Knight's Legacy (21 page)

“ 'Tis time, lady,” Glyniss said.

The tears streamed down Cat's face and dropped on the bedding. “Aye, I know. I find myself … hoping I can somehow warm her. She's so cold.”

Roderic turned as if he could bear no more and gently took his wife's arm, helping her rise from the bed. “Come, love. 'Tis time for the soldiers to take her.”

Glyniss watched her friend, the lady who claimed to be Brianna Mackay, lean upon her husband. Always one to walk in pride and strength, she seemed to wither. He held her fast in his strong arms and, for once, there was no effort in his lady to stand alone.

The days passed slowly after Meggie's death, and Glyniss and Roderic despaired at the change they saw in Cat. She was withdrawn, ate little, and cared naught about the running of the keep. She referred Edna to Roderic about even the small decisions for the kitchens, and rarely ventured out, even to ride or hunt with Kenneth.

Roderic became harsh with his warriors on the training field. He came back to the keep drained and spent, and it was clear to Glyniss that he was fretting inwardly about the dismal sadness he saw in his wife.

Meggie's death cast a pall over the entire castle. One and all were tired in spirit, but Glyniss had more regard for Cat. The lady tried her best to avoid tending the wee babe, so Glyniss and Edna took turns caring for her. Cat saw in the child the painful memory of her mother's death.

“How long will she be so broken in her spirit?” Roderic asked.

“I ken not, but never should I have let her near when Meggie was birthing her babe. She reaches out to help others, and I thought not beyond having someone to help me. But some cannae see the suffering of others, as a healer does. Sir Roderic, how I wish I had sent her from that room long before the babe was born. But bear it now she must. 'Tis a hard way for a woman fully grown, least one as young and small as Meggie. By the time I kenned we should send her from the room, ‘twas too late. I was too hard on the task to save the lass, to stop the bleeding.”

“You did your best, Glyniss. Indeed, even Douglas knows it to be true.”

“Does he still sit by the grave?”

“Aye, and with his own thoughts,” Roderic said.

“My real fret is that he willnae look at that child. 'Tis his own daughter. Brianna Catherine will come to a place of tolerance of the child, yea though, Douglas is another matter. 'Tis as if he blames the child for taking Meggie away.”

“Aye, that is true, therefore, the babe shall stay here. Douglas has entreated me to keep her,” Roderic said.

“Ahh! What do ye say?”

“ 'Tis true,” Roderic said.

“The stubborn, selfish boy! Does he think her to be a pup that he doesnae want?”

“Glyniss, we must not put that child with him if he doesn't want her. It would not be safe for the babe. May Douglas walk through his struggle with God in his own way, in his own time. We must not allow the child to suffer for it.”

Glyniss scoffed. “ 'Tis the truth ye speak, but I cannae help but feel a hot ire at that lad's self-indulgence. The wee lass is all he has of Meggie now, and he spurns her.”

“Aye. He leaves on the morn,” Roderic said.

Douglas stood near the grave striving to control his rage. His dearest girl, his Meggie, was gone. In her place was a wee lass, a tiny babe that one day would grow to a young woman, but he knew not if he could ever look upon her without feeling a deep-seated resentment. She was the death of her mother, and Douglas could not find the strength to reach beyond his own pain.

Lady Brianna approached him. She stood silent for a moment, the wind moving the flame-colored strands of her hair in a gentle circle about them.

“Roderic said you are to leave us?”

“Aye, Lady Montwain.”

“And you do not plan to take the baby? Why, Douglas? Meggie would not want you to leave her.”

The young man grimaced and swallowed hard, shaking his head slowly.

“I cannae bear it, not without her. The child is the cause of her death.”

“Douglas!”

Ignoring her, he turned and walked to his horse, mounted, and returned to the keep.

Calum Mackay's messenger had ridden hard to catch up with him. He was carrying a missive scroll from Laird Kincaid.

“Alastair Kincaid is dead,” Calum said. “Kincaid petitions me to come to him, but he seeks answers as to why the lad was killed.”

“And your daughter?” Graham asked.

“He says naught of her. We go now. We ride for Kincaid's lands.”

“He has an army!”

“Aye, a very steadfast, powerful army,” Calum said.

