CHAPTER SIX
N ICHOLAS IMMEDIATELY kicked his horse into a trot and rode back toward Dunkeathe. He dreaded finding a horse limping, its reins dangling, near a broken, bloody body.
He was about halfway home when he heard a familiar voice call out, “My lord!”
Relieved, he pulled his horse to a halt, to see Fergus Mac Gordon quite well and waving at him, standing in a farmer’s yard beside a stone enclosure. Beside him, a peasant shifted his feet uneasily. The mare from Dunkeathe, tied to a tree beside the stone cottage, contentedly munched grass as if it had been there for some time.
Nicholas rode toward them, scattering several flapping, clucking chickens and one very indignant goose as he entered the yard.
“You’ve got to look at this lamb!” Mac Gordon cried when Nicholas dismounted. “I’ve never seen such fine fleece!”
It was only then that Nicholas realized the man was cradling a lamb as another might a child. Penned nearby, an ewe watched and bleated.
The peasant, a young man with messy brown hair and wearing simple homespuns, quickly tugged his forelock and stepped out of the way when Nicholas reached them.
“Feel that,” Mac Gordon said, holding out the little white animal which didn’t struggle at all, as if it felt quite safe where it was.
Nicholas dutifully ran his hand over the lamb’s back.
“Nay, not like that,” Mac Gordon laughingly chided. With his free hand, and not pulling on it hard enough to cause any pain, the Scot took a handful of the fleece. “Grab it.”
Nicholas did as he was told. The fleece was soft, which wasn’t unexpected, but otherwise, he didn’t notice anything remarkable.
Mac Gordon gave him a beaming smile and fondled the head of the lamb as if it was a puppy. “Have you ever felt anything like that, eh?”
Nicholas still wasn’t sure why the man was so excited. But then, what did he know of sheep? What did he care, except that his share of the sale of the wool brought him income, and their meat fed him and his household? “It’s fleece,” he said with a shrug.
“Wheest, man!” Mac Gordon cried, turning and letting the lamb loose in the pen. The little animal trotted over to its mother and immediately began to drink.
“That lamb’s fleece is thicker than any fleece I’ve ever felt, and hardly a bristle in it,” Mac Gordon declared. He grinned at the peasant. “Thomas here knows what he’s got, if his master doesn’t. That fleece’ll make some fine wool. And it’s not just the fleece—look at the haunches on him, too! Now that’s what I call mutton!”
The Scot clapped his hand on the peasant’s shoulders, as if they were the best of friends. “Sheep like this don’t come by accident. This clever fellow’s been doing some breeding, haven’t you, Thomas?”
Thomas’s face reddened, and reddened more when Nicholas addressed him in the tone he usually used with foot soldiers. “Is this true, Thomas?”
“Come, man, admit your genius!” the Scot exclaimed. “For genius it is and no mistake.”
“Aye, my lord, I’ve been trying,” Thomas said quietly, not looking Nicholas in the eye. “I let the sheep loose on the hills, like always, but I was careful to keep the ewes and rams I thought had better fleece and more meat.”
“And there’s more like it, he says,” Fergus Mac Gordon said. “If that’s so, you’ve got something more precious than gold or silver, my lord, for once metal’s out of the ground, it’s gone. Sheep like this will keep you rich for years.”
Nicholas looked at the lamb again. Could it really be so important? And if it was, could that be the answer to his financial woes?
Perhaps eventually, but not this year. Lambs weren’t shorn.
“What would you say to letting me bring some of my ewes here for breeding, eh?” Mac Gordon asked.
Nicholas thought of his nearly empty coffers. “You would have to pay for that.”
And so might others—a source of income he’d never anticipated.
The little man’s face fell. “How much?”
“My steward and I will have to discuss that.” Nicholas glanced at Thomas, who nervously shifted his feet. “Thomas would levy it, and a portion would come to me as a tithe.”
Thomas looked as if he’d just won a tournament.
“I’m sure Thomas will be reasonable,” he added.
“Oh, yes, my lord, yes!” the young man cried. “Very reasonable.”
Mac Gordon’s face lit up again. “Then it’s a bargain, and I’ll tell my son when I go back home. He’ll be keen to come when he hears about these animals. A fine eye for wool, he has, like his father,” the Scot finished with a laugh.
“Perhaps on our way back to Dunkeathe, we can talk more about sheep,” Nicholas said to the smiling Mac Gordon.
“I’d be delighted, my lord. Anything you want to know about fleece and wool—” He smacked himself on the chest. “I’m your man.”
“Obviously you know a good deal more about them than I do,” Nicholas admitted.
“Well, I’d wager you could teach me a thing or two about defending a castle,” Mac Gordon answered as they strolled back to their horses.
