Chapter Twenty-Two

Fallstairs’ grimy facade was not a welcome sight. The yard was even more unkempt than when Rowenna had left – goats and pigs wandering, ankle-deep mud to squelch through - and the gate wide was open for her to ride in. Most likely, her father’s men, who should be guarding it, had sloped off to the tavern.

As Rowenna grew closer, she spotted several horses tethered outside the main door and two loutish men lounging against the house, looking bored. Strangers. Rowenna dismounted in a rush and led her horse around the back way to the stables before they could see her. She watched the yard. All was quiet, no sound of trouble, but she had grown up wary, and her instincts screamed that something was amiss. The day was fading. She could not tarry in her hiding place forever. What if the men decided to take a look around and discovered her? It would not do to end up alone in the stables at the mercy of men’s appetites, which she was now too aware of since being bedded by Jasper.

Rowenna crept out of the stables and headed to the back door of Fallstairs. Once inside, she followed the sound of voices to the hall. She hesitated outside the doorway.

‘But you must have word of my son.’ It was her father’s voice.

‘No more than you have word of mine.’ It was a cold reply, full of contempt, and spoken by an Englishman.

‘I have done as you bid, sent men all over searching, but nothing has been found, not even a….’

‘Corpse?’ snapped the stranger.

‘There is no telling what happened. This land is full of villains - desperate men who will slit a throat for a few shillings and bury their crimes deep. I cannot do more than I have.’

‘Nor can I. So Bran will stay lost to you, as Edmund is lost to me. Perhaps your dolt of a son flapped his lips in the wrong tavern to the wrong people. God save me for my folly in ever coming into this godforsaken country.’

‘I swear, Bran would never say anything about the raid on Dungarnon, or your plans to…’

‘Oh, you are back, I see,’ said a voice behind Rowenna, far too loudly. It was Morag bearing a jug of ale and cups. Rowenna put a finger to her lips, but it was too late. Morag continued. ‘I thought you were too good for the likes of us now.’

The hall fell silent, and her father called out, ‘Who is there? Is that you, Rowenna?’

There was nothing for it but to enter under the watchful eyes of two strangers. One was the man who had spoken. To Rowenna’s surprise, the other was a woman whose stare was unfriendly. She had seen neither of them before, yet Morag seemed to know them well enough and began to hand out ale with a broad smile.

‘So, who do we have here?’ said the man, waving away Morag and her ale with great condescension. He was grey-haired and imposing, with a sharp, hawkish face. The woman beside him was stunningly beautiful and finely clothed in scarlet velvet. Her eyes roamed over Rowenna, glittering with malice.

The man came over. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ he said. Suddenly, he grabbed her between the legs. ‘I always like tupping the peasants. They make for a lively ride.’

‘Let go of me,’ cried Rowenna, leaping back and trying to tear her skirt out of his hands. When she looked to the woman for help, she just smirked cruelly, enjoying her discomfort.

‘This is no peasant, Sir Henry. This is my daughter, Rowenna, come to visit her old father.’ Rufus exchanged a glance with her, and it screamed, ‘Careful!’

A grim smile lit the man’s face, and it did not reach his eyes, which were as grey and cold as sleet. ‘Daughter!’ he exclaimed. ‘You cannot be in earnest. How could you produce such a rare beauty? Such remarkable hair and fine eyes, though she looks like she has just been tumbled by some brute or other,’ he added, taking in her hair, hanging loose, and the mud on her skirt. He leaned in, and his breath was sour, like old milk. ‘Was it one of my men? Did they get a whiff of you and take liberties, girl? I can’t say that I blame them if they did.’

‘Surely, she is a little coarse for a man of your discerning tastes,’ said the woman with a hard look at him. Her words were both genteel and insulting, and she was Scottish.

They were both playing some cruel game with her, but Rowenna would not indulge them by showing fear. She wrenched Sir Henry’s hand free of her skirt.

‘Your father needs to teach you to curtsey to your betters,’ he said with a thunderous scowl.

‘As you like,’ she replied, bowing low as courtesy dictated. Then, to her horror, the man grabbed her hand and slowly traced the tip of his tongue along it, up to her wrist, all the while keeping his eyes on his companion. His tongue left a snail’s trail of saliva cooling on Rowenna’s skin. It revolted her, and she tried to withdraw her hand.

‘Hold, girl,’ he commanded. ‘I like looking upon pretty things, though you are a little vulgar for my taste.’ He smiled at the woman. ‘She clearly lacks the refinement of a well-bred English lady of court who would know the prudence of extending a warm welcome to a man of substance, such as I.’

‘I don’t care who you are. Let go of me,’ cried Rowenna.

‘Rowenna, have a care,’ said Rufus. ‘This is Sir Henry Harclaw, Lord Warden of the West March.’

‘All the Marches, man, get it right,’ shouted the Warden, making them all flinch, but not the woman.

