Chapter Seven

The Gunn stronghold was impressive, and its fortifications had been strengthened since his last visit. But in anticipation of which enemy? Since word had come of a truce day when all the March lords set their grievances before the English-appointed Warden, Jasper could not shake the feeling that Murtaugh Gunn knew something he did not. Gunn was not a cunning man, so Jasper was sure he was guided by someone who was. It would all depend on who stuck their neck out in full view at this gathering and who spoke from the shadows.

The Gunns’ hall soon filled with the most powerful men in the West March. Decency, loyalty and kindness did not go a long way in the wild lands at the fringes of Cumbria, so there was a stench of villainy in the air.

The McColls were here too, and at their head, Caolan Bannerman. They locked eyes, and the younger man nodded a cold greeting. Jasper had known Caolan since he was a skinny, sulky lad, but he was no lad now. He was imposing and had a way of intimidating anyone who stood in his way. For that reason, Jasper had always liked him.

How strange was the hand of fate? Caolan’s brother, Seaton, had been a firm friend, a good man to have by his side in a fight, and one with a taste for debauchery equal to his own. But the breach formed by Seaton taking Jasper’s woman would never heal, and those days of careless carousing and adventuring were long behind them all. Sometimes, Jasper wondered if the wound was so deep because he mourned the loss of Seaton as an ally as much as he mourned the loss of Brenna as a wife.

The thought was banished the moment his bitterest enemy, Peyton Strachan, entered the hall with Griffin Macaulay. Peyton caught his eye and strode over. He was a hard-bitten bastard, belligerent to a fault and blunt in his manner. He immediately went on the attack.

‘How are you enjoying your stolen land at Liddesdale?’ he sneered.

‘It was not stolen. It was won in a fair fight, which you lost, Strachan, and I am enjoying Liddesdale immensely.’

‘I suspect that feeling will be short-lived, Glendenning,’ he said with an acid smile.

‘Perhaps the land would still belong to you Strachans if your laird had watched what he ate. Though what man expects treachery at his daughter’s poisonous hands?’

Jasper could have sworn he saw Peyton flinch. The shame of having had two murderers in the clan still burned deep, and Peyton was only a laird because Robert Strachan’s death at the hands of Caolan Bannerman had left the clan leaderless.

‘How are you enjoying your ill-gotten gains, your position as Laird Strachan?’ said Jasper. ‘I hear you are not wanted by your kinsman, and yet you are still clinging on by the skin of your teeth.’

Peyton leaned in. ‘Ah, my kinsmen want me well enough. I hear you are in search of a new wife, or rather an alliance to prop up your fading fortunes.’

‘A strong man holds onto what he has, with or without a wife.’

‘Aye. They are a distraction, women, are they not?’

‘A distraction from what?’ snapped Jasper.

‘The trouble that is coming our way,’ said Strachan, his expression grave. ‘And though our enmity runs deep, ‘tis better we all stand together against a common enemy, is it not?’

The man almost seemed to be reaching out. Was Peyton Strachan suggesting an alliance? And if he was, what did he know that Jasper did not? Either way, Jasper was on the back foot.

‘I would as soon put my head in a noose as trust you as an ally, Strachan. And if you need my help, you are not long for this world.’

‘None of us are. If what I have heard is true – you, me, Bannerman – we will all be wiped out.’ He came closer, and a lesser man than Jasper might have been intimidated. ‘I may want to slit your throat as I stand here now, but I would also stand beside you if it means Clan Strachan survives.’

A clap of hands interrupted the odd exchange. Laird Murtaugh Gunn stood on the dais. ‘Attention, please. I will get straight to it. I have dire news.’ The hall fell silent. ‘Our Lord Warden of the Marches, Sir Walder Moffat, has died.’

Murmurs went around the hall, and Jasper watched the faces of the men he had grown up fighting with or against. The news of Sir Walder’s death was a surprise to some but not to others. Peyton Strachan did not look the least bit surprised. But Caolan Bannerman met Jasper’s eye and slowly shook his head. He had not known, and why? Caolan had fought his way to becoming laird of the McColls, and he was clever, with spies everywhere. His right-hand man, Fraser, whispered something in his ear, and Caolan looked away, his jaw working.

