “That’s what I brought for the wool. At least that amount of tax is covered. But I didna bring aught to cover the grain, whisky, or cattle.” Hardi’s palms were clammy, and he felt a trickle of sweat roll between his shoulder blades despite the coolness of the chamber.

  “Did ye bring aught for the land tax? Ye said he told ye it was six pounds, thirteen shillings, four doyt.” Blair cringed as she asked about yet another levy.

  “Aye. I asked Faolán aboot that. He pretended as if he’d forgotten to mention it, but even without Uncle Farlane telling me before he died, I kenned every laird pays for the land. I brought the amount he told me, but now I believe it is far too little.”

  “It’s far, far too little, Hardi. The levy is two shillings per hide.” Bla
ir’s stomach clenched. The Camerons didn’t possess the largest clan territory, but it was sizable. A hide was roughly equivalent to a hundred and twenty acres. The amount Hardi brought would barely scratch the surface of what the king expected.

  “We have five hundred hides of land,” Hardi explained.

  “That’s a thousand shillings. Give me a moment,” Blair murmured as she began writing numbers as she tried to determine the geld the king expected the Camerons to pay. “That’s fifty pounds when I take a thousand shillings and put them in groups of twenty again.”

  “That’s an outrageous amount!” Hardi straightened. “That isnae even close to what Faolán told me.”

  “Ye have the right amount for the cáin but only a small portion of what’s required for the geld. Did ye bring any of the grain or wool with ye that ye could give for the thirlage?”

  “Nay. I suggested we use our excess to pay the fees, but the council refused. They feared we’d nae have enough for winter if we gave it away.”

  “It isnae giving it away. It’s keeping the king from taking it and yer land from ye.” Blair seethed at how men Hardi should have been able to trust and rely upon had played him for a fool. “Hardi, does Faolán want to be laird? Is that why he’s done this to ye?”

  “He does.”

  “Nay wonder yer uncle told ye nae to trust everyone on the council. He’s done this to anger the king and put yer head in the noose. Can yer clan afford the amounts owed and Faolán is keeping it from the king? Or are the amounts too steep?”

  “Ma uncle said we were prospering. He never hinted that we couldnae afford to pay what’s expected. I just didna ken there were so many kinds of taxes. How do ye ken?” Hardi felt like he was being carried out to sea, and solid land grew further from view with each breath.

  “A chatelaine must keep an inventory of how much grain and wool the clan produces and uses. She keeps track of the number of cows and sheep butchered nae only to ensure the clan has enough food to last the winter, but to give that information to the laird when he keeps track of the clan’s accounts. It’s something ma mother trained me to do.”

  Hardi ran the pad of his thumb between her brows, smoothing the deep crevices. “Dinna frown. It’ll give ye wrinkles.”

  “Explains why ye look so auld,” Blair smirked, but Hardi’s gentle touch eased some tension from her forehead. “Who is yer chatelaine? Is yer aunt still alive?”

  “I dinna have one. Ma aunt died just after Angus. Uncle Farlane didna replace ma aunt with a seneschal. He kept the ledgers until he died,” Hardi explained ruefully.

  “Ye need to meet with the king as soon as he will grant ye an audience. If he thinks ye’ve been here, enjoying his hospitality when ye canna afford yer levies, he’ll be furious. Hardi, ye must tell him the truth aboot Faolán. Dinna try to save face or protect yer clan’s image. That pride will get ye nay where, and yer people will be the ones to suffer.”

  “Would ye go with me?” Hardi’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Blair understood what it cost him to admit he needed her help and that he feared appearing before King Robert.

  “Would ye be angry if I told ye I already planned to?”

  “Neither angry nor surprised,” Hardi’s lips twitched before he smiled. “Thank ye, Blair. I thought I would only ask ye to teach me ma letters and numbers. I dinna plan to embroil ye in ma financial woes.”

  “If I can help, why wouldnae I?” Blair asked as if Hardi were a simpleton.

  “Because it’s nae yer problem nor yer duty.”

  “It is since we’re friends. I wouldnae leave ye out in a blizzard if I could offer ye a warm hearth. I wouldnae leave ye to face a pack of wolves if I had a sword. So why would I leave ye alone to survive this?” Blair’s piercing gaze drilled into Hardi’s, and her matter-of-fact tone made him realize she couldn’t fathom not helping him.

  “Thank ye, lass.”

  Blair glanced at the window embrasure, and the slight shadow the sun cast upon the floor. It was far later than she realized. “We’ve missed the nooning, and it must be only an hour or two before the evening meal. We should attempt an audience with the king before it grows too late.”

  “It is too late. I must get in line in the morn.”

