Joanna Fulford (11 page)

He reached for his cup and took a sip of wine. As he did so he became aware that he was being watched. Murdo’s gaze locked with his own. The man’s expression was impassive but Ban could feel hostility emanating from him. He clearly recognised and resented Ban’s interest in Isabelle: what he didn’t know was just how far his own hopes were blighted. That was too bad. All was fair in love and war. Ban checked himself there, mentally revising the statement. All was fair in war and in winning a bride. Love was another matter entirely.

Chapter Nine

B
eing so caught up in his thoughts he found sleep elusive that night. Around him other men snored and grunted. Somewhere in the darkness outside he heard an owl hoot; an ill omen according to country folk, presaging doom and death. It was a foolish notion. He forced it away and drew the blanket higher.

When sleep eventually came to him it was disturbed by troubled dreams. In them he was running through thick mist, while ever before him went the elusive figure of a woman. She had her back to him so he could not see who she was. However, he knew he must follow and find her, but whenever he drew near enough to touch her she would vanish into the mist again. Each time the sense of loss intensified until it achieved the acuteness of physical pain. Distress and loneliness increased unbearably. He knew that if he could find the woman then he would be all right, that she held the key to things he did not yet understand. He had to find her. He stumbled on in desperation and through the pale swirling vapour he heard her call his name...

‘Lord Ban! Lord Ban!’

He woke in the grey dawn light to find Jock shaking him by the shoulder.

‘Wake up, my lord! You must come quickly!’

‘What is it?’ he muttered. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Archibald Graham is dead.’

‘What!’

Coming instantly awake, Ban stared at him in stunned surprise. ‘Dead?’

‘Aye, my lord. It seems he passed away in the night,’ Jock went on. ‘When his servant went in this morning he thought the old man was still sleeping, but the body was already cold. I had it from the steward.’

Ban leapt to his feet and began to pull on his clothing, his expression grim. This news would be a grievous blow to Isabelle. It would be a grievous blow for all concerned. Worse was the knowledge he couldn’t put it right. The best he could do was to offer some poor words of comfort.

On reaching the courtyard a few minutes later it became apparent that the news of Graham’s demise had spread, sending shock waves through Castlemora. Already they could hear the shrill keening of women, and groups of men stood without the hall in dismayed surprise or else exchanged huddled whispers. Gritting his teeth Ban threaded his way through them. When he reached the hall he saw Hugh there with Murdo at his side. Ignoring the latter he turned at once to the new laird.

‘I have just heard the ill news, my lord. Pray accept my condolences. I know I speak for Glengarron too in this matter.’

‘I thank you,’ replied Hugh. From the whiteness of his cheek it was evident that he too was still in shock, and just now coming to realise the implications of his father’s demise.

‘On behalf of Glengarron, and on account of the deep ties between our houses, my men and I would wish to join you in paying our final respects to your honoured father.’

‘I thank you for your courtesy, my lord.’

Ban inclined his head in acknowledgement to Hugh and ignored the cold stare from Murdo. If the other man objected to his presence, that was too bad. Fortunately he had no say in the matter.

‘Pray offer my condolences to the Lady Isabelle.’

Hugh nodded. ‘I shall do so. She keeps to her quarters at present. This news has hit her hard.’

‘Of course. Your father was a great man. He will be much missed.’

‘That he will, my lord. I little thought to take his place so soon. I hope I can live up to his expectations.’

‘I think there is no doubt of that,’ said Ban.

Hugh summoned a faint smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’

With that he moved on to speak to the other men gathered there. Ban drew off to one side with Jock.

‘Now what, my lord?’

‘We stay and pay our last respects to Archibald Graham.’

‘Aye, he was a good laird by all accounts.’

‘I imagine the funeral will be tomorrow.’

‘Will we be leaving after?’

‘Not immediately. There are matters I must attend to first.’

‘As you will, my lord.’

In truth Ban had no clear idea yet how he was going to deal with the situation. He didn’t know if Archibald Graham had informed Hugh of the secret betrothal. If he hadn’t, it was going to make things exceedingly awkward. There must already be speculation about his extended stay at Castlemora. It was difficult to see how he could remain longer without declaring his interest. At the same time Isabelle was going to need time to come to terms with her father’s loss. Ban was no stranger to grief and he knew all too well what she must be feeling now. More than ever he wanted to speak with her.

