The Banshee of Castle Muirn

by Sheila Currie

  That pleased her. She left him in the great hall, and went upstairs to her stepmother’s chamber, where she found her stepmother content as she bent over her needlework in the company of her maids.

  “A debt to the chapman has been overlooked,” said Shona.

  “That man back again.” Priscilla eyed her suspiciously, looked at the silk threaded in her needle, and took another stitch or two. “Send him away.”

  “If he’s paid, I’m sure he’ll go.” Shona hoped to bring this embarrassment to a quick end.

  “He charges an awful price. Twice the price that I paid in Edinburgh.”

  “He has to bring it here on his back.”

  “Robbery. Give him this.” She dug a farthing from the sporran at her waist—not nearly enough.

  “You took his stock.” She wasn’t sure what she’d do if her stepmother refused to pay.

  “I needed it.” Her stepmother bent to her embroidery again. “I’ll hear no more about it.”

  Shona stood, ignored and wondering what to do next. She had the coin box, a gift from her father. He didn’t tell her why she needed coins. From one year to the next, she never handled money. No need. Her father paid for her clothes and jewellery, but he had set aside a little coin for her dowry. And other things, so he said.

  After curtseying to her stepmother, she slipped upstairs for the rest of the money to pay the chapman. Her father must know his new wife well.

  When Shona gave the chapman his money, he fingered it thoughtfully.

  “Have you had enough to eat?”

  “Plenty, gracious lady.”

  Something seemed to trouble him. “What is it?” she asked.

  He swallowed with difficulty. “News from the Lowlands.”

  “What have you seen?”

  “Riots against the king—in the street not a stone’s throw from Muirn Lodge, where your father stays.”

  People acting against the king? Unthinkable. Her father in danger—at the edge of a whirlpool of great events. “What more can you tell me?”

  He seemed concerned for her. “The brawling doesn’t last, but that won’t be the end of it. The people in Edinburgh are angry about the king’s prayer book. He wants them all to use a book in church.”

  “His prayer book?” Hardly a reason to be angry.

  “I don’t understand it myself. They won’t talk to Highlanders. I buy my stock and supplies and they fall silent when they hear my Highland speech.”

  “Is my family in danger?”

  “No, sensible folk just stayed in their houses. No worries there, Shona Iain Glas.”

  “You’ll stay and rest.” She’d have to tell Myles. Her family must return home to the safety of the mountains. Her father home again! Her heart lifted. She left the chapman as he took a stool in the sunshine of the hall, where serving men joined him to hear his news.

  From the window behind the dais, she could see a carpet of wild flowers—yellow bedstraw and milkweed—waving freely in the wind by the shore. Shona made her way to the castle garden, a stone enclosure by the curtain wall, where the pear and apple trees sheltered. As she passed through the garden gate, she saw many had already gathered.

  “Eleven MacDonalds spotted from the walls, Shona Iain Glas,” a guard whispered. “Vipers soon in our midst.”

  He was joking but half serious. “You’ll keep us safe.”

  “My life is yours,” said the guard.

  She was more concerned about her father than the danger presented by the MacDonalds. She could only wait—the lot of women. Perhaps the MacDonalds could find out if the Campbell men in Edinburgh were in danger. Without attracting attention, she’d wait for an opportunity to speak to Alasdair alone.

  Now, that was something. MacDonalds protecting Campbells.

  Chapter 10

  Shona stood at the garden wall by an old apple tree. Warm from the sun, the fragrance of apples was overpowering. She waited for Alasdair to visit Myles. Her thoughts had dwelt on the MacDonald overmuch and she was bursting to see him. She calmed herself with slow breaths.

  Enjoy the garden. Pass the time until he comes.

  Myles and his household men sat on chairs and benches in an alcove lined with tapestries while other kin and guests wandered the garden. Birds squabbled and fluttered in the trees as a harper plucked a lively tune on his instrument.

  Shona started at the clink of a sword and footfalls. Heavy, blunt steps that she knew well. Connington and Rutherford, his shadow. Connington pulled her beside him with a toothy smile. “Come sit with us, sweet dove.” He indicated a bench near Priscilla, who already occupied a good chair in the shade.

