They had settled down in the parlor, awaiting the bards. The candles had flared haphazardly in their sticks, hissing as the wax burned lower. Roseann noticed, not for the first time, that the room was chillier than normal. She glanced at the fire. It was burning low, hardly emitting any heat at all. She knew that it was because her mother was trying to economize. Heating all the rooms in such a large house was hard.
She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, trying not to shake. She didn’t want her parents to notice and feel bad. All of this was hard enough on them.
The door suddenly opened, and a man and a woman walked slowly into the room. The woman had long auburn hair and was carrying a harp. The man was large and bulky, with sandy hair that reached his shoulders. Neither glanced at the occupants until they were standing in front of them.
“My lord,” boomed the man, bowing low with a flourish. “My ladies! It is our pleasure to entertain ye tonight.” He rose, gazing at them.
Roseann smiled. The man had a soft Scottish burr to his voice. She heard it from time to time, living in the borderlands, but she had only entered the country that was so close to her own on a handful of occasions in her life. Father was always mindful of her safety, and with all the skirmishes along the border in recent years, she knew that he was not being overly protective.
“You have traveled far?” asked Lady Croilton.
“Aye, my lady,” replied the woman. “We have just come from the highlands. But we were lucky to spend some time at our home, just over the Scottish border, before we crossed yesterday.”
“And where is that?” asked Lord Croilton.
“The lands of the Laird of Greum Dubh,” replied the man. “Ye ken the town of Keelieock? Our Laird lives close to there, at his grand castle called Coirecrag.”
Lord Croilton nodded. “I have heard of the Laird of Greum Dubh,” he said slowly. “An elderly man who rules his land wisely…”
“Nay, my lord, that is my Laird’s father ye think of,” replied the man. “He died over a year ago, God rest his soul. The current Laird is his oldest son, Domhnall MacBeathag.”
Lord Croilton sighed. “I am sad to hear of the late Laird’s passing. Is your new Laird as fair and wise as the last?”
“Ach, aye, he is, lord,” said the woman, beaming. “He was always a bonnie lad! His people all love him, and he always does what is best for us, ye ken.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” said Lord Croilton. “So, the lands are yielding well? The tenants are all happy?”
Roseann smiled. Her father always grilled travelers who passed through Loughton Hall about their lords or lairds. He liked to hear how different people managed their lands and estates. Roseann suddenly realized that part of it was probably looking for new ways to manage his own.
“Aye, very happy,” said the man. “The lands of Greum Dubh are bountiful. The people havenae been blighted with famine or bad crops for many a good year…”
“And our Laird is fair,” cut in the woman, nodding eagerly. “Like his own faither. The Laird travels all his villages and officiates at most. He is so busy, the servants at Coirecrag laugh that they rarely see him.”
“He is an only child?” asked Lady Croilton in her soft voice.
“He has one younger brother,” replied the man. “Only twelve years. The lad’s name is Cormac.” He paused. “He is running a bit wild, ye ken. The Laird is so busy, he doesnae have time to see to him…”
“The Laird knows, Iain,” cut in the woman. “He has sent out word, far and wide, to find a tutor for the wee laddie.”
The man nodded. “Aye, he has, Ailis. But there’s nae been any takers. It seems that there are not many learned folk out there in need of a job, despite the generous salary the Laird is offering.”
Lord Croilton smiled. “How much is your Laird offering for the tutor?”
“Ten pounds a month,” breathed the woman. “Pund Scottis, ye ken. If I was learned, I would be scrambling for the position! I havenae ever set eyes on such an amount…”
“Your Laird obviously does not have money worries,” said Lord Croilton, a touch sourly.
They talked on, but Roseann was no longer listening. She was thinking about the wealthy Laird of Greum Dubh, who was offering a salary above and beyond what any tutor could normally expect. A salary that was so high the tutor might only have to do it for a small amount of time to make some serious coin.
