The Banshee of Castle Muirn

by Sheila Currie

  “But not mine. Oh, bring it all here.”

  “Priscilla.” Catriona tasted the name. “Peculiar name. Peculiar clothes.” Her stepmother’s maids had shown Catriona how to dress Shona in Lowland fashion. “All right. The bum roll, petticoat and kirtle. Then the bodice.”

  The worst part was the bodice, which stopped the breath in her chest. Catriona began to lace it, and Shona winced. “Not so tight.”

  “Sorry!” She untied the laces and redid them. “I can’t see her wearing the earasaid. Can you?”

  “Never! Nor can I see her walking out on the moor in this device for torture. With her gentle manners she’ll not venture outside the castle keep anyway.”

  “Now the gown over top.” Shona lifted her arms and Catriona slipped it on. “Wearing the gown is easier, rather like putting on a coat and hiding the evil bodice beneath.”

  “Just you wait. For all your efforts, Priscilla will remind you how barbaric we are.”

  “I should tell her I’d rather be wicked and comfortable in Castle Muirn.”

  Shona laughed, but there was no heart in it. “Let’s get this over with.” Before she left, she kissed Catriona’s cheek. “I’ll say a charm to keep myself safe.”

  “From the darts of her tongue.”

  As Shona descended the stone steps of the spiral stair to her stepmother’s chamber, only the faint smell of the stables wafted through the lancet window. No odour of roasting and baking for the second feast day rose from the cookhouse outside. She quickly bypassed Priscilla’s chamber and entered the hall. No one had laid fires. A dozen boys and old men stood about the hall awaiting orders. The maor taighe, the man in charge of the hall, came to her and bowed.

  “We’ll need the fires lit and trestle tables set up. The linens spread.” She spoke as though there was nothing wrong except a late start.

  “Your stepmother ... She has no Gàidhlig, but she has a way of making her wishes well known.” The maor did not meet her eyes.

  “You need not worry. I’ll speak with her. You’re all right to see to things now?”

  “Indeed, Shona Iain Glas. It’ll take us no time at all.” The men jumped to their tasks, happy to do what was necessary.

  Shona would deal with the odd woman who was her stepmother later, and take the blame for her displeasure. Normally the Campbells of Gleann Muirn welcomed any strangers, and every other month Shona’s father held a holiday feast sometimes lasting a week. There was plenty of food in the castle and the baile, enough to feed all the people who expected hospitality at the castle.

  Trying not to trip on the long skirt and gown, she carefully descended the outside stair. A young cook came out of the kitchen building. As soon as he saw her, he ran back inside. Shortly all the cooks poured out and gathered round her.

  “Listen, men. We must have the feast. We must honour the death of Niall Calum.”

  “We can’t cook.” The head cook folded his arms over his chest.

  “Priscilla Fleschour won’t permit it,” said another cook.

  “She came into the kitchen house?” The ways of her Lowland stepmother were not easy to comprehend.

  “She pulled us away from the hearth and the pots,” said a young assistant. “No doubt she wanted us to do nothing.”

  “Wouldn’t let us light the fires.” The cook twisted a cloth in his hands. “We did nothing to offend her.” He whispered and looked up at the tower.

  “She can’t hear you with the windows shuttered, and she can’t understand you anyway.”

  They agreed that was so.

  “You did nothing wrong at all. She’ll change her mind.” Not likely. Not without powerful persuasion. Shona was not good at persuasion, considering the disaster at the shore.

  “What will your father say?”

  “You told her it’s expected?” said the head cook.

  “I’ll tell her again.” The lack of hospitality would shame the Campbells. Did the gentry in Edinburgh not prepare feasts on holidays? “Light the kitchen fires!” She wished her father back soon. “The tables in the hall will soon be ready for you.”

  “Willingly!” The cooks and their helpers scattered to their tasks.

  Now to beard the dragon in her den. With luck and a charm, Shona might survive unscathed.

