Highland Master

by Howell, Hannah

  “Agreed.”

  Triona hurried off to write her letter and Brett looked at his companions. “It will be hard to nay just kill the bastard if we find him, but she is right. ’Twill be best to get the nod from their liege laird first so there is nay question, nay doubt, and nary one wee concern about retribution from any friends Sir John may have.”

  “Aye,” agreed Brian. “We are nay from here, nay part of either clan, and need that mon’s word that we can do as must be done. Now, I mean to go and make certain my wife doesnae get near any of these men until it is certain that they dinnae carry any illness.”

  “I am eager to go to Gormfeurach to see if the horses and weapons are there, have even just told Triona I would do that,” said Brett, “but I am also weary of riding about this land.” He smiled at the murmurs of hearty agreement he heard. “I believe it can wait a wee bit longer.”

  “On the morrow?” asked Callum. “Do ye think she will hear from her laird by then?”

  “Cannae say. The mon has defended Sir John far longer than I think reasonable, but I do believe he will nay be able to accept this or e’en try to excuse it. Nay sure we need his acceptance of Sir John’s crimes to go and inquire about some missing horses and weapons, either. I will think on it. It may, in the end, serve us best if we wait for some word from her liege laird, for it will make it easier for us to get into Gormfeurach. Mayhap we will just go ahunting for Sir John again come the morning.” He had to smile at the way the others groaned.

  Brett soon found himself standing alone in the bailey. He wandered into the manor and was confronted with what appeared to be chaos, but he suspected it was far more organized and controlled than it looked. Men were crowded into the great hall and others were rushing in and out with tubs and buckets of water. Women with cheeks still wet with tears were hurrying back and forth with clothing and rags for washing and tending wounds.

  As soon as he found a path to take, Brett slipped into the great hall and looked for Triona, knowing she would not have been able to walk past such disorder. She was standing by a table covered in clothing and rags, quietly directing all the women and youths who worked to clean and bandage the men of the garrison. If her liege laird could see her now, Brett mused, he would not doubt that she was doing perfectly well without some man to lead her.

  “I dinnae believe I have e’er seen so many naked men in one place before,” he drawled as he stepped up beside her.

  Tired and upset as she was, Triona had to smile. “That is true. ’Tis also odd how modesty disappears completely when ’tis such a crowd, all your companions are also naked, and all of you are desperate to get clean. He left them to rot in their own filth,” she said, the anger she tried to control hardening her voice.

  “I ken it. I also suspect ye will now have a garrison that is going to be verra particular about how clean they are. It can happen like that. Many people arenae so quick to bathe, as it can be a laborious process or they believe it unhealthy, as some do, but once denied the ability to wash the filth away, to have to suffer your own stench day after day, such a thing becomes verra important.”

  “Weel, that would be nice, I think, although it may mean I need to have something readied for them to use as they wish to. A large washing cottage or something. I worry right now that this filth has aggravated their wounds, e’en poisoned them. The marks of their chains are particularly worrisome. Many have broken the skin and done so more than once.”

  “There will be scars. I have seen such before.”

  “Ah, how sad. They will be forced to remember this each time they see them.” She nodded to where the prisoners from Gormfeurach helped with the bathing of the men. “Sir John’s men are appalled. Ye can see the pain in their eyes. This has shamed them all and was done by a mon they swore allegiance to.”

  “It will make it easier for them when he is gone then.” He looked at her. “Have ye already written that letter?”

  “I was about to go and do so. I but needed to make certain all is being done that can be done for the men. I will send it straight to my liege laird. Sir Mollison cannae ignore this. I mean to send several men so that those guards ye captured may go along as weel. If naught else, I dinnae want the responsibility for punishing them, and sending them to Sir Mollison means he will have to do it.” She turned to wash her hands in a small basin. “Then I can return to help see to the wounded.”

  When she began to go to her ledger room, Brett fell into step beside her. “Ye nay longer fear that another complaint will have the mon demanding ye wed?”

  “He can try. I will then be quick to remind him of the one he favored as my choice.”

  Brett laughed but quickly grew serious again. “I can ride with them if ye wish, but it might be best for ye if this is kept to only your own men.”

  “Do ye think they are ready for such a thing? Sir John could be watching for them.”

  “Then send a few MacFingals along, as they ken how to avoid being seen. Then your men can ride alone once they are near your laird’s land.”

  She agreed, and he left her so that he could go to his bedchamber and wash. The smell of the prison was probably no longer clinging to him, but he could still smell it. Brett doubted it was a smell he would easily forget, but getting clean and changing his clothing would help.

  Triona sighed and watched the men ride away to deliver her letter to Sir Mollison. The bound guards went with them, as did three of Sir Brian’s men. Or rather, three of the man’s brothers, and she idly wondered just how many brothers the man had. She shook aside the thought and said a quick prayer that this time her liege laird would not disappoint her.

  “Ye have done good, m’lady,” said Nessa as she stepped up next to Triona. “Ye brought our laddies home.”

  “Nay all of them, and I wouldnae have been able to do it without the help of Sir Brett and Sir Brian’s men.”

