The Mer- Lion (18 page)

He stopped. That didn't make sense. "But without your plate, that's exactly what we'll be doing."

"Here, yes." Her eyes sparkled, but she suppressed her delight. "But not when we attend the banquet Lord Campbell will be giving for James V." Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she continued, "Someone, it seems, has filled the king's head with stories about the excellent hunting to be had in the copse round Castle Dolour during June. Now you know and I know and Campbell knows that the hunting's really nothing exceptional, but the king doesn't know that. I won’t tell and Campbell doesn't dare, poor man."

She pretended to sigh as if very much put upon, but she could keep a sober face no longer. Sucking her lip with delight, she rushed on. "So, he's coming. Within the week. And you know Casde Dolour—no, I guess you don't. Anyway, it's well named. Gloomy, dreary, dank, not fit for civilized people to live in. Fits the Campbells perfecUy." Suddenly contrite, she added, "Except for Campbell's young bride. A lovely child, but she's beside herself. I really feel sorry about getting her into this. However, good neighbor that I am, I rode over and offered to help Lady Ann in any way I could. Well, when we took inventory of the place, I was shocked. What Campbell does with his revenues I don't know, but he certainly doesn't lavish them on decent appointments. So naturally I offered to lend her what she needs. Just as naturally, she invited me to attend the banquet in the king's honor
...
which I allowed myself to be talked into accepting. Campbell will be furious. What he says when he finds out I'm sure won't be fit for young ears. Speaking of which"—she had a disconcerting habit of abruptly changing the subject—"have you taken a dwarf into your service, or is that a child I see peering round from behind Bonn's back?"

The first genuine smile yet transformed de Wynter's face. Islean caught her breath. He was almost too beautiful, this son of hers, but the slight crookedness of the smile saved him from that. At the pain in her chest she remembered to take another breath. Even as she did, she made note that the child was the father's weak spot.

"You have spied out my other present." He left her with unhurried steps that seemed to eat up the ground, and reaching up, lifted the child down from the horse. Hand in hand, the one so tall, the other so small, they adjusted their gaits automatically to each other and returned to where she stood.

"Madame, may I present your grandson. Jamie,
votre grand-mere.
He speaks only French. You'll have to teach him Scots."

She wasn't listening. Eight years of frustrated motherhood surged to the fore, she dropped to her knees. "Poor child. He's exhausted. You've dragged him across this countryside without adequate rest No, don't contradict.
Allons,
Jamie." she reached for his hand.

Although the child couldn't understand one word in ten that she said, trustingly he loosed his father's hand and took hers. "You and I will go inside and find us some milk and pottage—or maybe you've been brought up the French way to prefer watered wine. Well, no matter. I'm sure we'll find something. Perhaps a marchpane rabbit being made for James V that the king will never miss. And I think I know where there might be a toy or two that would interest you: a knight on his charger and two of his men.

"Now, don't worry about your father. He'll have his hands full figuring out how to undo the mischief he's made." With her free hand, she gestured back at the baggage train, but looked nowhere except at the child staring fascinated back at her. "Although if he wounded any of those Campbells, I'm not sure just what we'll do. But that's a problem for men—right, Jamie?—not grandmothers and grandsons." With that, she and the child disappeared within the door of the manor, leaving the group of men to stare at one another.  ,

Having let his guard down a bit, de Wynter let it down further. Shaking his head in disbelief, he asked Seamus, "She hasn't changed, has she?"

"Not so you can tell, but she's a brave one. Not quick to show how she really feels. Take the death of your father—"

At the sudden change in de Wynter, Seamus broke off.

"Now, then good Seamus," de Wynter began, changing the subject handily, "can we allow our lady to be more gallant than we? If she has decided to strip our manor bare for the sake of the Campbells, can we do less than rescue the baggage train from the rascals who took it from them.. .and deliver the train to Castle Dolour's door. Besides, I should like to ask the lovely, young child-bride if I might be of assistance."

