by Amanda Scott
“Which chiefs are they?” Murie asked.
“I dinna ken all six,” the woman said. “But Lady Douglas sat nearer to his grace than I did. She heard him say Mackenzie o’ Kintail and Campbell o’ Lorne. I kent fine that your mam, being kin to the Campbell, would want to hear that news.”
Lady Aubrey said politely, “ ’Twas kind of you, cousin. My kinship to Campbell of Lorne is distant, though. He is a second cousin to my grandsire. I doubt that I have ever met him, but I can tell you that Argyll is not amongst those who defied his grace. Nor is the Mackintosh, since his lady stands yonder.”
“Aye, well, I dinna ken many o’ the Highland chiefs,” Lady Nisbet said. “We rode here from Aberdeen with the Douglas’s party. Sithee, his grace did accept the Douglas’s offer o’ men tae escort him, so some Douglas chieftains and others also brought such o’ their ladies as would ride wi’ them.”
Lady Nisbet continued chattering eagerly, about unrelated topics, so Murie received with relief Lady Sutherland’s signal for them to return to the hall and wondered if she would be able to find Rob and her father there.
Following Lady Sutherland, they entered the hall near its dais end. Benches awaited them in a corner formed by the ladies’ end of the dais and the side wall.
At the center of the dais, where the high table had been, an elaborately carved and gilded armchair awaited his grace. A table draped with cloth of gold over white linen stood nearby, and two less impressive chairs sat behind it. A second armchair bearing a red velvet cushion sat near the front of the dais on the ladies’ side, apparently for Queen Joanna. Two plain back-stools stood behind it.
Delighted that she would be close enough to hear and see everything more easily than most of the men in the huge chamber, Murie took her place, standing between her mother and an unknown woman. The Border cousin, Lady Nisbet, claimed the place on Lady Aubrey’s other side.
Turning so that she could see the rest of the crowded hall, Murie thought at first that she would never find anyone she knew in such a throng. To her shock, though, the first recognizable person to catch her gaze was Dougal MacPharlain.
The second was his father, sitting beside him.
She half-expected to see the Brehon justice on Pharlain’s other side, but she did not know the man who sat there.
Glancing at her mother, wondering if she ought to direct her attention to them, she realized that Lady Nisbet was still talking to her.
A man in priest’s robes mounted the dais and stood behind the cloth-draped table near the elegant armchair. Sir William Fletcher stood next to him.
Trumpets sounded, and everyone turned toward the hall’s main entrance. When the echoes faded to expectant silence, the Queen entered with her two chief ladies behind her. They walked up the central aisle and took their places on the dais.
To longer, more tuneful trumpeting, the King entered, strode alone to the dais, and stood near the elegant chair. When silence reigned again, he nodded to the priest, who offered a prayer that was, to Murie’s relief, blessedly short.
She had not come to hear prayers but to watch history take place.
Chapter 19
Sit,” Jamie Stewart commanded as the echoes faded. “I will hear the Bishop of Argyll first on the subject of chiefly jurisdiction,” he added, taking his seat.
What followed was, to Muriella, tedious business of barons, lairds, and the rights and powers that each possessed or wanted to possess.
Knowing that her father would ignore anyone who challenged his right to his powers of pit and gallows, and certain that Rob would, too, she decided to try again to find Rob in the gathering. A firm hand on the arm near her mother stopped her.
Resigned, Murie tried to recall what she heard but found it too hard to concentrate or care. Never had she imagined that such an important occasion could prove to be so dull. At last, the King said, “We’ll suspend these proceedings now until after the midday meal, when we will discuss this subject further.”
Murie sighed, hoping they would give everyone time to eat and walk about. Her bottom ached.
Rob, sitting next to Andrew, could see Murie and wondered if she realized the importance to the proud Highland chiefs of the subject under discussion.
He, too, had seen Dougal and Pharlain sitting on the other side of the central aisle from him and Andrew, and closer to the front of the hall. Dougal had looked back twice, and Pharlain did just then, and smirked. Glancing at Andrew to see him muttering to the man on his other side, Rob decided it was just as well that he hadn’t seen the smirk and that he had his charters with him, safe from possible schemers.
