Rounding the end of the building she was not surprised to see a large group of men, but her heart sank for it needed none to tell her they had not met in friendship or good humour. The very air seemed charged. The focus of attention seemed to be the Glengarron retainers. The two called Jock and Ewan were standing together, their expressions tense and angry. The third, Davy, was squared up to one of the Castlemora soldiers. She recognised the man, Taggart, for he had been one of those implicated in a rape case brought before her father. The case was dismissed for lack of evidence—it came down to three men’s sworn word against that of the plaintiff in the end—although Isabelle knew whom she most believed. The village girls avoided the mercenaries when possible, and with good reason.
Her gaze moved from Taggart to Murdo, standing close by. He alone seemed quite at ease, almost as though the scene afforded him quiet amusement. Isabelle frowned and hastened forwards, but Ban was before her and she heard Murdo’s greeting.
‘Ah, well met, my lord.’
Isabelle was both embarrassed and annoyed knowing beyond doubt that mischief was brewing here, though what the cause might be she could not tell. If Ban had detected anything amiss he gave no sign of it. She saw him acknowledge the master-at-arms with a slight inclination of the head. Then he turned his attention to his men.
Both Jock and Ewan looked flinty, Davy slightly flushed. His glance flicked from Ban to Taggart, with whom, evidently, he had been in conversation a few moments before. The latter was older than Davy by at least ten years. Of a short stocky frame he was nevertheless well built and the weathered face bore an expression both crafty and malicious. Cold grey eyes surveyed the younger man, eyes that did not reflect the smile on the mouth below.
Keeping his tone deliberately neutral Ban said, ‘What’s happening here?’
‘A friendly conversation, my lord, no more,’ replied the other.
‘Indeed?’ Ban glanced again towards his own men and saw their silent indignation. ‘What manner of conversation?’
For a moment there was stony silence. Then Murdo spoke.
‘The discussion was about swordsmanship. Isn’t that right, Taggart?’
The man grinned, revealing stained and rotting teeth. ‘Aye, sir.’
‘What about it?’ asked Ban.
‘’Tis just that we’ve all heard much about the mettle of Glengarron,’ Taggart replied.
‘And what have you heard?’
‘That they’re brave fighters, my lord—by repute anyway.’ Taggart’s small eyes took on a cunning gleam. ‘We just wondered if it was true, didn’t we, lads?’
A groundswell of agreement greeted this, the tone both challenging and mocking. Ewan and Jock exchanged eloquent glances, their hands moving to their sword hilts. Seeing it, Isabelle darted a glance at Ban but his attention was elsewhere.
‘Surely you would not cast aspersions on the valour of our allies, Taggart?’ said Murdo. The words sounded reproachful, ostensibly deprecating, but none present missed their underlying edge.
‘I mean no disrespect, my lord.’ Taggart gave Ban an unctuous smile quite at variance with the look in his eye. ‘All the same, ’tis such a fine reputation that a body canna help wondering whether ’tis based on truth or exaggeration.’
Another chorus of agreement greeted the words. Isabelle watched in impotent anger, seeing whither this tended. She would have been disgusted by such an insult to any of Castlemora’s guests, but in this case the ramifications were particularly worrying and especially for herself. Ban could hardly be impressed and his opinion mattered. Another minute and the situation would be out of hand. Yet how to stop it escalating without her guests losing face? She glanced once at Murdo but knew she would find no help there. On the contrary, his expression suggested keen enjoyment of the situation, an expression reflected on the faces of his men.
Before he could respond, Davy spoke out. His voice was level enough but his eyes spoke clearly of anger.
‘Glengarron’s reputation speaks for itself. It needs no exaggeration.’
‘Is that right?’ Taggart raised an eyebrow and looked round at his companions. Grins greeted his evident scepticism. ‘Now I’d heard otherwise.’
‘Then you heard wrong.’
‘I’ve only your word for that, boy.’
‘There is no boy here.’ Davy’s hand tightened round the hilt of his dirk. ‘Nor no idle boasting either.’
