The Night Side

by Melanie Jackson

  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.

  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 pers
uasively: “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.