by Amy Jarecki
Chapter Twenty-One
MacCorkodale lands, 30th November, 1455
Mounted on his steed, Ewen circled his bullwhip over his head and cracked it midair. “Get up, ye wee beasties.” It had been a good year for his heifers. He’d left it a bit late for firebranding the calves, but today it wasn’t raining and the task needed to be done with.
He and his men had rounded up the herd of red shaggy cattle and were driving them toward the yard just outside the keep’s walls. In front of him, a steer bucked and gallivanted, until he stopped at a clump of grass. Digging in his spurs, Ewen galloped after the stray. With a flick of his whip, he lashed the beast’s hindquarters.
The steer brayed, his eyes rolling back. Zigzagging, Ewen drove the blighter back to the herd with quick snaps of his whip.
Ragnar rode in beside him. “That’s a fine-looking piece of beef. I’d be careful with that lash.”
Ewen chuckled. “Makes the bastards more tender.”
The lead man hopped off his horse and opened the yard’s gate. “There’s a Glenorchy firebrand on this one,” he hollered.
Ewen waved him on. It wouldn’t be difficult to alter the brand.
Ragnar chuckled. “Thieving cattle, are we now?”
“Wheesht. Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
The big henchman shrugged and leered with a sideways look. “Was at the alehouse yesterday. Word has it Glenorchy has invited all of Argyllshire to his son’s christening two days hence.”
Ewen pulled up his horse. “You don’t say?”
Ragnar smirked. “Ye aim to pay the bastard a visit?”
“Why not?” Ewen tugged the whip through his fist. “I think we’ve left his coffers alone far too long. There’s an open invitation, you say?”
“Aye.”
How can I ignore an opportunity to pry? “Mayhap I’ll poke around a bit, find Glenorchy’s latest weakness. That should be easy enough.”
Ragnar dug in his spurs and chuckled. “’Tis a good thing, m’laird. Things around here have been rather dull.”
***
Two days after the hunt, Margaret and Colin processed to the chapel. Effie walked behind them, carrying baby Duncan. It was a blustery day, spitting with rain, and Margaret had ensured Effie wrapped the bairn snuggly in furs before they set out. It was fitting the babe’s christening would be his first foray outside the castle walls.
Colin had donned his ceremonial armor. Margaret would have preferred he wore a doublet with matching hose and fashionably pointed shoes, but it mattered not. Their garments were covered with heavy fur cloaks. Besides, her husband looked like a king in his impressive blackened armor.
The priest waited as the procession neared the chapel’s threshold. Everyone invited had come—the Campbells of Argyll and Glenorchy, as well as the MacGregors. Most attendees would be forced to wait outside the small chapel’s walls as the mass was said, but Margaret had discussed with the priest that all who approached God’s table would receive holy bread and wine. The five deer felled on their hunting expedition would be the main fare at the feast—thank the good Lord for providing such abundance.
Margaret only hoped they wouldn’t be hit by a torrential downpour until after mass. She worried about her guests, especially the MacGregors, with whom she’d become so attached in the short time she’d stayed in Glen Orchy.
Alana stood beside Robert near the chapel door. Margaret held out her hands and kissed her friend on each cheek. “Why are you not inside?”
“’Tis packed to the walls.”
“Surely there’s a place for the MacGregor chieftain and his wife in the front.”
Alana clapped her hand over her heart. “But those chairs are reserved for family.”
Margaret took her hand. “And that’s exactly why we’ve reserved them for you.” Honestly, her parents were not in attendance and Colin’s had passed. What better way to strengthen the relationship between the clans?
Colin smiled and bowed to Robert. “Aye, of course, please join us.”
He then winked at Margaret, an appreciative gesture that spoke a thousand words.
It was a lovely service, and the priest followed Colin’s wishes to keep it short, with so many people attending outside in the cold. Duncan behaved amiably, with scarcely a whimper when the water was ladled over his head. Colin gazed upon Margaret through the entire mass, his reverence so palpable, Margaret felt as if the bairn had been born of her body. Her heart filled with warmth. Colin had finally accepted her as wife and mother. Now if only she could add to their brood and survive in the process.