  He placed his hand on Shona’s lower back and forced her in the direction of his aunt. He trapped her hand in his and sat her down. It would all seem so harmless to anyone looking on. She sat up straight so that she needn’t touch him.

  “Thomas is learning yer heathen tongue,” said Priscilla. “Just tae keep ye happy.”

  “Very nice.” She felt ill from his presence—and the iron in his weapons. “Perhaps you could leave your sword with the guard. It’s our custom not to carry arms here.”

  “Tae please ye, ma rose.” He ordered a servant to take them away.

  The maor taighe announced the MacDonalds. Heads high, Alasdair and his men strode into the garden. Along with the rest of the crowd, she stared at him. He appeared confident in a bright new fèileadh and a jacket with sleeves slashed to display a generous linen shirt. In the sunlight, gems gleamed on his shoulder brooch. A man who wore such wealth openly must be well able to defend it. With effortless grace, he and his men circled Myles sunwise in the Gaelic manner of showing respect.

  Alasdair’s smile held all the light of the sun in it. It seemed to be directed at all those in the garden, but then he shone at her. That smile and the light in his eyes brought back the memories of the few times they had spent together. It was a smile that reassured her of his feelings for her. Of her worth. A rare smile indeed.

  Connington grunted. She turned to him and was rewarded with a frown.

  He stood, legs wide apart and his hand on his belt, and jerked his body toward Alasdair. The two men stared at each other. Connington’s eyes narrowed. The two men seemed to recognise something in each other. They were battle ready. Shona closed her eyes—but that didn’t make Connington disappear.

  Others noticed how still they were, and conversation ceased.

  “Welcome back to Gleann Muirn.” Myles’s commanding voice broke the spell and the two men faced him. “You are most welcome here.”

  “Ye welcome the enemies of Clan Campbell tae Castle Muirn?”

  “We have business with the MacDonalds that we arranged before your arrival.”

  The world did not wait for Connington’s commands. Shona took quiet pleasure in seeing him put in his place.

  “In view of the recent news, is it wise tae send off precious cattle intae the unknown?”

  Connington’s charming yet commanding voice caught the attention of the crowd although most spoke no Inglishe. They had no idea he was arguing with Myles.

  “We go as far as Edinburgh and are assured of a good price this year.” Alasdair’s voice had neither warmth nor chill in it.

  Myles said, “It is good—”

  “The MacDonalds will steal your cattle tae pay for rebellion,” said Connington. “As they have many a time.”

  Connington should not interrupt Myles. A cloud glided over the sun and greyed the red apples on the trees. Leaves from the fruit trees in the garden fell and drifted at Shona’s feet. A swift chill settled on her. Autumn. The dark season would soon be upon them.

  “Are you versed in the history of our clans, sir?” Myles voice betrayed annoyance.

  “Sae little,” said Connington. “I try tae learn what I can. But ye can’t think otherwise—the man’s hiding evil intent under a cloak of friendship.”

  “I have made my decision.”

  “Ye must not give the cattle tae MacDonalds
.”

  “You do not govern here, sir.” Myles’s voice was low but hard. “I do, in my brother’s stead.”

  For the first time, Shona saw Connington betray an unguarded reaction. Gone completely were the lazy, sleepy eyes. His eyes sparked and flamed. He lowered his head and clenched his hands. When he raised his face again, his eyes were dark. With a tight smile he said, “Rest assured that these hands will be at yer back in any enterprise. I beg ye tae reconsider the decision tae let this man take yer beasts away with him.”

  “The cattle will go to market and, while the MacDonalds are here, we will offer the hospitality required.” Myles gazed about the garden, apparently unaffected by Connington’s words. Silence reigned. One could have heard grass growing. “We’ve heard your opinion and we thank you for your counsel. Now we’ll entertain our guests.” He turned and gestured to the serving man. “Come, bring the storyteller.”

  “You are a guest here,” Alasdair said to Connington, “but I don’t know why. Care to inform me?”

