He breathed in deeply, squeezing his eyes tight shut for a count of three, then pushed himself up onto one elbow, only to see an apparition standing by the foot of his bed, a gaunt figure, muffled and spectral, glowing in flickering, fitful light. His breath caught sharply in his throat as the dreadful dream came surging back to life.
“I startled you. Forgive me. There is no worse way to come out of a sound sleep.”
Rob blinked. “My lord, is that you?”
“Aye. The others have all left and we have time to talk, if you so wish.”
Rob shook his head, trying to dislodge the last of his sleepy witlessness. “What hour is it?” he asked. “Should you not be asleep?”
He could have sworn he saw the old man’s mouth twitch in the beginnings of a smile, but he knew it could only have been a trick of the shifting light.
“No,” the old man rumbled in his deep voice. “I don’t sleep much nowadays. And depending on my mood and the number of things I have to do, I find that to be either a blessing or a curse of age. So, will you come and help me pass an hour?”
“Aye, of course, my lord.”
“Good. Get dressed, then, and come downstairs. I’ll be in the den. There’s a fire in the hearth. Old bones like mine need warmth, but I think it is cold enough tonight to be welcome to you, too. Here, I’ll light your candle. Come down when you are ready.”
As soon as the old man had gone, Rob swung his legs out of bed and sat hugging himself and shivering. It was not the chill that had him shivering. His mind was still in the half grip of his dream, and he knew beyond question that the frightening figure that had threatened him was his grandfather. He sat there, frowning into the candle flame. He had often been afraid of the Lord of Lochmaben, but there had been nothing frightening or threatening in his grandfather’s presence here.
Realizing that he was wasting time and keeping his host waiting, he rose and dressed quickly, muffling himself from neck to knees in a warm, shapeless coat of soft, thick wool before taking his candle and making his way down the wide, wooden stairs to the main hall. It was dark and quiet now, the huge stone hearths at either end holding nothing but glowing embers, but bright light was spilling out from the massed banks of candles in Lord Robert’s den under the stairs, and Rob went forward quickly, announcing himself in a voice that sounded strangely calm and resonant to his own ears.
Lord Robert was seated in his padded wooden armchair, close to a blazing fire in a brazier set into a small hearth by the one stone wall.
“Cold enough for winter,” he growled as his grandson entered, then pointed to the empty chair beside him. “Come, sit here beside me.” The pointing finger changed direction, indicating a table that held a small jug. “But before you do, bring me that jug and the two cups there.”
Rob did as he was bidden, and the aroma from the jug caught sharply at his nostrils.
“Good,” his grandfather said, pouring from the jug into each of the cups. “Now bring that kettle, but mind you don’t burn yourself. Use the cloth.”
Rob wrapped the iron handle of the kettle in a much-singed pad of cloth that hung by the fireside and, directed by Lord Robert, poured hot water carefully into each cup.
“Aye, that’ll do it.” The old man picked up his cup in both hands and held it to his nostrils, sniffing appreciatively. “Aye,” he murmured again, “there’s nothing like toddy to keep the chills away on a cold night. Drink up.”
Rob sipped with great caution, knowing the water was very hot, but even so the sharpness of the drink snatched at his breath and closed his throat, and he had to set the cup down quickly lest he spill it in the coughing fit that racked him. His grandfather watched him in astonishment.
“What—what is that?” he gasped eventually.
The old man’s eyebrows were still arched in surprise, but now his expression was altered by an unexpected smile. “It is uisqhebaugh. Have you never had it?”
“No, sir, I have not.”
The old man’s smile grew wider. “Well, don’t sound so scunnert, boy. You will soon grow used to it. But it is a taste to be learned, and that is truth. It is the distilled spirits of barley, and it is powerful stuff. When served hot like this, though, mixed with honey and boiled water, it is medicinal. Try it again, but wi’ care. You’ll find it grows on you.”
Rob sipped again, and found that the liquid, while still tasting alien and bitter, was not as unpleasant as he had thought. He lowered his cup slowly. “It’s … good, I think … Sweet. Warming.”
“Aye, it’s all of those. Try some more.”