A Highlander Forged In Fire (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Page 7

  It was a hard life, but one which she had grown used to, and now that Howard Musgrave was a young man, she had found herself without any real role to play in the running of the house. She had been his nursemaid and looked after him during his youth, but now he was a man and had no need of her anymore.

  Sir Percy had shown her some pity, allowing her to remain at the castle, so long as she worked. She was growing older now, and the tasks of a maid were growing harder by the day. It took far longer for her to carry the heavy coal buckets upstairs, and her bones ached from the back-breaking work of scrubbing, cleaning, and mending, which was her lot.

  Still, it was better than the alternative, a peasant’s life, wanted by no one, the memory of the scandal she had caused across the border ever-present in those around her. It was for that reason that Sir Percy tolerated her. If it had been his own servant girl, then she too would have been sent away, but because Lena was a Scot, Sir Percy was far more inclined to leniency. He liked the fact that Alistair Elliott’s household was, in his own words, a place of moral decrepitude, mired by scandal in which the Laird could not even remain faithful to his wife.

  Sir Percy was no different, but it was in his best interests to find anything to use against his northern enemy, and Lena was just the ammunition he needed. She kept to herself, always mindful of the charity which Sir Percy had shown her but never forgetting the reason why she was in the employ of Sir Percy Musgrave.

  “Have you scrubbed the steps, Lena?” the housekeeper said, appearing at the top of the steps and looking down at Lena, who paused and mopped her brow.

  She was a fierce woman, once in the employ of the king himself and stood no nonsense from the servants, least of all Lena, whom she clearly considered a northern impostor.

  “Aye, from top to bottom,” Lena replied, rinsing off the scrubbing brush in a dirty bucket of water to her side.

  “Then you may take up the coals to the young master’s bedroom, it is a cold day, and he shall want the fire well stoked. Be quick about it now,” the housekeeper said, as Lena wearily rinsed off her brush.

  She struggled down to the kitchens where a flurry of activity was taking place in preparation for a great banquet that night. Nobility from across the north of England would be gathering, and she had heard rumor that Sir Percy would be giving a rallying speech to call the northern nobles to a rout against the Scottish clans.

  The collar cellar was down a further flight of steps, and there was no offer of assistance from her fellow servants as she heaved up two heavy buckets of coal from the dark depths beneath the kitchens. It would be a further three flights of stairs before she reached Howard Musgrave’s chambers, and she took the back route, winding her way up through the familiar corridors and pausing to rest a moment on one of the landings.

  Looking across the borderlands, her gaze settled on the marshlands far to the north. The outline of trees and hills could have been a country far across the seas so distant was it from her life. She had never returned to Scotland since that fateful day she had crossed the border, and she wondered if she would ever again see that beautiful land, so different from the bleakness of the English lands.

  But it was for another reason that her gaze so often turned towards Scotland, and, as they did each day, her thoughts turned to the child she had left behind. Where was he now? Had he grown into a strong and noble lad? Did his father keep him, or had he rejected the bairn too, in favor of preserving what he thought to be his own honor?

  Lena thought of the child each and every day. She dreamed of him. To her, he was as real and vivid as that first day she had held him in her arms, all those years ago. How she longed to see him again, and how cruel were the circumstances that prevented her from doing so. Those few miles north may well have been a vast ocean, across which no ship could sail.

  She sighed and heaved the bucket of coal up another few steps, pausing as she heard voices coming from above. It was her master and his son, talking loudly as was their way. Lena paused, not wishing to be caught listening, yet always interested in hearing what her master and his son had to say.

  “A few farms are nothing; the northern nobles want to see an end to this conflict once and for all. The king, too, is making noises about his borderlands. For too long, these Scots have taunted us, back and forth. Thirty years I have been among these people, and it is as though nothing has changed. This country is still as wild and lawless as the day I first arrived here all those years ago,” the voice of Sir Percy Musgrave echoed from above.

  “A good routing the other day, though, do you not think so, father?” his son replied.

  Howard Musgrave had always been an unruly child, a boy whom Lena had disliked when he was a boy and disliked even more, now that he was a man. He had often treated her badly, considering himself above the scolding of a Scottish wench, one whom he knew had been so cruelly banished from her home. Now, as a man, Howard Musgrave treated her with only thinly disguised disdain, and she had long realized that it was better to stay out of his way as much as possible. Still, it felt like a small victory to overhear their conversation, and Lena pressed herself against the wall, straining to hear, as the sounds of Sir Percy and his son’s conversation drifted down.

  “A good routing is never an unworthy thing, but you must remember that the king has charged us with keeping peace on his border. The clans are growing too powerful, their raids increase, and English lives are threatened every day. The king demands an end to it, and I too am weary. I do not wish to hand on such a legacy to you as an inheritance,” Sir Percy said.

  “You seem to think I do not enjoy the sport of chasing the Scots, father. The other day it was like fighting children; you should have seen the disarray, and then, in among them, a woman, a girl really, no older than I,” Howard replied.