  “True, but ’twas ye who thought on how odd it was that we had heard naught from our lads. The rest of us just accepted it, didnae e’en think on it much except to wonder when the fools would tire of France and come home. Ye have a keen wit, m’lady, as does your wee lass. She will be as quick as ye, once she ceases leaping into trouble.”

  “My wee Ella is an angel,” drawled Triona, and smiled faintly when Nessa laughed.

  “I am sure she is, and I would probably be able to see her bonnie angel wings if she wasnae covered head to toe in mud.”

  Wondering what Nessa meant, Triona looked in the direction the woman was staring and gasped when she saw her daughter rolling around in a shallow mud pit. “Ella Mary Margaret McKee!” she cried as she hurried over to the child.

  “Uh-oh.” Ella stood up to face her mother.

  “What are ye doing wallowing in the mud like the swine?”

  “I wanted to see why they like to do that.”

  After seeing that there really was no place to grab hold of the girl without getting mud on herself, Triona grasped the little girl’s hand and started toward the manor. “They do it because it cools them down and eases itches. Wee lassies dinnae need to wallow in mud to do that.”

  “Am I going to have to do a punishment?”

  “Aye. And ye are also going to have to be scrubbed from head to toe.”

  Realizing she could not take a child dripping with mud up to the bedchambers, and idly wondering where Peggy was, Triona sighed and started to walk through the great hall. She would have to scrub the child down in the kitchens. When she caught sight of Peggy helping to tend to the men of the garrison, she decided she would not scold the young woman for taking her eyes off Ella.

  Then she noticed how many of the men were looking at Ella and the trail of mud she was leaving behind. To her amazement, many of them smiled, a couple even laughed softly. The fact that every little wave Ella sent to the men splattered more mud around only added to their amusement. Her daughter would still have to be punished, but seeing how she had restored some light into the men’s lives, Triona decided it would not b
e too harsh a one.

  At the doorway to the kitchen she met Brett, who was doing a very poor job of hiding his amusement when he asked, “Is that wee Ella under there?”

  “Aye, sir,” Ella replied, and tried to wipe a bit of mud off her face, only to scowl at how much mud was on the sleeve of the gown she wore. “I was wallowing. Had to see why the pigs do it. It wasnae as much fun as I thought, since I will have to do a punishment now.”

  “Aye, ye will. Best to leave that sort of thing to the pigs, sweet girl.” He looked at Triona. “Need help?”

  She opened her mouth to say no and then realized all the women in the keep were tending to the men in the great hall. “I thought ye were going to go to Gormfeurach to look for my missing horses and weapons.”

  “I am thinking it might be best if we wait for word from your laird. I want nothing to steal the power of the accusation ye send your liege laird this time.” He smiled again as he heard another lump of mud fall loudly onto the floor. “So, do ye want some help?”

  “I think I may, but ye dinnae have to aid me in scrubbing mud off a child.”

  “I have done it before,” he said as he stepped aside so she could go into the kitchen, and then followed her. “I come from a verra, verra large family.”

  He proved to be surprisingly skillful in the chore of cleaning up a muddy child. An apologetic Peggy hurried in with clean clothes for Ella, but Triona waved away her offer to take over, telling her the men needed her help more. Once Ella was clean, her hair braided, Triona sent her off to help the other girls tear up cloth to be used as bandages for the men and to do anything else that might be asked of her. She stood in the doorway watching how the men who had the strength to do so greeted the little girl, teasing her about how pretty she was, now that they could actually see her.

  “Nay such a harsh punishment,” murmured Brett as he stood next to her.

  “I watched them smile, even laugh, as I walked Ella through the hall, and I just couldnae punish her too harshly. She gave them a touch of lightness, if only for a moment.”

  “Aye, she did. She reminded them that they are home now, home where wee lassies get covered in mud and mothers have to scrub them. A simple thing, an innocent childish bit of mischief, but a needed reminder that they are indeed home.”

  “Yet I just realized that some of the men are still unclothed. Mayhap I shouldnae let a wee lass wander about the hall so freely at the moment.”

  “I dinnae think she has e’en noticed, and the women are doing their best to hide the men’s bodies from the sight of Ella and the other young lassies helping.”

  “Weel, good enough then. I have sent the men off with the captured guards and the letter to my liege laird. I but pray that the mon doesnae take too long to send word back. And now I best go and help in the tending of the men. Some will probably be able to go home with their wives or mothers, but it may be a while ere all of them are out of the great hall.”

  “We can eat in the kitchens, if needed.”

  Her smile warmed him, and he watched her hurry off to help with cleaning and bandaging the men. Brett then saw that one man, now clean and bandaged, was being helped by two small boys and was walking toward the doors of the great hall. Realizing some of the men would be more than ready to get back to their cottages, he moved to help. It was going to be a long day, he mused, as he relieved the two grunting little boys of the man’s weight and began to help him get outside, where a cart waited to take him home.

  Triona yawned as she shed her clothes and washed up. Most of the men had been taken home by their families. Others who were just in need of rest, food, and the occasional check on their small wounds, had been moved to the peel tower, which the unwed members of the garrison had always called home. Eight very weak men remained in the great hall, where it would be warmer and easier to immediately render any aid. She was hopeful that they would recover now that they were free, with ample food and water, and many willing hands to help nurse their wounds.