  “I am mair than a guest. But that’s nane o’ yer business.” Connington rubbed that part of his coat where his sword normally rested, but the weapon was stored at the castle guardhouse. “Ye still think ye’ll get cattle here? Ye never know what might happen. Ye should take yer leave while ye have a whole skin.”

  “Why should I heed you?”

  Alasdair should be careful. Connington did not forget slights or insults.

  But Connington’s lazy smile was back. “Ye’ll be here for the horse race, I think? Ye have a dangerous journey before ye without adding a race to it.” Connington sneered at Alasdair. “Maybe ye ha’e no taste for risk.”

  Alasdair smiled. An indulgent smile. One reserved for children.

  Connington tried another gibe. “Ye here for any other reason? Ye want something that belongs tae someone else?”

  “Enough.” Myles shifted impatiently on his chair.

  “I have first say for—a certain woman,” said Connington.

  Connington meant herself, of course, although she had refused him countless times. Arrogant rogue. She saw Alasdair stiffen--he must think that Shona would marry Connington. Never would she marry that repulsive man. Myles had said she had the right to refuse him, and she was grateful she had such as strong man to support her.

  “Care for a private wager?” said Connington to Alasdair. “A few silver pennies tae spend in the toun?”

  Alasdair’s eyes flashed as he looked over Connington, who wore the same dirty shirt and breeches he’d been wearing since his arrival. “Can you afford a loss?”

  “I’ll win. I always win.” He nudged his lieutenant. “Don’t I, Rutherford?”

  He had nothing to say.

  “We want tae see yer mettle.” said Connington. “We like the idea we’d defeat ye soundly.”

  Alasdair glared at him. “I wouldn’t miss it on my hope of salvation.”

  “Enough! All here are my guests and my guests will respect each other.” Myles signalled the harper to play louder, then eyed Connington, who bowed.

  The contrast between Alasdair and Connington was great. They were both of a height, but Alasdair’s skin was golden and clear and Connington’s burnt brown and wrinkled. Both were broad in the chest, but Connington’s calves were thin, Alasdair’s muscled and strong. Had Shona to choose between them, there was no difficulty—the Gael in his warm red fèileadh would win her. She felt his strength emanating from a distance of six feet and a thrill shot through her body. Never had she felt that before!

  Although caught in a whirl of emotion, she’d seen the looks exchanged. Neither man thought well of the other and never would. They were battle ready. If not today, then soon they’d fight. To the death?

  “And ye’ll be there tae see us strive?” Connington’s eyes fastened on Shona’s bosom for long moments. She covered her breasts with her earasaid. She hated the way he made her feel—like a heifer at a market.

  “Will ye join us in this manly test, sir?” Connington addressed her uncle. “Keep us right and gentlemanly.”

  “No!” Shona couldn’t help herself. Not her uncle too. Connington was bent on destroying anyone she cherished.

  “I am—honoured by your words, sir,” said Myles. “I can’t do otherwise.”

  “Now we’re friends,” said Connington. “Here’s ma hand on it.”

  Under a grey sky Myles shook hands with him.

  Connington’s ability to ignore strong feeling against him amazed Shona. The man had courage, no doubt of that, because the race caused broken bones and crippling injuries. Oddly enough, some men finished the race better friends. Not this man. Shona sensed deep treachery in him.

  Her uncle seemed blind to it. What could she do? A woman. She couldn’t persuade men. She couldn’t race. She couldn’t fight with a sword. A heavy feeling weighted her shoulders. Think.

  She took a basket of pears and apples and offered them to the guests until she reached Alasdair. “I need to speak to you—meet me at the big rocks above the Red Stream,” she whispered.

  The implications of her invitation struck her after she hurried out of the garden. Alasdair might think she wanted to be his friend for the night—a tempting thought she put aside. More than anything she wanted Myles safe. If Connington lost the race, so much the better. Myles had a good horse, but he himself wasn’t fit, and Connington’s warhorse dwarfed Alasdair’s pony. But racers often “stole” a better horse and returned it after the event. She’d help Alasdair “steal” her father’s horse, the best in the glen, and then he’d keep up with Myles. Or at least distract Connington. The castle guards wouldn’t challenge the chief’s daughter if she rode out with the horse. When she reached her chamber, Shona told her serving woman what she intended.

