Chapter 10

When Rob's borrowed galley landed that morning at Arrochar's wharf, near the head of the Loch of the Long Boats, he identified himself to the man who seemed to act as wharf master there.

"I've come a few days early," he added. "But Pharlain is expecting me."

"Aye, well, the laird be gey busy t'day, sir," the wharf master said, gesturing toward a line of people moving eastward on the Tarbet. "Dunamany more than usual ha' come for his laird's court and tae see his cousin, the Brehon, for theirselves."

"A Brehon justice? Why would Pharlain want such a man here?"

The other man shrugged. "Likely, he just invited his cousin tae watch. The man be a kinsman on his mam's Morrison side."

The reply failed to answer Rob's question. Cousin or none, it seemed odd that Pharlain would want someone as well-versed in Celtic law as any Brehon would be to witness his corrupt view of justice.

However, the MacAulays also had Morrison cousins, so perhaps the news would prove less ominous than it seemed.

Despite the "many" the wharf master said had come, Rob could see only those few ahead of him, following the wide dirt track up a slight rise.

Boats had beached nearby, and more had anchored offshore. But the wharf master said naught to Rob's captain about moving his galley away from the wharf.

Most of the audience, of course, would be Clan Farlan men from Pharlain's lands who would not need boats to reach the Tarbet. Moreover, if the court was starting, Rob knew he should not delay.

He thanked the wharf master politely and assured him that he didn't expect Pharlain to extend him any ceremony. "I'll leave my crew here, though," he added.

"Aye, sir, as ye like."

Having seen that Colquhoun's captain knew his business, Rob headed out at once on the track toward Loch Lomond. The rise ahead, although low enough not to impede boats dragged along the track, blocked his view of what lay beyond it.

A gurgling burn flowed down toward him on its way to join the Loch of the Long Boats. The track was wide enough to accommodate boats, large and small, that men had, for years if not centuries, dragged from one loch to the other.

It occurred to him that Andrew Dubh likely missed the fees he had charged such men to access the Tarbet and for aid they might need to drag their boats across it. That was surely a lucrative business, because no other way existed for boats carrying goods or men to access Loch Lomond from the sea.

Steep slopes north and south of the Tarbet flanked it and the burn, creating the Tarbet's deep, vee-shaped, nearly flat-bottomed vale. Reaching the top of the rise, Rob saw the laird's court spread before him. The steep slopes eased away from each other there, creating an arena suitable for any such event.

Runoff from surrounding slopes fed another burn hurrying to Loch Lomond, a bit of which he could see now in the distance ahead, where sunlight sparkled on its water.

Below him, on the north side of a clearing around which the crowd had gathered, was a makeshift dais with a rectangular table sitting on it. A pair of two-elbow chairs occupied one side of the table, a single stool the other. Two men stood beside the chairs. One wore a faded red-and-blue great plaid and a red cap with eagle feathers sprouting from it, the other a black robe and cap.

Men, women, and children lined the slopes. A number of people had paused on the path ahead of Rob to seek out any places that remained to sit and watch.

Rob did not see Lady Muriella anywhere.

The glare of the midmorning sun was so strong after days in darkness that it hurt Murie's eyes. So, keeping her head down, she watched where she put her feet as Dougal's two burly minions urged her along the path from the shed and up a hill.

"Where are we going?" she asked gruffly.

"Master Dougal tellt ye," one said. "Tae the laird's court on yon Tarbet."

"Does Pharlain not hold his court at Arrochar Hall?"

"Not today," the spokesman said. "Master Dougal said the laird wants folks tae see how kind he's been tae ye. So, he's asked a Brehon justice tae sit in, tae be sure ye be treated fairly."

"A Brehon! Good sakes, I thought they held sway only in the Isles."

"They sit wherever Celtic laws prevail, throughout the Isles, the Highlands, and elsewhere, even Galloway." The voice was Dougal's.

Startled to hear him speak, just as his minions drew her to a halt, Murie looked up, wincing at the brightness. Dougal stood right in front of her, so she shifted position slightly to put him between her and the sun.

