Read Just Beyond Tomorrow Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
Just Beyond Tomorrow (18 page)
“Is there anyone ye favor, my lady?”
“I'll take Ian. He's old enough to hae experience, but young enough nae to behave like some old woman. And, of course, the duke must approve my little venture, Angus.”
“Aye,” her uncle agreed.
Fingal Brodie hid a smirk. No one could dissemble like his aunt. Flanna told Aggie, “Fingal Brodie has arrived. My da is nae well, and I'll go in another day to see him.”
“What time should I be ready?” Aggie asked promptly.
“Ye needna come,” Flanna said. “I need ye here, and Angus, too, to look after the children. Dinna forget that my brother-in-law is going. Old Biddy will hae her hands full. I want it to be as easy for the bairns as we can make it. Remember, they hae just lost their mam, and now their da is going off to fight for the king.”
Aggie nodded. “I'll stay,” she said. “How long will ye be gone? What shall I pack for ye?”
“I dinna know, a few days, maybe more,” Flanna told her. “I'll pack for myself. I dinna want much, and whatever I need can be found at Killiecairn.”
The hardest part was telling her husband. Lying had never bothered Flanna. She rarely did it except in unusual circumstances, but she felt guilty prevaricating to Patrick. Still, she knew if she was truthful, he would forbid her going, and then she would have to disobey him, and their difficulties would be even harder to overcome. He might not be pleased with her when she returned home to Glenkirk, but if she had seen the king, and obtained his permission to raise troops, Patrick couldn't forbid her then. He was too honorable to defy his king. Flanna smiled to herself. Her plan was really quite foolproof.
She spoke with him as they sat in the Great Hall eating their evening meal. “I must go to Killiecairn,” Flanna began. “Fingal Brodie, where are ye? Come here to me.”
Her nephew came from his place below the salt and bowed.
“This is Aulay's youngest son. He was born the year after my mother died. He came to tell me that da isna well and misses me. My brother wants me to come home for a short visit. Wi' ye permission, my lord, I will go to Killiecairn. I should nae be gone long, and I'll nae leave till Charlie does.” She put her hand on Patrick's. “Ye'll let me go, won't ye?”
He nodded. “How old are ye, laddie?” he asked Fingal.
“Eleven, my lord,” the boy responded.
“And what do ye think of Glenkirk?”
“I should like to live here, my lord,” Fingal said promptly. “ 'Tis a grand place.”
“So ye would be one of my soldiers one day, eh?”
“Nay, my lord! I want to learn to read and to write, and to be someone important,” Fingal said bluntly.
Both Patrick and Charlie burst out laughing.
“By God, laddie,” the Duke of Glenkirk said, “I like yer ambition! When my wife returns home, come wi' her. I'll educate ye along wi' my nephews and my niece. If ye hae a knack for learning, perhaps one day I'll send ye to the university in Aberdeen.”
“Thank ye, my lord,” Fingal Brodie said, and he bowed again.
“Come up here, laddie, and join us. Ye're my wife's kin and are welcome at my board.” And when the boy came, Patrick drew him near and said, “This is my brother, the not-so-royal Stuart. He has the same name as the king, Charlie.”
“Why are ye nae so royal, my lord?” Fingal asked, and then looked nervously about at the silence that had descended on the hall.
But Charlie wasn't in the least offended. It was a fair question from an innocent boy. “My father was Prince Henry Stuart, laddie. I was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Had he and my mother been wed, I should be your king.” And Charlie gave Fingal a friendly wink.
Fingal Brodie turned to his aunt. “This be a strange but grand house into which ye hae wed, Flanna,” he said.
Flanna took a sweetmeat off her plate and, kissing the boy's cheek, pushed it into his mouth. “Go and get some sleep, Fingal. Ye've had a long and busy day. Angus will show ye where to put yer head.”
“He can share my room,” Freddie said eagerly.
“That would be lovely,” Flanna said to the boy. “When we return, I will gie ye and Fingal yer own chamber. Willy is still a bairn and should be in a nursery.”