Nicholas nodded as he looked around the farmyard. It was neat and well tended. This Thomas was clearly a conscientious fellow, as well as clever. Yet no woman or children had appeared in the door of the cottage, and he saw no sign of their presence.
After swinging into the saddle, he rode over to Thomas, who was still standing by the fence. “Do you live here alone, Thomas?”
“Aye, my lord, since my father died in January.”
Nicholas had a vague memory of Robert mentioning taking a ram as a heriot from a shepherd. “Was a ram the heriot?”
“Aye, my lord. The sire of some of these lambs, he was.”
“I shall see that it’s returned to you, so that you can breed more of these excellent sheep.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the young man said, bowing.
“You can expect a visit from Robert Martleby in the next few days.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You’ll also go to all the other farms on my estate and select the sheep that you think are particularly fine. These will be added to your flock, as well, and I shall make you the head shepherd of Dunkeathe.”
Thomas looked as if he might swoon, but gladly so. “Th-thank you, my lord,” he stammered. “Thank you very much!”
“I believe in rewarding those who serve me well, Thomas. Remember that,” he said as he turned his horse toward the gate.
Fergus Mac Gordon was just getting settled in his saddle. It was quite clear the man rarely rode a horse, or hadn’t in some time—another sign of his poverty, if Nicholas needed it.
“Farewell, Thomas.”
The farmer bowed so low, his forehead nearly touched the ground. “Farewell, my lord.”
After the Scot managed to get his horse under control, he came alongside Nicholas.
“So, my lord,” Fergus said, beaming, “what else do you want to know about sheep?”
“O H, ISN’T THAT PRETTY !” Eleanor cried as she caught sight of some fabric in a tradesman’s stall.
Riona smiled, as pleased as Eleanor to be out of the castle on this fine day after being forced to keep to the hall and her chamber by the rain and fog, as well as the dread of encountering Sir Nicholas. She had no idea what he might do or say if she did, and she didn’t want to find out.
Fortunately, he’d kept his distance since that morning in the chapel. Even more fortunately, Eleanor never wanted to talk about their host, probably because both of them were ostensibly here for the same reason—to try to become his bride.
She joined Eleanor in examining the lovely, soft dark green wool interwoven with a bright red. At home she rarely had time for such activity. Most of her dealings with merchants were for practical necessities, like food or drink. “Nobody weaves as well as a Scot,” she said proudly.
“If this is an example of Scots craftsmanship, I agree,” Eleanor replied. “I hope Percival will let me buy it.”
“Is your mistress going to purchase anything today?” the merchant asked Riona in Gaelic, smiling but uncertain.
Since she and Eleanor had been speaking French, it was no wonder he was confused, and if he thought she was Eleanor’s maidservant, what else could she expect, given the difference in their clothing?
Riona genially replied in Gaelic. “We think your fabric is wonderful. The lady hopes her cousin will purchase it for her.”
The tradesman’s face fell slightly, but he kept smiling. “Oh, aye? And who might her cousin be?”
“Sir Percival de Surlepont. If an extremely well-dressed young nobleman comes to you looking for this plaid, that will be Sir Percival.”
“He’s the bonny fellow in bright green sarcenet who went hunting this morning?”
“Aye, that’s him.”
“Oh, Riona, look at this, too!” Eleanor exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such a lovely deep blue. How does he do it?”
Riona turned again to the merchant. “She likes the blue fabric, too. She wants to know how you get such a fine color.”
The merchant’s smile became genuine, and his eyes sparkled with a craftsman’s pride. “Ach, you’ll have me tell all my secrets?”
“Only if you care to share.”
“Well, for the sake of your bright eyes and the lady’s beauty,” he said, giving her a wink. “Welsh blackberries.”
“Ah, Welsh blackberries?”
He nodded. “They’re the best for that dark blue.”
“I’ll remember that.”
A group of children ran past. They halted near the stocks, where a man sat on a stool, his head and wrists held fast in the wooden slats. A boy about ten, with brown hair and freckles, cried out, “Murderer!” and pelted him with an apple core. Others followed suit, with mud.
Their victim raised his head and snarled at them, until they ran away.
“Is he really a murderer?” Riona asked the merchant, wondering if that was so, why he was only in the stocks.
“He killed the lad’s dog a fortnight ago. It got to barking one night and that drunken lout beat it to death. Sir Nicholas ordered him to be in the stocks for two months, then to leave Dunkeathe and never come back.”
Riona tried not to betray any overt interest in the lord of Dunkeathe or his justice. “That seems harsh.”
“Sir Nicholas is a hard man, but he keeps the peace,” the tradesman replied with approval.
She was quite sure Sir Nicholas and his soldiers were capable of maintaining order, which probably explained the merchant’s admiration.
