Hal had known that before he had set off, scraping almost every man Herdmanston possessed on the orders of his father and despite protests. There was scarce a man left to guard the yett of their own wee tower fortalice, but his father, rheumy eyed and grit-voiced, had thumped his shoulder when he had voiced this.
I hold to the promise made that the Sientclers of Herdmanston would defend the rights of the Douglas. There was no wee notarys writing in it concerning gate guards or our kins involvement, lad.
There was considerable relief, then, when the Lady Eleanor took Hals advice and surrendered to The Bruce and his Carrick men without demure, though she had scowled and all but accused him of treachery because the Auld Templar stood on the other side.
Hal had swallowed that and convinced her, sighing with relief when the gates were opened and young Bruce, the Earl of Carrick rode in and never so much as cocked an eye at the Ladys truculence.
I was sent by my father, he told her, his bottom lip stuck out like a petulant shelf, who was himself instructed by King Edward to punish Douglas for the rebellion of Sir William.
He leaned forward on the crupper of the great horse while the Ward milled and fumed with men, some of them only half aware of the Lady Eleanors straight-backed defiance and the young Bruces attempts to be polite and reasonable.
Your man quit Edwards army without permission, first chance he had, he declared flatly. Now God alone knows where he is but you could pick Sir Andrew Morays north rebellion as a likely destination. I have come from Annandale to take this place and slight it, Lady, as punishment. That I have not knocked it about too much, while putting you in my protection, means my duty is done, while you and your weans are safe.
The rebel Scots may cry Bruce an Englishman, Hal thought, but the real thing would not have been so gentle with the Lady Eleanor of Douglas but she was a fiery beacon of a woman and not yet raked to ashes by this sprig of a Bruce.
You do it because my husbands wrath would chase ye to Hell if ye did other. As well young Hal Sientclers kinsman was with you, my lord Earl. A Templar guarantee. My boys and I thank you for it.
You do it because my husbands wrath would chase ye to Hell if ye did other. As well young Hal Sientclers kinsman was with you, my lord Earl. A Templar guarantee. My boys and I thank you for it.
The Auld Templar, his white beard like a fleece on his face, merely nodded but the young Bruces handsome face was spoiled by the pet of his lip at this implication that the Bruce word alone was suspect; seeing the scowl, the Lady of Douglas smiled benignly for the first time.
It was not a winsome look, all the same. The Lady Eleanor, Hal thought, has a face like a mastiff chewing a wasp, which was not a good look for someone whose love life was lauded in song and poem.
She was a virgin Hal knew this because the harridan swore she was pure as snow on The Mounth. He didnt argue, for the besom was as mad as a basket of leaping frogs but if God Himself asked him to pick out the sole maiden in a line of women he would never, ever, have chosen Eleanor Douglas, wife of Sir William The Hardy.
Her fierce claim was supposed to make her legitimately bairned. That, Hal thought, would also make her two sons, Hugh and Archie, children of miracle and magic since she and The Hardy had been lovers long before they were kinched by the Church. Then The Hardy had abducted her, sent his existing wife to a convent and married Eleanor, risking the wrath of everyone to do it.
Not least her son, Hal thought, seeing the young Jamie standing, chin up and shoulders back beside his stepmother. Hal watched him holding his tremble as still as could and felt the jolt of it, that loss. Like his John, he thought bleakly. If Johnnie had lived he would be the age this boy is now.
The memory dragged him back to the Ward and the sight of Jamie and the kennel lad scurrying for the smithy, and he felt the familiar ache.
Sim Craw, following Hal into the blued morning, also saw the boys slip across the Ward and the cloud in Hals eyes, like haar swirling over a grey-blue sea. He knew it for what it was at once, since every boy Hal glanced at reminded him of his dead son. Aye, and every dark-haired, laughing-eyed woman reminded him of his Jean. Bad enough to lose a son to the ague, but the mother as well was too much punishment from God for any man, and the two years since had not balmed the rawness much.
Sim had little time for boys. He liked Jamie Douglas, all the same, admired the fire in the lad the way he liked to see it in good hound pups. No signs and portents in the sky on the night James Douglas was born, he thought, just a mother suddenly sent away and a life at the hands of The Hardy, hard-mouthed, hard-handed and hard-headed. Unlike his step-siblings, quiet wee bairns that they were, James had inherited a lisp from his ma and the dark anger of his da, which he showed in sudden twists of rage.