“Aye!” Freddie agreed enthusiastically.
“And while I am gone,” Flanna continued, “ye must look wi' Angus to see which chamber ye think will suit two boys.”
“What am I to do while you are gone?” Brie demanded irritably. Freddie was getting all the attention, along with that rough-looking boy.
“Did ye hae an herb garden in England?” Flanna asked.
“Aye, the gardens at Queen's Malvern were famous,” Brie answered.
“Then, I want ye to decide what we need to grow here at Glenkirk come summer. A good mistress cares for her people, and there is nae a good supply of medicines that I can find. Ye and I must begin at the beginning, Brie.”
“Mama had a fine herb garden. She made all kinds of potions and salves. I helped her.”
“Then, I must rely upon ye, Brie, for I am nae skilled in such pursuits,” Flanna told her niece.
“But can we get the root stock that we'll need?” Brie was suddenly all involved.
“Mary More-Leslie should be able to help ye while I'm gone,” Flanna replied. “She would know what the Duchess Jasmine, yer grandmam, had in the gardens.”
Brie nodded.
“You are a very clever woman,” Charlie said quietly. “I believe my brother has made a far better match than he anticipated when he first decided he wanted Brae. I know you will care well for my children.”
“I will,” she promised him. Then she arose from the high board and curtsied to them. “I must go and pack the few things I will need so I may depart early on the twenty-seventh. I will nae go before ye, Charlie.”
“I'm leaving at first light,” he said.
“Of course,” she agreed. “Yer journey is a long one, and I shall leave directly after ye.” She smiled at the two men. “Good night, my lords.” And with another quick curtsy she hurried from the hall. In her chamber she found Aggie had laid out the small pack she would carry on her saddle. Flanna stuffed in two clean shirts, some knit stockings, her hairbrush, and the little boar's bristle brush she used to clean her teeth. She thought a moment, then added a sash of Leslie plaid and a little bag of coins. The maidservant took the saddle pack to the stables for her mistress.
Aggie woke her before the dawn on the twenty-seventh. Flanna saw her husband had slept in his own room. The chamber was cold and damp. She prayed as she carefully dressed herself that there would be no heavy rain or snow. She drew on a pair of heavy knitted stockings over which she pulled a pair of wool breeches, carefully tucking her chemise into the waistband and down over her buttocks. Next she added a long-sleeved shirt that tied at the neckline and was also tucked into her breeches. A lamb's-wool-lined leather jerkin with bone buttons followed along with her leather boots. Her hooded cloak was dark green wool and lined in beaver as were her leather gloves. Fully dressed, Flanna departed her apartment.
She found Fingal in the hall stuffing his face with hot porridge. She joined him. Shortly Charlie and Patrick arrived, each looking slightly under the weather.
“Ye got drunk,” she accused.
They nodded sheepishly, wincing slightly at the sound of her voice.
“Shame on ye both,” she scolded. “ 'Twill nae be a pleasant ride for ye today, Charlie.”
“Don't remind me, Flanna,” he pleaded with her.
“Eat!” she instructed him firmly. “Angus, see that Lord Stuart has some good hot porridge and cream.”
Charlie paled.
“Ye'll travel better wi' something in yer belly, and 'twill help yer head, I promise,” she assured him. Then she returned to her own meal of porridge, bread, butter, cheese, and ham.
Charlie ate slowly, almost hesitantly, but shortly he had to admit that he did, indeed, feel better. His color began to return.
Flanna handed him a small goblet of wine. “Hair of the dog, my da would say,” she explained.
He sipped carefully, but the wine seemed to make him feel even better. Finally he arose. “I'm ready,” he said.
Patrick rose, too, and the men gripped hands, then embraced. “Dinna be a fool and get yerself killed,” the Duke of Glenkirk advised his eldest brother. “Mama wouldna like that at all.”
“You and Henry will be cautious for us all,” Charlie teased. “As for the young Leslies in Ireland, they will have their hands full just surviving both Cromwell and the Irish. I don't envy them.”
