by Jackie Ivie
Payton wasn’t much help since all he did was shiver in place and glare at her. Lady Evelyn remained perched in a ladylike fashion atop Redmond’s horse, Bronwyn was supporting the fallen clansman atop another steed, and the other clansmen were needed to hold tent poles, drive spikes, and tie rope fastenings.
That was when Dallis realized something. Payton may allow his group to argue and discuss and take over leadership, and she’d just watched what might be the reason for it as they set up camp without one word of direction from him. She’d suspected it was a Dunn-Fadden weakness. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
She tired of watching Alan’s attempts at fire. It was a simple matter to slide from the horse’s back and approach. It wasn’t the lad’s fault he looked unsure and ungainly. The cold hampered every move, making anyone look clumsy and ineffective. No wonder Payton had stripped so swiftly, regardless of propriety. A dunking in water was tantamount to a death sentence.
Dallis put her face as close to the spark as she dared and blew, ignoring the proprieties herself with the stance she was in. Someone had to do it and Alan looked more than incapable. He looked like a ghost, his big eyes were moist and red rimmed—although he averted them, and all of him was shaking.
So, Dallis did what he wordlessly was asking. She ignored it.
That woman was going to be the death of him, yet.
Payton hadn’t fully regained feeling in his fingers or feet, and there she was, putting her nicely shaped ass into the air toward him, and then swaying it! As if offering him her woman-place when any fool would know a dunking in freeze water wasn’t conducive to what she desired. And a greater fool would know to stay away from her in the first place. She was to blame for everything. He nearly groaned.
“You should na’ blame the wife.”
Payton sighed, slid his glance to Redmond’s form beside him, and watched as the black resentment of his expression didn’t seem to bother his clansman, either. “And you should na’ be my conscience,” he said finally. He kept his jaw set as he spoke, not to put emotion to the words, but to keep the chattering of his teeth to a minimum.
“I am attempting to be mine,” Redmond replied.
Payton grunted.
“If you blame the woman’s lack of silence for Davey’s death, then you must blame those that brought on her argument. This would include me.”
“She argued when she knew to be silent.”
“As did we.”
“Are you saying she’s blameless now?” Payton asked.
“Those lowlife reavers were in ambush because they had warning…or they were in luck last night. Either way, naught we did could have affected their attack. Lack of sound or na’.”
“It’s her fault we’re on this accursed trek, then. In death-defying weather. Without sufficient fare, horses, shelter, time…or men.”
“How is the wife to blame that we took her from her tower without warning?”
“She’s to blame that she opened the gates, then. Allowing Kilchurning into the castle grounds. And nearly getting me killed!”
Redmond shook his head. “You need to look further.”
“And you need to hush.”
Redmond answered that with a sigh followed by words. “How is she to blame for any of it? ’Twas na’ your keep in the first place, but Kilchurning’s. Mayhap she was welcoming her chosen spouse into his intended castle and saving the inhabitants at the same time. Have you na’ thought of that?”
“But it is my keep. And my castle. And she is my wife.”
“From a taking.”
“So?” Payton responded.
“How is she to blame for that night, Payton? We took her home, we killed her clansmen, and then you took her. How is that her fault?”
Payton shifted, worked at his fingers and then his toes. Nothing felt frozen or numb anymore. The tent was erected, too. And they’d set the iron rack atop their fire, filled the kettle with water from the burn, and now his wife was in a crouch, slicing strips of their cooked venison into the water as if she was supposed to do such menial chores.
“Where is Alan?” he asked with a frown.
“Mourning his brother. In his fashion. You should na’ disturb him. That is why the wife does what she does.”
“Preparing soup?”
“Giving Alan time. Away from prying eyes and ears.”
Payton pulled back a fraction. Blinked. Looked over at his man and allowed the surprise to wash all over him as if it was supposed to. “You give her too much credit,” he replied finally. “You expect me to believe her blameless? In all things?”
“Well, she is to blame for something. That is certain.”
Redmond was on his way to the shelter of their tent. Payton could see by the warm glow of light they had a fire within already, as well.
“What?” he asked, moving after him.
Redmond shrugged as he walked, ignoring Payton. And that was most infuriating.
“We haven’t time for this!” Payton said loud enough to stop his wife from her carving. He ignored her.
“We make time.”
“We have to get to Edinburgh Castle to prove my claim. Then, we have to get forces enough to rout that imposter from my keep! Dallying about resting is na’ going to get us there. It may get more of us killed!” Payton exclaimed.
“We have time,” Redmond replied.
Payton didn’t answer in words, but if he had, they’d have blistered Redmond’s ears, with the sound of his tight-lipped yell.
“Payton Dunn-Fadden. Control. This is the trouble. You lack control.”
“Give me a reason. I’ll show control,” he replied.
“Seth. He has yet to waken from his head injury. That is worrisome. And then there’s Davey. We have to get your cousin buried and we have to handle the grief. This takes time. You ken this. We have to make time. Now. And then we move on. Always.”
Payton felt the anger dissipate, like blood seeping from a wound. He slumped his shoulders. Redmond was right. Again. He truly hated him.