‘Shall we put that to the test?’
‘Whenever you like.’
‘No time like the present.’
An ironic cheer rose in reply from the bystanders. Isabelle’s jaw tightened. She could not expect Davy to back down now for the insult had been thinly veiled and would be answered. However, the matter must not result in serious bloodshed. With her heart in her throat she saw Ban step forwards.
‘Then let the matter be put to the test,’ he said, ‘in a friendly match, to be decided by first blood.’
All eyes turned his way, speculative and predatory. Isabelle was reminded of nothing so much as a pack of wolves. Ban ignored them, his attention focused on the one man he rightly divined would make the decision. Murdo met his gaze a moment and then nodded.
‘An excellent notion. First blood it shall be.’
A roar of approval echoed on the still air and the men stepped back to give the two combatants room. Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing the confrontation could not be avoided, Ban had at least prevented it from becoming fatal. He had handled the matter with tact and skill, and she could only feel gratitude for his intervention. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was really thinking. Was he regretting ever coming here? Would it make him think twice about their forthcoming betrothal? She prayed it would not. Even so, the incident did not reflect well on Castlemora, and she determined that Murdo should know of her displeasure. Forgetting her usual reticence she went to confront him. He regarded her with surprise for a moment and then smiled.
‘You’re just in time, my lady. This promises to be interesting.’
Holding on to her temper, she kept her voice low so that only the two of them were privy to it. ‘These men are guests here, Murdo. How could you have allowed this?’
‘Come, my lady, it is but a friendly bout, no more.’
‘If it is then it’s thanks to Lord Ban.’
He was about reply when another presence drew his attention, and Isabelle saw his gaze harden. Looking round she saw Ban standing beside them and, for a brief moment, glimpsed anger in his eyes as he faced Murdo. Then it was gone and he was looking at her. The memory of that recent kiss was all too vivid and her pulse quickened.
‘I didn’t know you were interested in swordplay, my lady.’ His tone was pleasant, his manner suggesting that this was no more than a little light amusement even though they both knew it was not. She was grateful to him, knowing how much this must be testing his self-control. It was another side to him that she had not suspected. More than ever she felt it incumbent on her to try to smooth things over.
‘My lord, I deeply regret all this.’
‘No cause,’ he replied. ‘It is but a friendly challenge, as Murdo says.’
The tone was light but she could feel the antipathy between the two men. Then her attention was drawn by movement elsewhere and Isabelle looked away, her attention on the combatants.
Both were circling with slow care, intent, never taking their eyes from their opponent’s blade. It went on for some seconds. Then, almost as though by some silent mutual agreement, they launched themselves into the fray. Isabelle bit her lip, watching closely. Even her untutored eye could see that both men had been well trained for each sword seemed like an extension of the arm that held it. Both protagonists were strong, both determined. However, the younger man had the edge in terms of agility, moving out of danger with lithe impressive grace while the older relied on brute strength to force his path. The great swords carved the air, each seeking for a weakness in the other’s defence, their wicked blades glinting in
the hard light, the ring of steel loud in the hot still yard. Sparks flew and several times the blades came perilously close to flesh. Isabelle drew in a sharp breath and looked up at Ban.
‘Isn’t this supposed to be a friendly bout?’ she murmured.
He smiled faintly. ‘No cause for alarm, my lady.’
‘No, indeed,’ said another voice behind her.
Isabelle turned to see Hugh. She had been so engrossed she hadn’t even noticed his arrival.
‘I hope not, Brother.’
‘Murdo would never let it get out of hand,’ he went on.
She was deeply sceptical about that but vouchsafed no reply, for now Taggart had renewed the attack, pushing forwards, apparently driving Davy before him. She bit her lip hard to stifle a cry of dismay, but a second later realised the move had been a ruse, for the younger man whirled on heel, dodging the blow aimed at his head and leaving only empty space. Thrown off balance, Taggart staggered. It was enough. Davy’s blade swung round and caught his opponent’s unguarded arm. It was a shallow cut, but a bright streak of blood bloomed on the instant.