Good God, what was the Warden doing in Fallstairs? He was a powerful man, and her father would never be able to manage him.

‘And who are you?’ said Rowenna to the woman.

‘Never you mind,’ came the reply.

Sir Henry addressed his companion as if Rowenna was invisible. His words were cruel and meant to humiliate. ‘Like all Scots lasses, she has value only as a bedwarmer.’

‘Do you forget that I am a Scot,’ said the woman with a sweet smile, but there was venom in her eyes.

‘You are a notable exception, my dear, for you have many and varied uses, as you well know.’

He turned his attention back to Rowenna, put his face to her hair and sniffed. ‘I would wager you know all sorts of tricks to bring a man on, eh, a sinful little baggage like you.’

She had just come from Jasper’s bed. Could he smell it on her?

‘I can see why you would not tell me you had such a jewel under your roof, MacCreadie,’ continued Sir Henry.

‘Jewel! I think not,’ scoffed the woman, picking at a nail.

‘Rowenna is no longer under my roof,’ said her father. ‘She is recently married.’

‘Don’t tell me some filthy-handed peasant enjoys all this,’ said Sir Henry, his gaze roaming over her again. ‘I can see it now, some loutish Scot bending her over a table and rutting her like a dog.’

‘No. She is well set up. She is handfasted to Jasper Glendenning.’

The woman sat up straight and glared at Rufus. ‘Are you in earnest?’

‘Aye. But he was not my choice of husband.’

The man turned back to Rowenna, and for a moment, he looked like he might strike her. ‘Your father should not have kept this detail from me. No one should keep anything from me or play me for a fool.’ He gestured to the woman. ‘We are leaving. And as for you, Rufus MacCreadie, you will find my son because if you do not, your daughter will pay the price, whether she is Glendenning’s whore or not.’

‘Sir Henry, please, I had no choice. The arrangement was in payment of a debt that I owed.’

But her father’s words were lost on the man as he stalked out, followed by the woman. Rowenna ran to the window and made sure they had ridden off with their men before she rounded on her father.

‘How could you be in league with that English devil?’

‘No, Rowenna, you have it all wrong.’

‘Who was that awful woman?’

‘Other than a bitch, I don’t know. He did not furnish me with an introduction, the arrogant hound. Maybe she is Sir Henry’s mistress. He has several, or so I hear.’

‘Bran had an arrangement with them, didn’t he?’

‘Twas nought to do with me and nought to do with you either, so mind your business, lass.'

An awful thought occurred to Rowenna. ‘Bran was part of that raid on Dungarnon that angered Jasper so much, wasn’t he?’

‘Only to earn enough to pay his gambling debts.’

‘A vice you have indulged him in, time and again. Oh, father, is it not enough that you and Bran run this place into the ground and antagonise a man like Jasper Glendenning, but did you have to fall under the power of the Warden, too?’

‘Show some respect to your father,’ cried Rufus.

‘No, for there was never a stupider person on God’s earth than you.’

‘Rowenna, do not speak to me like that, or I will strike you down.’

She pulled her dirk from her pocket and held it out. ‘Just try it, old man, and see how that works out for you.’

‘God save us. Stop,’ cried Morag, but Rowenna’s blood was up.

‘You sold me like an animal to save your skin and Bran’s. Did you sell Cecily, too? Where is she? What have you done to find her? Did that horrible man take her as punishment?’

‘I cannot talk of Sir Henry, daughter. Have mercy. My heart, oh,’ he cried, clutching his chest.

‘Tell me the truth, or I swear I will tell Jasper everything, and he will take your head.’

To Rowenna’s horror, her father started to sob. He collapsed in a heap at her feet. Morag rushed over. ‘See what you have done,’ she hissed. ‘You are sending your father to his grave.’

‘Stop fussing over the old fool. He is pretending like he always does.’ She shook Morag off and hauled Rufus to his feet. He staggered over to the table and laid his head upon it.

‘You may leave us, Morag. Go and light a fire in my chamber,’ said Rowenna.

‘I don’t take orders from you.’

‘Stay then and know all of it. Then Sir Henry can come and torture the truth out of you when this all goes bad.’

Morag’s mouth fell open, and she scuttled off. Rowenna banged the table hard with her fist, making her father jump.

‘Talk, Father. Tell me everything you know.’

‘You are a stranger to me, Rowenna, a harpy sent to plague me in my dotage.’ His red, rheumy eyes met hers. It was not due to the loss of her and Cecily. No, he only cared that Bran was lost to him.

‘Bran caused all this, didn’t he?’

‘Aye, he agreed with Murtaugh Gunn to help raid Glendenning’s cattle and slaughter them. It was to make him think one of the clans had taken against him. Sir Henry’s son, Edmund, led the raids. But it was not Bran’s fault that folk cheat at gaming. His debts were insurmountable. He had to act, so he raided your husband’s land and others.’

