His Lady of Castlemora(12)

'I told you, I will do what I must.'

'Aye, and enjoy it too, I promise you.'

'A bold promise, my lord. There is little pleasure for a woman in the marriage bed.'

He strolled to the door, pausing on the threshold. 'Reserve your judgement until you have shared mine.'

With that he left her. As she listened to his retreating footsteps,  Isabelle found herself trembling, though not with fear. Automatically  she raised a hand to her lips where the memory of his kiss still  lingered; a kiss that aroused all manner of emotion in her, but which  meant only the sealing of a bargain to him. He would bed her the same  way. She bit her lip. He had been honest with her about that. Theirs was  a business arrangement. If it engendered warmer feelings that was good  but it was by no means certain. I do not regard it as an indispensable  condition of marriage. The only indispensable condition was that she  should provide him with an heir.





Chapter Six


Ban left the building and escaped into the fresh air, away from the  heady and sensual smell of lavender and the recollection of that kiss.  He had no idea why he'd done that. It hadn't been his intention when  first he went to speak with her. Nor had he anticipated the  consequences; had not expected to feel quite so aroused or so tempted to  follow his inclination. Fortunately common sense had prevailed. In two  days she was his; he could be patient a little longer. The rest would  follow soon enough.                       
       
           



       

He had been walking without any set destination in mind and his steps  had taken him in the direction of the stables. It occurred to him that  he could go and look in on Firecrest and make sure that all was well  there. However, as he rounded the end of the building he checked in  surprise to see a large group of men in the yard beyond. At first he  thought they were all from Castlemora, but then he caught sight of Ewan  and Davy in their midst. From their stance and their expressions he knew  immediately that he wasn't looking at a friendly gathering.

* * *

Needing to escape from the confines of the still room Isabelle  temporarily put aside her task. It afforded too much leisure to think.  Fortunately there were other domestic arrangements to deal with,  particularly the matter of the evening meal. With tensions running as  they were she didn't want to risk incurring her father's displeasure  through some perceived slight towards their guest. Therefore it behoved  her to speak with the kitchen servants and soon.

She hurried along the passageway to the outer door and had just gained  the courtyard when she heard the sound of men's voices. That wasn't  unusual in itself, but the tone was subtly different from their typical  bantering exchanges. She paused, listening. The noise originated from  the area behind the stables. It was the location that raised a question  in her mind for it seemed covert somehow.

For a moment or two she hesitated. It was not her part to interfere with  men's affairs, and ordinarily she stayed as far away from Murdo's  mercenaries as possible. Just as she was debating with herself what to  do, she saw Ban. He was closer to the stables than she and evidently  heading towards the source of the noise. Curiosity strove with caution.  He would deal with it. She ought not to get involved. Yet somehow his  being there made it harder to resist. She hesitated for a few more  seconds. Then, against her better judgement, she followed him.

Rounding the end of the building she was not surprised to see a large  group of men, but her heart sank for it needed none to tell her they had  not met in friendship or good humour. The very air seemed charged. The  focus of attention seemed to be the Glengarron retainers. The two called  Jock and Ewan were standing together, their expressions tense and  angry. The third, Davy, was squared up to one of the Castlemora  soldiers. She recognised the man, Taggart, for he had been one of those  implicated in a rape case brought before her father. The case was  dismissed for lack of evidence-it came down to three men's sworn word  against that of the plaintiff in the end-although Isabelle knew whom she  most believed. The village girls avoided the mercenaries when possible,  and with good reason.

Her gaze moved from Taggart to Murdo, standing close by. He alone seemed  quite at ease, almost as though the scene afforded him quiet amusement.  Isabelle frowned and hastened forwards, but Ban was before her and she  heard Murdo's greeting.

'Ah, well met, my lord.'

Isabelle was both embarrassed and annoyed knowing beyond doubt that  mischief was brewing here, though what the cause might be she could not  tell. If Ban had detected anything amiss he gave no sign of it. She saw  him acknowledge the master-at-arms with a slight inclination of the  head. Then he turned his attention to his men.

