“Thank ye, Alistair. I’ll be right out. Tell the Bishop that and bid him make himself comfortable in the gathering hut.” He turned back to me. “Well, shall we go and find out what this visit is about?”
“Not I, Cuz. I was not invited. Go you alone, for now. If they then send for me, I’ll come, but for the time being, I believe their business is with you.”
He narrowed his eyes and regarded me for several moments before nodding slightly. “So be it, then. You’ll dine with us tonight?”
I said I would, then he nodded again and glanced around him as though looking idly for something he did not find, before he crossed quickly to the door and left me there alone.
2
As soon as Will was gone, I stepped back to the big sword and reached up to grasp the hilt. It fell heavily towards me when I tugged at it, but as I stepped quickly back, tightening my grip and hefting it properly, the weapon settled into my grasp, and I felt the beautiful, integral balance of the thing. I lifted it higher, holding it with both hands, and the long blade rose effortlessly, reflected light from the small window nearby flickering along the watermark patterns on the blade as it moved. I decided that it must weigh somewhere between seven and eight pounds, with most of the mass centred in the upper third of the weapon to provide a fulcrum for the long, lethal beauty of the blade. I was concentrating so deeply on what I was doing that the sound of Mirren’s voice at my back made me jump and turn towards her reflexively, still clutching the sword.
She had been in the act of taking off the light shawl that had covered her head, but she released it and threw up her hands in mock horror as the long blade swept towards her, even though it came nowhere near where she stood. “Heavens! Will you kill me, Father James?”
I lowered the point to the floor immediately, mortified, and began to bluster an apology.
“Jamie Wallace, you’re blushin’ like a wee boy caught stealin’ honey. I startled you, and I’m sorry. I didna know you would be here.” She hesitated, then added, “But now that you are, I want to ask you something. D’ye mind?”
“No, of course not. Let me put this back where it belongs.” I turned away and replaced the sword in its corner, and as I did so I heard her lowering herself slowly and carefully into her chair. “This is a fine weapon,” I said over my shoulder, giving her time to settle herself decorously.
“It’s for killing men,” she answered dismissively. “I’m surprised to hear you, of all people, finding something good to say about it. We will a’ die some day soon enough. I canna see any beauty in a thing made to bring that time closer.”
I turned to face her, bowing my head respectfully. “Forgive me, Mirren. You’re right, of course. I was admiring the form of it, the symmetry and proportion, not thinking of its purpose. Now, what do you wish to ask me?”
She finished adjusting the light shawl over her hair, apparently having decided to retain it, then looked at me with narrowed eyes. “What does Robert Wishart want from my Will?”
I was caught off kilter by her hard tone, and she continued before I could say anything. “I’m asking Jamie the cousin, not Father James the priest, and I want you to sit down and talk to me, eye to eye, Jamie Wallace. What does that old schemer want from my man? And don’t try to tell me he doesna want anythin’, for I’ll no’ believe you any more than ye’ll believe yersel’.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “I swear to you, Mirren, I don’t know. I didn’t even know the Bishop was coming. We met him by accident yesterday, Ewan and Alec and me, in the forest. We could just as easily have missed him. I really think, though, that you might be doing him an injustice …” My voice died when I saw the look that came into her eyes, and I felt a tide of blood colour my face.
“Aye,” she said, “ye may well blush. Ye were about to tell a lie that would shame a hardened liar, let alone a priest. You know as well as I do that Robert Wishart does nothing, ever, wi’out reason, and his reasoning is often as twisted as the top o’ that big, curly staff he carries when he’s fully robed. What’s it called?”
“The crozier, the pastoral staff.”
“Aye, that. It’s braw, I suppose, but naebody would ever ca’ it plain or simple. Just like his thinkin’. Everything that man does is to a purpose. I’ve heard tell, to his credit, that everything he does is for the good o’ Scotland’s realm. I ken that, and it’s fine and good. But my concern is that he’s planning to use my Will for something I don’t like, and I’ve a deathly fear o’ what that might be.”