‘What others?’

‘Caolan Bannerman and Peyton Strachan.’

‘Why them?’

Her father shrugged. ‘Sir Henry has a bitter grudge against them and the Glendennings.’

‘But why would he? Has he ever been in Scotland before to make enemies of them, or does he do the bidding of some other clan?’

‘You just met Sir Henry. Do you think he does anyone’s bidding but his own? He makes my blood run cold, that man. And Bran has been gone for weeks. He would never abandon his father. I suspect Sir Henry has taken him and is playing with me.’

‘Perhaps.’ Rowenna could have lightened his burden and told him exactly where Bran was, but let him stew. Why should she show pity when he had none, only for himself? And Bran was safer in Jasper’s dungeon for the time being.

‘And what of Cecily, your other child?’ spat Rowenna.

Suddenly, her father looked shifty, and his eyes slid away from hers.

‘Why has she disappeared, and who is this man she was meeting on the moors?’

The colour drained from his face. ‘Meeting a man? Who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘She never said anything to me about a suitor, never. But both Cecily and the Warden’s son disappeared at the same time. Perhaps they have run away together,’ he said hopefully. ‘Bran was as thick as thieves with the Warden’s son. When he is in his cups, he tends to brag about how bonnie you two are. Perhaps Edmund Harclaw came to see for himself.’

‘Oh, God. Let us hope you are wrong.’

It was all worse than she thought. Rowenna had clung to the hope that Cecily had run away with someone. She hoped Cecily had gone south, over the border to Cumbria or beyond, and was living her life, in love and happy. But the thought of her beautiful, soft sister having anything to do with Sir Henry or his spawn made her blood run cold.

‘I must go,’ she said.

‘You can’t ride home in the dark,’ said Rufus. ‘Tis too dangerous in these times, and who knows if the Warden is lurking out there.’

As if he had ever cared.

‘I will stay here tonight, I suppose,’ said Rowenna.

‘Will your husband not object?’

‘I do as I please. Jasper will not miss me.’

‘Ah, his lust has waned, has it? Did he put a bairn in your belly?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘You’d best hurry up before he tires of you. That is your only surety. And Rowenna, you’d best keep my secrets, for if Jasper finds out about the Warden being here, it will go badly for me.’

‘He will cast you out and burn Fallstairs to the ground.’

‘Aye, and you will be cast aside too, bairn or no bairn. So we both need to keep our mouths shut.’

‘You should never have made a friend of the Warden and an enemy of Jasper.’ She sighed. ‘Lord, I am so done with the folly of men.’

Once her father had sloped off to bed, Rowenna was left in the cold hall, alone with her thoughts. She might never see her sister again, or know what had happened to her. Jasper would never forgive her for lying about Bran. She had sacrificed his budding affection for Bran’s sake, and it was all for nought, for her brother heartily deserved his dungeon. And now that she knew the full extent of her family’s folly, how could she ever return to Kransmuir?

Morag shuffled in and lit a few candles. Then she sat down with a hefty sigh and poured Rowenna a mug of ale. ‘Here, drink it to fortify yourself.’

‘How much did you know, Morag? I know you’ve been eavesdropping on Father and me.’

‘I knew Bran was up to his neck in that raid. As for Cecily, do you think I would have let her go off if I knew she was meeting some man?’ Tears welled, and she sniffed. ‘What if it is the Warden’s son, and he is a villain like his father?’ She grabbed Rowenna’s wrist. ‘I hate it when Sir Henry comes here. He has the feel of the grave about him, and his son can be no better. Cecily could be lying raped and butchered in a ditch somewhere.’

‘We do not know anything for certain, Morag, so there is no use in tying yourself up in knots.’

Morag wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I know, but what is to be done? I go out every day, in all weathers, looking for the lass.’

‘That is kind of you. Jasper’s men have searched too, but they found nothing.’

A heavy silence fell between them. ‘Are you staying?’ said Morag. ‘Fallstairs is not the same without you two lasses. What men we had left have all run off and found other masters, and your father will let the whole place fall to nothing.’

‘I do not know what I will do, Morag.’

Later, when she found herself in her old chamber, Rowenna was forced to acknowledge that truth. A lone candle sent shadows up the walls. The fire was struggling, and the bed stone cold, so she wrapped herself in the fine cloak Jasper had given her and curled into a ball. Memories of lying in bed with Cecily flooded back. They would snuggle together to keep warm and share secrets under the blankets, dreaming of the men they would marry and the children they would have. Now, she was so lost and fearful that she could not think straight.

Slowly, Rowenna gave in to exhaustion. Her eyelids grew as heavy as her heart, and she was just drifting off to sleep when the door creaked open.

Rowenna sat up with her heart thumping.

‘So this is where you ran to. Not much of a sanctuary, is it?’