by Jackie Ivie
“I find it uncomfortable and difficult to sleep,” she informed him, using a haughty tone to the words.
“And the next you’ll be averring is you’ve a fancy for mattresses that are too soft and lack proper support.”
“I had nae issue with support. Perhaps you should eat less.”
“You are wicked amusing, Wife,” he informed her, after his chuckling was finished. “I rather believe Laird Kilchurning was na’ aware of such.”
“Why would you mention that man?’ she asked.
“He dinna’ ken the prize he had.”
“He dinna’?”
“He’d never have left you on the shelf. Ripe and ready to be plucked by a man with the fortitude to do so.”
“You were lucky with your ramming of the gate,” she told him.
“Aye. That I am. Entirely too lucky. By far.”
“By farther than that. You have the luck of—”
Her gasp was followed by wide eyes. Dallis fumbled beneath the blanketing to put both hands to her belly as the tingle deep in her womb came again. And then she moved her gaze to his, and lost all thought.
The sun had decided to peek onto the snow-flecked landscape, shedding a gold and pink glow that spread out, carrying little in warmth, but a mass of use in light. It lit upon the vivid blue of his eyes, making them look unworldly and vivid as he gazed into hers. Deep. Probingly deep.
“The…bairn,” she stammered. “It…moved. Again.”
If she had thought him handsome before, it was based on ignorance. He pursed his lips into a kissable shape, color rose to temper his cheeks, and his eyelashes swooped down rapidly to cover over and eliminate a shine atop the blue of his eyes that had made them luminous.
“The…bairn?” he queried, with a voice that shook.
Dallis nodded, the motion moving her cheek against the skin of his upper chest where she’d been lowered to.
“Aye. Our son,” she told him.
She had to move her eyes from his or she was going to lose the ability to think, breathe, or speak. Or all three. She settled with moving it to the vista in front of Orion, where the dawn was picking shapes of crofts and fencing and swollen humps of snow delineating fallow fields, and everything else that meant humanity and civilization.
The tingle came again, stirring within her, and making a whoosh of emotion so vast it threatened to overtake and consume her. Dallis held her hands to her belly, cupping the slight swell there, and waited for the movement to happen again.
Above her head, Payton cleared his throat. “’Tis terrible small. He does na’ take up much room. You doona’ even look to be breeding.”
“He may be small yet,” she replied, “but I am na’a large size.”
“Well, I am. And I sired him.” His voice actually warbled slightly on the words. Dallis had to blink rapidly to keep the emotion to a manageable level.
“Aye…that you did.” Her voice went dreamy, and soft, and nearly inaudible, and then she was turning back into the chest behind her in order to gain more warmth.
Canongate Castle was a fortified structure that was using the word castle falsely. There wasn’t one crenellation on the wall, showing the royal house hadn’t granted permission for such yet, and there wasn’t a high enough curtain wall encircling the whole. For defense it was vastly incompetent.
For luxury and comfort, it was unsurpassed, according to Payton.
Dallis had to take Payton’s words about the amenities, since her first exclamation of disgust remained unaltered by their approach to the structure. Why, if she wasn’t mistaken, they had few, if any defense mechanisms designed into the structure. Such a design was faulty, weak, and useless for anything other than entertaining.
That’s exactly what Payton told her the castle was for.
Canongate Castle sat on the road to Holyrood, which started the Royal Mile, covered in shops and dwellings, until it reached the mountain where Edinburgh Castle perched. That meant it was in the shadow of the seat of Scot power, and hadn’t much need for defense.
All of that explanation was a poor reason for calling this structure a castle.
She was still denigrating it as the wooden drawbridge dropped, showing they’d been spotted, and then the horses all came to a stop as humanity started spilling out onto the ground in front of them. It was exactly what had happened at Ballilol. There was the same swell of noise, as well.
“Your followers,” Redmond said from beside them.
“Aye,” Payton replied.