  “It’s nae too late if I’m going with ye.” Blair shot him a pointed look as she rose from her seat and collected the writing utensils. Hardi opened his sporran and offered to carry them before they quit the chamber. She pulled aside four folded sheets of vellum and tucked them inside her arisaid. It was chilly that morning, so she’d worn her plaid when she walked in the gardens. She hadn’t bothered to take it off when she stopped in her chamber for the parchment, quill, and ink. Now she was grateful she could tuck the missives into the folds of her plaid. “These dinna need sharing unless we must.”

  Nine

  Blair and Hardi stood before the Chamberlain of the Privy Council as the smug man looked down his hawkish nose at Blair. “The king is no longer accepting petitioners.”

  “Wonderful,” Blair’s grin was as patronizing as the man’s tone, but she kept her voice low. “Then he shall have time for family. Tell the king his goddaughter wishes to speak with him.”

  The chamberlain drew in a deep breath, his chest puffing out as he prepared to refuse Blair. She inched closer until only the chamberlain, Hardi, and the guards at the door could hear her whisper. “Who will he believe? His lady-goddaughter, who he used to bounce on his knee, or a puffed-up popinjay drunk on his dreams of grandeur?”

  The man scowled but nodded to the guards. The three men stepped out of Blair and Hardi’s way, and Blair entered without waiting to be announced. She’d never been so brazen in her life, nor had she ever taken advantage of her royal connection, but she was too afraid of what might happen to Hardi if she allowed the chamberlain to turn them away.

  “Lady Blair,” King Robert intoned. “I did not expect a visit from you.”

  Blair could tell the king was less than enthused to see her, but she dipped into a low curtsy, balancing until he signaled for her to rise. She sensed more than saw Hardi bend into a low bow. When she rose, she caught the king’s speculative gaze pass over her and Hardi. King Robert’s eyes narrowed slightly before he raised his chin and an imperious eyebrow. Blair bit her tongue to keep from speaking before she was asked to. She wanted to run to her godfather’s side and lay bare all that she’d learned and ask his advice much as she had as a child when he and Queen Elizabeth visited. She would tell him how her older siblings never waited for her shorter legs to keep up when they went swimming, or how she wasn’t tall enough to snag apple tarts from the tables in the kitchens and Lachlan would eat all of his and then half of hers before she enjoyed one. He would lift her high in the air to sit on his shoulder and tell her to survey the land as if it were her own kingdom. Then he would offer her sneaky solutions he swore he used against his own brothers when he was a lad.

  She was too old to giggle and climb into the king’s lap, but she trusted him to hear her out and to be fair. She held her breath and waited for him to invite her to speak. She glanced around the Council chamber and wished it weren’t full. She didn’t want the Camerons’ clan finances to become fodder for court gossip. King Robert noticed how her eyes darted from one person to another and ordered all but his personal guard and scribe to leave. Blair pressed her lips together to keep from laughing when the order forced the chamberlain to exit along with everyone else.

  “Blair, why have you dragged Laird Cameron here?” King Robert asked. It was the first time Blair heard Hardi addressed by his title in such a formal setting, and it was incongruous with the humble man who’d sat beside her and listened as she explained matters most women knew nothing about. She realized she hadn’t noticed when others called him his new title.

  “Your Majesty, may we approach?” Blair asked softly. When the king nodded, Blair and Hardi walked to the table where King Robert sat with maps and parchments strewn before him. Hardi pulled out a chair for Blair
and waited until she sat before he took his own. Blair offered him a slight smile before looking at King Robert. “Your Majesty, I’ve come to speak to you as my sovereign about a matter that concerns Clan Cameron.” Blair swallowed as she glanced once more at Hardi. “But I’ve also come to ask your advice as my Uncle Robert.”

  “Blair,” King Robert warned.

  “I know, Your Majesty. But I don’t know what else to do,” Blair admitted. “I don’t like putting you in such a position, but neither is it an easy position for me. I would seek your council as a mon I respect and trust, but it’s aboot a matter that concerns you as king.”

  King Robert sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He gazed at Blair, the young lady-in-waiting who sat before him, but he saw the little girl who had once trailed after him with a never-ending stream of questions. He doted on all of his godchildren, but Blair was the youngest and held a special place in his heart. He’d struggled not to insist that Queen Elizabeth intervene when they noticed the ladies bullying Maude, but he’d reassured himself that Maude and Blair had one another. Now Blair was alone at court and had never asked a single favor in the time since she arrived. He understood the situation must be dire if she were sitting before him. He shifted his gaze to Hardi. The inexperienced man’s bearing impressed him, but he knew Hardi must have been struggling with all that had been thrust upon him. He suspected he knew what brought the pair to see him, and he admitted to himself that he felt sympathetic to Hardi.