"Brehon power is strong everywhere," he added, looking smug. "Moreover, a Brehon's word is law, lass. Not even the King can overrule a Brehon's decision."

Slightly cheered to learn that neither Pharlain nor Dougal was likely to have it all his own way in whatever happened, Murie nearly said so. Before she could, Dougal added, "Justice Morrison is the cousin I told you about. He comes from my maternal grandmother's family. Come now," he added. "We'll go this way."

Muriella grimaced. So much for fairness.

When they topped the rise, a din of voices greeted them.

Dougal stepped aside, and Muriella gasped at the sight of what seemed to be hundreds of people in the clearing before them and along the slopes that flanked it.

Rob saw two burly clansmen on the northeast slope forcing a pathway through the crowd to the dais. Two others followed, flanking a young woman.

Easily recognizing the lass as Lady Muriella, Rob watched stoically while her two guards urged her onto the dais. She looked pale, even stunned, as they held her, standing, beside the stool of judgment, facing the crowd.

Her awe was understandable. The throng spread before her was immense, especially if she had never witnessed a Brehon court before. Such courts, like other public events in the Highlands or Isles, were open to anyone who wanted to witness them. That hard and fast rule was what had given Rob the opportunity to attend despite Pharlain's instructions to wait until it was more convenient for him.

Doubtless, Muriella's study of clan lore and Scottish history must have taught her a few facts about the Brehons and the trials over which they presided. The ancient Celtic laws were, after all, the oldest codified laws known.

The only clear space now was a path about fifteen feet wide that guards kept open around the dais. Elsewhere, the slopes and flats teemed with humanity.

Rob found a place with a good view for himself. Although members of Clan Farlan took precedence, seated or standing, no one tried to oust him from his place. Nor would any man who tried succeed in doing so. He and Scáthach were guests of Clan Farlan's so-called chief, albeit unbeknownst to the man himself.

Scáthach sat beside him, alert and attentive. She would remain so unless Rob commanded her to do otherwise, or until something or someone threatened him.

It occurred to him that at Jamie's Parliament in Inverness, Andrew's charters or none, Pharlain might still lose his place as chief of Clan Farlan. He had, after all, done nowt to endear himself to the King and much to infuriate him. For the nonce, though, Pharlain's word would be law unless the Brehon overruled him.

That last thought gave Rob pause. Pharlain had to have good reason to summon a Brehon, because he could legally have rendered any judgment himself. Heaven knew he had done so many times since usurping Clan Farlan's chiefdom.

Recalling that Dougal had initiated the most recent villainy, Rob wondered if Pharlain feared that if he ruled in favor of Dougal, their own people might deem the trial unfair. It was also possible, since the Brehon was a kinsman, that Pharlain had corrupted him. He might, without dirtying his own hands, simply expect the Brehon to render the judgment that Pharlain desired.

To be sure, the Brehons were supposedly incorruptible. But men were men and some of them more easily corrupted than others.

Rob could see that the justice and Pharlain were of like height and age, but their similarity seemed to end there. The Brehon's demeanor seemed more youthful than his cousin's and calmer. His skin was whisky-dark. The hair bristling below his cap's rim was a shoulder-length mass of tight, snow-white curls. His shoulders were narrower than Pharlain's and his body so reed-slender that it barely stirred his robe when he moved. Had Rob believed in wee folk, he'd have said that the Brehon resembled a querulous elf, albeit much taller.

Pharlain's men-at-arms continued to keep the crowd back from the dais. Despite their swords and dirks, none would touch a weapon in the Brehon's presence unless he ordered it. Failure to obey that rule could mean hanging.

"What be they a-doing now?" muttered a youthful voice right behind Rob.

That voice was only too familiar. Looking back to find Pluff eyeing him warily, Rob said, "What the devil are you doing here?"

"This be summat that anyone can watch, aye?" Pluff replied innocently.

"It is. Nevertheless, you should still be smarting from your last visit and certainly have no business here now."

