Chapter 10

Rob abhorred having to threaten a woman, but he could see nae way around it. Becky, as she was called, was loyal to Melinda. Why else would she have arranged this meeting with Rowena—an unheard of proposition amongst the upper class, but then, wealth didnae protect them frae fear and superstition about magic and witchcraft. He could only suppose Melinda was wracked by a greater fear, though about what he couldn’t imagine. He had always assumed her father doted on the lass. Had his love for her changed all that?

He worried that she had been mistreated, or faced the dark side of Henry La Mont’s wrath—the side La Mont showed on the battlefield.

Now all the others bar Nhaimeth and Rowena had returned to the camp—unseen. His jaw clenched as he took Becky by the shoulders, his voice gruff, not by intention but by thoughts of Melinda. “If ye wish to see yer mistress again,” he said, “ye shall do as I tell ye;, for whether ye like it or not, I will have my sons and ye will be either with me or agin me.”

“Don’t h-hurt me...” she stammered. “I-I’ll do ask ye ask for my Lady’s sake, but if yer after yer sons then one of us needs must feed th-the little ones.” With a lift of his eyebrows he nodded. Fool that he was, he hadn’t considered that the bairns would still be breast-fed, but what else was a wet-nurse needed for? He’d had little to do with bairns, not even his sister Maggie; while she was with his mother he was he was with Nhaimeth and Jamie in the stables or learning to fight with a sword.

“Do as I tell ye and all will be well,” he said with conviction. Strange that he should feel as confident as he sounded, that he would put his trust in a lass smaller than Nhaimeth, and his feeling that this was meant to be. The white stag had led him to this place, and he could find nae explanation why the animal should have if not to lead him to his sons so he might take them home, back to Cragenlaw.

The thought of his wee lads at the castle made him want to smile, but now wasn’t the moment, he decided, flattening his lips against his teeth in a grimace. He told Becky, “Do as I say and ye will be safe, as will Melinda and my sons.”

Becky was a plump wee thing with a bosom like one of the pouter doves Morag kept in a dovecote at Cragenlaw. He had made her tremble, and that was all to the guid, but he didn’t want her so afeard she couldn’t fulfil her part in the plan. “Here’s what we will do...”

Nhaimeth and Rowena left first, she to show his friend the way through forest that the wee gypsy lass was well familiar with. Nhaimeth was Rob’s best friend and he had nae intention of sending him off to get captured.

As a precaution, Rob held the reins of Becky’s black palfrey, leading Melinda’s pretty little grey one by a length of rope. Finally when they reached the top of a path he had taken often as a lad, he stopped and dismounted. “Stay here,” he ordered and with nae guarantee she would obey other than that she was used to doing as she was told, he unfastened the lead rope on the grey.

The trail ahead led down through the trees and into the valley, away frae Wolfsdale. The notion had come to mind as he and Guaril, sitting around last night’s fire, firmed up their plans for today. Leading the grey a few paces down the path, he draped the reins over its neck, letting them trail as if Melinda had lost hold of them. Standing behind the palfrey, he gave its rump a couple of sharp smacks with a slim willow switch, then taking a deep breath, he roared like a bear with the intention of putting the fear of God into the beast. Last seen, it was racing down the trail like all the gods of wrath were on its tail.

A few strides frae the end of the forest he questioned Becky, “Now do ye remember what ye have to say?”

Becky blinked then, eyes held wide, almost child like she said, “Yes. First off I’ve to rush through the gates shouting to the guards that my Lady’s mount was frightened by an owl that flew out of a tree into its face and that the daft beast took off at a gallop with her on its back.” She rushed through her instruction without taking a breath till he wanted to say, ‘Easy,” as if she were a flighty horse.

“Perfect. If La Mont is there, describe the direction the horse took, but remember ye can’t show them for someone has to feed the lads.”

“Harry and Ralf,” she said nodding her wee plump chin, which he noticed because few lasses in the north ever had enough to eat to grow a layer of fat. All that was forgotten as he realised that for the first time he knew his sons’ names.