  At this, Lena pricked up her ears, for it seemed strange to think of a lass among a raid of clansmen. No Laird would surely permit his daughter or the daughter of one of his clansmen to fight.

  “The Elliott girl, do you think?” Sir Percy asked.

  “I do not know, father, but she was poorly prepared, and he was as shocked to see her as we were. The girl had no idea and fled almost as soon as she appeared,” Howard said.

  “Strange indeed. Anyway, I am tired of these raids. They achieve nothing except bloodshed. What is needed is an end to the conflict on the borders once and for all. That will be accomplished by a concerted effort on our part and the part of the other English nobles. We must unleash such devastation upon these people that they are never able to mount as much as a cattle raid upon an English farm again,” Sir Percy said, and the sound of clattering feet now came upon the stairs above.

  Lena had nowhere to hide, and in her haste to rush back down the stairs, she sent the bucket of coal clattering down in front of her. Looking up in shock, she now came face to face with her masters. Sir Percy’s face set in anger as he stood before her.

  “Foolish girl,” he cried, for despite her advancing years, he still referred to Lena as a girl, the girl he had offered his charity to and whom he believed still owed a debt of service.

  “I … I am sorry, I didnae mean to,” Lena said, scrabbling around on the floor and picking up the pieces of coal, as Howard scowled at her.

  “Listening on the stairs, that is what she was doing, father. Haven’t you noticed how Lena is always poking her nose into other people’s business, always listening. She is trouble, father, and the sooner you rid yourself of her, the better. I have no need for her anymore,” he said, dismissing Lena with a wave of his hand.

  Sir Percy simply sneered and turned away.

  “What a way to speak, Master Musgrave, and after all I have done for ye these years past,” Lena said, composing herself, for she had no fear of Howard, who had always been rude and obnoxious from the earliest age.

  “All you have done for me?” Howard said, laughing and kicking over the coal bucket, “of which I had no need and offer no thanks to you for. Now get on with picking u
p all this and be silent.”

  Lena made no reply, her hands now covered with black soot as she hauled the bucket towards the stairs.

  “Wait a moment,” Sir Percy said, “you heard what we were saying, did you not? There is no harm in it, of course, but tell me, Lena, do you believe the border clans can ever be brought to order?”

  Lena shook her head and smiled.

  “Sir Percy, ye will never see an English banner over the borders of Scotland. Ye would have to kill every man, woman, and child, and make the rivers run with Scottish blood before my kin would submit to ye.”

  “Just as I thought. Very well, then; so be it,” Sir Percy said, and laughing to himself, he went off down the stairs, leaving Lena alone on the landing.

  “Wicked men,” she said, struggling on with the bucket.

  But Lena knew that the northern clans would fight to the death before the Musgrave banner was raised over their ramparts. And even if she never saw her homeland again, she could take comfort in the fact that her son was still among his own folk. It was this thought which kept her going, the thought of her son. What was he doing now? Was he a noble soldier? A skilled craftsman? A man of good standing, perhaps even a priest. How she longed for just one glimpse of him, one reminder of his face, ever the child she had held in her hands and still loved with all her heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Then it is decided, father,” Howard Musgrave said, as the two made their way towards the Great Hall of the castle for the evening’s feast. “We shall gather together such a force that none of the border clans can resist. It will be a final and glorious victory and bring peace to these lands and the King’s standard above them.”

  “Indeed,” Sir Percy replied, “once these nobles are well fed and drunk, they shall agree to anything, and we shall have the forces we need to put an end to Scottish aggression for a generation.”

  The two smiled at one another, the sounds of revelry already coming from the hall, as the servants raced back and forth, bringing food and drink. Tonight was to be a great gathering of Sir Percy’s supporters, and he intended to use it as an opportunity to further his plans for conquest. In his eyes, the destruction of the Scottish border clans would bring peace and prosperity to the English and, he hoped, a title for himself.

  It had long been his ambition to crush the Lairds and their people and place them under the subjection of English rule, but he knew too that the Scots were hardy people and that a few raids and croft burnings would not be enough to subdue them. Instead, what was needed was force, and tonight he intended to secure it.

  Howard and his father took their places at the high table, and the food was served. As the evening drew on, the guests grew ever merrier, and a jovial atmosphere pervaded, such that Sir Percy was convinced he could rally them to his cause. As the final plates were cleared, he stood and called for silence, his face lit by the myriad of candles spread about the hall.

  “Dear friends, I have called you here this evening because we have a great task ahead of us. One not accomplished in living memory, the task of subduing the border clans,” at these words a cheer went up from the tables below and several men drew their swords and shouted in acclamation of their loyalty to the English crown.

  “You have them, father,” Howard whispered as Sir Percy raised his hands for silence.