* * *

Unfortunately his wish was disappointed. He waited around for the rest of the morning hoping for a glimpse of her but she did not appear. In the end he gave it up. Probably she didn’t want to speak to anyone at present. Leaving the company he took himself off, needing a little space himself to reflect and consider what he was going to do next.

He headed for the orchard. It was pleasant and private and well suited to his present mood. The place also had associations with Archibald Graham since it was here they had come to discuss Ban’s betrothal to Isabelle. He smiled ruefully. The old man’s intimations of impending death had been accurate after all.

Ban made his way among the trees, laden now with ripening fruit, and then checked abruptly as he realised he wasn’t alone. A woman was standing by the wall. She had her back to him, apparently looking at the view beyond, but he knew her at once. Suddenly he wondered if his presence here might be intrusive; perhaps she too had wanted time apart. He hesitated.

‘Isabelle?’

She turned abruptly. Her face was pale and he could see that she had been crying. In that moment she appeared younger than before and intensely vulnerable.

‘I’m so sorry.’ He crossed the intervening space to join her. ‘This has been a terrible shock.’

‘I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to him.’

‘His passing was swift and painless. Take comfort from that.’

‘I do and yet I would have him back again.’ Water sprang to her eyes and she looked away.

‘It is hard to lose a parent, to lose any of your kin.’

‘My mother died when I was young. I have only vague recollections of her. My father was always the heart of Castlemora for me.’ She swallowed hard. ‘We did not always see eye to eye and he was not one to show his feelings openly, but I believe he cared for me, loved me in his way.’

‘I am certain of it.’

‘I cannot believe he is really gone. When I sat with him it was as though he were only sleeping; that if I reached out and touched him he would wake. But he did not.’

The words ended in another flow of tears. Ban’s jaw tightened. However, he said nothing just then, knowing there was nothing he could say. Instead he put his arms round her and stroked her bright hair as she wept on his shoulder. It went on for some time but he made no attempt to stop her. Grief needed an outlet.

Eventually the tears abated and she drew away a little in evident confusion, drying her face again.

‘I’m sorry. I think your tunic must be as damp as my sleeve now.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he replied. ‘A tunic and a sleeve will dry. Sorrow takes longer to deal with.’

‘You have known your fair share of sorrow, have you not?’

‘Indeed, though the sight of yours hurts me too.’

The words drew a wan smile. ‘I thank you for your kindness, my lord.’

Her gratitude smote him as hard as her tears. Kindness hadn’t been the motivational force in his behaviour thus far. It had a distinctly exploitative quality that didn’t make for comfortable viewing. Her plight had always been unenviable; today it had become a whole lot worse and for that he was partly responsible.

* * *

The funeral took place with all due solemnity. It wasn’t until she stood by the open grave that her father’s death achieved the status of fact in her own mind. It was still hard to imagine a world in which he didn’t figure. He had always been there, ultimately a strong, protective presence even if they hadn’t always been in accord. Now he was gone and, somehow, life went on.

However, it was only as she received the condolences of others that she began truly to appreciate how respected a figure her father had been, and how big were the shoes her brother must endeavour to fill. The thought of what lay ahead for him made her feel deeply anxious. Her gaze flicked once towards Murdo. His expression revealed nothing of what was passing through his mind, but with her father out of the way the master-at-arms would certainly try to increase his grip on affairs here. Would Hugh be his own man? Would he be able to keep Murdo in check? It seemed like a tall order.

Ban was a reassuring presence. He had been considerate and kind, more so than she might once have anticipated. It was an unexpected side to his character. He had shown no impatience with her tears and he had been quietly supportive of Hugh. It wasn’t an easy situation but he hadn’t shirked it. Nor did he neglect his public duty now.

‘This is indeed a sad day, my lady. I speak for Glengarron when I say that your father will be sorely missed.’

She found her voice. ‘I thank you, my lord.’

‘Glengarron will always stand ready to support Castlemora. In the meantime you will let me know if there is any service I might perform.’

