Later that afternoon, she had realized how soot-blackened the beams of the great hall’s ceiling were. Though it was the common state of every keep with a hearth, it was suddenly unbearable to Meghan and she ordered scaffolding to be built that she might reach the ceiling and scrub the ash from it.
“‘Twill take two sets of hangman’s scaffolds to reach this ceiling,” said the old carpenter when he heard what she wanted to do.
“Hangman’s scaffolds?” Meghan’s voice squeaked as it made its way past her clenched throat.
Old Fergus shrugged. “‘Tis what we call ‘em lassie. They’re just the right height to hang a man dead and sturdy enough for the fattest bugger.”
Meghan swallowed. “Never mind,” she said. “It can wait.”
She ran to her small chamber and gathered up her purse of all the gold she’d been able to scrounge and borrow.
“Lennox?” she called as she entered the hall.
“He’s outside,” said Beatrix as she stirred a bubbling pot on the hearth.
Meghan nodded and ran outside. “We must leave at once!” she told her uncle once she found him.
“Aye. Tomorrow morn. I’m choosing the fastest horses for our trip.”
“No not tomorrow. Tonight. Now. We must leave now!”
Lennox turned from his occupation with the horses to study his niece. Meghan raked a hand through her hair and chewed her lower lip. Lennox’s gaze softened and he took her arm as he led her back to the hall.
“Look at the weather, lassie. ‘Tis cold and wet and there’s no but an hour of light left. We’d make no distance and still have to camp outside in the wet. Let us prepare and leave with the first light. We’ll be able to make the Bruce’s keep within two days.”
Though the delay relieved Meghan of facing William for a few more hours, they were interminably spent, full of worry for her father. When they finally mounted up the next morning, she was resolved to her task if it meant she had to sleep with the devil himself.
The trip to Castle Dumfries, one of the Bruce’s castles, was miserable despite the speed with which it was accomplished. The rain that turned the roads to mud had ceased, but the clouds that bore it remained and stirred a chill wind to whip tears to the eyes and chill fingers to the bone. With nothing else to occupy her mind, no plans to be laid, she was forced to dwell on the prospect of facing Black William again. Either that or ponder her father’s well being in an English prison. She chose the humiliation of thinking of William, but quickly grew weary of punishing herself with thoughts of their few days together.
Instead, she began to plan how she would treat him when next she saw him. Thank the sweet Virgin she had the slender advantage of surprise on the man. She would be haughty and disdainful toward him, treating him like the lowest servant. She would wrinkle her nose when he passed as if she smelled a foul odor, turn her head when he spoke as if the noise offended her ears, and look the other direction as if his visage were the most hideous sight on earth. Meghan smiled. He would writhe in misery like a cowed dog, trying to gain her attention, begging for her favor.
A sudden thought brought a frown to her brow. Perhaps he would see right through her ploy. Perhaps he would realize that if she scorned him so, she must have been gravely wounded by him. That she could not allow.
Alright then, she must be exceedingly polite to him. Though it might turn her stomach to do so, she must treat him as if he were an honored guest in her family’s home. He must think that she viewed him as nothing more than a dear friend-–Meghan cursed her shortsightedness. Did she act like a besotted fool, he would no doubt think she was one and perhaps seek to resume their relationship as if nothing had deterred him. That must never happen!
Meghan twisted on the saddle, trying to find a comfortable position. She was an experienced ride, but the hours on horseback at a grueling pace were taking their toll. She glanced over at her Uncle Lennox. He seemed impervious to both the cold and the discomfort of straddling a horse. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was asleep. Her uncle’s bland facade made her smile.
“Of course!” she whispered to herself. “Dear old Uncle Lennox!”
“Hmm?” Lennox replied, coming to life. “Ye say somethin’, lassie?”
Meghan smiled and shook her head. Yes, she would adopt Lennox’s demeanor of oblivion when she met William. She would act as though she cared not one way or the other for him. Neither anger nor false gaiety would mar her mien. She was simply a woman coming to make an arrangement with the self-proclaimed King of Scotland, with not a care for those in his service. That would send William the ideal message.
That settled, Meghan felt confident the only difficult part of their mission would be pledging her clan to their life-long enemy, the Bruce. Her father would be furious when he learned that he was honor-obliged to support the Bruce’s claim to the throne and her father in a fury made grown warriors shudder. Meghan felt a small quiver of dread trickle down her spine and she resolutely straightened in the saddle. She had no other choice to gain her father his freedom and his life. Had he not been so foolish as to attempt a raid on the English, neither of them would be in their current predicament. Perhaps she would tell him just that when next she saw him. The small quiver returned. On the other hand, perhaps she would not say that after all, else she may be forestalling Oengus’s execution for her own.
Chapter 7
Though he would deny it with his dying breath, William loved playing the harp. All men of the clan Bruce learned the stories of the bards, the songs of their history, and studied at least one instrument, but few left their training as soldiers to follow the bardic arts. William’s talent was such that he could have earned his living and a place of honor at a lord’s table with his music, but his love of the sword was as great as his love of the harp and there would be time and plenty for music when his bones were too old to carry a two-handed sword.