“This is full great, Payton…I mean, My Laird!” Alan’s squeaked voice was full of excitement and vigor. Neither of which was an easy thing to find after such a sleepless night.
Payton and Redmond swiveled back to look at the lad. Dallis had the same motion. It looked like the entire grouping of them were looking at the lad. He did look excited, then crestfallen as he interpreted their looks.
“What?” he asked.
“Ah…the young.”
Redmond had turned back forward first. The others followed. Payton looked over at him from atop her head.
“Were we ever that excited?” It was Martin asking it, and Dallis cocked her head for the reply.
“Aye. Perhaps in those first few months. A-fore we knew the falsehood of such adulation. And the aftermath.” Redmond was doing the answering.
“Running in the middle of the night?” someone offered.
“Nae. The other aftermath. The depth of the landing.”
“Look! They approach! Running! And listen. They scream even louder than those at Ballilol! Especially the lasses. Look!”
Alan was still excited, if the tone of his voice were true. He was right, though. The cries of Payton’s name were louder. More distinct. Dallis pushed against Payton’s chest as the onslaught reached a fence-line and then toppled it.
“’Tis true fantasy! Jesu’. You are so lucky.” It was Alan again.
“Lucky?” Payton asked, and surprise stained the word.
“If I had this amount of wenches waiting for just a glance at my face or touch of my hand, well! I’d be for jumping into the midst of them, I would.”
“Men?”
Redmond moved his horse forward and into a position in front of Payton. Four others followed, making a half-circle about Orion, with each double set of riders facing what appeared to be hundreds. Alan followed.
“Does this happen every time?” Alan asked.
“More times than na’.” It was Martin answering now, and he’d lost all patience. It was in his voice.
The men drew swords then, although the sound of metal sliding from scabbards couldn’t be heard. And all of them set the blades across their laps. She watched as even Alan followed suit. Dallis was frightened. It was showing in the quick, short breaths she was taking. She knew Payton would sense it. Then they lifted their swords and started glinting what sun there was off the blades, speckling the crowd with bright flashes of light. The effect stopped the front of the horde, then those behind it slowed and by the time they’d reached where Payton’s party was standing, they were at milling speed, with bursts of applause and sounds of awe coming from them.
If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t have believed it.
“Have you come to escort The Champion?” The clansman called Edwin stood high in his stirrups and bellowed it, with a volume and power of voice he’d been hiding.
There was a general chorus that sounded positive, and he yelled again.
“Then turn about and escort him!”
They were surrounded by humanity that no longer felt threatening, and instead sounded cheerful and delighted and thrilled. As a unit they moved, crossing over the fallen fence and then to the drawbridge, where two of the larger freemen put themselves to either side and began directing the crowd, maintaining a mass that wouldn’t collapse the bridge.
“Where did they learn to do that?” Dallis asked Payton when they awaited a turn to cross the bridge and go beneath the portcullis.
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��Do what?”
“Use the sun that way. ’Twas brilliant!”
“We were lucky.” He was frowning slightly.
“You’ve done it a-fore. That was na’ luck. That was timing and practice and forethought.”
“And we were lucky. Some winter morns do na’ have much sunlight. It does na’ work as well with torchlight, either. Unless you have more men and more swords. A lot more men.”
“How many more?”
“The fifty mounted men I was promised at Ballilol. That many. I assure you, Dallis. We were lucky today. And I tire of luck.”
He did look tired. And something else. Disillusioned. It hadn’t changed when it was their turn to move across the bridge, with Dunn-Fadden clansmen in front and behind, and no gap between. As they rode beneath the portcullis and entered the courtyard, she could see the wisdom of that. The folk who had already passed through were waiting, and lifting grasping hands, and tugging, and jostling…pulling, and then a horn blared out so loudly, it startled everything, including the horses. Payton had Orion’s rearing halted the moment the stallion attempted it, with legs hardened to the consistency of wood. Since Dallis was perched atop them, she felt it. Alan and Seth-the-Silent weren’t as prepared, as their horses reared. Dallis watched as Bronwyn fell off the back of one. The horn came again. Longer and louder this time.