The sight was greeted with a tense silence and then grudging applause in some parts of the assembled crowd. Ewan and Jock grinned broadly but ventured no word, clearly feeling that Davy’s prowess as a swordsman had just spoken much louder. Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief.
‘None now can doubt the reputation of Glengarron,’ she said. ‘It is most clearly merited.’ Her gaze flicked to Murdo and she threw him a cool look before turning back to Ban. ‘Your man fought well, my lord.’
‘You are gracious, my lady.’
‘It is no more than the truth,’ said Hugh. ‘Truly it was a most excellent performance.’
Ban inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliments. Isabelle turned to look at Murdo. His expression was like thunder. Ordinarily she would have felt apprehensive, but now the sight afforded her a strange satisfaction.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything, Murdo?’ she asked.
A muscle jumped in his cheek but when he spoke his voice was level. ‘It was a good bout and, as Lady Isabelle said, your man fought well, my lord.’
‘I thought so too,’ replied Ban.
‘It’s the truth.’ Hugh glanced once at the master-at-arms. ‘Taggart was completely outclassed, no question.’
Murdo’s gaze hardened but he said nothing more. Ban looked at Hugh.
‘If you would excuse me for a moment, I would speak with my men.’
Isabelle watched him walk away. She saw him join Jock and Ewan. Ignoring surly glances from some of the spectators, they exchanged a few quiet words and then all three went to speak to Davy. The young man was leaning on his sword point to catch his breath. She saw Ban clap him on the shoulder. Though she could not catch his words it was clear from the younger man’s expression they contained high praise and it was merited. Davy had acquitted himself well which was more than could be said for Castlemora. Isabelle glanced with distaste across the intervening space to where Taggart stood. He was still holding the gash on his arm and blood dripped through his fingers. On his face was a look of cold malice. Without warning, he raised his sword and rushed at Davy’s unguarded back.
Isabelle cried out, ‘No!’
Everyone looked round. Davy whirled and was just in time to block the blow aimed at him. The blades slid and locked at the hilts. Almost simultaneously he brought his knee up hard into his attacker’s groin. The latter grunted and doubled up gasping, his weapon falling uselessly from his hand. A second later the point of Davy’s blade was at his throat. For a moment the air was charged with tension. Several hands had moved towards sword hilts.
Hugh strode forwards and looked with contempt at the fallen man. ‘Is it not bad enough that you were bested, Taggart, without your turning backstabber?’ Without waiting for a reply, Hugh turned to Ban. ‘I apologise for this cowardly deed, my lord. It disgraces the name of Castlemora.’
‘Your apology is accepted, sir. The man acted independently, and Castlemora is in no way to blame.’
He looked meaningfully at Davy. The latter paused a moment, then nodded and put up his sword. Hugh managed a tight smile in response and then looked coldly at Taggart.
‘You will collect your belongings and be gone. We have no use here for such as you.’ He paused and turned to the master-at-arms. ‘See to it, Murdo.’
The latter inclined his head in acquiescence, his expression quite impassive. However, when she glanced his way Isabelle intercepted a look of cold fury directed towards Taggart. No doubt he would send the brute off with a few choice words. This summary banishment was a fitting punishment. It was a pity, she reflected, that Murdo was not leaving with him. As it was, he would doubtless be smarting from this humiliation but for the life of her she could not feel sorry for it. Rather she was proud of Hugh. In that moment he looked and sounded like the laird he would one day become. As for their guest, he had most adroitly turned the situation around.
As though he sensed her regard, Ban looked round and met her gaze. She felt her cheeks grow red. What must he be thinking? How well she understood her brother’s anger over what had occurred. The laws of hospitality were sacred, a tradition that had ever been upheld at Castlemora. Wishing to show her solidarity with Hugh and to try to calm the waters, she spoke to Ban.
‘Like my brother I deeply regret what happened here, my lord.’