“Most noblemen wouldn’t care two straws for a peasant boy’s dog, but he did,” the merchant continued. “He treated the boy as serious as if he was a grown man when the lad spoke up at the hall-moot. Still, nobody really thought Sir Nicholas would punish one of his own men over it.”
In spite of her previous thoughts, Riona couldn’t help being impressed, too. “That’s one of his men?”
“Aye, an archer from the castle.”
Riona recalled what she’d seen of Sir Nicholas when he was with his soldiers. He was generally grim, unsmiling, fully the commander. He seemed so with the servants, too, so she’d been dismissing him as simply a harsh, unyielding tyrant. Clearly, he did have some sympathy for those beneath him.
It was a pity he didn’t show that side of himself more often. It would hardly cost him any respect, for she doubted there was a person who met the lord of Dunkeathe who wasn’t in awe of his power and accomplishments. Even she—
She realized Eleanor was waiting and didn’t understand what they were saying. She briefly recounted what the merchant had told her.
“His own soldier—and over a dog?” Eleanor said, her eyes wide.
“I was surprised, too,” Riona confessed.
She wondered if Eleanor would reveal what she thought of Sir Nicholas now, but instead her friend gave a longing look at the lovely wool, sighed and said, “I suppose we should be getting back to the castle. The men may already be finished with the hunt and I don’t think Percival will be pleased if he finds out I was in the village.”
“I daresay Uncle Fergus and Fredella will be curious about where we went,” Riona remarked as they started toward the castle. “That’s if they’ve even noticed we’re gone.”
Eleanor smiled as they walked across the green, veering well away from the stocks. “I doubt they’ve noticed anything much at all, except each other.”
“Uncle Fergus seems very taken with her.”
“And she with him. Nothing would make me happier than to see Fredella happily married,” Eleanor replied. She flushed and slid a wary glance at her companion. “Although your uncle is a nobleman and she’s only a servant.”
Riona hastened to relieve her of any worries on that score. “I’m sure his intentions are honorable. Uncle Fergus would no more be dishonorable than the sun would cease to rise. It simply isn’t in his nature.”
“Yet marriage between a thane and a servant? Is that not frowned on in Scotland?”
“Uncle Fergus says it’s love that matters. He grieved deeply for my aunt when she died, but that was many years ago. If Fredella makes him happy, I wouldn’t raise any objections. Neither will his son, I’m sure,” she added sincerely.
Indeed, she was sure Kenneth wouldn’t complain any more than she would. They both loved Uncle Fergus too much to protest his choice of bride, whether she was highborn or low, rich or poor. “You won’t mind losing your servant?”
“Not if her new circumstances are her choice and make her happy.”
“What about Percival?”
“I don’t think he even realizes Fredella’s alive, most of the time. I doubt he’ll notice if she leaves. I wouldn’t ask him to find me another maidservant, though. I’d find one myself. I wouldn’t trust his judgment.”
Neither would Riona. “Then it’s settled between us,” she said, smiling at her young friend. “If they want to get married, we won’t stand in their way.”
Eleanor laughed merrily and so did Riona. She’d never expected to be friends with a Norman, but Eleanor was a kind, sweet girl who already seemed like the younger sister she’d never had.
“Riona!”
They both looked over their shoulders, to see Uncle Fergus and Sir Nicholas riding toward them. She would have feared Uncle Fergus had fallen and been hurt, except that he was smiling and seemed very happy.
Seated on his great black gelding, his back straight as a spear, the lord of Dunkeathe looked every inch the overlord he was, even though he was wearing a plain brown leather tunic, dark woolen breeches and scuffed boots. Nobody who saw him could doubt that he was a formidable man, and that the sword at his side had been used many times.
Nobody who saw him now would probably guess he could sound so seductive, or kiss with such—
“The hunt must be over,” Eleanor said, a hint of panic in her voice.
“Maybe,” Riona said uncertainly. “I wonder where the others are?”
“I don’t know, but Percival’s probably not far behind,” Eleanor said as she gathered up her skirts.
That was likely true; Percival stuck to Sir Nicholas like a burr, as did most of the other noblemen, except Audric.
“I’d best return to the castle,” Eleanor said anxiously. “Percival might be angry if he knows I came to the village.”
“You go on,” Riona said. “I’ll wait for my uncle.”
If she went back to the castle now, Uncle Fergus would surely wonder why she hadn’t waited for them.
As Eleanor walked swiftly away, Riona inwardly girded her loins and prepared to ignore the dark lord of Dunkeathe as much as possible.
It soon became apparent that no one else was with them or coming close behind. The other noblemen and the servants accompanying them must still be at the hunt.