He must love his brother. And he must value education. What would it be like, living in such a wealthy and generous household, even if it was in Scotland?
Her mind turned over furiously, as the bards performed, the man singing traditional songs while the woman accompanied him on the harp. She kept thinking as they recited poems and told stories. By the time they had finished, and the fire had almost burned out, she had made up her mind.
The man named Iain, the bard, looked shocked when she took him aside afterward, talking in a low voice so that her parents couldn’t hear.
“Your Laird,” she whispered. “Is he really offering such a salary for a tutor?”
He nodded warily. “He is, my lady.”
“And he cannot find a tutor, even though he has searched far and wide?”
The man shook his head. “He has been searching for over a month now.” He paused. “I daenae think many Scots have the learnin’ he requires. He wants the lad to learn Latin, among other things, which is why he has now widened the search to England…”
Roseann glanced over her shoulder. Her parents were busy chatting to Ailis, the woman, and weren’t even looking at her.
“Can you send word to your Laird, that I am willing to take the position?” she asked quickly. “I have the learning required. I am well versed in Latin and music. I even know astrology and philosophy.”
Iain, the bard, looked amazed. “How is that so, lady? I havenae heard of any lass, either Scots or English, to have such learning.”
Roseann smiled quickly. “You may thank my father. He is a most enlightened man in those areas. He wanted his daughter to have an equal education to his son.” She paused, staring at him intently. “You will inform your Laird?”
He nodded slowly. “If you wish, my lady, I can tell him myself. Ailis and I are headin’ back home within a fortnight.” He frowned. “But, what of your good faither and mother? Do you not have to consult with them before you make such a decision?”
Roseann breathed out, slowly. “I will take care of all of that. Just inform your Laird to expect me within three weeks. It is Coirecrag, on the lands of Greum Dubh, is it not?”
He nodded. “Aye, it is. My Laird will be overjoyed! And he is a fair and noble man, lady. He will treat ye well. Ye will want for nothing at Coirecrag.”
Roseann’s heart started to beat a little faster. She would tell Father and Mother about it—at the right moment. She was sure they would understand once they realized just how much coin she could earn. All of that coin would go into saving Loughton Hall, after all. The only reason she was even contemplating it was that she could not bear the thought of losing her beloved home.
Scotland… and a Laird…named Domhnall MacBeathag.
It was like staring into the mists of a crystal ball and seeing her future entire.
Roseann sniffed now, staring stonily ahead. There was no point in crying over spilled milk. It had all started to go wrong as soon as they had crossed the border.
First, they had been waylaid by a group of renegade English soldiers. The Scots that they were currently with had seemed like their rescuers, to start with. That was until they had slaughtered the soldiers and raised their weapons at them, demanding to know who they were, and where they were traveling.
Her parents had not wanted her to go. They had begged her and pleaded with her, but she was adamant. This was the only way that they could get the coin they needed to save Loughton Hall. Eventually, they had agreed, reluctantly. The only guard that they could afford to accompany her was the woodcutter’s son, Nigel.
What else could I have done, she thought desperately. It’s not as if anyone would marry me now. My prospects on that front are gone. No man wants an impoverished lady for a wife, no matter how accomplished.
A slow mist started to gather over the land. Roseann glanced around nervously. It was starting to get dark; already, shadows were spreading across the ground. Dusk was here. She shivered in fear.
And that was when she saw it, hovering in the distance. It appeared to be floating on the mist, as if it was drawing her nearer, second by second.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, for she had simply no idea if the imposing dark castle she saw in the distance held friend or foe.
Chapter 2
Domhnall MacBeathag slowly swirled the ale in the bottom of his mug, staring into the liquid. He was bone-tired, so tired his whole body ached with it. It had been a long, boring day, traveling to various outlying villages of his lands.