‘How did the fat, old fool die?’ shouted Peyton Strachan.

‘He has gone to God. That is all that matters,’ said Murtaugh Gunn.

‘Gone back up the Devil’s arse,’ murmured Strachan.

Caolan Bannerman spoke up, and his voice carried authority. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say that we hope Sir Walder had a gentle passing. But we would know the manner of it.’

Murtaugh Gunn glowered. ‘T’was the bloody flux that took him. It came on suddenly, two days ago.’

Murmurs snaked around the hall, rising to a hum like swarming bees.

‘An unpleasant way to go and well-deserved,’ muttered Strachan.

‘Is there a reason you are whispering in my ear?’ said Jasper.

Peyton stared him down. ‘I am not whispering. And I’ve lots more to say if you would only humble yourself to talk after this nonsense is done, for I, too, have lost cattle and kinsmen to so-called reivers these last months.’

‘Are you sure it was not some other malady that took Sir Walder,’ shouted Caolan, stepping forward.

‘And what might that be?’ said Murtaugh Gunn, who had gone very red in the face - a sure sign he was lying.

‘Poison,’ shouted Caolan, his growl echoing off the walls.

Jasper could scarcely believe the man had said it aloud. He had courage, that one. A clamour rose, each man shouting over another. Caolan’s eyes met Jasper’s again.

‘Well, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you? Was that not how you came by Clan McColl, Bannerman, by poisoning its laird?’ said Gunn.

‘Try repeating that accusation outside while my dirk slices open your throat,’ growled Caolan. ‘As you well know, my grandfather, Laird Gilmour McColl, was poisoned by the Strachans.’

‘Take that back,’ shouted Peyton Strachan.

‘That old bastard died of old age and a sour temperament,’ shouted another man. Soon, accusations were being hurled about the hall.

A man stepped forward and mounted the dais. Jasper had never seen him before. He was bone thin with a bloodless face and soulless grey eyes, and yet there was an air of steely authority about him as he held out his hands for quiet.

‘I will have silence whilst I speak!’ he bellowed, and the hall fell silent.

‘And who might you be to speak to us besides a soft Englishman?’ said one man.

The man raised a quizzical brow. ‘I am Sir Henry Harclaw of Cumbria, the new Lord Warden of the Marches. I hold sway at this truce day, and when you get to know me, you will find nothing soft in my manner of dealing with you. So you had best choose your next words carefully.’

The man glared but quieted.

Sir Henry coldly surveyed the hall. ‘I mourn Sir Walder’s passing as much as you, for I knew him well from court, and he was a fine, upstanding man, a credit to his post.'

‘He was a corrupt, waddling bladder of wine and a whoremonger, is what he was,’ shouted Strachan.

‘Let us not disparage a dead man,’ said Sir Henry and then proceeded to do so. ‘I acknowledge that Sir Walder was not the most vigorous of men, and he did tend to indulge the sin of gluttony and take a bribe or two. I am not such a man, and I am here to assure you that I intend to pursue law and order in the Marches most vigorously. If you keep the peace between you, there will be no trouble. I will be a fair and generous overlord. But any clan attacking another, reiving over the border, stealing, raping and murdering, will be put down with extreme methods.’

‘So you judge us all as criminals already,’ shouted one of the Beatties.

‘King James has tasked me with bringing peace and prosperity to these savage lands, and he will brook no opposition to his rule. So, I lay down a warning to you all. I am not here to be your friend or ally. I do not want to linger in this stinking cesspit of a country, and the sooner you fall into line, the sooner I may return to my soft English comforts.’

Shouting broke out, and insults were hurled. Sir Henry said nothing. He looked upon the assembled men with cold contempt as if they were squabbling children beneath his notice. Then he simply turned, stepped off the dais and left the hall.

