The Forest Laird(124)

“Miraculous?” I took the skin from him and hefted it appreciatively. “This will be put to good use, I promise you. I’ve been thinking I would have to send Father Declan back to Glasgow for a fresh supply, because we are already on the last of what we brought with us. My gratitude, then, to whoever was responsible. But miraculous? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Miraculous, for one thing, that he and his men didn’t drink it themselves. But also that they brought it back because they knew that you and the other priests are short … I confess, Cuz, that astonished me. Tousle-arsed forest outlaws saving good wine for a priest? Impossible, I would have said.”

I smiled. “Well, take off your hat and offer thanks to God for your enlightenment, and have more charity in future. Would you like a cup of it?”

“After all that? I would to God I could, but I would feel like a thief, so, no.”

I had started to remove my vestments and now I paused, eyeing him and smiling to take any sting out of my words. “But you are a thief, Cuz. That’s why you are here in the forest, after all.”

“That is true, Cousin Priest, and I had no need to hear it. But I am grateful, nonetheless, for the thought about the cup of wine and I’ll gladly drink some ale if you have any.”

“In the chest there, between the chairs. Pour one for me, too.”

I finished taking off my chasuble and stole and hung the garments carefully in the niche I used for them, and then I stripped off my long, white alb and folded it meticulously into its box on the floor of the niche. I had but the one and I seldom wore it because it was almost impossible to keep clean and fresh looking, and so I reserved it for special occasions like this morning’s Nuptial Mass. Normally, I celebrated the Sacrifice in my plain monk’s robe, believing that God cared little how I dressed so long as I served him in the spirit of love and piety.

By the time I turned back to the fire, Will had poured ale for both of us and set a flagon for me on the rough table between the two chairs that flanked the fireplace. I drank deeply, then set the vessel down before looking across at my cousin.

“All right, what’s wrong, Will? You’re plainly angry over something. What brings you here? Apart from bringing the wine, I mean.”

“Reprisals.”

I heard the word, and understood it, but for several moments it meant nothing to me.

“From the English,” Will said. “They’re punishing folk for what I did last April.”

“April! That was months ago.”

“Aye, it was, but they’re taking payment now. Plainly they took a while to think about what to do next, that’s all. And now they’re doing it.”

“Doing what, Will? Are they coming here?”

“No. They’d never dare, unless they came in strength, to wipe us out, and they won’t risk that … unless they have permission from King John, and I don’t see that coming. Nothing would please Edward more than to have right of passage from the border to here, but there’s too much going on between the two kingdoms and their Kings right now to permit our wee affairs to take on that kind of import. But reprisals are being carried out against us, Jamie. I’ve had reports, and we have had casualties coming in, to bear witness to what’s going on. Farms and whole villages laid waste and burned, their people hanged or slaughtered. Men taken on the road, about their own affairs, and hanged without trial. Their women ravaged, sometimes spared, sometimes not … And no one, anywhere, able to identify the killers.” He dragged his hands down over his face and mouthed a formless moan of weariness and frustration.

“I want to send some of them here, the survivors, to the main camp, but we can’t handle them. We’ve no room, and we’re too close to any enemy that comes against us. Close enough to fight them, certainly—that’s why we’re there. But there’s no safety for any but ourselves, the fighting men. Can you take some of the others, d’you think? Have you room?”

“Of course we can take them, and we’ll make room if need be. Where are these people from?”

“They’re plain folk from around here, on the outskirts of the forest.”

“Which outskirts?”

He shrugged. “Nowhere, everywhere. Some attacks were close by our territories, others were farther afield, near places like Selkirk village. But none were actually within our reach for retaliations. Most were in the southwest, though … west and southwest.”

“How far?”

That made him frown. “Ten miles? No, more than that.” He hesitated, thinking rapidly. “Twenty miles at least, perhaps more.”