When they reached Riona, Sir Nicholas swung easily down from his saddle. She supposed he was used to doing that wearing chain mail and armor; his tunic and breeches must seem like a mere second skin to him. They fit him like a second skin.
Uncle Fergus had a bit more of a struggle to dismount, but soon enough, both were on the ground, holding the reins of their horses.
“Greetings, my lady,” Sir Nicholas said evenly. “I see the sun has lured you from my castle.”
“Good day, Sir Nicholas,” she replied just as politely.
“Riona, my beauty, how good to meet you here!” Uncle Fergus cried, and oh, how she wanted to cringe when he used those words to describe her in front of their host.
“Hello, Uncle. Was the hunt not successful? Where are the others?”
“Hunt?” Uncle Fergus said, as if he’d forgotten about it completely.
“It went well. I left the rest of them to it after they cornered a stag,” Sir Nicholas replied. “I found your uncle talking to one of my tenants.”
Riona was burning with curiosity to know what Sir Nicholas thought of that, and why he’d returned with Uncle Fergus instead of staying with the other nobles, but she tried not to show any particular interest in anything his lordship said.
“You ought to see the lambs Sir Nicholas has on this estate,” Uncle Fergus cried, throwing his arm about her shoulders and heading for the castle gates. “Fleece soft and thick, and a good leg for meat, too. Like nothing I’ve ever seen!”
“Your uncle assures me I’ve got something very valuable,” Sir Nicholas agreed, his voice betraying only mild interest.
“Very valuable? Why, I don’t think the man half knows what he’s got! Worth a fortune, those animals. And he’s going to let me bring some of our sheep to breed with theirs—for a fee, of course.”
That sounded like a Norman’s miserly way. “Of course,” she said with a hint of disgust.
“Why shouldn’t I make money, if I own the animals?” Sir Nicholas inquired.
“Aye, why shouldn’t he?” Uncle Fergus asked. “They’re on his estate and the shepherd’s his tenant—a very clever tenant, too, that Thomas is.”
“Thomas?” Riona repeated, recognizing the name. “That must be the young man Polly wants to marry.”
Uncle Fergus laughed. “Ah, then she’s a lucky woman, for he’s a very fine fellow.” He grinned at Sir Nicholas. “You ought to listen to what Riona has to say about her, my lord.”
“I don’t care to listen to gossip about the servants,” Sir Nicholas said with stiff hauteur as they walked through the outer gatehouse.
Riona didn’t want to talk to him about anything, either.
“It’s not gossip, exactly,” Uncle Fergus returned, “and if you want your household to run smooth, you ought to pay attention to what’s going on among the servants, as Riona does. I’ve been spared some trouble that way, I can tell you.”
“Never mind, Uncle,” Riona said. “I’m sure Sir Nicholas doesn’t require any assistance from me.”
Sir Nicholas looked at her with his piercing dark eyes and his gaze felt like a flame on her skin. “Given that I’m used to commanding soldiers, not servants, especially female ones, perhaps I should hear what you have to say on the subject.”
“My lord, I really don’t think…” she began, desperately trying to think of a good reason to refuse.
“He needs your help, Riona,” Uncle Fergus exclaimed. “Now be a good girl—”
He made her sound like a child!
“And tell him about Polly. Since I’ve heard all about it, you won’t mind if I go on ahead, I hope?” Uncle Fergus asked with an eager look in his eyes that, Riona suspected, had a great deal to do with Fredella.
“I have no wish to detain you,” Sir Nicholas said.
“Until later, then, my lord,” Uncle Fergus cried cheerfully as, with a wave of his hand, he abandoned her.
“He seems in a great hurry,” Sir Nicholas noted as Riona continued to walk beside him, silently commanding herself not to fall behind. She didn’t want to look like a dog trotting after its master.
She wasn’t about to tell him why she thought her uncle was in a rush to get to the castle, either. He’d surely disapprove of any nobleman preferring to be with a servant. “I don’t think my uncle likes hunting, particularly.”
“Neither do I.”
She slid the Norman a skeptical glance as they reached the inner gate. “Then why did you suggest it?”
“Because it’s a fine day, and I thought the other gentlemen would enjoy it.”
That seemed to be the end of that subject. “About Polly, my lord—”
“I’d prefer to have this discussion in my solar.”
“I’d prefer not to be alone with you, my lord.”
He regarded her with a stony expression. “If you’d rather have this discussion about my servant in the hall or yard, that is, of course, up to you. However, I don’t consider it wise to discuss one’s underlings where anyone may overhear.”
Unfortunately, he had a point, made even stronger when a stableboy, his expression inquisitive, ran up to take charge of Sir Nicholas’s horse.
“Very well, my lord,” she conceded.
Without another word, Sir Nicholas turned on his heel and started toward the solar, leaving her to follow.