Crouched over his instrument in the circle of light cast by Robert’s hearth, William glanced at his prized sword, which lay at his feet and gleamed red in the fire’s glow.
He lavished the same care on his wooden harp as he did his sword. Both gleamed from hours of careful polishing, both traveled with him wherever he went, and both passed the night at his side, be it in a cozy bed or the chill heather. If he spent more time at practice with a sword in hand, his attention was more keenly focused in the brief time he spent each night playing music. If his cousin Robert and the other warriors teased him about his talent, it was good-natured and brief. They all enjoyed his playing too much to risk his stopping. They also respected his ability to floor a man with a single punch.
William smiled to himself. All might know of his musical talent, but none need know of its import to him. He plucked at the strings with a lover’s gentle touch, composing the last refrain to a new song. After a fortnight, it was nearly finished and then he would teach it to Fergus who played a pipe and Rufus who was adept at the drum.
He frowned as the last notes warbled discordantly. He tried another combination. No, that was not it, either. A loud ruckus at the front of the hall drew his scowl. Would he be forever interrupted before he was able to finish this song?
A small retinue of men entered the hall and one of Robert’s pages ran to fetch him. William could not identify the tall russet-haired man who seemed to be the group’s leader. A slight lad joined the russet-haired man and pushed back his hood. William’s fist clenched convulsively on the wooden frame of his harp.
“It cannot be!” he whispered. Robert’s arrival blocked his line of sight and William stood, absently dropping his harp on the bench. He craned his neck, even stopped a page who’d been ordered to fetch food and ale from the kitchens. “Who is it who arrives unannounced?”
The boy merely shrugged. “The brother of a nobody. I didna catch his name.”
William waved the boy on and glanced up just as his cousin moved aside to usher the newcomers in. As they stepped into the ring of light cast by the hearth and hundreds
of wax tapers, William cursed under his breath. The same fire’s glow that had polished his sword with red made her hair gleam like a living flame. It cast a rosy flush on her smooth cheeks and turned the hazel depths of her eyes molten. He did not need to see the freckles upon her nose to know that his worst nightmare had come true. He was going to have to face Meghan Innes again.
His heart pounding as if he were facing battle, William turned and caught up his harp and sword. Perhaps he could escape out the back and sleep in the stables until the Innes party left.
“William!” Robert’s voice dashed those hopes. “Greet my guests. Rolling his eyes, William straightened his shoulders and prepared to face the enemy.
He suffered the introduction to Lennox Innes who was apparently the girl’s uncle. Several other men of no account were presented and William scarcely nodded at them. When Robert presented Meghan, William narrowed his eyes and glared his displeasure at having to endure her company. She did not oblige him by squirming beneath his gaze, but merely pretended they were complete strangers. What sort of game was she playing? he wondered.
“You will join us for our evening repast, will you not?” he heard Robert announce.
“We would be most honored,” Lennox replied with a reverent bow.
“My lady?” Robert raised his eyebrows at Meghan.
She hesitated a moment before replying in a tight voice, “I thank you. Your Majesty.”
Robert smiled at her use of the title and William wondered if his cousin knew that this insolent chit and her family had long been supporters of clan Comyn. He studied his cousin’s expression and decided that Robert knew exactly who these people were. There was little that escaped the cunning Earl of Bruce.
“My horse is lame–-he needs my attention,” he whispered in his cousin’s ear.
Robert glanced at him in surprise. “He did not need your attention when you were plucking on your harp earlier. Join us,” he concluded, turning to the first course, which was just being laid out.
William ignored the food laid before him. His stomach was clenched as tightly as his jaw. He studied Meghan’s carefully composed mien for some indication of her reason for being here. He looked for some reason for the physical reaction his body was suffering in her nearness. That reason was all too apparent, however. Her creamy skin gleamed like beeswax candles against the richness of her hair. His gaze fell to her full lower lip and against his will, he remembered drawing that full lip into his mouth.
“Tcha!” William spat. He grabbed up his goblet and drained its contents in one swig, caring not if it were the rankest ale or the finest mead. He’d lost his head to that vixen once. God! Had even offered her marriage! He raised his goblet and a young servingwoman quickly rushed forward to fill it. He had made a mistake, he told himself fairly. But one thing Black William never did was to make the same mistake twice. With force of will, he pulled his gaze from the unwelcome guest and turned it instead to the woman filling his cup. She was buxom and blond–-he’d always preferred fair-haired women. Snaking an arm around her waist, he pulled her close.
“Tryin’ to get me drunk, are ye lass?”
The young woman laughed. “As if two cups of wine could make ye drunk! Are ye such a green lad?”
“I’m no talkin’ about the wine,” he said, and gave her a pinch that made her squeal as she rushed to fill Robert’s empty cup.
He glanced casually past Meghan and noted with some pleasure that she had witnessed the scene with the servingwoman.
As the last dishes were cleared away, William watched Lennox Innes glance at his niece and saw her answering nod. Aha, he thought. The reason behind their visit was about to be revealed.