He drained the mug then stood up, staring out the castle window. He had officiated between two farmers, who each claimed that the bleating calf tethered two feet away was his. That had taken a while. The only way he had resolved it, in the end, was after he had questioned their wives. One of the women had cried under questioning, blurting out that her husband was a liar, and had stolen the calf under cover of darkness.
Perhaps I should have ruled like King Solomon, he thought darkly, scratching his chin. Perhaps I should have threatened to cut the calf in two to see who truly valued it, as that great king did with the baby that two women claimed was their child.
He poured another ale and drained the mug quickly. It never ceased to amaze him, how painstakingly boring adjudicating in villages and the castle was. He had watched his own father do it, skilfully, year after year. Alaisdair MacBeathag was always calm, and fair, and never showed impatience or frustration. He had been a model of what a great Laird was.
He sighed deeply. He wanted to reach for the ale jug again, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea. He had to be up at first light again, and he knew that if his mind was fogged by the ale, it would be a slow, agonizing day. He was so tired he could almost climb the stairs to his chambers now. He knew he would crash hard, but it wasn’t even dark yet. He should wait until the moon had risen in the sky, at least.
There was a soft knock on the door. He turned around, sighing again.
“Come in,” he commanded.
A middle-aged woman entered. “Laird,” she breathed. “Yer wee laddie wanted to see ye before he retires for the night. He has said his prayers.”
Domhnall smiled. “Aye, of course. Send Cormac in.”
The woman nodded, calling from the door. The next moment, a boy of twelve years ran into the room, almost tripping over his long, lanky legs in the process.
Domhnall’s smile widened. Cormac had grown at least three inches in the last year; he was like a fast-growing sapling. He stared at the lad’s spiky red hair that refused to be tamed, no matter how much spit Mairead his nursemaid, applied to it. Cormac’s face was milky pale, with a smattering of light brown freckles across the bridge of his nose.
Cormac grinned, now rushing to his brother, almost knocking him over.
“Steady there, laddie!” said Domhnall affectionately. “Ye have more energy than a highland wildcat! Ye have to go to bed and sleep soon.”
Cormac’s blue eyes dimmed a bit. “Must I, Domhnall? It is so boring! Why cannae I sit up with ye?”
Domhnall rumpled the boy’s hair. “Ye cannae and ye ken it! Besides, I am tuckered out myself, and wouldnae be good company, laddie.”
Cormac gazed at him steadily. “Can I come with ye tomorrow?” His face was sober. “It is so boring, staying around the castle with Mairead! I am not a child anymore, ye ken!”
Domhnall shook his head. “Nay, I am sorry laddie, but ye cannae. I must travel to a house on the coast.” He paused. “I have heard there is an old learned man there, who I might be able to persuade to become yer tutor…”
Cormac’s blue eyes flashed. “Nae that again! I am too old for that, as well…”
“Nay, yer not,” said Domhnall, a set look on his face. “I promised Faither that I would see to yer education…”
“Why do I need one?” persisted the boy stubbornly. “Why can’t I be a warrior, like ye?”
Domhnall sighed heavily. How could he explain to his little brother that his dearest wish was that he could have had an education? That the reason that he was pursuing this was not because of their late father, but rather a determination that his brother would be a better Laird one day than he could ever be?
He sighed again. The lad wouldn’t understand, of course. All that Cormac valued was physical activities. He was already skilled at swordplay and wrestled well. He went hunting and hawking on the vast lands around Coirecrag. And he was a quick archer, almost better than he was.
But to be a Laird, you couldn’t just be strong and skilled in those things. You needed wisdom, too. You needed to be able to use your mind in ways that you never expected to. You had to be King Solomon and William Wallace all rolled into one.
And that was where education came into the picture.
Domhnall stared at his little brother. The lad was growing wild. They had lost their father just the year before, and Cormac couldn’t even remember their mother, who had died when he was just two years old. They were both orphans now. Although he had to admit he was a bit old to be considered an orphan anymore, he would never see his twenties again.