Shifting his gaze to Murie, he noted that she was fairly twitching on her bench. When the King declared that they would take time to eat, Rob saw Lady Aubrey put a quieting hand on his wife’s shoulder as if she feared the lass might spring to her feet.
When everyone began heading for the doors, Rob stuck close to Andrew.
In the inner chamber, Joanna told the ladies that they might do as they pleased until the servants were ready to serve the meal, whereupon Lady Nisbet said immediately, “Och, Aubrey, dearling, I must tell ye…”
Taking advantage of Lady Aubrey’s distraction, Murie approached Lady Sutherland. Introducing herself and briefly explaining her love of folklore and clan histories, Murie said, “I heard a tale recently that I think came from the Sutherlands, my lady. I ken fine that that is your lord husband’s family, but perhaps you might know the answer to a question I have.”
“Prithee, which tale would it be, Lady MacAulay? I dinna ken all of the Sutherland tales, but I have heard many. I will tell you what I can.”
Explaining that the tale involved a girl who had jumped or fallen from a tower window, she got no further before Lady Sutherland said, “Faith, I ken that tale fine, my dear. ’Twas a Sutherland lass called Margaret, who fell in love years ago with someone quite unsuitable. Her father was furious and locked her in a tower room, but her maidservant smuggled her rope enough to climb down to her lover. Unfortunately for the pair o’ them, on the appointed night, Lord Sutherland had set his steward to watch, and the man caught the lad approaching the tower. Sutherland entered the tower chamber to see his daughter fling herself out the window.”
“How dreadful,” Murie said. “Have you heard other, similar tales, my lady?”
“Not as horrid as that one,” Lady Sutherland said with a grimace. “But I hear few others from outside our own clans. Tell me how you have learned so many.”
Although Murie explained about Annie’s teaching and the many ceilidhs that the three MacFarlan sisters had attended, thanks to their mother’s many kinsmen, her mind was awhirl. Now that she knew how similar the two tales were, could she persuade Rob how unlikely it was that two fathers in two such distant parts of Scotland had locked their daughters in tower rooms and watched them leap out their windows?
By midafternoon, Rob had tired of the pompous declarations, bickering, and shouting over what sounded like fine points of law. But when a gillie mounted the dais and spoke to Will Fletcher, his interest reawakened. Evidently, everyone’s did, because the din faded to silence so complete that Rob could hear Andrew breathing.
James said soberly, “Six men broke ward last night and fled the castle. I now hear that they have been arrested and are returning.” Looking left and right, his stern gaze encompassing the hall, he added grimly, “I have striven for two years to institute one set of laws so that every Scot may understand them and know that all must obey them. I told every man under ward the penalty for defiance, did I not?”
“Aye, your grace,” rumbled a chorus of male voices.
“If a King of Scots, as chief of chiefs, fails to keep his word,” James went on, “the laws that our Parliament issues will mean nowt. Our nobles will continue to defy them, and common folk will know not which laws or whose they must obey. The penalty for high treason and thus for each man who broke the King’s ward is death. They are Clanranald, Mackenzie of Kintail, Campbell
of Lorne…”
Rob fixed on that last name and barely noted what followed until James said, “So be it then. I take nae pleasure in this, so we will move ahead. My lord of Sutherland, before the interruption you were about to make a suggestion.”
Sutherland reminded everyone that they had agreed to further discussion of chiefly privilege. “Now might be a good time for it, your grace.”
No sooner did Jamie nod than Pharlain stood. “Your grace,” he said loudly, “I be Pharlain of Arrochar. A chief must be able to set fees for traveling on his waters, hunting his deer, or catching his salmon, aye?”
Rob’s interest increased.
James said, “Do the chiefs pay such fees themselves when they travel?”
“Nay,” Pharlain replied. “We collect them from others for profit, so if a laird passing through our waters collects fees on his as well, we excuse each other.”