Two days later Kincaid's warriors and sentinels allowed them to pass, they knew Mackay had been petitioned by their Laird. Many of their colors flew at half-mast on their staffs, they wore black arm-bands, and there was a mourning wreath on the door of the Kincaid keep. They entered the house of mourning with respect, and one of the men bid them in to the great hall. Soon the Kincaid Laird entered the hall with his wife beside him. He turned briefly to the beautiful woman at his side, and spoke.

“Leave us now, love.” She nodded her assent and picked up her skirts to leave the chamber.

Kincaid ordered ale, and they sat down at the large table.

“May ye have peace in the time of your sorrow,” Calum said.

The big man raised his dark head, and his eyes narrowed as he pondered the statement. “Best ye have no part in it.”

“Nay, Kincaid, I did not. I sent my girl to your brother so that I would not have to give her to the Englishmon. Damn the King and his order!”

“ 'Tis not the tale uttered by Alastair, for he spoke to me of plans to steal your Brianna.”

“Scurried her away to him, I did,” Calum said. “I put another lass in her place to give to Montwain, for he wouldnae know one from the other. His army has taken me lands with an iron fist, and his warriors move about as they please. No doubt he was told of the deception and sought to find them. If your brother lies dead, it be at Montwain's hand, for he was to have married Brianna. The English dog wanted revenge.”

“And how do you know this, Mackay?”

“He is dead, is he not, young Alastair? And the girl is nowhere to be found. Methinks she has been killed by the Englishmon.”

“Why would he kill a woman, even one that humiliated him?”

“I know not! I say I have pondered on the puzzle. The lass would know who killed Alastair. He couldnae let her live to go to the King with his deed.”

“You have no word of your daughter from the King?”

“Nay,” Calum said.

“Alexander's messenger came with Alastair's body. He has given me the King's vow to see Alastair righteously avenged.”

“Think ye he will revoke the gifts he gives to the Englishmon? Take away his blessing? Ahhh! Nay, Kincaid. Ye be a fool if ye ken that.”

“Call me no fool, ye old thief! If what you say is true, and Alastair did die at his hand, I will have his head on a pike, if I must go against Alexander to do it!”

“Aye, 'Tis what must be done, and I will join ye. We must lay siege to Montwain. Surround him, we could. Force Alexander's judgment.”

“I'll not attack a man before I know the truth.”

“Who else but the Englishmon would want your brother dead? He gave ruin to Alexander's plan and disgraced Montwain before all in the Highlands by takin' the woman he was to wed.” Calum laughed heartily. “I gave him a madwoman we captured. She be a simpleton that Angus dragged out of the water, but she be fair enough for his kind! Sooner would I see Brianna dead than have my blood blend with his.”

“Ye have no army, so ye come in supplication for mine?”

“Better ye leave the murderer of your kin to grow fat and prosper in the Highlands?”

Kincaid's second in command, a very large, blond man, addressed his Laird. “Dinnae allow your grief to rule ye.”

Kincaid slammed his fist on the table. “My grief is my own,” he said hoarsely. After a very long pause, Kincaid addressed Mackay.

“We are in mourning here. I will take time to think on this. Ye and your men have leave to stay until I resolve yea or nay.”

“So be it,” Calum said.

The following day they held the ceremony of burial for Alastair, and after the long day was over and the sun had set, Kincaid once again sent for Mackay. As they spoke, they overheard the weeping coming from the chamber belonging to the mother of the Laird. She mourned her son, and the sound of it had a visible affect on Laird Kincaid.

Calum spoke as if searching for an answer. “If we send a message to Alexander to meet us at my holding, we can tell him of our suspicions, and mayhap he will hear our outcry for justice. We needn't attack. We can but surround him and wait for the King's decree.”

The Kincaid Laird raised his hand. “There will be no battle, ‘less I sanction it?”

“Aye,” Calum said.

Kincaid sat silent for a long while, deep in thought. Mackay waited patiently for him to give his answer. Finally, he spoke.

“I made a vow to my brother's memory that put a sword, I would, to the mon that took his life. Best the King know, true to this vow I shall be.”

The Laird took a deep breath and heaved a weary sigh. “Ye got your army, Mackay.”