“What are you doing lazing about? Back to work! All of you!”
There was a burly, bearded fellow standing at the top of a span of steps that brought him above a horse rider’s level. The man carried in girth what weight Payton probably did, but it didn’t seem to hamper him as he moved a step down, and started directing his guards with an arm.
“And Payton Alexander Dunn-Fadden! King’s Champion! How dare you ride into my castle, unannounced?”
“Greetings, Dunrobin!” Payton answered, using the same volume of speech and making Dallis’s ears ring.
“And without warning! I should challenge you myself!”
That started a wave of laughter through the crowds. With the assistance of guards, they were dispersing, and changing back into the serfs, freemen and women, and housecarls that a household this size needed in order to be maintained. Dallis watched as it happened. She wondered briefly at her ability to fear such pleasant-faced and industrious people, but knew she hadn’t imagined it. None of them had.
“When you said you hadn’t enough men for safety, you dinna’ mean mine, did you?” Dallis asked it as he moved Orion forward to meet the man who was descending the steps.
“Dallis,” he replied.
“Well?” She was still encapsulated in his arms, making it impossible for him to avoid answering her.
“There is naught more precious to me than you and the bairn,” he replied, without moving his eyes to her.
“That is nae answer.”
One side of his lip lifted. “True,” he replied.
“I doona’ believe I care for this fame of yours, Payton Dunn-Fadden,” she informed him.
His smile took up both sides of his mouth this time, and he was nodding, but not to her. The horse had stopped and that meant they’d probably arrived, and that meant he wasn’t going to answer.
“Laird Dunrobin!” Payton swung from the saddle, holding to her waist for a base. And then he clasped the man in greeting by a hand to his upper arm.
“Come in. Come in. And bring your lady with you.”
“You ken she is my lady?” Payton asked.
“You would na’ bring a woman other than your wife to my home. And into the company of my lady wife. Tell me this is na’ true. Welcome, My Lady Dunn-Fadden. Welcome!”
The man was beaming and nodding and gesturing for them to follow. He didn’t look at all like that man who’d sternly reprimanded Payton. Dallis would have asked why, but Payton was bringing her down and into a berth in his arms, making her a bit dizzy and not at all certain of which direction he was heading as he mounted the steps and entered the hall.
She heard some wording about the lady’s solar, felt Payton climbing again, while more than one set of boots accompanied him through cavernous halls. And then he entered such a light-filled room, that it hurt her eyes. Which made it harder to see the balding woman that was peering at them through a glass held to her eye that made it look four times the correct size.
“Laird…Dunn-Fadden?” She gasped during the query, and then dropped the glass. She disappeared for a bit and Dallis looked down to watch her slapping at the floor as she looked. Alan was the one who assisted with retrieving it. They all watched as she stuck it against her eye and peered again, with an even larger eye.
“In my solar? Men are na’ allowed in a lady’s solar.”
“I bring my Lady Dallis Dunn-Fadden. To beg your assist.” He bent his head toward Dallis. The woman pushed her face forward and blinked with a huge set of eyelashes behind the glass.
“But—we are na’ prepared. You’re na’ due until tomorrow. This eve at the earliest. And this woman canna’ possibly be your wife.”
Payton straightened at the insult, and Dallis did the same move, putting her firmly against his chest as she looked across at the woman.
“This woman most definitely is my lady wife. And you could na’ have prepared for my arrival. I sent nae word,” Payton replied.
The woman’s snorts of amusement were apparent as the glass trembled in her hand.