James shifted his gaze to Alexander, Lord of the Isles. “Cousin, do ye pay such fees when ye travel?”
“Nae, I tell them who I am,” Alexander said with a snort. “So would ye.”
Looking again at Pharlain, James said, “Where do you collect your fees?”
Pharlain shrugged. “We dinna collect passage fees yet, your grace. We expect to begin anon on the Loch of the Long Boats, though.”
“You and who else?”
Pharlain hesitated, and Rob hid a smile. “Campbell,” Pharlain said. Then he added hastily, as if he had just recalled that more than one Campbell chief was in the hall, including the all-powerful Argyll, “Campbell of… of Lorne, your grace.”
Grimacing, James said, “If you mean to collect fees on the Loch of the Long Boats, you should know that I consider its entrance a royal property. After all, that loch opens on the Firth of Clyde, which the royal castle of Dumbarton protects for all Scots. Moreover, I did not hear you mention MacAulay, who, as I recall, does guard the entry to the Loch of the Long Boats. Lord MacAulay is here, is he not?”
“I am, your grace,” Rob said, standing.
“What say you to this, my lord?”
“I say that the Gare Loch and the Loch of the Long Boats shall remain open and free to all who would travel on them, your grace.”
“That agrees with mine own expectation. So be it. The scribe will so note.”
Looking chagrined, Pharlain sat down.
James looked over the hall as if he expected someone else to speak. When no one did, he said, “Now would be a good time for any man who has not presented the royal charters granting him rights to his lands to do so. Therefore, I do adjourn this body until tomorrow midmorning, when we will assemble in the courtyard.”
Beside Rob, Andrew growled.
“What is it, sir?” Rob asked quietly. “You have your charters, aye?”
“Aye, sure. But this be the devil’s own time to present them. His grace be in a foul mood after deciding to hang them scoundrels for breaking his ward.”
“True,” Rob admitted. “But the charters speak for themselves. Moreover, Pharlain irked him with his blethers about collecting fees.”
“He did, withal,” Andrew agreed more cheerfully. “The man were daft to do that, but ye’re happy enough, I trow. Argyll himself wouldna try now to inflict fees on all of us who travel the loch. Nor would Argyll scheme to seize Ardincaple.”
“ ’Tis unlikely,” Rob agreed. While they stood awaiting his grace’s departure into the inner chamber with Joanna on his arm, he saw Murie turn to her mother and could almost hear her asking if the ladies should follow them in there or not.
“Mam?” Murie asked when her query met silence.
“We go wherever her grace goes unless Lady Sutherland says we must not,” Lady Aubrey said. “What were you and she discussing earlier?”
Murie smiled. “I asked her about a tale I’d heard at Ardincaple that was the same as one I’d heard long ago about the Sutherlands of Dunrobin,” she said.
She had spoken quietly but apparently not quietly enough.
“Och, but I heard that ye ken many of our old tales, Lady MacAulay, and tell them at ceilidhs and such,” Lady Nisbet said archly, moving closer. “Mayhap ye will tell us one tonight. What tale was it that ye got from Dunrobin?”
“A gey sad one,” Murie said. “About a girl named Margaret who threw herself from a tower window to her death.”
“Och, then I ken the other one ye must have heard,” Lady Nisbet said. “It came from me own family, that. I dinna ken Ardincaple, but that tale be about me cousin’s daughter, Eliza, who ran off wi’ her lover. Her mam put it about that she had flung herself out o’ her window tae her death, may God forgive her sin!”
“Put it about?” Murie said. “Do you mean that tale was untrue?”
“Nobbut foolishness. The lassock ran off tae Ireland wi’ one o’ their gillies when her mam and da tried tae make her marry the heir tae another noble house, one o’ them dunamany Highland Macs. I dinna mean tae offend ye, Cousin Aubrey, but ’tis all I can do tae remember ye’re a MacFarlan and no some other Mac.”
“Such names can be confusing, aye,” Lady Aubrey said mildly.
