His Lady of Castlemora(3)

'I am sorry to hear it.'

'He has a daughter. The last time I saw her she was a child, but she  must be eighteen or thereabouts by now. She was widowed a while back and  he seeks a new husband for her.'

Ban's expression grew more guarded. When he'd guessed at some ulterior  motive he could never have suspected anything like this. Yet it was  typical of Iain that he should, with such unruffled ease, let drop some  small but incendiary piece of information.

'By that you mean me?'

'Not at all,' was the imperturbable reply. 'I merely suggest you should go and take a look.'

'She's a widow so there will be children as well, Iain.'

'Apparently not.'

Ban raised an eyebrow. 'Not?'

'She was married but a year, and the mortality rate among infants is high.'

'As you say.' Although he didn't pursue it, the matter still left a question in Ban's mind.

'The woman is reputed fair and, being Graham's daughter, will have a handsome dowry to boot.'

'Better and better. And of course I am five and twenty and single yet.' Ban paused. 'Did my sister put you up to this?'

'No, though I know she would like to see you settled.'

'She told you that?'

'She may have mentioned it once or twice.'

'An understatement if ever I heard one. She has been matchmaking these last five years.'

'Aye, well, what do you expect? You're her only brother.'

'And being the last surviving male of the family I must get an heir.'

'Have you any objections to marriage?'

Ban shook his head. 'None-in principle.'

It was true as far as it went. The idea of marriage did not displease  him. It was a necessary step in a man's life, a responsibility that must  be undertaken to ensure that his name and his line continued. The woman  should be compliant and, ideally, pleasing to look upon although, as he  knew to his cost, beauty was no guarantee of a warm and generous heart.

His brother-in-law nodded. 'Well then.'

Considered dispassionately, Ban knew the scheme made sense. All the same  he couldn't quite repress a twinge of envy when he compared it with  what Iain and Ashlynn had found in marriage. He saw the love and the  passion in their relationship, heard the shared laughter and the witty  banter. Iain was a devoted husband and a good father. Recalling how he  had once doubted the man, Ban was ashamed. Ashlynn could not have found a  better. Among married couples they seemed to be the exception that  proved the rule. To his knowledge Iain had never strayed from his wife's  bed. He had eyes for no one else and that was as it should be. A vow  once made should be kept.                       
       
           



       

'Of course this commits you to nothing,' Iain went on. 'The woman may not be to your liking.'

Ban schooled his expression to neutrality. It was far more likely that a  landless thane would not be to her liking. 'As you say.'

'If so, you were merely delivering horses. On the other hand...'

'I might fall in love?'

'Stranger things have happened.'

Ban grimaced. In his experience love was a chimera, the stuff of boyish  dreams. It also made a man dangerously vulnerable. If he married it  would be a business arrangement, essentially. If affection followed  later well and good. It was as much as one could hope for. 'Indeed.'

Again the lazy smile appeared. 'As I said, she is reputed fair.'

'Damn you, Iain.' The words were uttered without rancour.

'Then you'll go?'

'Aye, confound it. I'll go and look over the goods but I warn you now, I'm hard to please.'

'So was I.'

A gentle nudge brought Ban back to the present with a start and he  realised Jock was passing him the water bottle. He took it with murmured  thanks, realising guiltily that he hadn't been taking in any of the  conversation thus far.

'We should be assured of a warm welcome anyway,' said Ewan. 'Archibald Graham has a reputation for hospitality.'

Ban and Jock exchanged glances and grinned. One of Ewan's prime concerns  was his stomach. Yet no matter how much he ate it made not the  slightest difference to a frame that was small and wiry. There wasn't an  ounce of fat on him, but he was surprisingly strong. At eighteen he had  ridden with Ban for three years now, at his side in whatever adventure  came their way.

'Good. A well-cooked meal and a comfortable bed will suit me fine,' replied his leader.

'The old man was ailing last I heard,' said Jock.

'I heard that too.' Ewan took a swig from the leather costrel in his  turn. 'Fortunate then his son is of an age to manage things after him.  He has a widowed daughter too, accounted fair forbye.'

'She'll no lack for suitors then. Graham is rich enough.'

'She's marriageable all right.'