  When she returned to the hall, the tables and benches were set up, and young lads were spreading linen cloths and polishing silver cups and plates. A few smiled a greeting. Now for her stepmother. Whatever jigs her heart and stomach performed, Shona had to appear as serene as a minister. She climbed the spiral stair slowly and wished the castle were higher and the stairs more numerous. In the year or so after her mother died of fever, she’d taken comfort in touching the things she had handled: the table and chairs at the hearth, the thick brocade of the bed curtains, the rich tapestries on the walls. Now a new wife occupied that chamber: Priscilla Fleschour, a merchant’s daughter from Edinburgh with two women to serve her. Shona had learned little more since she’d arrived, wet and unhappy, during a heavy rain.

  Shona took a deep breath, pushed open the door and stepped up into the room. As though care in walking and opening doors might make Priscilla more pleasant. For her father’s sake, she’d be polite and patient. She glanced at the canopied bed dominating the room where her mother had given birth to her. Many a day her family had gathered at the hearth in the evening to hear stories of adventures in strange lands and animals as wise or foolish as humankind. But the warm places of youth were no more. Her stepmother and her maids sat on a window bench opposite a hearth with a tiny fire. The room, cold as a snowy heath, was so gloomy Shona could hardly see the images of unicorns and trees on the tapestries.

  “Ye’re late. Come ye here,” Priscilla said as her two women sat up straight on their stools. Learned men from Ireland had taught Shona the language of southern England, but she had difficulty understanding her stepmother’s Inglishe. Her black mood was obvious.

  Shona plunged into the matter at hand. “No one has prepared food for the feast. We feed many on the holidays.” She regretted it the moment the words were out of her mouth. Too forward. Too bold by half.

  “A great waste of food. Let strangers eat in inns when they travel.” Without inviting her to sit, Priscilla sat, snatched up her embroidery and studied it. Her strong breathing filled the room.

  “Madame, there are no inns here. No need for them when travellers may ask us for food and lodging.” Shona had to explain to Priscilla that they were honour bound to offer hospitality. Otherwise people would think the Campbells poor or mean-spirited, and they'd not be offered hospitality away from home.

  “No here, they cannae. Nae mair. Ye can go.” She held her embroidery to the light. “A darker green for the smaller leaves, I think.” Her serving woman put a hand in a wicker basket of yarns.

  “I’ve ordered food prepared.”

  Her stepmother spoke slowly in a low, menacing voice. “Listen, ma lass. I rule here in yer faither’s stead. No welcome dae I give tae thieves and thiggers. Yon beggars can eat cauld brose away frae this castle.”

  “Most of them belong to our clan. A few from elsewhere. We must show them hospitality and maintain the friendship between the branches of the Clan Campbell.” It made no sense to offend people whose help the Campbells of Gleann Muirn might later need. This must be true in the Lowlands as well. Or else Priscilla’s family was very different from others. Shona’s neck was tense, and she began to shake. She had never faced such a woman before.

  She took a deep breath and turned round in her Lowland dress. “I’m wearing yer gift of clothing, madame. I hope it pleases ye.”

  “Ye look less like a heathen, but ye still think like one.”

  Be patient. “Madame, generous hospitality is the custom here. It must be done.”

  Priscilla stood up and her women moments after. “Ye’ll nae feed thae beggars! I'll tell yer faither that your behaviour's no seemly.”

  “Please come to the hall and meet your husband’s ki
n.”

  “Take yerself aff!” Priscilla turned her back to her.

  “You’ll be welcome.” She heard a quiver in her voice. What would she do if Priscilla came down and started to throw everyone out? She’d already frightened the cooks and the hall servants.

  Better if she stayed in her chamber.

  Shona quietly closed the door behind her. She wanted to walk down the stair, but she hung onto the doorlatch till her legs found their strength.

  The clamour of people arriving in the hall below broke her spell of weakness. She hurried down as fast as she could. She wanted to change into the earasaid, but she had guests to greet.

  And perhaps that MacDonald among them. Alasdair.

