2
The adults of the family met in session late that afternoon, before the sun began to set, and Sir Malcolm wasted no time in telling us that he had already discussed the matter with Lady Margaret and with Ewan, and they were all in agreement that much had to be done in a short space of time. I did not have the chance to wonder why Ewan should be involved as Sir Malcolm launched into a word-for-word description of what had transpired that morning. He was a natural storyteller and he held all of us enthralled as he brought the morning’s events to life.
“Where is Will now?” Father Peter asked when he had finished. “Do we know?”
Sir Malcolm shrugged. “Your guess would be as good as mine. Somewhere ’twixt here and Glasgow, unless he bides there yet.”
“Who bides where yet?”
None of us had heard or seen his arrival, but suddenly there he was, his arms filled with bolts of brightly coloured cloth that he carried straight towards his aunt Margaret, weaving his way between tables and chairs. He lowered the bundles into her lap and then bussed her soundly while she reached up from her seat to embrace his neck and ruffle his hair in welcome. He winked at me in greeting, and then glanced around at the rest, and his face and voice became grave.
“The Wallaces in conclave. Have I missed something important?”
“Aye, you have,” his uncle replied. “Armed men—Bruce’s men—come to take you away for hanging.”
Will looked sideways at his uncle, a laugh forming on his lips. “For hanging? What, they’ll hang a man now for swearing his allegiance?”
“No, for killing his lord’s deer.” There was no doubting his uncle’s seriousness, and Will straightened abruptly, all signs of humour fading from his face.
“What are you saying, Uncle?”
“I said it clearly and it is true. But it is already dealt with. What did you mean by ‘swearing allegiance’? Did you meet the Elder Bruce?”
“Aye, in Glasgow. Bishop Wishart named me to him.”
Sir Malcolm frowned. “To what end? Why would he make you known to Robert Bruce, and you a mere verderer?”
Will’s eyebrows rose. “In courtesy, Uncle. Lord Robert arrived while the Bishop and I were talking, and he asked me who I was. Bishop Wishart introduced us and then left us together for a time while he attended to something else. We talked, the old man and I, and I ended up offering him my allegiance. He remembered my father, vaguely, through the Countess of Carrick, and he knows you, of course, as his own man, but he even knew that my brother Malcolm is another of his knights, riding with his son, the Earl of Carrick. I liked him. He is an impressive old man, if somewhat stiff—distant and old-fashioned.”
“Aye,” said Sir Malcolm. “He has lived long enough to be oldfashioned with legitimacy. And he has the right to be aloof. He is next in line to the throne, should anything befall the Maid. Where is he now, do you know?”
Will shook his head. “In Glasgow yet, I suppose. It was quite the noble gathering there. The greatest men in the realm. He was deep in conference with them, magnates and clerics both, when I left.” He checked himself. “But how … How could his men come hunting me for poaching when I was with Lord Robert himself at the time?”
“That’s what has been dealt with, Will,” Father Peter answered. “You were falsely accused of poaching and mayhem. Malcolm defended you stoutly and proved your innocence, so that danger is behind us. But that’s why we’re all here. Malcolm and Margaret summoned us to discuss what’s best to be done for you now.”
Will frowned. “What’s best to be done for me? I have no idea what you’re all talking about.”
“This fellow Graham, from Kilbarchan.” Sir Malcolm’s voice was peremptory. “Ewan told me about him, that he was there when you went to visit that young woman. You had not expected that, had you?”
Will glanced at Ewan before responding. “No, I had not. But it was of little import.”
Brother Duncan spoke for the first time. “What did you do to him, Will?”
“Do to him?” Will’s eyes were wide with incomprehension. “I did nothing to him, save ignore him. The man’s a fool. A popinjay. Jamie? What is going on here?”
Sir Malcolm intervened before I could say anything. “Then you underestimate him, Nephew. Popinjay he may be, but he’s a dangerous popinjay, and treacherous. Tell us what happened between you two when last you met.”
“Right, then.” I saw a flash of the anger that too often lurked beneath his calm exterior, but then he caught himself. “The last time we met,” he said quietly, “Graham was in Lamington, where I had gone to visit Mirren—”