***
Before the feast, Colin swapped his ceremonial armor for the more comfortable dress of a Highland lord—a plaid belted around his waist and a linen shirt with the Campbell colors draped from his left shoulder to his right hip. So many people crowded the tapestry-lined walls, there was nary a need for the roaring log fire in the grand hearth. Guests sat elbow to elbow at the long wooden tables, and yet some remained standing. Colin had never seen Dunstaffnage’s great hall so fully packed with people. “Remind me to review Kilchurn’s floor plans. The great hall must be larger than this by half.”
Margaret raised her goblet. “I like the way you think, m’lord. Never turn away a guest, for one small kindness could lead to a lifetime of fealty.”
“You’re a generous woman. I like that.” She’d even added more chairs to their table on the dais and invited people to sit along the platform edge.
At Colin’s opposing side, Argyll elbowed him in the arm. “What the devil is Ewen MacCorkodale doing here? Surely you didn’t invite him.”
Colin planted his feet square on the floor. A rush of heat shot through his fingers and toes. “I did not, and would never invite the cousin of the man who nearly ran me into ruin.”
Argyll frowned. “I could ask him to leave.”
“And cause a stir?” Colin took a healthy swig of wine. “’Tis a celebration. If he behaves, there is no reason to sour the gaiety for Lady Margaret.”
“I shall keep an eye on him.”
“My thanks, nephew.”
Argyll signaled for his henchman. “You’d do the same for me. Enjoy the evening. My men will see to order.”
The big henchman moved to Argyll’s side, and they spoke in hushed tones.
Eyeing them, Margaret clasped Colin’s arm. “Is everything all right?”
“Aye.” He patted her hand. “Just taking a few wise precautions to ensure it stays as such.”
With a clap of his hands, servants poured into the hall laden with trenchers of roasted venison, fresh bread and scrumptious honey-baked apples. Colin’s stomach rumbled when the succulent smells wafted from the kitchen doors. He stood and raised his cup. Benches scraped across the hall floor as every guest followed his lead. “My friends, I thank you for celebrating my son’s christening with me and his stepmother. Duncan is well on his way to becoming a just and diplomatic man. Welcome to my table. I wish you all good health.”
“Good health!” The hall resounded with the cheer.
Colin held his cup and eyed every person at the high table. Robert MacGregor and his wife, the priest, his adoring Margaret on one side. Argyll sat beside powerful clan cousins with whom they were both allied.
As dinner ended, Colin touched his lips to Margaret’s ear. “Are you ready to play for us, mo leannan?”
“Are you sure? We could just bring the musicians in now.”
“I want to show you off to the clan. ’Tis not often I hold a gathering as large as this.”
“Very well.” Margaret picked up her lute from behind a tapestry and moved to a stool Colin had placed there that morning. Aside from the day he heard petitions, she’d mostly serenaded him in his chamber—at least when he wasn’t ravishing her.
He pulled his dirk from its scabbard and pounded the hilt on the table. The noise in the hall gradually abated. When finally the lower tables quieted, he gestured
to his wife.
Her faced turned as scarlet as the red tapestry behind her—so endearing. She strummed the introduction of the ballad she’d practiced for him, then her voice sang out clear as a crystal bell.
Jaws dropped across the crowd and Colin’s heart swelled with pride—until his gaze settled on Ewen MacCorkodale. Colin could not mistake the deep desire reflected in the man’s eyes. One male predator could sniff out another from fifty paces or more, and MacCorkodale sat a mere twenty paces away. The man leaned his elbow against the board and spread his legs, a long-toed shoe pointing directly at Margaret. The dipped tilt to his chin, the wolfish grin and the tongue that slipped out and moistened his bottom lip made the hair on Colin’s nape stand on end. He slid his fingers over the round pommel of his sword. One wrong move and Ewen would be a dead man.
Margaret strummed her final chord. The hall erupted in applause. Colin clapped loudly, drowning out all others on the dais.