“ ’Twas the shame o’ her beloved Elizabeth running off wi’ a naebody as stirred me cousin tae spin her lies. Sithee, her own mam were cousin tae Sutherland, and we never hear the end o’ that, so I’m thinking now that she may ha’ taken her tale from theirs. Sithee, though, we never talk about Eliza or her tale,” she added with a virtuous air. “So I’d ask ye tae keep a still tongue on it, too, if ye please.”
Murie assured her that she would, ignoring the irony of such a request coming from such a bletherskate. Her thoughts had already flown to Rob.
If Lady Nisbet’s version was true…
Without further comment, Murie followed her mother and Lady Nisbet to the inner chamber, where the King now stood near the great stone hearth. A fire burned gently in a fireplace big enough for two or three men to stand upright inside.
A number of people followed them into the chamber, including—not much to Murie’s surprise—Pharlain and Dougal. Rob and Andrew entered last of all.
When they joined the three ladies, Murie impulsively turned to Rob only to have her eager gaze meet a beetling frown.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she demanded in an undertone.
His eyes twinkled in response, and his brow cleared. “Sorry, lass,” he said, drawing her aside. “If I looked dour, it was because of Dougal and Pharlain. What can they be doing here?”
“Sakes, sir, they mean to mount an argument against my father’s charters, of course. But, Rob, come away from Lady Nisbet. I must tell you—”
“Shhh,” he said, nodding toward the fireplace. “His grace is about to speak.”
The stocky James faced them all with his hands behind him and his legs apart. “I will see your charters, one man at a time,” he said. Gesturing to the cleric at a nearby table, he added, “The scribe will note any details. Who would be first?”
Andrew hesitated while another man rushed forward. Murie thought her father seemed uncharacteristically reticent. He fixed his attention on the King.
Glancing at Pharlain and Dougal to catch Dougal smirking at her, she touched Rob’s arm and murmured, “Something is amiss. Dougal looks too confident.”
“What happens will happen,” Rob murmured back. “Hush now, before you draw undesired notice.”
She wanted to stamp a foot, but she knew he was right about drawing notice, so she kept quiet. Having all she could do to stand still, she watched Dougal.
Then she heard James say, “Ye’re Andrew Dubh MacFarlan, aye?”
Murie’s attention flew back to the hearth, where Andrew stood with James.
“Aye, your grace,” Andrew replied with a polite nod.
“You have a charter to show me, I think.”
“I do, aye,” Andrew said, carefully spreading the first of his precious charters on the table for his grace and the scribe to see.
Murie glanced around the room but
saw naught to disturb her other than the mere presence of Pharlain and Dougal.
“This is all in order,” James said, as the scribe wrote swiftly on vellum.
The next one received similar attention and comment. Then, with a smile, James said, “That is more than sufficient, sir. Do you swear fealty to me?”
“I do, aye, and for all time, your grace,” Andrew said, dropping to a knee.
Feeling a surge of pride in her father, Murie looked around again and saw Pharlain pushing forward as others made way. Prickles of warning stirred before he spoke, but she could do naught to stop whatever was about to happen.
Pharlain said dulcetly, “Forgive my intrusion, your grace, but if yon documents purport to bestow title to Arrochar, they are invalid, rendered so seven years ago. If you will permit…” Pausing expectantly, he hefted the scroll-like object he carried, wrapped in white cloth.
The sensations Murie experienced then made her feel faint. She was sure that only her awareness of Rob’s strong, solid body close behind her kept her upright.
Frowning, James motioned Pharlain forward. Dougal was moving, too.
Pharlain removed the white cloth to reveal a vellum scroll with red wax seals attached to it, similar to the charters that Andrew had presented.
“What is this?” James asked as Pharlain handed it him.
“Why, what would it be, your grace, save the current charter?” Pharlain said smoothly. “It clearly entitles me and me alone to all the lands of Arrochar. As you can see by its date, it supersedes any charter in the possession of Andrew Dubh.”
Murie’s gasp brought a look of triumph to Pharlain’s face and another smirk to his son’s, making her wish that she could slap them both soundly.