'Do ye think she'd look my way?' Jock's craggy face split in a grin revealing a missing front tooth.

'No,' replied Ewan. 'She could have her pick of men. Why would she bother with an ugly brute like you?'

'You can talk. If ugliness were a crime, laddie, ye'd no be in prison; ye'd be ten feet under it.'

Unperturbed, Ewan grinned. 'I'm thinking she'll no marry either one of us, but what about Davy? He's handsome enough.'

'Aye, he is, but he and Lachlan's daughter have reached an understanding. Besides, Davy's a commoner too.'

'Then what about you, my lord?' said Ewan.

Ban was almost taken by surprise for it came so near his private concerns, but he managed to return the smile.

'I have nothing against marriage, though heiresses are almost invariably ugly.'

'I've never met any so I'll have tae take your word for that,' replied Jock.

Ban plucked idly at a strand of grass, thinking that, ugly or not, no  heiress was likely to consider a dispossessed English thane to be a good  catch. His fortunes had mended considerably in the last six years and  he had gold enough but his lands were lost, perhaps in the hands of some  Norman lord now. It was beyond mending, like a father and brother slain  along with his brother's wife and their infant son. King William's men  had laid waste to a huge swathe of the north of England, leaving a  charred desert where nothing lived, and the bones of the dead lay  bleaching amid the ruins of their villages for there were too few left  alive to bury the number of the slain. All for the death of one man, and  that man a fool. Robert De Comyn's brutality had led to the uprising in  which he was killed. However, he was one of William's most favoured  earls, and the king had taken a terrible revenge. Ban wondered whether  the land and the people could ever recover from it.

'Perhaps Graham will have her matched with a Norman lord,' said Ewan.
                       
       
           



       
Once again Ban was jolted out of his reverie. 'A Norman?'

'The Treaty of Abernethy has effectively made Malcolm a vassal of King  William.' Jock spat into the dirt. 'What better way to create strong  political alliances than to wed Scot to Norman?'

They digested this in silence, recognising the unwelcome truth of it.  King Malcolm's raids into northern England in 1070 had been all too  successful and called forth an uncompromising response from William, who  raised an army and marched north to confront the Scots. Though brave  and eager their army was routed by the Norman host. As a result Malcolm  was forced to pay homage to William and sign the treaty at Abernethy two  years later.

Ewan was scandalised. 'The lassie deserves better than that surely?'

'That she does, lad. Under all their pomp and titles the Normans are just treacherous bastards.'

'Aye, and led by a bigger bastard.'

It drew a laugh for King William's lowly birth was well known. It was also known to be a sore point with him.

'Dinna let him hear ye say that. He'd cut out your tongue.'

'He isna here though, is he?' Ewan reasoned.

'No, but he's left his mark has he not?'

'Aye, he has. Northumbria's naught but a wasteland.'

Silence followed this for they knew something of their lord's past and  none cared to dredge up a subject they knew to be painful. Aware of  their discomfiture, Ban adopted a lighter tone.

'So tell me, Ewan, is there no lass you've set your heart on?'

'Not yet.'

'There's no lassie in her right mind would have ye,' said Jock.

'Why not? You managed.'

'Aye, for my sins.'

Ban and Ewan grinned. Jock's wife, Maggie, was known for her acid  tongue. She and Jock argued often and loud, but none doubted for a  minute that they were devoted. They'd had a brood of eight children, of  whom five survived infancy. Three were fine strong boys already showing  the promise of their sire in their skill with weapons. Jock was rightly  proud of them.

However, the subject of marriage came too near the knuckle and presently  Ban excused himself on the pretext of wanting to stretch his legs,  wandering away from his companions to follow the burn. He found the  tenor of the conversation strangely unsettling and he wanted some time  alone with his thoughts.

For the first couple of years after his arrival at Glengarron all he  owned were the clothes on his back and his sword. He had been in no case  to support a wife. Gradually he'd carved out a reputation and amassed  wealth by the strength of his arm and the use of his wits. However, a  name, even backed by gold, wasn't enough. Land was what mattered. Land  was what gave a man position and power. Without it he was effectively  little more than a hired blade. Women of noble blood might indulge him  with a brief dalliance, but it was beneath them to marry such a man. It  was a lesson he'd learned the hard way.