"I do so," Pluff replied stoutly. "That be our Lady Murie yonder, and these villains mean tae do her a mischief or summat worse, so I—"

"You will be silent if you want to stay," Rob told him sternly.

"Aye, sure, but they be a-going tae begin straightaway now, aye?"

Since it was clear that the word "silent" was foreign to the lad, Rob said, "Even so, I'll have time enough before they do to teach you to mind what I say. Do you want to test that likelihood?"

Pluff shook his head.

Frowning now, Rob held the boy's gaze.

"Nae, sir," Pluff said then. "But dinna send me away. I want tae see."

"Then keep your tongue firmly behind your teeth no matter what happens. What if Pharlain should hear you? What if he sees you? How would you like that?"

The boy opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Do you want to say something?" Rob asked softly.

Pluff nodded.

"Very well, but keep your voice down. What is it?"

"Pharlain has seen me now and now," Pluff confided in a near whisper. "He pays me nae mind."

Rob frowned, recalling young Ulf's report that Monday had been the first time he had seen Pluff at the pass in months. "How often of late?" he asked the boy.

"Only t'other day, but I was used tae come here last year tae visit Euan MacNur's Mae and her Annabel now and now, just tae see how they was a-getting on. Like I said t'other day afore the laird skelped me."

"Did MacNur send you to visit them?"

Shrugging, Pluff said, "Nay, I were just curious about Arrochar, 'cause the laird said Pharlain might ha' set some'un tae spy on us at Tùr Meiloach. I thought folks might talk tae me. They did, too, but I didna hear nowt about any spies. Sithee, they think I be an orphan a-looking after m'self. One o' the women tellt me who Mae and Annabel belonged tae. MacNur were that gruff without 'em, too, I tell ye!"

"Then Andrew Dubh found out, aye?"

"Aye, 'cause MacNur caught me and were a-going tae leather me even after I tellt him that Pharlain were a-goin' tae attack Tùr Meiloach. MacNur didna believe me, so he took me tae the laird. When I told the laird and Sir Mag what I'd heard, the laird said he'd save his judgment till he learned the truth. Then, if I'd lied, he'd take leather tae me hisself. But I hadna lied, so he didna—not then."

"What will he think of your being here today?" Rob asked.

Sending Rob a guileless look from under his carroty eyebrows, Pluff said, "I'll tell 'im I were with ye at a Brehon court. Lady Murie did say that anyone can watch the Brehons without fear. That be the law, she said."

"So it is," Rob said. "But you listen to me now, my lad. You will keep quiet throughout, or I will make you smart. Do you understand me?"

"Aye, sure," Pluff said, nodding vigorously. "I just want tae see how she'll get herself home again is all."

Rob wished that he could share Pluff's confidence in her ladyship. To say that she had flung herself into the briars with a vengeance was to understate the matter gravely. Pharlain looked far too confident for anyone to think otherwise.

Muriella, too, had seen Pharlain, for she was sure that the bearded man on the dais, wearing chief's feathers, must be he. Surely, no one else would stand in the central place on an Arrochar dais. Having heard his name often since her birth, she had been curious to see him. Now that she had, she found him unimpressive.

He had been the villain all her life. Now, she realized that she had envisioned him as the devil, horns and all. Sadly, he was just a much lesser form of her father. Admittedly, Pharlain had tied his hair back more neatly than Andrew ever did, perhaps in honor of the occasion. But he did not look chiefly, and Andrew did.

Dougal and his father both boasted Andrew's broad MacFarlan shoulders. Doubtless they were both skilled swordsmen, too.

Her bound wrists were making her hands numb.

Trying to clear her mind of such extraneous thoughts so that it might be more useful to her, she felt disoriented, as if she had been in that dark shed for weeks. Time had crawled there, to be sure. Even so, her own reliable awareness of its passing told her she had been at Arrochar for just three days and four nights.

The sun still seemed overly bright, but her eyes were adjusting.

She scanned the sea of onlookers, seeking a familiar face. Despite the multitude—or, more likely, because of it—she saw no one she knew.

"The accused will face her judges."