“Ewen’s applauding nearly as loudly as you.” Argyll nudged him. “Shall I escort him out?”
“Nay. Let the bastard step out of line. It would be my pleasure to introduce him to my claymore.”
The musicians took their places on the balcony. Servants quickly folded tables and lined the walls with benches to create enough space for dancing. At once, Ewen MacCorkodale approached the dais and bowed. “Lovely ballad, m’lady.” He gestured to the crowd. “It touched the hearts of all.”
“Thank you,” she replied with genuine grace, dipping her head respectfully.
“May I have the honor of this dance?”
Colin stood. “The first dance should be with the lady’s husband.”
He didn’t miss the lesser laird’s fleeting sneer. Ewen bared his teeth ever so slightly before he bowed. “Forgive my impertinence.” Then he had the gall to reach for Margaret’s hand. “You will then reserve the second dance for a poor chieftain, m’lady?”
Margaret smiled graciously. How she could be so damned amiable given the present company was beyond Colin’s imagination. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
Colin grasped his lady’s hand and led her to the floor. “You needn’t dance with him.”
“Aye, but it may help smooth the tainted blood between our clans.”
“After Walter’s skullduggery, I doubt our alliance will ever be more than tolerant, and barely that.”
“But it was Walter who erred, not his cousin or his entire clan.”
“Lady wife, you are wise beyond your years. But blood runs thick in the Highlands. Ewen must prove himself ten times over before I forgive Walter’s crimes against my house.”
The dance ended quickly, and blasted MacCorkodale moved toward Margaret as if he had some sort of claim. Colin clenched his fist and leaned his lips to her ear. “Save every other dance for me this night. I am not disposed to sharing you with anyone.”
Returning to the dais, Colin scowled. Ewen’s looks didn’t lighten his mood. Tall, with auburn hair and dark eyes, the neighboring chieftain had always had a way of turning the ladies’ heads.
Margaret seemed to be enjoying herself, smiling. But then, she loved to dance. She’d certainly reminded Colin of that fact enough. Often, in fact, she had Colin up dancing in his chamber while she hummed the latest court tunes. A slow grin crossed his lips. The dancing always ended well—with him on top, usually, though he might even enjoy the endings with Margaret on top more. And he would have her in his arms again this very night. Ewen MacCorkodale could take his thick, wavy locks and shave his head. Damn him to hell.
A messenger approached through the side door. “Apologies for the interruption, m’lord, but I’ve been sent from Rome…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dunstaffnage Castle, 2nd December, 1455
The missive bore the seal of His Holiness, the Pope. Colin resisted his urge to slide his finger beneath the red wax and read. Argyll glanced over Colin’s shoulder and raised his eyebrow.
Shoving the missive into the folds of his plaid, Lord Glenorchy turned to the messenger. “Please, go to the kitchens and eat your fill. I shall pen my reply on the morrow.”
The man bowed and took his leave. Argyll refilled both their goblets. “Are you not going to read it?”
“After the celebration.” Colin’s shoulder ticked up. “Besides, I ken what it contains.”
Argyll held up his goblet. “I was wondering when His Holiness would become involved. Word in Edinburgh is the Turks are gaining the upper hand in the East.”
Margaret returned to the high table flushed and breathing deeply. “I say, the minstrels are splendid. I do hope they’ll be frequent visitors.”
Colin forced a smile. “They’re well practiced indeed.”
“Whatever is wrong?”
God’s teeth, was every woman a mind reader? Colin cleared his throat and stood. Bowing, he offered his hand. “I cannot bear to watch you dance with any other than me.”
That must have satisfied her curiosity, because she giggled and grasped his hand. “I care not to dance with any other than you…if you can manage to keep up with me.”
“Are you questioning my stamina?” Oh how her wit could blot out all trepidation. Colin blocked the missive from his thoughts and led Margaret to the floor.
***
Colin appeared distracted as they climbed the tower stairs to their apartments. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with so many people bedding down in the hall, or mayhap the late hour and ample drink had affected him. Margaret was tired, too. Her slippers pinched her swollen feet. She’d danced and danced all night, just as she’d dreamed she would.