‘Pray, do not be uneasy,’ he replied. ‘The incident has been dealt with and the matter is closed.’
‘You are generous, my lord,’ said Hugh.
‘Such things happen in the heat of the moment.’ Ban glanced at Taggart, who had now staggered to his feet. ‘No doubt he will repent of it soon enough.’
Hugh’s lip curled. ‘I would say he repents of it already. The mettle of Glengarron has been proved anew.’
‘It should never have been called into question,’ said Isabelle.
Lord Ban bowed. ‘As ever you are gracious, my lady.’
His gaze flicked towards Murdo, who stood nearby. Isabelle’s followed it. Now there was no sign of emotion on the man’s face and he returned the look steadily, yet she sensed the anger simmering beneath. For a moment she wondered if he too would offer an apology to their guest, but he said nothing. All around them his men were silent too, though the very air was laden with their displeasure. Once again she was made aware of how numerous they were and how powerful a force they had become. Their resentment was dangerous, and they had just been shown up. They would not forgive or forget.
* * *
On their return to the hall Hugh ordered a servant to fetch ale and then saw their guests supplied with his own hand. Having done so, he made them a formal apology. Isabelle heard him with surprise. It was the first time she had ever heard him question a decision of Murdo’s, even by implication, and it pleased her greatly. Was Hugh beginning to trust his own judgement at last? It seemed he too had been much angered by what had occurred.
‘I would not have a long-standing friendship broken because of the actions of a coward like Taggart,’ her brother went on.
‘Rest assured that it won’t be,’ replied Ban. ‘What happened was most unfortunate but it was none of your doing, my lord.’
‘None the less I am truly sorry for it.’ Hugh looked at Davy as he spoke. ‘I hope it has not coloured your view of our hospitality.’
Davy met his eye and held it. ‘I bear Castlemora no ill will, my lord.’
‘I would not have you do so for the world.’
With that Hugh moved to speak with the younger man, drawing Jock and Ewan into the conversation as well. All three had relaxed now and participated with evident goodwill. Isabella regarded her brother with pride. Once again he looked and sounded every inch the laird. It gave her real hope for the future.
‘Your brother is an accomplished host,’ said Ban.
‘I thank you, yes.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘He is right though, and I too would repeat my regret over what hap
pened today.’
‘There is not the least occasion for you to do so,’ he replied. ‘The matter is over and best forgotten.’
It was magnanimous and she was both relieved and grateful. The incident could so easily have resulted in the destruction of all her hopes.
‘You are generous,’ she said. ‘Such affairs as this can cause blood feuds that last for generations.’
‘I want no blood feud between Glengarron and Castlemora. As your brother says, the relationship is too valuable to jeopardise.’ He surveyed her steadily. ‘Rather, I intend to make the bond very much stronger.’
The allusion was plain, and once again she was reminded that their forthcoming betrothal was about business and politics. It saddened her that it should be so but it was the way of the world. In such affairs as these, men followed their heads not their hearts.
Chapter Seven
As the morning of their betrothal dawned Isabelle found it harder to maintain her composure. It was bad enough that her entire future depended on this arrangement. The manner of it made everything infinitely worse. She wouldn’t even have the benefit of darkness to hide her blushes. That wouldn’t trouble Ban, of course. The memory of their first meeting demonstrated as much. No doubt he would enjoy this.
Indignation came to the rescue and rallied her a little. When first the plan had been mooted it had been in her mind to dress plainly for the occasion but gradually vanity won out. She had no idea if Ban would even notice, but a fine gown would boost her morale a little, and heaven knew it needed boosting. To that end she arranged her hair into a becoming style as well.
Eventually she was as ready as she would ever be. Gathering all her courage she took a deep breath and made her way to her father’s quarters.
Both men were already there when she arrived. She noted that Ban had changed his clothes for the occasion and was now wearing a tunic of dark red wool over a fine linen shirt and dark hose. A tooled leather belt was fastened about his waist. The effect was to make him look more imposing than ever.
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