She had no idea who had spoken, but she was sure "the accused" was herself.

The two men who had escorted her to the dais turned her to face the two still standing behind the table, and then stepped away.

The Brehon stood at Pharlain's right. She noticed that another minion stood near the dais edge at his left.

The justice and Pharlain glanced at each other and then sat in their chairs.

Shifting her attention back to the justice, Murie tried to get some sense of him. He seemed calm and relaxed. She could discern no more than that.

Then the same voice, now obviously coming from the minion at Pharlain's left, declared in stentorian tones, "The accused will state her name, her clan, and the chief of her clan."

Addressing a point between Pharlain and the Brehon, Muriella said with forced calm, "I am Muriella MacFarlan, third daughter of Andrew Dubh MacFarlan and the lady Aubrey Comyn. The rightful chief of my clan is my father, who does not bind people's hands in his court until they have been found guilty."

"Nor do I," the Brehon said evenly. "Untie her hands at once."

The guard at her right hurriedly obeyed.

"Do you know why you are here, Lady Muriella?" the Brehon went on.

Looking directly at him as she rubbed feeling back into her hands, she replied, "Because Dougal MacPharlain captured me on my father's land and carried me here on his horse, wholly against my will."

The blue eyes under the bristly white eyebrows never wavered from her.

"You stand accused of abduction," he said gravely.

"I did no such thing, however. I was seeking shelter from the storm when Dougal MacPharlain snatched me up and brought me here by force."

"You may answer the charge against you in due time," the Brehon said. "We will hear both sides of that tale before I render judgment. But do you understand that my judgment will be the final word in this matter, your ladyship?"

"I know what happened to me," she retorted, feeling as if he had ignored all she had said. With a sweeping gesture that encompassed half the crowd and forced one guard beside her to step hastily back, she added vehemently, "I do not even understand why all of this is necessary."

Grimly, before the Brehon could reply, Pharlain said, "You will understand soon enough, lass. For now, you will hold your tongue and let this trial proceed."

The Brehon said, "You must sit on the stool so that we and all the onlookers can see you, Lady Muriella. We will first hear your accuser, Dougal MacPharlain."

She nearly protested, but the Brehon's utter serenity stopped her. Then, as she turned, frantic movement drew her attention to a familiar-looking redheaded lad on the west hillside, waving his hands high. As she digested the fact that Pluff had managed to insinuate himself into the crowd, she saw that he was not alone.

MacAulay stood beside him with Scáthach. Despite the distance between them and the dais, MacAulay's scowl was as recognizable as Pluff's excited grin.

Her lips parted. Aware that she was gaping, she pressed them together and obediently took her place on the stool of judgment.

Doubtless, Master Robert MacAulay thought her predicament well-earned, a consequence of her own actions. However, she would not let him see her fear, any more than she would reveal it to the villainous Pharlain or his lying son.

It was bad enough that the Brehon who would judge her wanted to hear Dougal's lies first. Her declaration that Dougal had abducted her did not seem to have penetrated the Brehon's skull to stir a single sensible thought inside.

Rob forced his clenched fists to relax, knowing that he'd do better to pretend he cared not a whit about what happened on the dais. Pharlain could not legally expel him for simply watching, but if the Brehon was a close cousin, the two of them and Dougal had likely contrived some nefarious plan of which Muriella knew nowt.

"If that be a judge and this be a trial, why do they force her ladyship tae sit there in front of this scaff and raff?" Pluff asked in quiet, albeit grim, disapproval.

Rob looked at him. The boy was a distraction, but he had remembered to keep his voice down. "I don't know exactly what they hope to achieve, lad," he replied honestly. "Your Lady Murie has told them truthfully what happened, but they seem to expect Dougal's version of the events to make things clearer."

"Dougal's wicked clean through," Pluff said flatly. "He willna tell the truth."

"Well, we're about to hear what he says," Rob said. "There he comes now."

Muriella watched Dougal stride across the open space in front of the dais and step onto it as if he owned it. Come to that, she reminded herself as he faced his father and the Brehon, he did expect to inherit Arrochar and even Tùr Meiloach if he could persuade her father to cede their estate to him.