  In the hall, fires burned in the two hearths, making warm shadows in the room. On the high table meant for the chief and his intimates, serving lads placed the precious silver plates, drinking cups and candlesticks that proclaimed a noble house. Others carried platters of cheeses, bread and cold fowl up from the cookhouse to all the trestle tables. On the chief’s table, farthest from the entrance, they had also placed strong drink. Only a few, including herself, would sit there that night. Through the crowd in the hall, children rippled like water-smoothed stones in a turbulent stream. One child caught the legs of a friendly woman who embraced her gently, and protected her against the current of people.

  Would Shona’s father, their chief, shield his people as his family had for generations? Or would the strange ways of the Lowlands come to Castle Muirn, and make the Castle of Delight a place of echoes?

  Catriona led in the poet Calum Athairne, a treasure house of stories, enough to entertain the company for days. But he had come for his dead son Niall. Her serving woman had seated him with the harper in chairs by the wide hearth, and they were already sipping hot wine. They would join her at the high table. As they entered Shona welcomed her father's kin, friends and companions.

  She signalled Catriona. “Come gossip with me. Talk to me about anything except my stepmother.”

  “Never mind her for now.” Catriona patted her arm. “We kept the poet and the harper in the guardroom out of sight. I told them to stay there till we built a proper fire in the hall. Your stepmother doesn’t know that a poet displeased could rain curses upon the whole of Clan Campbell. You must tell her to behave better.”

  “I did, and she became angry and was in no humour to listen to anything I had to say. Besides, I doubt he’d curse us.”

  “Maybe just her.” Catriona tittered.

  “Be serious. No good cursing her. I think she is cursed, poor soul.”

  “You’re right. But walling herself up in that room isn’t wise. She’s always angry.”

  “I’m sorely tempted to abandon her there. Maybe it’ll be better when my father comes home. Until then I’ll try to spend time with her.”

  Shona held her hands to the fire, which failed to warm them. Then she set to work welcoming guests.

  “So the MacDonalds from the shore will be sharing the feast.” Catriona studied her. “No doubt the big man with the black, black hair will be among them?”

  Shona could feel her cheeks warming at the mention of Alasdair. “I believe so.”

  “You believe so? You truly hope so.” Catriona’s eyes widened. “Look at you blushing.”

  “It’s the heat of the fire.”

  “The heat of the fire. Doubtful! That MacDonald would love to fling you over his horse and carry you off to the west.”

  Chapter 4

  Castle Muirn stood out stark against the glassy surface of the sea loch. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees.

  Alasdair and his kin passed by the iron yett, left open to admit people to the castle. As they came to the guardhouse, two Campbell men with Lochaber axes came out and stopped them. The thick blades of their long weapons tickled the low ceiling of the entrance.

  “Fàilte dhan a’ Chaisteal Mhuirn. Welcome to Castle Muirn. A great feast awaits you and your clan in the hall.”

  Not exactly friendly, but not too hostile either.

  “Mòran taing dhuibh. Many thanks to you.”

  “We’ll keep your claymores, dirks and axes here, if you please.”

  Not an unusual request, and Alasdair and his men complied. No one would risk a bad reputation by attacking men without proper weapons. Alasdair would have been concerned had they not been asked for them. But of course they kept their small knives for eating.

  The largest building in the courtyard had to be the keep. He and his men headed for the covered stairway hugging its wall. The hall would be at the top of the stair.

  Alasdair studied the buildings in the courtyard. “These Campbell men have a grand castle here.”

  “We saw bigger and better in the Low Countries,” said Ruari.

  “Our house wasn’t as grand. But in good years my father had a proper table with plenty of silver dishes and candlesticks.”

  “He did that.”

  “And a good-sized granary.”

  “Not much is in it now.”

  “See the stables and barracks?” Alasdair did not point to them. He was aware they could be still considered spies for their clan.

  “I do. A dozen horses and a garrison of fifty maybe.”

  “When they’re all here. And they’re not, it seems.” Alasdair counted three men in the guardhouse and two more stood at the top of the stairs. All older men. There was no light or movement in one of the barracks and, through the open shutters of a window in the other, he saw one light. The Campbells were well off but not well guarded.