“Old Rory will keep Maguire's Ford safe if they listen to him,” Patrick told him.
“Jesu, is Rory still alive?” Charlie asked.
“Aye,” Patrick said with a grin. “He's over seventy but still, I am assured by my brothers, active. Cullen Butler died last year, though, just after his eightieth birthday. There's nae priest in Maguire's Ford now, nor will there be.”
Charlie nodded, and then embraced his brother a final time. “The sun is just about up,” he said. “I had best be on my way, and Flanna, too, if she expects to reach her father's house in good time.” He turned to his sister-in-law and taking her hand up, kissed it. “I leave you with more decorum, Flanna Leslie, than I greeted you,” he said with a mischievous grin.
“Ye'll nae get off that easily, Charlie,” she told him, and hugging him, Flanna kissed his cheek soundly. “Travel safely, my nae-so-royal Stuart brother,” she said.
He bowed to her and then with a wave left the hall.
“The children!” Flanna cried suddenly, realizing that they had not been here.
“He made his farewells last night,” Patrick explained. “He thought it better that way.”
“I agree,” she replied. Then she said, “I had best go now myself. I'll be back as quickly as I can, my lord.”
“See that ye are, wife, for I find the thought of spending any time away from ye most disturbing.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, his lips soft, then fierce.
“Ohhh,” Flanna sighed, and for a moment she wondered why she was bothering to follow this scheme of hers; but then she remembered she was the do-naught duchess, and she didn't want to be. With a sigh she drew away from him, calling to her nephew, “Fingal Brodie, come!”
Outside in the courtyard she found Ian waiting, holding the horses for them. She cursed softly beneath her breath. She had meant to tell the young man-at-arms that he could visit his parents for his service to her. Now, with Angus standing there, she dared not.
“Dinna stay long,” her uncle said quietly so only she might hear him. “Ye hae a duty to Glenkirk ye hae nae fulfilled, lassie.”
“I'll tell my da that ye send yer regards,” Flanna sassed him as she mounted Glaise.
Angus laughed. “Do that,” he teased back. Then he turned and boosted Fingal Brodie into his saddle. “And ye, laddie, hae nae ye fallen into a nice pot of honey wi' our duke. Ye're lucky.”
“I hope I am,” Fingal Brodie replied.
Now what did he mean by that?
Angus wondered as he watched the trio ride off. Then he shook his head. The Brodies were always wont to look at good fortune askance. It was their way.
Angus wondered as he watched the trio ride off. Then he shook his head. The Brodies were always wont to look at good fortune askance. It was their way.
Flanna's horse clumped slowly across the heavy wooden drawbridge that exited from Glenkirk's courtyard. Her mind worked out the difficulty of telling Ian More that they were not going to Killiecairn, but to Scone. She didn't want him racing back to the castle and exposing her careful plans. Fingal caught her eye questioningly, but she shook her head at him. Still, by the time they reached the bend in the forest road, she would have to make her decision. Two roads revealed themselves at that bend. One leading north to her father's lands, and the other southwest to Scone. What was she to do? The bend was in sight. She had no more time in which to consider.
“Are ye loyal to me, Ian More?” she asked him bluntly, stopping her mount at the fork in the road.
“Ye're my duchess, lady,” he answered simply.
“I am Glenkirk's duchess, Ian More. I know that ye're loyal to Glenkirk, but are ye loyal to me?” Flanna repeated.
“I dinna understand, my lady.”
How old was he? Seventeen? Young enough to be idealistic like she was? Or merely loyal to Glenkirk? Flanna had no choice but to pursue her problem further. “I hae lied to the duke,” she said, almost laughing at the look of surprise on his plain, honest face. “I am nae going to Killiecairn. I am following the Duke of Lundy to Scone.”
“But why, my lady?” His look of confusion was evident.
“Let us ride on, Ian More, and I will tell ye,” Flanna said. She moved Glaise forward in an easy walk. “Ye hae heard in the hall the tale of the Stuart kings,” she began, and he nodded.
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