Both Jock and Ewan looked flinty, Davy slightly flushed. His glance  flicked from Ban to Taggart, with whom, evidently, he had been in  conversation a few moments before. The latter was older than Davy by at  least ten years. Of a short stocky frame he was nevertheless well built  and the weathered face bore an expression both crafty and malicious.  Cold grey eyes surveyed the younger man, eyes that did not reflect the  smile on the mouth below.

Keeping his tone deliberately neutral Ban said, 'What's happening here?'

'A friendly conversation, my lord, no more,' replied the other.

'Indeed?' Ban glanced again towards his own men and saw their silent indignation. 'What manner of conversation?'

For a moment there was stony silence. Then Murdo spoke.

'The discussion was about swordsmanship. Isn't that right, Taggart?'

The man grinned, revealing stained and rotting teeth. 'Aye, sir.'

'What about it?' asked Ban.                       
       
           



       

''Tis just that we've all heard much about the mettle of Glengarron,' Taggart replied.

'And what have you heard?'

'That they're brave fighters, my lord-by repute anyway.' Taggart's small  eyes took on a cunning gleam. 'We just wondered if it was true, didn't  we, lads?'

A groundswell of agreement greeted this, the tone both challenging and  mocking. Ewan and Jock exchanged eloquent glances, their hands moving to  their sword hilts. Seeing it, Isabelle darted a glance at Ban but his  attention was elsewhere.

'Surely you would not cast aspersions on the valour of our allies,  Taggart?' said Murdo. The words sounded reproachful, ostensibly  deprecating, but none present missed their underlying edge.

'I mean no disrespect, my lord.' Taggart gave Ban an unctuous smile  quite at variance with the look in his eye. 'All the same, 'tis such a  fine reputation that a body canna help wondering whether 'tis based on  truth or exaggeration.'

Another chorus of agreement greeted the words. Isabelle watched in  impotent anger, seeing whither this tended. She would have been  disgusted by such an insult to any of Castlemora's guests, but in this  case the ramifications were particularly worrying and especially for  herself. Ban could hardly be impressed and his opinion mattered. Another  minute and the situation would be out of hand. Yet how to stop it  escalating without her guests losing face? She glanced once at Murdo but  knew she would find no help there. On the contrary, his expression  suggested keen enjoyment of the situation, an expression reflected on  the faces of his men.

Before he could respond, Davy spoke out. His voice was level enough but his eyes spoke clearly of anger.

'Glengarron's reputation speaks for itself. It needs no exaggeration.'

'Is that right?' Taggart raised an eyebrow and looked round at his  companions. Grins greeted his evident scepticism. 'Now I'd heard  otherwise.'

'Then you heard wrong.'

'I've only your word for that, boy.'

'There is no boy here.' Davy's hand tightened round the hilt of his dirk. 'Nor no idle boasting either.'

'Shall we put that to the test?'

'Whenever you like.'

'No time like the present.'

An ironic cheer rose in reply from the bystanders. Isabelle's jaw  tightened. She could not expect Davy to back down now for the insult had  been thinly veiled and would be answered. However, the matter must not  result in serious bloodshed. With her heart in her throat she saw Ban  step forwards.

'Then let the matter be put to the test,' he said, 'in a friendly match, to be decided by first blood.'

All eyes turned his way, speculative and predatory. Isabelle was  reminded of nothing so much as a pack of wolves. Ban ignored them, his  attention focused on the one man he rightly divined would make the  decision. Murdo met his gaze a moment and then nodded.

'An excellent notion. First blood it shall be.'

A roar of approval echoed on the still air and the men stepped back to  give the two combatants room. Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief.  Knowing the confrontation could not be avoided, Ban had at least  prevented it from becoming fatal. He had handled the matter with tact  and skill, and she could only feel gratitude for his intervention. She  couldn't help but wonder what he was really thinking. Was he regretting  ever coming here? Would it make him think twice about their forthcoming  betrothal? She prayed it would not. Even so, the incident did not  reflect well on Castlemora, and she determined that Murdo should know of  her displeasure. Forgetting her usual reticence she went to confront  him. He regarded her with surprise for a moment and then smiled.