  “All of us have suffered at the hands of the Scots. We have lost homes, livestock, even our loved ones to the sword of those wicked and barbaric people across the border. I have lived here these thirty years past, and I have seen much bloodshed and agony thanks to these wicked men, and I say that enough is enough. Only the other day, my son faced the Laird of the Elliotts in an ambush, one in which their forces were routed and sent scattering, and do you know, they even send their women out to fight,” he said, pausing, as the nobles booed.

  “Shame,” cried one.

  “The devil’s work,” cried another.

  “Indeed, and it is from such tyranny that we must seek to save the innocent men and women forced to live under their jurisdiction. We must claim these lands for the king and put an end to this centuries-old conflict. Together we must mount such an attack upon the border clans, the like of which they have never known, and together we must see them defeated. Now, who is with me?” he cried, and a great cheer went up from the nobles, and there was much beating of fists upon the tables and cries for war and bloodshed.

  Sir Percy sat down in satisfaction and turned to his son with a smile upon his face.

  “I think we have them,” he said, as Howard raised his glass to toast his father.

  “To the end of the Border clans, father, and victory for us,” he said.

  * * *

  Lena had been serving at the banquet that night. She detested such tasks vehemently, for inevitably, the nobles would behave badly towards her, and she would be taunted and teased for her Scottish accent and made the object of ridicule. But there was little choice in the matter, and she went about her tasks with a determined look upon her face.

  “Cheer up, girl,” one of the nobles said, catching her as she leaned over to place a tray of roasted fowls upon the table.

  “Get off me,” she cried, pushing him away, as those around her laughed and jeered.

  “A Scot in our midst, well, well, there is something to delight in,” the man said, catching Lena again and pulling her onto his knee.

  “Get off me ye wicked man,” she said, as he attempted to kiss her.

  “She is a feisty one, that is for certain,” the man said, laughing, as she struggled in his grip.

  “Come now, come now, what is all this?” Sir Percy said as he and Howard moved between the guests.

  “I was just hoping for a kiss from your maid, Sir Percy, but it seems she is less inclined than I,” the man said, Lena still struggling in his grip.

  “Ah, Lena, our resident ‘lass,’ and friend from across the borders,” Sir Percy said, catching Lena’s eye and smirking.

  “And what brings a Scot to service in your castle? You should send her back across the border to her own kind. Are there no English women to employ?” the man replied, finally loosening his grip on Lena, who turned to Sir Percy with a murderous look upon her face.

  “Lena came to us many years ago. She is what one might call a ‘fallen woman’, one of loose morals; her own kind did not want her. She gave birth to a baby, an illegitimate one, and I took pity on her. She has been here ever since,” Sir Percy said, smirking.

  “And a troublesome girl she is too,” Howard said, catching hold of Lena’s arm, “she was my nursemaid, for all the good it did me.”

  “And I did my best for ye,” Lena said quietly, hanging her head.

  “Your best? Why, you could not even take care of your own ‘bairn’, let alone look after me, you foolish woman,” Howard replied. “Be gone now. We have seen enough of you.”

  Lena looked up at him and Sir Percy, her face full of hatred. She was not afraid of them; there was little more they could do to her to make her life more sorrowful, and with her head held high, she spoke.

  “I hope to God that my bairn has nae grown up to be like ye, Howard Musgrave, a more despicable man than I have ever met in my life,” she said.

  “Get out of my sight,” he said, and catching her arm as she turned, he snarled at her, “You had best hope that your son is not a soldier across the border, for we intend to wreak such havoc upon those people that I assure you he will be killed.”

  “Then he would die honorably and not as a coward like ye,” she said and shaking off his hand, she marched from the Great Hall, as behind her the nobles once more rallied to Sir Percy’s cause and plans for the invasion were made.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Father MacConkey says it will nae be long before the monks at Lanercost accept me,” Duncan said, as he scraped a piece of bread around his bowl.

  Fraser and his brother were sitting at supper, the evening drawing in about them. It was two days after Isla had v
isited the blacksmith’s workshop, and Fraser had thought of little else except the pretty lass from the castle and why her father was so against the two becoming friends.

  “And ye feel ready for this future, dae ye?” Fraser said, sitting back and eyeing his brother.

  “Aye, I am ready. I know ‘tis my callin’, and I want to go there,” Duncan replied.

  “‘Tis a hard life in the monastery ye know. The monks will expect ye to work hard, and there will be nae slackin’ off or runnin’ home. Once ye are there, then ye are there for life, and ye shall nae see me very often,” Fraser said, for despite his desire to see his brother flourish, he knew he would miss him.

  “But ‘tis all I have ever wanted. I want to pray for our parents. I want to pray for ye,” Duncan replied, “I will miss ye, but we shall still each other. ‘Tis only a few miles away, and ‘tis nae an enclosed order. I shall be able to come and go on days of rest and feasts. Dae nae worry, brother, ye will nae be rid of me that easily,” he said, grinning at Fraser, who smiled.