Though Simon might be lazy, there was nothing wrong with his hearing. Standing up, he yelled back up the line, "Turn 'em around, we're going back again."

With the cracking of whips and the protesting of brakes, the train began to reverse itself with much cursing and yelling as the teams and wagons turned in the narrow lane. At the last minute, de Wynter rode back up to the manor steps where a footman stood with others of the household staff, watching in merriment. A word, and the man disappeared to return immediately, a cloth-wrapped staff in his hands.

"Seamus, this time we go announced. Here." A snap of his wrist shook the banner out. "Delegate one of those three miniature imitations of yourself to carry this thing."

Gruffly, to hide his pride, Seamus ordered Fionn to go forward and take the banner. "But mind you," he whispered in a voice that could be heard in the next county, "don't drop it or I'll blister your backside so bad you'll sleep standing up."

De Wynter gravely handed the six-foot-long banner with its snarling Mer-Lion to the eager young man who rested it on the toe of his boot, wheeled his horse smartly, and started off to the front of the train. Falling in behind the young man, who was easily his father's equal in height, if not in weight, de Wynter's shoulders shook with silent merriment at the thought of this man slung over his father's knee.

It was almost daybreak when they finally rode back into the manor's courtyard with its cold and sputtering torches. The lovely child bride at Castle Dolour had been so thankful, so appreciative of the kindnesses of both the Lady Seaforth and her very gallant son, so insistent that the troop rest after its long ride. "You fought all those bandits off all by yourselves—just the few of you? Why, my captain told me there were an army of them. Borderers, he thought. Desperate men, absolutely bloodthirsty. Would have cut their throats as soon as look at them."

"Under the circumstances," Seamus tried to explain to the Lady Islean later that day, "it would have been bad manners to refuse."

lb which, the lady's first reply was a snort. "One drink or two doesn't take a whole day."

"Nay, lady, it doesn't," he was forced to agree.

"Nor does it get your jacket ripped!"

Seeing how the wind was blowing, Seamus didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he held his tongue.

Seeing that she would get no more of him, she dismissed him after giving instructions that he hand over the jacket to one of her ladies-in-waiting. "That is, if the girl you are currently bedding isn't handy with a needle."

Mary Nairn, one of her ladies-in-waiting, a child of fourteen, teamed more by questioning Florin, however. "Of course, he isn't privy to what went on in the hall, having been sent to the guardroom to keep company with the Campbell men-at-arms. But, according to the butler, Lady Ann had a bottle of her husband's best Madeira broached for the two of them. And later sent for another. One of the servers who brought the men ale claimed a lute was sent for, too. And the devil of a time they had finding one because nobody plays at the castle except the harper, and he's away with Campbell.

"Fionn also said that two times his father sent a message to the Great Hall asking word with his young master, and neither time did he get a reply. Finally, he took matters into his own hands."

The Lady Islean had visions of Seamus striding into the Great Hall, grabbing her son by the nape of his neck and hauling him out of the keep. Delicious. Served the whelp right. She hung on every word the girl said. "Go, tell me, what did Seamus do?"

Very seriously, Mary Nairn confided, "He started a fight."

Taken aback, the Lady Islean said, "With Jamie?"

"Oh, no, not with the young lord."

"Who then? Oh, my God, not with a Campbell. That would ruin everything."

"Not with a Campbell either. With Fionn! It was all pretend, but they rolled and struggled all over the floor, upset the furniture, broke benches. Made a terrible mess of the place according to Fionn. And so big is he and his father that the Campbell captain was afraid to try to separate them. One of his men tried. Got a fist in the eye for his trouble. Finally, the captain sent for the master, who came running. Once he had separated them, he had no choice but to take his two
fighters home. And what a tongue-lashing he gave them. Fionn said he always thought mat his father could curse with the best, but the young master did even better. Fionn tells me he learned all sorts of new words"—she dimpled--''but wouldn't tell me what they were."