“Laird Kilchurning has already given word to the entire court about your wife. I’m told she is a great heiress.” The huge eye inspected Dallis again, moving up and down about her. “They expect her at the castle any day. And that is why we knew you’d arrive here.” She tilted her head to look up at Payton again. “Why did you allow your wife to wear such garments? You have too much renown to allow your wife to be seen…thusly.” She put out a hand and flipped a loose fold of Dallis’s cloak with disdain.
“I already begged for the assist, My Lady. I would na’ trust Dallis to any other. Doona’ tell me you dinna’ hear it?”
The woman looked back up at him. “Na’ a moment too soon, then. Set her down. And you!” She motioned toward a spot where no one was standing. “See to getting some porridge sent up. And send for my seamstresses! And all my fabrics and gewgaws! And then you men get out of my solar!”
Payton stepped around her, revealing such extravagance and opulence amid immense clutter that Dallis’s eyes widened again. She was forced to narrow them and rub at them, with the fingertips of both hands as he walked.
The room this lady claimed as her own was speared by morning sun, coming through a leaded glass wall of windows that stained the flooring and furnishings with colored hues of light. They appeared to be in a tower, but it was a large one, looking to be twenty paces across. There was another, smaller door on the left wall, a rock-framed fireplace on the right, sending out more glow and warmth, and the remaining space was lined with every conceivable form of stitched tapestry, hanging from the ceiling to the floors. Lady Evelyn was even impressed. Dallis could hear her exclamation at seeing such consummate artistry.
Where she could see floor, it appeared highly polished, reflecting the colored light coming through the windows. There were armed chairs, backless benches, and tables covered with items in various stages of progress, and along every wall was another stack or pile of fabric.
Payton was used to such a sight, or ignored it, since his pace didn’t slow, and he was at a long bench and placing her upon it before she had time to assimilate and evaluate her surroundings further. The sofa he set her on was filmed with satin, stuffed to a thickness that didn’t seem possible to dent, and pure heaven to slide down on and rest her head. She was asleep the moment it touched.
“With this one, I used real horse hair.”
“Wasn’t that…slow? And tedious?”
“Oh.” There was a laugh. “Verra. The strands are na’ much longer than my hand. I had to rethread my needle over and over.”
Dallis listened to the sound of two ladies moving, a rus
tle of fabric, and more low-voiced talking.
“What did you use on this one? I’ve na’ seen such fine stitches. They’re near impossible to spot.”
“You’re so gracious. I’m trying out a new method with these tones. What do you think?”
“What is it?”
“These are bits of silk, special purchased for me in London.” There was a cooing sound coming from two throats. “And then I dipped some of them in the vat of vinegar and set them in the sun to dry. See how white they are? It does na’ work well with fabric, though. The strands gather and knot easily. I had to be verra careful, and extra cautious.”
“But how do you get such coverage? I canna’ even see…”
“Crosses. You need to peer verra close. Here. Little crosses throughout my work. Much better than long-stitching.”
Dallis opened an eye and looked over at the ladies who were analyzing what looked to be an altar cloth.
“That’s…beauteous.” Lady Evelyn put a hand to her bosom and sighed.
“My passion,” Lady Dunrobin replied.
“Mine, too. I just dinna’ think of what you have. And I haven’t access to such materials. Nor such thread…” Lady Evelyn’s voice got wistful. “I was working on a piece when we left. I only hope ’tis still there when we return.”
“You dinna’ bring another with you?”
“I only work one at a time.”
The Lady Dunrobin giggled again. “One? Why, if all I did was one, I’d be bored within moments. My lord husband kens this. He keeps me in projects. I am so far behind! This altar cloth was supposed to be ready by Middlemass. You note I already missed that. I shall just try for next year’s sessions instead.”
“Your husband…wants you to sew?”
“Oh my, yes. He is such a love. He keeps me in materials and thread, and what-all I need. He goes out of his way to please me with it, although he always gets the wrong thing if I am na’ most specific. Sometimes he is so maddening!”
They both tittered with giggles, and Dallis stretched, alerting them.