  Just as she tugged on her night shift, Brett walked in. She blushed and then silently cursed. It was foolish to blush, after all they had done together, but she did seem prone to doing so. Triona wanted to be mature, calm, and ladylike before her lover, but she began to think that was never going to happen. The man entered her bedchamber and she was immediately reminded of the passion they had shared, and then she blushed again.

  “A long day,” he murmured, and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I went to see the men in the peel tower, to make certain it didnae trouble them to be in one again.”

  Triona groaned and rested her head against his chest. “They were held prisoner in a tower. I should have thought of that.”

  “The one they were in was a dark ruin, with chains, no light, little food and water, and no women dashing in and out to make certain they were weel. I but wanted to make certain they could see that difference. They were more than content for, to them, it is home. They are in their own beds and nay chained to a wall. Dinnae fret.”

  “If ye are sure they willnae suffer for being in there . . .”

  “I am verra sure. As one told me, it is nay the same. They can see out the wee arrow slots that are now windows, e’en open them, and most important, if they do begin to be troubled, they can step outside.” He picked her up in his arms and took her to the bed. “They will be fine. And I think the ones we feared might die, will be fine as weel.”

  She watched him shed his clothes, and idly thought that she would never tire of the sight. “I began to think the same thing as they gained a wee bit of strength simply from being clean and seeing their families, their friends.” She opened her arms in welcome when he joined her on the bed. “Thank ye for bringing them home. Thank ye for helping them.”

  “No need to thank me. Although”—he plucked at her night shift—“ye could promise to nay put this on again.”

  She laughed. “’Tis habit. Boyd was verra precise about how I should always wear it.” Suddenly feeling very daring, she sat up and tugged it off. The way his gaze grew heated as she did so made her own desire stir. “Better?”

  “Much, although I find I actually like to take it off myself from time to time,” he said as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Triona fully gave herself over to his lovemaking, losing herself in the passion they shared. She needed the heat of it to burn away the sadness of seeing how abused the men of Banuilt had been, how they had suffered. She also needed to fill herself up with the memory of his touch, his kiss, the way he filled her, for she knew he was only a lover, that he offered no words of love or any promises of a future. No matter what her heart cried out for, he would leave when her troubles ended. Triona wanted her heart, mind, and body so crowded with memories that the pain she knew she would feel when he rode away could be eased by them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Triona stared at the letter her liege laird’s man had just given her, reading it again in disbelief. She had not been surprised when the laird had sent one of his own men back with hers, for this was a grave matter. But she had been puzzled as to why the man carried two letters for her. He had met with only a few of her slowly recovering men, listening closely to their tales, and then he had very carefully ripped up one of those letters and handed her the one she now held. With a curt bow and wishes for a good hunt, his face tight with anger, he had then silently left.

  “I hope that missive doesnae say that we have to show Sir John any mercy,” said Brett as he stepped up beside her and lightly stroked her back, concerned about how pale she had become.

  The warmth of Brett’s hand on her back slowly pushed away the chill that had seized Triona as she read the words in the letter. She wondered if he realized he was acting with her in a rather intimate, even affectionate way, in front of everyone gathered there. It would probably be wise to step away from that soothing caress, but she could not find the strength to do so, and she could see that no one was paying any particular attention to what he was doing. T
urning her head, she saw that he had his saddlebag over his shoulder, obviously prepared to set out after Sir John as soon as possible.

  “Nay, it doesnae, although I suspicion the one that mon tore up may have said something of the like,” she replied. “He was sent here by the laird to confirm what the prisoners we sent him had said, and did so by speaking to my men. Aye, and by looking at them. It has been only three days since the men came home, and what they suffered can still be clearly seen in their gaunt faces. Struth, I was a wee bit surprised at how quickly Sir Mollison replied.”

  “I would wager the laird’s mon heard much more than just the tale of their imprisonment. I watched him as he spoke to a few of the women as weel.”

  “And ye. He spoke with ye, too.”

  “He did. He wished to ken who we were and why we were here. I told him. It appears he also kens a few of my kinsmen from the king’s court, meeting them from time to time when he goes there on the laird’s business.” He grinned. “And he has heard a lot about the Camerons and the MacFingals.” He quickly grew serious again, before Triona could ask what the man may have heard. “So, he may have wondered if your men would lie for your sake; but with the word of men who have no true bond to Banuilt and its people, and have naught to gain with any lie, he was satisfied.”

  “I think he was also appalled by how my men had been treated by a mon who claims to be our ally. Over the years, the fighting men of Banuilt have served our liege laird verra weel.”

  “So what does your liege say we must do about Sir John Grant?”

  “Whate’er we deem necessary to end his crimes against Banuilt. He has removed all protection from Sir John and has given us full rights to the meting out of justice in any way we deem fitting.”

  “Good. As of this moment, Sir John Grant is naught but a walking dead mon.”

  Startled by the cold fury behind his words, Triona began to protest, “But—”