  “Likely the Lowlanders took advantage of the situation.”

  “It’s unusual for Lowlanders to be so well informed about a Highland castle.”

  Alasdair led his men to the keep, where they climbed the outside stair.

  “So what shall we say to an enemy clan?” asked Ruari. “The topics of conversation are limited.” His men murmured their agreement.

  “Praise the day and ask they how they are. Be polite,” said Alasdair.

  Gillesbic’s brows and mouth turned down. “Beautiful day and will any of you slide a knife under my ribs?”

  “The Campbells know that we saved them on the shore yesterday. No one will tear our hearts out today.” Shona had asked them—him—to help her and he had been pleased to do so. Very pleased.

  “Tomorrow they’ll forget.” As always, Gillesbic looked for trouble in every nook. “Your idea sounded better when we were safe at home.”

  I agree. But their own people had invested in them and they had to go through with the plan. “Keep your eyes on the finish. We make money, we feed our people, we collect cattle for droves next year. We might even be able to buy back our land one day.”

  “If we live that long,” said Gillesbic.

  On the threshold to the great room, the crowd quieted and faced the MacDonalds who had appeared at the shore to help them. Shona hoped they remembered that. Alasdair had four men with him, a suitable retinue for a gentleman. His hair hung almost to his shoulders in waves so black they shone blue in the candlelight. His féileadh did not hide the breadth of his shoulders nor his shirt the width of his arms. He was nearly two yards high, a figure of strength and menace.

  All round him, people stared at the strangers till they passed by and shown to their places by the maor taighe, who knew rank and protocol.

  They were members of Clan Donald, once rulers of half Scotland, their enemies to the west. Here in the hall at Castle Muirn.

  Niall Calum was dead and a few in the room felt the MacDonalds might have something to do with it. Despite the help given them at the shore, the Campbells still thought they were the enemy.

  Some gasped. Children hugged their mothers. People moved out of the way as they made their way toward Shona on the dais. Yet Alasdair did not scowl or show discomfort.

  Her body warmed.

  “The MacDonalds from the shore, no doubt.” Catriona looked at her for confirmation. “Oh, dear. I think their leader qui
te dangerous. To you.”

  Shona’s cheeks were burning; she was sure they showed red. She could hide nothing from her cousin and servant. “Alasdair has come for hospitality and entertainment like everyone else.”

  “Alasdair, is it? You know his name. And hospitality is all he’s come for?”

  “Of course. Nothing to worry about.” He’d visit and he’d leave, except in her dreams, but she couldn’t look Catriona in the eye.

  “What will we do with him? Where will the maor seat him?”

  “He’s a gentleman by his clothes and a hero by his deeds: first seat at the low table close to the dais. Not the high table, but close enough to be honoured.”

  The maor moved close to the dais.

  “There won’t be trouble. They’re MacDonalds. Their ways are our ways. The rules of hospitality will keep them civil. Don’t worry.” She wondered how far the Lowlanders and their terrible leader had travelled. Likely not far. They knew there were few men of fighting age at the castle, and the invaders might return.

  Despite a heart sounding like hoofbeats, louder and louder, Shona controlled the impulse to run over and welcome Alasdair and tell him how grateful she was for his help. She stepped off the dais and approached him with what she hoped was a dignified manner—she was having trouble with dignity in the big Lowland dress and sleeves. “Please be welcome. Come by the fire. Hasn’t it been damp today?”

  “I hardly noticed.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of Alasdair’s mouth. “But my men are glad to share your feast.”

  “A warm welcome to you and plenty good food for you … and your men.” Her heart still rumbled in her breast. He must think her silly. She needed a distraction. She said to the head servitor, “Bring the hot dishes.” Then, “I am … we are … very grateful for your taking our part against the Lowlanders.” She had no idea what to say next. Sorry we took your land long ago?

  “Have you any idea why the Lowlanders were here?”