The Forest Laird(54)

“I hold a warrant for the arrest of one William—”

“Did Bruce send you here?” Sir Malcolm’s roar cut the words from the bailiff’s mouth and brought up the heads of the soldiers at the fellow’s back.

A sullen flush crept slowly over the man’s cheeks and he looked as though he wanted to spit in the knight’s eye, but both of them knew it would mean his death to do so. “No,” he said. “But I am here on his authority.”

“No, what? Are you insolent to every knight you meet?”

The bailiff’s eyes grew angrier, but when he spoke again his words were subdued. “No, Sir Malcolm. Lord Robert is in Glasgow, on the business of the realm. But I was sent on—”

“Be damned to you, you oaf. You were sent here by someone who hopes to see you dead for it, knowing your surly tongue.” Sir Walter looked down in silence at the warrant until he had recovered himself, and then he spoke again in a calm voice. “William Wallace is my nephew. What does this warrant concern?”

“Poaching. The slaughter and theft of deer belonging to the Lord Bruce, from his lands adjoining your own.”

Sir Walter reared up again. “That is arrant nonsense. My nephew is a verderer, my senior forester, and a justiciary officer of this estate. Such a crime is beyond his nature. When did this atrocity take place?”

The bailiff smirked. “Four days ago, Sir Malcolm. And as for it being beyond your nephew’s nature, that may be your opinion, but it needna be the case, not if the man wields a long yew bow and shoots white-fletched, white-banded arrows. Your nephew does both, I’m told.”

Sir Malcolm felt a sour sickness roiling in his gut. He had watched his nephew paint the broad white band around the midpoint of each of his arrows. That, plus their distinctive white snow goose fletching, made them, Will had explained, easier to find in featureless clumps of undergrowth. He nodded his head slowly.

“As you say, he does. And so he must plainly answer to you, on whatever grounds he may stand accused. I will bring him to you, but he is not here now. Not on my lands or anywhere within reach this day. You have my word on that, on both counts. Tell me about this supposed crime.”

When the bailiff spoke next his voice lacked much of the truculence that had marked it earlier.

“There’s no supposing involved, sir. We ha’e sworn testimony frae an eyewitness who saw the accused William Wallace slaughter a small herd of deer and leave them where they fell, a wanton atrocity. He cut out all the arrows afterwards, save one that he could not dislodge, and he cut the end off that, to hide the fletching, but he mistook an’ left one broken bit o’ flightin’ behind him.”

“And you have that piece of feather.”

“We do, sir. Forbye the cut shaft. It bears white paint. No’ much, but enough to mark it plain enough.”

“I see. So my nephew is not merely a felon, he is a careless fool, to boot. I must say that surprises me. I had not thought him foolish. Why would he do such a thing? It seems senseless. Wanton, as you said.”

The bailiff nodded, seeming more sympathetic now that the knight’s anger had died down.

Sir Malcolm looked beyond the bailiff, out into the yard. A full score of soldiers stood there, all of them armed and watching the group at the open door, and the knight’s gaze took in the two halfarmoured sergeants-at-arms who stood vigilantly at the bailiff’s back, missing nothing. He sighed.

“These are ill tidings, Bailiff. A sore start to any day. But you have my attention and my belief, and I fear I do you a disservice, keeping you here like this on the doorstep.” He stepped back from the door. “Come you inside and bring your sergeants with you, and we’ll decide what’s best to do. Come.”

The bailiff hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Commendable distrust, I suppose,” Sir Malcolm said. “You fear I ha’e lied to you and my nephew might escape while I detain you.

Well, I’ll ignore the slur upon my honour because of the circumstance, and you may have your men search the grounds and buildings while we talk. But mind you see they do no harm. There has been damage aplenty done to me and mine already this morning. Make your arrangements, then my man here will bring you to me when you’re done. I’ll be back down as soon as I have calmed my goodwife and put on some clothes.”

Neither man required much time to do what he must do, and Sir Malcolm heard the sounds of shuffling, mailed feet on the flagstones of the hallway as he reached the head of the stairs, having left Lady Margaret waiting anxiously in their bedchamber.

“Sit ye down, gentlemen,” he said, entering the large family room where they awaited him. He took his own big chair while they seated themselves, the two sergeants-at-arms removing their steel bonnets. Fergus the steward was already pouring mugs of the household’s ale, and the men drank in silence, until the knight set his cup down on the small table by his chair.