Lennox cleared his throat, drawing Robert’s attention. “Ye’re no doubt wonderin’ why we’ve arrived unannounced and bearin’ no gifts.”
Robert’s brows lifted in innocent surprise. “‘Twas no to break bread with your sovereign?”
Lennox dropped his gaze in embarrassment. He drew a breath to continue, but a clear young voice forestalled him.
“We seek your aid.” Meghan said. “Your Majesty.”
“Of course you do,” Robert said softly.
Meghan flushed but did not look away from the Bruce’s piercing gaze. “My father, Oengus Innes, has been taken prisoner by Longshanks himself,” she explained, her voice gaining strength.
“By this Longshanks, I assume you refer to King Edward of England?” Robert asked. William did not allow the smile to reach his lips. His cousin was a master at turning a phrase to his benefit and the Innes girl was no match for his wit.
A flicker of doubt passed over Meghan’s face but was quickly suppressed. “Aye, Your Majesty. King Edward–-“ she said the name as if it burned her tongue--“has taken my father prisoner. He holds him even now in London, no doubt in the Tower, where he will try my father as a traitor and, and-–“ her voice cracked. “And where he will no doubt draw and quarter him.”
Robert frowned, as if in concentration. “But why would my fellow sovereign take an innocent man captive? What was your father doing?”
Meghan scraped her lower lip through her teeth before continuing. “My father was hunting near the border. He may have crossed into England by accident. English troops captured him and quickly sent him to London.”
“Hunting, you say?” Robert asked, obviously perplexed. “Hunting is no crime, whether it be on this side of the border or the south.” Robert’s eyes widened. “Unless, of course, your father was hunting on the king’s lands-–“
”Nay!” Meghan said. “He was not!” At Robert’s raised brows, she continued slowly, as if carefully measuring each word. “He was not poaching the king’s game. He...he may have sto–-taken some sheep, however. From the English,” she quickly clarified, as if that exempted Oengus from a crime.
“Ah,” said Robert as if that explained it all perfectly. “He should have sto--taken the sheep from me. I care not for drawing and quartering as a form of punishment.”
“He’d not take from you, Your Majesty,” Meghan protested.
“No? I thought clan Innes were avowed enemies of my family.”
From his seat down the table, William could not contain his smirk. Meghan Innes was getting her just reward. He watched her freeze like a doe before the hunter, her eyes flickering not a bit as she stared at Robert. After several moments, during which the entire hall grew silent, Meghan answered the king.
“In the past, my family has not supported the Bruce claims to the throne,” she said carefully.
Robert laughed good-naturedly. “I’d say they did more than not support us. I’d say your clan fought tooth and nail against our success in support of the Comyn clan.”
Meghan inclined her head in acquiescence. “It is as you say,” she said softly.
“Is that your only reason for coming here?” the king asked.
She lifted her head, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “I...I do not understand–-“
”Did you come here unannounced to simply bring me word of your father’s capture or is there another reason for your visit?” Robert’s words had become clipped as if he grew impatient with her confusion.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Yes what?” Robert boomed.
Meghan did not flinch. Instead, she straightened her spine and lifted her head. William fought the admiration that snuck into his heart. Few men did not cowl before Robert’s anger.
“Yes there is another reason for my visit,” she said quietly.
“Well, then, what is it?”
Meghan’s face was devoid of expression as was her voice. “I seek your aid in freeing my father.”
Silence hung over the hall like a tapestry of rapt anticipation.
“Indeed,” Robert finally said, his voice as quiet as her own. “And yet, as you have just admitted to me, your family has fought against my rightful claim to the throne of Scotland. What reason have I to aid in Oengus Innes’ release. I should instead send Edward gif
ts of thanks for freeing me of yet another who would see me dead. Should I not?”
A crease appeared between Meghan’s brows and just as quickly smoothed away. She said nothing.
“What possible motivation would I have to seek my enemy’s release?”
“Because no true Scot would rejoice in a fellow countryman’s death at the hand of a foreign king,” she said fervently.
“Truly? Did not John Comyn seek to sell me to Longshanks himself in his bid for the throne?”
Meghan said nothing.
“Tell, me,” Robert said. “Were there any members of the Comyn clan captured with your father?”
Meghan glanced quickly at her uncle but he was staring at his hands as if seeking guidance in their lines and calluses.
“There–-“ she cleared her throat. “Aye. Several men were captured. Only one was sent to London with my father.”
“Who?”
She lifted her chin a bit more but refused to look him in the face. “John Comyn’s youngest son.”
“Aha.” Robert let the word hang in the air for several moments. “And were I to seek the release of your father, would that not also entail the release of a man who would see me dead to wear my crown?”
“Torquil Comyn has two older brothers who would stand in line before him.” Meghan shut her eyes tightly and William watched an embarrassed flush creep up her cheeks.
Robert, however, only laughed. “Aye, there are many who would stand in line to kill me.”
“No! I meant–-“ Meghan began, but Robert interrupted her, his good humor evaporating in impatience.
“You still have not given me one good reason to aid your father. Do you have anything to offer me? Your virtue, perhaps?”
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