“Edwin and Dugan are softening ground now. Alan is assisting. On his own. Come. Rest. Prepare yourself.”
“I doona’ need preparation for grief,” Payton replied.
“Agreed. You need it for Ballilol Castle.”
Payton groaned the answer, but it wasn’t heard over the shouting the servant lass Bronwyn made. Seth-the-Silent had awakened. And was requesting water. That was good.
Payton sighed, and watched his wife move to fetch it.
Ballilol Castle didn’t resemble a castle like she was used to. It had no towers, no keep that she could spot, and the battlements were even rounded.
It was also land-locked, with a stream carving through the snow-flecked fields in front of it. It was built atop a knoll, which would grant it greater defense than the wall height would indicate. Dallis sneered as she viewed it. Where her own square tower was five stories in height, nothing about Ballilol looked to be above three. She narrowed her eyes to see better. If the window slits letting out light were any indicator, it looked to be two stories.
It looked stout, though. In the light from an afternoon winter sun, it looked thickly built of a rock that matched the knoll it sat atop.
There were two enormous round gatehouses fronting it, with a wooden portal splitting them. That was odd. Of what use was a drawbridge for defense when there wasn’t much of a moat and only a trickle of water from a burn to fill it? And that, only if the burn ran against nature and went uphill. Not only that, but with such low sides, a grappling hook, siege ladder, or even a siege tower wouldn’t be hard to use, and any enemy had four sides to use it on.
Of course, they’d have to get near enough, and with nothing save fields about every side, that could present a problem.
The curtain wall wrapped about the entire hilltop, although that didn’t make it a pleasing sight. They looked to have built the wall to a specific height, following the ridges of the hill, which made the crenellation uneven and slanted looki
ng in places. Why…a bit of tunneling in the right place, and a curtain wall like that would collapse even easier than one on level ground.
They hadn’t much by way of defense in Dallis’s opinion. And then they ruined even that. The moment Payton’s party was spotted, any defense the drawbridge and gatehouses would have afforded was rendered useless as the walkway along the top grew bright with torches, the drawbridge was lowered, and a massive amount of humanity came spilling out, making a swell of sound from many throats as they yelled and ran. As far as she could tell, they didn’t even possess weapons.
It wasn’t until they neared, crossing the field rapidly like ants emptying from an anthill, that she heard what they were yelling.
“Payton Dunn-Fadden!”
“Payton! Dunn-Fadden!”
“The champion! Payton Dunn-Fadden is here!”
Payton Dunn-Fadden?
She watched the horde surround him, the many arms reaching for him like tentacles from a brine-creature, and then they milled about him as a unit to start an escort to the castle. It was still easy to pick him out since he was atop Orion, with Alan. Dallis had been relegated to riding alone, while Redmond rode pillion with Lady Evelyn. The general melee of crowd enveloped them as well, before moving toward the castle. Dallis looked about her and knew the confusion was easily read on her face. She’d never seen such a mob of people. She’d never been over-run and beset by a horde. And it appeared some of the people in the crowd were crying, and wailing, and some were screaming…and cheering.
For Payton?
“Have you nae grasp of your husband’s fame?” Redmond was shouting it, but only so he’d be heard.
“Payton’s fame?” Dallis replied and then added a laugh.
“Do you na’ ken that from what you see?”
“For what?”
“He’s the Stewart King’s Champion!”
“He’s won a few battles. This creates fame?”
“A few?”
He shook his head before reaching across for her pommel and pulling his horse close, although it displaced the men who were walking between them. Redmond didn’t even glance down as one stumbled before giving over the space.
“He has won more than a few, My Lady. He has never lost. The king has gained small fortunes from your husband. And he is most grateful.”
“I…see.”
She did see, too, and gnashed her teeth at the vagaries of fate and its implications. Lady Evelyn met her glance. She must be fey. That lady had told Dallis she’d regret what she did. If Payton had the king’s gratitude, he owed it to his wife. She was the one who’d sought out and financed his opponents. Actually, she amended it to herself; she was just the financier. It was her cousin, Giles Carmour, who’d sought them out. Giles was the cousin living as a courtier to the king’s court…and who was always short on funds. The man she’d probably meet up with at Edinburgh.
There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly and Dallis forced it aside. She didn’t have time for worries of blackmail. She had worse things to face. Things such as being a famous man’s wife.
“Doona’ fash yourself, My Lady. It will be well. We’ve attended fests at Ballilol Castle a-fore, when we could find no ready excuse. Payton will be assigned massive, luxurious chambers reserved for royalty, as is his due. He commands it.”
“I care not what happens to him,” Dallis replied and tipped her nose into the air as if it were true.
“You’ll be settled into the same wing. Close to him. Then your troubles will truly commence. I doona’ envy you.”
If Redmond laughed, he was laughing. Dallis turned from watching her husband’s foray across the drawbridge which looked near collapse with that amount of humanity atop it, to sharpen her gaze at Redmond MacCloud.
“The man’s name should be trouble. He’s brought that since we met. What of it?”
“Ballilol Castle belongs to the Widow Meryck. Of Clan MacKettryck. She has no less than four marriageable daughters to her credit. No sons.”