Mairead coughed. Domhnall stared at her. He knew that the nursemaid was discreetly trying to hurry him up. He guessed that she was looking forward to her own jug of ale after she had put her young charge to bed.
“Sleep well, Cormac,” he said. “I shall come and see ye before I leave in the mornin’, I promise.”
The boy scowled, but he didn’t protest. Domhnall ruffled his hair again and pushed him gently towards the door.
He walked to the window, again, staring out over the familiar hills and valleys of his home. Tomorrow was another day, as his good lady mother used to say. Tomorrow he would see to it that he finally secured a tutor for Cormac. He had been searching for well over a month now, in England as well as Scotland, but it had proved fruitless.
There was another knock on the door, and Brighde, one of the serving wenches, entered swiftly.
“Another jug of ale, Laird?” she asked in her soft voice.
Domhnall gazed at the young woman, noticing for the first time how pretty she was. Brighde’s hair was long and fair and as straight as a curtain. She was also long-limbed and wide-eyed. He felt a sudden stirring in his loins. It had been a long time since he had bedded a woman; he was usually so exhausted these days, that sleep was the only thing on his mind.
Brighde’s smile widened slightly as if she suddenly sensed where her Laird’s mind had headed. “Or anything else ye might like?” she asked, her blue eyes glowing.
Domhnall considered the possibility. It would be easy – too easy – to take her and be damned with the consequences. But she was a household servant, and he didn’t want her getting too attached to him. He had been burned that way, a few times, in his foolish youth. And he had no desire to sire a tribe of bastard bairns, the way some Lairds did.
Much safer, then, to ignore it, and go to bed alone.
“That is all for the night, Brighde,” he said. “Thank ye.”
The maid curtseyed, leaving. Restlessly, he turned back to the window. He suddenly felt lonelier than ever.
He could send for his men and drink until they were in their cups. That would stave it off for a little while. He had done that many times in his foolish youth, as well.
He took a deep breath. No, he was the Laird, now. Time to put away childish things. His father had warned him that it was lonely at the top. He had never realized just how lonely it would be…
Suddenly, he gasped, his eyes narrowing. Was that a band of travelers coming up over the hill towards Coirecrag? Who on earth was appr
oaching the castle at almost nightfall? He wasn’t expecting anyone.
Quickly, he strode to the door. The guards needed to be alerted to the travelers if they hadn’t already discerned them. It paid to be cautious in these troubled times.
Domhnall watched keenly as the party straggled into the great hall. He had told the guards to take them here, straight away, even before food and drink were offered. He needed to find out who they were and if they were a threat to Coirecrag, immediately.
Abruptly, he broke into a wide grin, standing up. He recognized the leader of the group, a large man with wild brown hair and beard. He also could see clearly now what pattern they wore.
“By the saints! Fearghas Grannda!” He walked quickly to the man who had stopped walking and was staring at him. “I havenae set eyes on yer ugly gob in a good long while!”
The man grinned, too. “My Laird. It’s good to see yer too, laddie.” His eyes swept over the room. “Even better to be under cover, at long last. We’ve been sleepin’ out for nigh on a month now and are missing a few home comforts…”
Domhnall nodded, his eyes automatically scanning the rest of the party. He recognized most of the men who were all from villages on his lands and had served at Coirecrag from time to time. They were a motley bunch, and they stank to high heaven. It was obvious they had been sleeping rough for a long time.
His eyes trailed to the back of the men. He frowned. Two people were loitering behind the main group, looking uncertain and frightened. They were in shadow, but he saw that they were a youth and a young woman. Their hands were bound tightly with coarse rope in front of them.
Domhnall’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to Fearghas.
“Ye have prisoners?” he asked quietly. “Who are they?”
Fearghas lowered his voice. “I dinnae ken, Laird. I found them crossing the border. They were being…harassed by a bad bunch of English soldiers…”
Domhnall’s eyebrows raised. “There aren’t any good bunches of English soldiers, in my opinion.”
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