Armed with these tidbits of information, the Lady Islean decided to heard her son in his bed; She had a breakfast tray made up and as insurance brought her grandson with her. He wouldn't, she was sure, understand what was said. - First she knocked
...
then Jamie called
...
then the lackey pounded. But no answer. Indignation gave way to anger and then concern. While she and her grandson kept vigil in the hall, the lackey went for Seamus. "Break the door down," she ordered.

Seamus had been in the family long enough to occasionally question an order. "Why?"

"He must have been hurt in your brawl yesterday, he doesn't answer the door."

"But he's not here." Seamus calmly pulled the latch string, opening the door to reveal the bed hangings spread wide, the bedclothes roughly pushed aside.

Never one to be discomfited by anything she herself had done, the Lady Islean ignored her part in the whole embarrassing scene. "Where did he go? Not back to Castle Dolour?"

"After last night, he doesn't particularly care to confide in me." He hesitated a moment, then out of love for his lady added with pride in his voice, "The grooms tell me he insisted on selecting his own mount: a short-necked, deep-chested, short-coupled mare with little hooves, light bone, and a roman nose."

"He could have selected Dunstan, for all I care."

"Oh, well, I thought you wanted to know where he was going."

"Seamus, if you know and haven't told me!" Islean was losing her temper, he was happy to see. It was his way of getting revenge for her comment about his bed partner. He knew she knew that at Alva it was always Dugan's mother.

"Well, I don't know for sure, except—"

"Except what?" She stomped her foot. "You big oaf, don't you Cease me. Speak up."

At the look on her face, he repented. "Except that only a horseman would have chosen her. And he for only one thing and not

her looks: she's the ugliest dun you ever saw and the best cross-countrier. And they tell me he was wearing hunting leathers, not courting clothes."

She was too proud to show her relief. "How do you know? Maybe it's all the fashion in France to ride ugly mares and wear hunting clothes when courting?" Taking her grandson by the hand, she swept down the stairs, her head high, the subject closed.

Again de Wynter rode in late after the household was abed.

This time, the lady had a page waiting for him with word to awaken her when he returned. However, by the time the page had wakened one of her ladies, the lady-in-waiting had awakened her, and she'd put on a robe de chambre and lit a candle to make her way down the hall of the transept, the door to his chamber was closed. Although she whispered his name in a voice loud enough to wake the household, and worked the latch string; she received no response. Nor did the door budge an inch when she tried it.

However, when he came downstairs at the crack of dawn, again dressed in riding clothes, she was in the Great Hall waiting for him.

"Good morning," she called, crossing the hall to the sideboard. "Come breakfast with me."

She lifted a lid on a pot, and the most delectable aroma escaped. His stomach reminded him that since his return to Scotland Wednesday night last, he'd eaten nothing but cold meats and stale ale. "I can offer you a pottage of eggs and fried onions." She replaced that lid and raised another, "Or pumpes." His mouth watered. He hadn't had pumpes since he'd left Scotland eight years before. At that moment a serving woman entered bearing a load of fresh-baked bread.

He knew he should be on his way, but a warm breakfast would not take long. Hooking a stool with his toe, he drew it up to the table. His mother, satisfied she'd have her long talk at last, was willing to bide her time. She ladled a large dipperful of pumpes into a bowl and handed it to him. "I think you'll like these. I made them myself, just the way you like them. With cloves and raisins—no mace, I remembered, and smoked pork."

She drew up her chair to the table across from him. "There's almond milk and rice sauce in the pitcher by your elbow." She watched him pour the thick sauce over the meat balls. "The sauce is
already sweetened, but you, if I remember right," she said, passing him another bowl, "like your pumpes really sweet."

Not until he'd spooned more of the dark brown sugar all over the dish and taken his first bite, did she speak. "The king arrived yesterday." His mouth was so full he couldn't answer, but he thought, she's gone mad. These things were so tough he could barely chew them. She must have used only gristle and tough old smoked meat. His teeth were stuck shut. "Tonight is the banquet. I worked too hard to get us invited to not attend. You do intend to go, don't you?"