Norman names…

“Aye, Harry and Ralf,” he said abruptly, unwilling to let emotion show at this discovery of the names Melinda had given them, certain he would always remember this moment, would always see Becky’s palfrey blending into the trees and her staring at him with nae notion how momentous her words were—to be able to put names to them, to say to his father, this is Harry and this Ralf. It didn’t matter. If, like him, Euan thought they sounded names a Norman might give his sons, and they were, the lads were still his, and that made them Scots.

He sent Becky on her way with another reluctantly growled warning—reluctant aye, for had Rob learned more of import frae her than even Guaril’s news.

Swiftly, he circled around Wolfsdale towards the north and west, staying hidden by the trees and undergrowth. He heard the commotion afore he saw them leave—La Mont on his usual bright-coated chestnut and another man riding a big black stallion that reminded Rob of Diabhal. He wasn’t the constable, whom Rob recognised, for he left through the gates a few moments after the others and surrounded by a gaggle of his guards.

Watching them ride off in the direction Becky would have given them, Rob hurried to the ancient site he remembered frae boyhood. Built by the Romans, it had been a place to hide—to escape the unwanted attentions of his uncle Doughall’s friend, Kalem—a man with whom his uncle had shared an unnatural relationship.

Nhaimeth waited for him by the entrance he’d described, but Rowena was nae place to be seen. Aware time was in short supply, Rob tied Gun-eagal to an old oak tree he remembered climbing as a lad. Being here brought back so many memories, some guid, some bad, like his grandfather’s return after a day out hunting with the Kalem. Strength seemed to have left his auld body as he hung prone across the saddle he had ridden off on proudly—the Wolf in all his glory. Doughall hadn’t gone out after deer, and after all these years Rob understood why. If a stone of blame was to be cast, he didnae want to be its target. A lot of guid it had done them, both of them perished by the sword less than two years later.

Hundreds of years old, the stones arching over the entrance to the underground chamber were so moss- and weed-ridden the structure blended into the landscape. He had stumbled upon it by accident, saying nothing to anyone, and had spent weeks clearing debris frae the tunnel that led upwards into a corner of the Bailey, now inside the new curtain wall.

From the chamber where he’d been housed two years ago, he had made note that the auld wooden palisade had been pulled down but naught else had changed.

None of his present problems would be his fate if he hadn’t willingly given into Melinda’s artful persuasion and been shocked to discover she was a virgin. If anyone had asked, he would have said there was an innate sensuality about her that he hadn’t the will to resist.

Afore he met Melinda, he had actually wondered whether escape from Wolfsdale might be possible, but the constable had put paid to that by ensuring the outer doors were guarded against him, blocking any attempt leave the Keep and manor house. After a while he hadn’t wanted to, not when he could lie abed with Melinda in his arms, caressing and tasting her sweet breasts. Thrusting inside her warmth was a pleasure he had never wanted to end, but it had. He had returned to Scotland, not realising he was leaving more than Melinda at Wolfsdale. Guaril’s news about the twins had hit him like a blow to the heart. Was this was how the McArthur had felt when Morag finally admitted Rob Farquhar was his son?

That he was his son?

Aye, he’d had his grandfather and had loved him, but for those in power, family was all part of forming alliances and, since his birth hadn’t been easy, Morag had been told she would be barren and never carry another child. Rob had never understood why she hadn’t brought him to his father’s notice earlier. If Morag’s life had been a hard road, his father’s had been worse, losing three bairns—all sons—and their mothers because of a curse that had taken all the joy out of his life.

Rob had been twelve afore he discovered the McArthur was more than a chieftain who treated him as if he was better than a mere runaway peasant who’d landed at the castle gates with his mother in the middle of a raging storm—a storm that had rampaged over the battlements of Cragenlaw, whipping up waves and toppling trees as the McArthur’s third wife died in childbirth.

Ach aye, nae one could say his parents’ lives had been smooth. What mattered was that, tumultuous or not, they had been worth every tear and heartbreak.

He could only wish that Melinda would feel the same when all this was over.