A firm grip took Jasper’s arm. ‘We need to talk to Strachan,’ said Caolan Bannerman.

***

The three came together in the woods outside the Gunn stronghold, out of range of prying eyes and ears. There was no dismounting to talk or share a whisky, for their enmity outweighed their trust.

‘The Gunns must be in dire need of money to nurse that viper in their bosom,’ said Jasper.

‘Why would a worm like Murtaugh Gunn stick his neck out by supporting that English turd?’ said Peyton.

Caolan shook his head. ‘I cannot fathom it.’

‘I can,’ said Jasper. ‘Gunn has always stood next to stronger men to hide his weakness. He would never side with the English on his own. My village was raided, and I am sure the Gunns were to blame. They killed some kinsmen, took women, and killed every beast and burnt their carcasses.’

‘Same as us, though it was sheep. I thought it was you, Glendenning,’ said Strachan. ‘I was going to take your head for it.’

‘As if you could,’ snarled Jasper. ‘And why do you tarry. We do not need your counsel.’

‘Enough,’ said Caolan. ‘That attack was a provocation, Jasper, so it is just as well that you have not yet retaliated. You turn on the Gunns, and the Warden executes you in the name of peace and the King’s justice. If you turn on Strachan and wipe each other out, you do the Warden’s dirty work for him.’ Caolan settled his arms over his pommel, deep in thought. ‘We must not underestimate this new Warden, Sir Henry. He is somewhat firmer in his belief that our lawlessness needs to be quelled, is he not?’ said Caolan.

‘But is his wrath aimed only at we three? Have you thought of that? Have others been burned, as we have?’ said Peyton. ‘If not, then we have a target on our backs, and I would ask why?’

Peyton Ruari Strachan was a good deal cleverer than Jasper had first thought. Perhaps he had underestimated him.

‘We can squabble over Liddesdale all we like, but there is a conspiracy here, a malevolent circle, and we stand outside of it,’ said Strachan. ‘That makes us weak. Our enemies can pick us off one by one. Together, we are stronger.’

‘I agree,’ said Caolan.

‘If you cannot hold your own, either of you, then what use are you as allies?’ said Jasper.

‘Better allies in these troubled times than foes. You two must put your enmity aside and work with me,’ said Caolan.

‘If I ally with you, then I ally with Seaton,’ said Jasper.

‘Now there’s a bitter pill to swallow,’ laughed Strachan.

Caolan glared at Strachan. ‘Aye, but Jasper need not see my brother. I will be his voice in this, and he is in this fight, make no mistake, for if someone strikes at me, they strike at Seaton.’

‘Are the Macaulays still your allies, Strachan?’ said Jasper.

‘No. That was a marriage of convenience, and it did not end well, much like yours, Glendenning.’

‘I will enter this alliance with you, though I doubt you’ll survive as laird of Clan Strachan long enough to be useful to Caolan and me,’ sneered Jasper.

‘Enough bickering,’ said Caolan. ‘We will meet once we separate friend from foe. Agreed?’

Jasper nodded. ‘I must go. I cannot tarry here with you two fools.’

He locked eyes with Peyton Strachan, and judging by the smug look on his face, Jasper was sure that Strachan knew something he did not.

***

Upon his return to Kransmuir, Randel was incensed by the news of the Warden’s death.

‘That fat rat, Walder, was no friend of mine, but he let us have our way and was easy to bribe or frighten.’

‘Well, this new one is not. So I want you to watch everyone. I want to know when a mouse scurries from its burrow and when a spider moves in its web. I want to know which man is tupping which servant lass, who is stealing from our stores, everything. If any strangers come to Kransmuir, you tell me. Nothing is too small to bring to my notice.’

‘I will set men on it’.

Jasper grabbed his arm. ‘Only a handful, and only those you trust with your life, Randel.’

‘It will be done. And there’s news, Jasper. Bran MacCreadie is back.’

‘More fool him. Gather some men. I need to pay another visit to that whoreson and throttle the truth out of him.’