Dallis shrugged.
“She has turned a fair eye on your husband. Verra fair.”
“He’s wed.”
“Aye. That he is.” He was laughing again.
“I doona’ see the issue.”
“You will.”
“Why?”
“You have your part to play now, My Lady. And I have mine.”
Dallis straightened. “A…part?” she asked.
“Aye. And you need do it well.”
“A…part?” she said it again.
“Aye. Whilst I attend to my laird…and do my utmost to keep the widow and her daughters from the indignity that arises from…refusal of favors, you need to look and behave the woman the King’s Champion has wed. And is well satisfied with. This portends to be vastly entertaining. Vastly.”
“I doona’ have to do any such thing. And…what do you mean refusal of favors?”
He didn’t answer. But he was chuckling again as he moved away from her, while the ground between them filled with humanity.
He hated this castle. He hated the stifling air it seemed permeated with. He hated the over-plush bed that felt near collapse with his weight. He hated the amount of attention that got worse each succeeding visit. He hated being on guard every moment with his tongue and his whereabouts, for any slight corner could mean trouble. For that he hated his hostess. And her miserable daughters. Well…except for the third youngest, Annalise. That one…he tolerated.
He hated the fact the blame emotion was missing. The one that made it possible to look upon his wife without feeling the unsure, shaky unease deep within him. He hated the way his heart pained with each pulse when he’d witnessed Alan’s silent tears, and been unable to do anything about it.
He hated his wife, too.
Payton glared across at the door that led to her solar, where she prepared herself, bathing in the warmed scented tub he’d ordered for her. And then she’d dry off, and dress in the outfit Redmond procured. If Redmond managed to gain such a thing.
He hated having to ask it! Asking anything from this family was tantamount to agreeing to the favor of attending one or more of them when everyone else in the castle slept.
He’d refused in the past and made Redmond deal with it. He refused to now, as well. Especially now. His mind filled it in for him. He didn’t want any other woman but Dallis. He no longer bothered with the why. He wanted her, and only her. His wife. Naked…and wet with her bath. Mayhap reclining on the bedding where she’d sleep, poised…for him.
“Bloody, rotten hell.”
Payton said it aloud, slapping the towel from his waist against the enclosed bed he’d be using, and enjoying the snap sound it made. That woman truly was going to be the death of him.
“This is the lauding I get?”
Redmond entered the chamber, opening the door without warning. Payton swiveled, reclasping the towel about himself while the five lasses in accompaniment grinned and bobbed their heads and put hands to their cheeks.
“For what?” Payton asked it sourly, with argumentative intent. Redmond answered in kind, which made his eyes widen.
“Negotiating…what I have.”
“If you think I’ll welcome—”
“You? She is na’ interested only in you,” MacCloud replied. And then he flushed redder than the crimson velvet he carried. “Here. See this to Lady Dunn-Fadden. In her chamber.” He pointed and three of the servants left with the garments trailing from their arms. They went right to the door that Payton had been fixated upon, knocked, and then went through it.
That left two wenches Payton had to contend with. Both girls moved their hands from their cheeks to their mouths to hide the giggles. They sounded like twittering birds. Payton flung his hands in the air in disgust before turning to glare at the enormous fire they’d built in the chamber.
He truly hated this castle.
“And that was that,” Redmond continued. “Aye. I believe we’ve settled? Good. Now, see to it
Dugan Marsh returns to attend the champion, rather than you lasses. You can leave now. And await Dunn-Fadden’s appearance later. When he’s full dressed and readied.”
Payton waited for the door to shut before turning back. It was true. Both lasses were gone. He raised his brows, planted his feet, and put both hands on his waist. Since he was covered only in a smallish towel, it didn’t seem to have much effect on Redmond, but it felt right.
“What was that about? You ken that nae man prepares for a feast with women to assist him,” he announced.
“I already told you I had to negotiate. And make promises. That was but a portion. And I thank you for making it a simple matter a-forehand with your attire—or rather…your lack of attire.”
“What?”
“She wanted a glimpse of the champion. Without clothing. That was one thing the eldest lass Marian required.”
“Marian was na’—”
“You dinna’ pay much attention or you would have noted the smaller one. In the cap.”
Payton groaned.
“If you think that shabby, wait until you hear what I have agreed to in order to get what Dugan is bringing.”
“Doona’ tell me.” Payton raised a hand. “’Twill be easier to disavow.”
“Do you ken the widow has one of your feile-breacans on display? In her weapon room? In its own case? ’Tis perfectly laid out, creased, and graced on both sides with the matching silver brooch and wrist bands. Exactly as we presented it to her. With your regards.”
Payton stared. “Nae,” he replied.
“Aye. ’Tis what we gifted her last Middlemass in order to get out of here with our virtues intact. One of the setts The Stewart had crafted special, with the silvered threads woven into it. The only one fitting for an appearance at sup.”
“An appearance!”
“You ken the woman. She shows you off. To all. I convinced her to have a subdued affair. From our loss of Davey. ’Tis the best I could manage. She’s had the fest planned since we were spotted this morn. ’Tis for all of us, actually. You…and your young men. For returning. To her side.”