She thought that the greatest service he could perform for her now would be to acknowledge their betrothal, but that wasn’t going to happen yet. What if it never happened? The thought of losing him filled her with momentary panic. She fought it, telling herself that all might yet be well. She must cling to that hope; it was all she had now.

* * *

Ban knew he was going to have to speak with Hugh after the funeral. It was just possible that the younger man knew about the betrothal but if not he would have to be told. Since it was not Ban’s secret alone he must first consult Isabelle on the matter, and that would have to wait until the morrow.

He glanced from her to the new laird at her side. Hugh was pale but in control, no doubt trying to come to terms with the situation in which he found himself. Just a pace away from him was Murdo. The tall, dark-clad figure reminded Ban of nothing so much as a great carrion bird. Behind Murdo, at a suitably respectful distance, were ranged his men. Apart from the belt knives all men wore they were unarmed on this occasion, no doubt at his instruction. Nevertheless, their collective presence was not so much reassuring as disquieting.

* * *

However, Hugh was impressively self-possessed, then and later, overseeing all the formalities until the last of the mourners had departed. Isabelle regarded her brother with pride. Young he might be but his manner and bearing suggested that he took his new role most seriously and that gave her real hope for the future. Seated in their father’s chair now, he did not look out of place.

Now that the ramifications were beginning to sink in she realised that, some time soon, he would have to be told about her betrothal. It was going to be a tricky conversation but now that he was laird it couldn’t be avoided. She glanced at Ban. They needed to talk but with so many of Murdo’s men present it wasn’t the time or the place. Moreover, now that the day was wearing on, she could think about leaving the men to continue their drinking alone. The wake would likely continue through the night.

By now she would have expected the effect of ale and mead consumption to be making itself apparent in the men’s speech and behaviour, but, oddly, none of them gave any sign of being drunk. The conversation was unusually muted too, yet underneath it the atmosphere seemed tense, almost as though they were waiting for something. Perhaps they were waiting for her to leave so that the carousing could start in earnest. She looked at Hugh. However, just then he was engaged in conversation with the master-at-arms. The two walked apart a little way, heads together, Murdo’s hand resting lightly on his companion’s shoulder.

Suddenly Hugh’s eyes widened in an expression of shocked disbelief, his breath caught on a choking gasp. Isabelle frowned. Then Murdo stepped back and she saw the dagger plunged deep in her brother’s side. For several moments Hugh hung on its point before his knees buckled and he slumped to the floor as a dark stain spread across his tunic. Isabelle screamed.

‘No!’

She flew across the room, falling to her knees beside Hugh, frantically trying to discover some sign of life. He didn’t move, his eyes staring up at her unseeing as blood pooled on the floor. As the realisation hit her Isabelle screamed again, a long keening howl of horror and despair.

Ban leapt to his feet and lunged at Murdo. ‘You treacherous bastard!’

Before he could reach his target he was seized from behind. In spite of furious resistance he was swiftly overpowered and the edge of a blade held against his throat. He regarded Murdo with contempt.

‘Why do you hesitate?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve murdered one man in cold blood. One more can make no difference to you.’

‘I’m tempted, believe me, but it may serve me better to leave you alive, for now.’ Murdo looked at his men. ‘Take him to the small storeroom and lock him in. His men too. I’ll deal with them later.’

White-faced, Isabelle looked on helplessly as Ban was dragged from the room. Then she turned to Murdo.

‘Murderer! Traitor!’

He regarded her impassively for a moment, then spoke to her captor. ‘Take her to the bower and post a guard on the door.’

Strong hands seized hold of her and hauled her to her feet. Isabelle shrieked and fought but to no avail. Seconds later she was lifted bodily off the floor and carried from the room.

* * *

Ban’s captors dragged him to the cellar and shoved him in, locking the door behind him. It was iron-bound oak. The walls and floor were of stone, the only light source a small, barred window. Anger burned hot and for a while he paced, trying to take in the enormity of what had happened. Just then he had no fear for himself. All concern was reserved for Isabelle. With her brother slain her situation was perilous indeed. It needed no seer to tell him what Murdo intended.

He was distracted from these thoughts by the sound of footsteps. Then the door opened again and his three companions were thrust into the room. Judging from their dishevelled appearance and Ewan’s cut lip they hadn’t come quietly. Jock eyed Ban speculatively.