The appearance of Rowena frae inside the hidden Roman chamber brought his mind back to the present. Frae out of nowhere she had produced a pitch-tipped torch and, instead of being grateful for her forethought, he almost snarled, “Where did that come frae?” annoyed that he hadn’t taken the darkness into account. He should have, for hadn’t Nhaimeth led him and Gavyn Farquhar in the dark through the tunnels at Dun Bhuird to rescue Gavyn’s wife, Kathryn Comlyn?

Was this the true meaning of life? For it to be worthwhile a man had to find his way through the Labyrinth and kill the Minotaur like the one depicted in tiles on the wall of the Roman chamber.

Rowena glanced his way with raised brows, as if she found him wanting. “I found the torch inside the entrance, and since gypsies dinnae live in castles we always carry a flint and a bit of tinder for making a fire.”

He shook his head. “Ach,” he said taking hold of the notion leaping into his mind. “It’s probably been there since I was a lad,”

“Nae, I dinnae think ye were the last to use the secret chamber, but it’s safe for now. Take this torch with ye, and Nhaimeth and I will wait here.” Rowena chuckled, enjoying a wee jest. “I wouldn’t want him to be scared by that big bull god on the wall “

The gypsy lass was right, someone had been using the chamber, a fact proven by the purple cloth covering the black stone altar sitting below the mosaic, but he had nae time to stand and question its meaning. By now Becky should be sneaking out the kitchen door with her arms full of bairns.

Rob ran, arriving at the other end in time to lift his head above the shrubs concealing this end of the tunnel. This would normally be the practice ground, but today it was empty while the fighting men searched for Melinda. He had been correct; the wee wet-nurse was loaded up with sacks and bairns. Scanning the Bailey to make sure it was empty, he made a soft call, “Whist,” followed by a whistle to attract her attention.

She ran, but clumsily, a bag dropping frae her fingers onto the damp grass; Rob made a quick dash to pick it up, pulling another one frae her fingers to lighten her load. He wanted to stop, wanted to look upon the faces of the bairns she had wrapped in their version of a wee knitted plaid. Later, he told himself. Time was precious; he must get them through to the other end of the chamber and away afore anybody realised Becky and the bairns were missing.

Letting Becky go afore him while he carried the bags and the torch, he saw her steps falter at the tiled portrayal of the Minotaur. “It’s ancient,’ he reassured her, “frae the time that the Romans built the wall across the borders. It can’t harm ye. I’ll let naught hurt ye or my bairns.”

Again she gave a startled look. “I told ye true, I’m their father so have nae worries; all will be well when we get to Scotland.” Her expression didnae improve, but he supposed there would be a lot more than that to worry her by the time they set off on the journey back to Cragenlaw.”

Nhaimeth and Rowena both wore grins as they left by the entrance. “Here let me,” Rowena said to Becky with that expression on her face that lasses got when clucking over a bairn.

“That’s Harry, he’s the eldest and the heir—”

“Aye, mine,” broke in Rob, as if stamping his ownership on the bairns. “Nhaimeth, fetch a couple of plaids then take these bags and fasten them to yer saddle. Becky will ride in front of Rowena with a bairn carried in a plaid and I’ll carry the other bairn in my plaid.”

“They have just had a little feed enough to keep them happy for a short while,” Becky informed them as she mounted Rowena’s black horse then wrapped the bairn and herself in the plaid Nhaimeth handed her.

It took a wee bit of arranging, but finally they were ready. Becky held Harry, since he was the smaller of the two, and Rob carried Ralf who, by comparison, was quite a guid weight for his age. They set off with Nhaimeth leading the way, a meandering route to ensure they didn’t run into La Mont or his men. At first he walked Gun-eagal, his mount’s unusual black and white hide disguised by its black trapper. He slowly increased the stallion’s speed, keeping up with the others. but afore he did, a wee hand crept over the edge of the plaid and two curious eyes stared up at him, making his heart tumble inside his chest. “Nae worries, lad, yer safe now. I’m yer father,” he told him as for the third time he left Wolfsdale aware his life had just changed.