“I’ve never in my life enjoyed myself as much as I did this night.”
Colin threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m glad of it.” He led her into his chamber and closed the door. “I received a missive I must read.”
She stopped short. “Oh? Who is it from?”
He pulled the folded vellum from inside his doublet. “It bears the seal of His Holiness.”
A lead ball sank to the pit of Margaret’s stomach. “Pope Callixtus?”
“Aye, the man himself.” There was no humor in Colin’s chuckle. He gestured for her to sit by the hearth then took the seat opposite.
Margaret folded her hands in her lap, her nerves jumping across her skin. Colin slid his finger under the seal and read. Watching him, it seemed to take forever. “What does it say?”
Colin stroked his fingers down his chin. “Things have become dire. The Ottoman sultan, Mehmed, demanded tribute from the Order of St. John. When Jacques de Milly refused to pay, the infidel retaliated with raids.” Colin looked up, his expression so grave, he could have aged five years within the snap of her fingers. “The islands of Symi, Nisyros and Kos have been sacked. The Pope is summoning all Knights Hospitaller and their ships.”
“A sea battle?”
“Aye. An all-out war.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “It never ends.”
“But we’re heading into winter. Surely the troops will stand down through the season.”
Colin smirked. “Not in the Mediterranean Sea. Winter is but a blustery spring day on the Isle of Rhodes.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to sail across the Atlantic with Grandfather Frost so near?”
“Not as dangerous now as it will become. I must make haste. The longer I wait, the more perilous the crossing will be.”
Margaret stood and paced, pressing her hands against her midriff. The room spun. She knew this day would come, but had put it out of her mind. Dear God in heaven, why now? Sailing into winter? That is madness. How could the Pope summon a call to arms before Yule? How many other knights would put their lives on the line crossing the wide ocean to take up the cross for Christendom?
“How soon?” she asked, clinging to the possibility for delay.
“As quickly as supplies can be gathered and loaded on my galley.”
Please God no. “Are you taking the fleet?” she asked weakly.
“Onl
y one, given the weather and our need to continue trade in Scotland.”
The room spun faster. This couldn’t be happening. Not when things between them had become so blessedly perfect. Margaret’s stomach convulsed with a wave of nausea. She’d only had a touch of queasiness in the mornings for the past sennight, but the bouts had passed as soon as she broke her fast. She swallowed hard. Her stomach heaved. She clapped her hand over her mouth and raced to the privy closet.
Bending over, she couldn’t contain the horrible noises escaping her throat. Over and over she retched. Her body purged everything she’d consumed that night until yellow bile burned with one last heave.
Colin placed his hand on her back and rubbed. “There, there, mo leannan, ’tis not as bad as all that. I know the news is grave, but all will be well. You mustn’t fret. I’ve lived through two crusades. I swear on my name I’ll live through another.”
Margaret wiped her mouth with a cloth, cringing at the bitter taste in her mouth. “I need watered wine and mint.”
“Of course. Come.” He grasped her elbow. “Sit and I’ll bring it to you.”
Trembling, Margaret allowed him to lead her to the chair. She could keep the news to herself no longer. After taking a long draw of the watered wine and a few chews on the mint leaves, she set the cup down with a shaky hand. “You’d best sit as well, for I have something I must say.”
Colin brushed his fingers along her cheek. “You should—”
“Sit. Please.” She again pressed her palms to her abdomen and rubbed. “’Tis early yet, and I didn’t want to say anything until I was absolutely certain, but I believe my sickness confirms it.”
Colin stared with knitted brows. Heaven’s stars, the man had been through this before. Must she utter it? The concern in his eyes deepened.
She covered her face with her hands. This had to be the absolute worst time to make such an announcement. “I’m with child.”
Colin didn’t move.
Margaret spread her fingers to better see him.
His face grew dark, then his brows arched and eyes popped wide. He formed an O with his lips. “You mean…you’re… When?”