Andrew would never agree to that, though.

"Do you swear before all of us gathered here to speak the truth and only the truth, Dougal MacPharlain?" the Brehon asked him plainly enough for all to hear.

"I do, aye," Dougal replied firmly, nodding. He did not look at Muriella.

Murie watched him, forcing herself to forget her concerns and focus on what he said and how he acted. From where he stood, he looked northward, and the way he stared straight ahead of him as he spoke drew her attention. He was lying, of course. No wonder he did not want to look at her or at the judge, but…

Just then, she saw his eyes flick toward his father.

The Brehon said, "You and your father claim that you are the injured party, Dougal MacPharlain. Explain why you both believe that to be so when her ladyship so firmly denies it."

"I can tell you only that she begged me to take her with me," Dougal said glibly. "I feared that someone had mistreated her, because she was crying when I found her. She cried out in despair several times afterward, too."

"Do you mean to say that she cozened you into escorting her?"

"I believed I was right to bring her to the safety of Arrochar, aye."

Murie heard a note of reservation in his tone and immediately fixed on it. Could that be a twinge of guilt? Could Dougal possibly feel guilty about lying?

The Brehon said mildly, "Her ladyship mentioned a horse, I believe."

"Aye, my lord justice," Dougal said, nodding again.

"Do you recall who rode in front?"

"Why… why, she did."

The note was there again, and he swallowed visibly, and hard. Then he looked at the judge. Guilt! Still just a twinge, but there it was. She sensed it, however briefly, as clearly as if his guilt had colored him bright orange.

If, as Lina had suggested, she could do aught to increase that guilt…

The Brehon exchanged a look with Pharlain, and a silent message seemed to pass between the two. When Pharlain nodded, the justice leaned back in his chair and regarded Muriella sternly enough to make her tremble.

"I need ask you only one question, your ladyship, and you must answer it truthfully. The answer is either aye or nay, nothing more than that. Did you ride in front of Dougal MacPharlain on that horse?"

"I did, aye, but—"

"No buts, my lady. You have affirmed his testimony, and you have agreed that an abduction took place. By Celtic law, you, not he, are the abductor… or, in this case," he added with a wry little smile, "the abductress."

"But that's daft!" Murie cried. "I did no such—"

"You will be silent," the Brehon ordered. When she reluctantly obeyed but sat stiffly glowering at him, he added, "It is my judgment that, according to our ancient laws, you did abduct Dougal MacPharlain. However, the sentence I pass may be tempered by what the current Chief of Clan Farlan deems to be fair."

A familiar, deep voice called out, "Is it not a matter of fairness under ancient Celtic law for a Brehon to ask if anyone present witnessed the crime or has other personal knowledge of it? And should he not do so before rendering judgment?"

With profound relief, Murie saw that MacAulay had moved much closer. His redheaded and gray-furred shadows stood right behind him. Crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest, he eyed the Brehon and Pharlain with equal disdain.

Pluff struck a similar pose. Scáthach, too, seemed to await the ruling.

Pharlain glanced at the Brehon, who nodded without looking at him.

"Step forward, sir, and declare your name," the justice said. "If you witnessed this abduction, we must certainly hear your testimony. We will do so before rendering final judgment and passing sentence on her ladyship."

Heart pounding, Murie watched as people in front of MacAulay parted to let him through. Scáthach took a few steps to follow, but when her master put out a hand, fingers spread, she sat back on her haunches and glanced at Pluff.

The two of them watched as MacAulay strode to the dais.

Rob stopped at the foot of the dais, stated his name, and then drew a deep breath. He had had no trouble interpreting the Brehon's words to mean that he had already made his decision and did not expect to change it.

He remained silent, eyeing Rob solemnly.

Dougal now stood beside his father. Both of them were watching Rob, and neither displayed any concern about what he might say.

While everyone waited for the Brehon to speak, Rob wondered at himself.