  “You’re going to steal a horse for Alasdair?” asked Catriona. “Everyone will know who the horse belongs to … and who gave the beast to him.”

  “Thomas Connington might not find out.”

  “Not sure about that. He might charm it out of someone. You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. I’m the youngest in the family and full of peculiar ideas.”

  “Dangerous ideas. Lots of people are unhappy to see MacDonalds among us. Now you want to see that MacDonald alone?” Catriona heaped more peat in the hearth.

  “No one knows except you and your son.” Shona trembled, not from cold, but from excitement. “Please help me.” She took her cousin’s hand. “Will you bring some food for us and a little wine? And find out what my stepmother’s doing? Can you go down the stair without her seeing?”

  Catriona sighed, but went off and soon returned. “Priscilla is in a passion, walking up and down in her chamber, talking to herself in the Saxon speech. She wouldn’t notice the Second Coming.” Catriona set a covered basket on a chest. She exhaled and quickly walked toward her and hugged her. Then held her at arm’s length. “You’re a woman now. And that MacDonald is very much a man.”

  “A far better man than Thomas Connington. I’ll be all right with him.”

  “Listen, love. He’s still a man who will want a woman to bear him children.” Catriona brushed a strand of hair from Shona’s face and tucked it into her hair ribbon.

  “We’ll only talk.” She didn’t want to listen to Catriona’s precautions.

  “For now,” said Catriona.

  “He’s kind to me. He’d never harm me.”

  “Women think men are wonderful when they want to lie with us. When they want to give us babies—they’re at their most charming. You be careful. If your uncle knew, you’d have no end of difficulty.”

  “My stepmother says much the same. But I can’t sit and do nothing.”

  “I’d never deny you. But be careful.” Catriona shook out a large piece of woollen cloth. “Better wear a thicker earasaid to cover your figure. The fewer people who see you leave, the better. You don’t want your stepmother looking for you, and a crowd of guilty-looking people all round to m
ake her angrier.”

  “You have a wonderful capacity for avoiding trouble.” Shona hugged her serving woman.

  “Get ready.”

  Shona had a moment of regret at making trouble for Catriona. After Shona married, she’d bring her to the new house. When Shona was dressed, they went to the spiral stair and listened.

  “No one coming,” said Catriona. “Let’s go, a ghràidh.” They descended the stair, past Priscilla’s chamber, to the hall. A few servants spread fresh straw on the floors while others carried trestle tables and benches for the next meal. They hardly glanced over at the two women. But then Priscilla’s maid came out of the spiral stair and hurried toward them. Shona's heart leapt like a frighted bird. Her stepmother would appear next and prevent her from leaving.

  “Mistress would like some wine and cheese.”

  Shona spoke with a calm voice of command. “You know the location of the cookhouse.”

  The maid looked at her closely and frowned. “Young mistress, why are ye wearing that heathenish blanket? Mistress wants ye dressed proper.”

  “Go about your duties. As I do mine.”

  She and Catriona waited in the hall to give the maid time to go to the cookhouse.

  “Can you keep her in the kitchen until I go to the stable?” asked Shona.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Tell the cooks to pretend not to understand her.” Shona looked out at the courtyard.

  “Not difficult!” Catriona laughed.

  Two of the cook’s assistants carried water from the well into the cookhouse. Shona followed Catriona down the steps. She made sure the earasaid covered her hair before walking to the stable. Being seen was a certainty; she had only to seem like someone else, a serving woman performing a task.

  “While the cooks are harrying the maid, will you get something to feed the horse? And something for us? Maybe some claret?”

  “Is it wise to take claret to meet a man?” Catriona shook her head but went off to the cookhouse.

  She returned with a few slices of turnip, which Shona tied into a fold of her earasaid. “The cooks will hold the maid there. They’re offering her all the wrong things, and she has a poor opinion of their intelligence. And this is for you and the MacDonald.” She handed Shona a small leather bag.