Chapter Thirty-One

The tavern was packed, but they were well out of earshot. Jasper nursed an ale as he watched Laird Griffin Macaulay pace before the fire. He was pretending to give the matter thought, but Jasper could see right through him.

‘Come on, Macaulay. Do not keep me in suspense any longer.’

‘You are asking me to take into my family a lass who is unchaste, with a gutter rat’s bairn swelling her belly.’

Griffin’s pretend outrage was almost amusing. ‘Aye, that is what I am asking, and you don’t just get my sister and her bairn. You get a handsome dowry and a nice, plump piece of land.’

‘Plump! Aye, that is how your sister will look when walking to the priest. It will bring shame on my clan.’

‘Not if we keep this to ourselves. And don’t play the hypocrite, Macaulay. Everyone knows you have a few bastards roaming the Marches. Now as I see it, you need me more than I need you. The Warden is nipping at your heels. He has threatened to break up your clan and send the lot of you to the colonies.’

‘Sir Henry is forever making idle threats. I pay him no heed.’

Jasper grinned. ‘Must we talk like women, forever circling the point? Time is pressing on this matter. I have been honest with you about my sister’s predicament. And I know all about yours – the poverty, the failed harvest last year which sends starvation knocking on your tenants’ doors. You need me to see you through, and if we unite against that English bastard, Sir Henry, we will be stronger.’

‘And who is ‘we’, exactly?’ said Griffin with a furtive look around him, but then, he had always been a wary bastard.

‘Clan Glendenning, of course,’ replied Jasper smoothly because he wasn’t about to spill his secrets to a rat like Griffin.

‘I thought we were being honest, Glendenning. Are you not in league with the Bannermans and the Strachans?’

‘If I was, I would be keeping that to myself and opening the throat of anyone who repeated that accusation.’

Griffin Macaulay narrowed his eyes. He was not fooled, nor was he cowed. The rat needed another nudge.

‘Why do you talk of the Strachans? Is it because they were once your friends?’ said Jasper.

‘Aye, until that murderous fool, Robert Strachan, led us into a fight we could not win. And I don’t much care for that upstart, Peyton, taking over.’

‘No, I’m sure you don’t. But friends are hard to come by these days, and circumstances bring strange bedfellows, do they not? Surely you have a cousin or some relation desperate enough to wed in haste? Or do you want to be at the helm when Clan Macaulay falls into ruin?’

Griffin sighed and pretended to think about it. ‘Aye, there is Seamus, I suppose. He is my sister’s eldest lad – eighteen and lusty, keen to have any lass he can get under him. It is causing no end of trouble - him sowing his wild oats with farmers’ daughters and tavern wenches. If Seamus was wed, perhaps he could work off his lust that way, and it needn’t be a love match to satisfy the lad. He will be happy with coin, land and a bonnie face.’

‘And his character? Is he kind? Can he protect my sister, or will he resent and mistreat her for her condition?’

‘Ah, he gambles and debauches, goes raiding now and again, like any young lad. As he is no saint, I suppose he will forgive her shortcomings. And the lasses like him, with his big blue eyes and flattering tongue. Though I have always thought him a big lump of a lad – all spit and muscle, and a lot more between his legs than his ears.’

‘He sounds perfect,’ said Jasper with a curl of his lip. ‘And lump or not, he will get a comely bride from a powerful clan.’ Jasper clapped Griffin on the back. ‘And you, my friend, will be getting money and land.’

‘Since when were we friends?’ snarled Griffin.

‘Since my sister became betrothed to a Macaulay,’ said Jasper with a grin.

Griffin rolled his eyes. ‘I will send word when I have Seamus’ agreement. But now, I will take my leave before folk notice us talking together.’

‘There is nothing to notice here. We just bumped into each other over an ale, my friend.’

‘Stop calling me that,’ snapped Griffin.

Jasper wished him gone, for he had much to face. There was his mother, who would be horrified at Maeve being married off to a lowly Macaulay. And there was Rowenna, who would be angry at him for not giving Maeve a choice of husband. But beggars could not be choosers. They would just have to accept his decision. Seamus Macaulay was young, at least, and not some old lecher. And the matter was pressing.

Griffin took up his cloak and smirked. ‘I suppose you have heard the news?’

‘What news?’

‘Alec Carstairs was found dead. Drowned. His bloated body was found many miles south, almost in England. He must have tried to cross the river in flood and come to grief. Either that or he got on someone’s bad side. A terrible thing, is it not?’

‘Aye, and it has nothing to do with me,’ said Jasper.

‘I thought not, but I didn’t want Seamus to face a similar fate in the future if he was to cross you.’

‘He will not, unless he raises a hand to my sister. Then there will be no stopping me, Griffin. Best warn the lad on that score.’ Jasper put iron in his voice, and Griffin nodded.

Good God, did the fool think him capable of threatening death on a man who might refuse his sister. Though, in Glenna’s case, that might be what it took for someone to take her on.

‘Well, we can sleep easy in our beds for now, Glendenning. Word has it, Sir Henry has been summoned by the King. The man has been lining his pockets a little too readily and not giving his share to England. He is to account for himself at court. Good news, eh?’

‘No, it is not, for he will eventually return in a worse temper than before and with a renewed zeal for crushing us all under his boot. So bear that in mind if your nephew objects to marrying my sister. Remember, you need all the friends you can get.’

Griffin’s smug expression soured, and he hurried away.

Jasper left the tavern a short time later, with his mind reeling. It seemed the Warden did not forgive those who crossed him. And Alec Carstairs had paid the ultimate price for failing to murder him. But why was he such a prize target, and so too, Bannerman and Strachan? They were powerful, aye, and they stood their ground. But others resisted the Warden’s authority, richer men than he and just as formidable.

An icy drizzle began to fall, chilling his bones. It would do no good to dwell on it, and he did not want to think of Sir Henry Harclaw. Soon, he would be at Kransmuir, where he intended to sink between Rowenna’s warm, welcoming thighs and work hard all night to produce an heir. He smiled to himself at all the wickedness he would unleash on her this night, heartened by the knowledge that Rowenna would welcome every sinful bit of it.