But the lass had the right of it. The law was daft if it declared her the abductress when the facts as she had described them should have proven otherwise—or at least led to further questions. There might be good reason for the law's having survived as it had, but any fool could see—

"Robert MacAulay," the Brehon said at last, "do you swear by your honor and before God that you did witness this abduction?"

"Aye, a significant portion of it. I heard things, too, before I saw them."

"Describe what you saw and heard."

"I was in the woods and heard her ladyship scream at MacPharlain to let her go," Rob said. "I followed them over the pass. Then I saw that he had put her on his horse and they were riding down the Lomondside slope."

"Stop there, and tell me this," the Brehon said. "Who rode in front?"

"He had put her ladyship up before him so that he could hold her there."

"She rode in front then, with MacPharlain holding on behind."

"Not holding on," Rob retorted, reminding himself at the same time to keep his suddenly unstable temper under rigid control. "It was perfectly plain to me," he added, "that Dougal, not her ladyship, controlled that horse."

"The law does not speak of control but is a gey simple law, withal," the Brehon said. "The person riding in front is ruled the abductor, the one clinging on behind, the abducted. Our judgment is therefore also simple. Under the law, Lady Muriella abducted Dougal MacPharlain and must face the consequences of her act. The consequences may be dire if she expected to gain by her crime."

He paused then, as if expecting someone to declare that she had. No one did.

"However," he added, "Pharlain tells me that to unify the two factions of Clan Farlan and protect the reputations of the parties involved in this abduction, his son is willing to marry her ladyship. I urge her to agree, because if she refuses that generous offer, I will allow Pharlain to order her penalty. How say you, Lady Muriella? Will you agree to marry Dougal MacPharlain?"

Muriella's whirling thoughts refused to compose themselves. Surely she was having a horrible nightmare. The law was senseless if a man could abduct a woman, swear to tell the truth, lie through his teeth, and have a notable Brehon justice decide that she had abducted the man.

She was about to shout her thoughts at them all when her sister Lina's voice echoed through her head, reminding her that recriminations rarely succeed, that one is wiser simply to act on the facts as they stand. Memories of bards' tales that Murie knew swiftly coupled with a related memory from Lina's wedding day.

All of these thoughts sped through her mind in less than a blink.

Drawing a breath and avoiding MacAulay's fierce scowl, she said with careful dignity, "I fear that I cannot consent to such a marriage. Dougal was gey mistaken if he thought I wanted him to snatch me from my home. But you have rendered that fact insignificant now. As to Robert MacAulay's testimony, I believe that, by law, this court ought not to have let him speak against me."

Tilting his head slightly, the Brehon said, "I do not know why you should say such a thing, my lady. MacAulay testified only to what he saw and heard. He did not even contradict aught that you or Dougal MacPharlain said."

"What he heard was me screaming at that villain to put me down and leave me be. For Dougal to carry me off my father's land by force was a crime under anyone's law, sir. But I do understand that you have declared that fact irrelevant, too. Even so, I doubt that anyone here believes that I abducted Dougal. He is not only a foot taller than I am but twice my weight. Nor can anyone possibly believe that I abducted him on his own horse. But I will say no more about that, either."

She paused, knowing by the familiar, expectant silence that had fallen on her audience that everyone was listening intently now to her every word. Clinging to the sense that she was merely telling a tale at a ceilidh, she said casually, "What must be relevant, though, is that by all the laws of Scotland and those of the Holy Kirk, I cannot, for any reason whatsoever, marry Dougal MacPharlain."

"You are mistaken," the Brehon said sternly. "If you mean to suggest that your father will disapprove, I fear that his disapproval is also irrelevant."

"Is it irrelevant that I already have a husband, my lord justice?" Murie asked with demure dignity.

"That is a lie," Pharlain snapped.

Dougal remained silent, looking from one speaker to the next.

"If true, that would certainly be relevant," the Brehon said, frowning. "But if you are married, my lady, where… or, more pertinently, who is your husband?"

"Why, he is right there," she said, pointing. "My lord father offered me to him a year ago. My husband is Master Robert MacAulay of Ardincaple."