Colin's arm shot out, and he collared Jack, grabbing the squire by the back of the shirt and pulling him back. “Oh, no you don't,” he shouted.
“What's wrong with you today?” Alec exploded, shocked at Colin's abrupt actions.
Colin looked into the dirty face of the “squire.” The old hat covered Celia's hair. Her clothes were filthy, well-worn, and covered any hint of femininity in her figure. But the eyes were unmistakable.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, glaring accusingly at her. Colin was angry at Celia and at himself, thinking of the danger she had been exposed to during his men's workout. One step in a wrong direction and she could have been seriously hurt.
“Really, Colin, the lad worked hard for me,” Alec said in defense. Something is wrong, he thought. He never treats young squires like this. He's always positive and encouraging with them. Poor kid is probably terrified. “He's strong and smart. He'll be a good fighter one day.”
“Thank you, m'lord,” the squire returned saucily. “So will you be.”
Alec turned a dumbfounded glance toward the “squire” he had just praised. He didn't look scared. He was actually mocking him, daring him with his bold black eyes. “Why, you little...”
Alec stopped short as Colin's laughter erupted, echoing off the castle walls. Still laughing, Colin protectively pulled the squire behind his back. But the wisecracking youngster immediately worked himself back to the front, still daring him. Alec looked from one face to the other. Everyone seemed to be losing their minds today.
“Alec,” Colin said, putting aside his worries of a few moments earlier. “We've both been had, this morning. I think you'd better take a closer look at my new squire Jack.”
Alec peered at Jack suspiciously. He looked like all the others. Young and eager. But with an attitude problem that would bring him some trouble if he didn't curb it.
“Alec, this is Celia,” Colin said finally, smiling at Alec's perplexed look. “Let's get something to eat. We'll be leaving for Argyll's castle with the midday tide.”
Celia smiled brilliantly at Alec as she passed him.
“Some sixth sense!” She chuckled proudly.
“You’re getting too old, Macpherson,” Colin needled. “You’re losing your touch.”
“I knew it was Celia all the time,” Alec protested lamely as the other two grinned back at him. How did I ever miss those eyes and that smile? he thought. “I did. I knew it.”
But Colin was convinced. They were all going to Argyll.
Colin had sent out a small boat at midnight to let Argyll know he'd be arriving around nightfall. And when Colin arrived with Alec, Celia, and a troop of fifty men, the dismal gray day was just decaying into dark over the earl's rain-soaked countryside.
Alec had been ill a number of times on the short journey, even though the steadily falling rain had kept the water fairly smooth and the wind steady. Celia had kept his company and promised him that she would try to help him on the trip back with a remedy she had learned in the Orient. She'd explained that the remedy must be applied before the seasickness occurs. Alec had simply looked at her wretchedly before leaning over the side of the boat again.
As they sailed into the harbor, Celia was very aware of the difference between the Campbells' village and Argyll's. Even taking into account the miserable state of the weather and the dreariness of the hour, the filthy, run-down group of huts reeked of absolute squalor and poverty. Huddled around the stony strand that ringed the small harbor, the thatched turf hovels all displayed the evidence of the fishing trade that was barely supporting them. Before each house, a small boat lay idle on the pebble beach, and nets in various stages of disrepair spread around them.
The dripping, threadbare group of villagers who gathered at the beach stood and gawked as Colin and his entourage landed. Celia, standing behind Colin with the other squires, looked into these thin, haggard faces, into the vacant stares of the skinny, ragged waifs that huddled about them, and she knew that she wasn't going to like the man who spent five months of every year in the old-fashioned castle overlooking the harbor.
Wading up the slippery mud path that led to the castle, Celia considered the situation she was facing. She didn't need to like the earl of Argyll. It had to be enough for her that the earl of Huntly had sent her to him. But before she did anything, before she revealed herself to Argyll, Celia was determined to see Father William and learn the reason behind his message. Surveying the barren countryside around her, she could not see the abbey, and decided finally that it must be in a direct line behind Argyll's small castle. She was wondering about the possibility of getting to the abbey tonight when Colin broke into her thoughts.
“You will stay close to me,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow we'll see that you get to the abbey.”
Celia nodded to him and continued to trudge up the short hill to the drawbridge spanning the filthy pit that surrounded the castle walls.
Inside the curtain wall of the old fortress, Celia saw that the main building of the holding was not much bigger than Kildalton's stables, though its two wide square towers gave it a substantial, formidable appearance. A set of portable wooden steps led from the courtyard to the elevated main doorway into the building. Celia thought that this was a man who was either too cheap to spend his wealth on his holding or too insecure about defending it.
At the top of the steps, a gaunt, large-framed man stood looking down at the approaching contingent. His wide shoulders were covered with furs that flapped loosely about his wasted body like rags on a scarecrow. To Celia's thinking, the smile that he directed toward them looked more like a grimace.
So finally I meet Kit's uncle, she thought.
“Welcome to my home, Lord Campbell and Lord Macpherson. Come in, come in.”
Argyll's voice had an odd quality to it that Celia took a moment to consider. It was the voice of a big man, but there was a hollowness to it that made her think he was sick. Certainly his appearance substantiated that. But there was something more in it, a certain waver.
Fear, she thought. Argyll is afraid of something. Of Colin perhaps. Or Alec. She couldn't be sure. But she knew that he was afraid.
Celia's eyes sought out the faces surrounding her. Colin and Alec were like strangers to her. Their faces were hard as steel, and their voices, in response to his greeting, were formal and polite, but hardly friendly.
Celia and a number of the entourage followed the warriors into Argyll's hall. It was a high-ceilinged affair with a great cooking fire burning in the center of the room. The benches that ringed the smoky hall were crowded with soldiers and servants. Women who appeared to be there for the primary purpose of entertainment were circulating and laughing at soldiers' outrageous comments. They seemed to be teasing the men, moving from lap to drunken lap.
As the Campbell contingent entered with Argyll at the lead, some of the warriors stood, and the noise lessened somewhat, but for the most part, the carousing continued unabated. Only the women seemed to take real interest in the newcomers, and Celia watched with annoyance as several moved toward Colin like bees to honey.
Runt's brother Emmet, who was in charge of Colin's select fighters, stood beside Celia. Colin had entrusted him with the true identity of his squire Jack, giving him the task of shadowing her and shielding her from any difficulties. He had spoken with her on the ship, and Celia had been impressed with his devotion to Colin and the Campbell family.
Celia realized, as the revelers gravitated toward the newcomers, that between Emmet and Colin and Alec, she was completely encircled. They were taking no chances with her. She could barely see Colin's action in waving away the wenches, but their quick alteration in course was evidence of his effectiveness in dismissing them.
Argyll was shouting at servants to clear places at the head table for Colin and Alec, and those knights who were sitting at the table gave up their places grudgingly. Colin took hold of the earl's arm and spoke into his ear, whereupon Argyll gestured for one of his stewards.
“Oswald, before they eat, our guests want to be taken to the rooms that were prepared. And see that a bowl of fresh water is put in each of their rooms.” The earl gave Colin a wry look. “Although I hope you've not become one of those court fops who bathes more than twice a year.”
Colin's lack of mirth was hardly lost on Argyll, who turned quickly and moved to his place at the table.
“Emmet...Jack,” Colin said, turning to his people. “You come with Alec and me. I want half of you to stay on this side of the hall. The rest of you try to avoid getting the pox from these wenches.”
Oswald, a rat-faced, greasy-looking little man, led them up a winding stone stairwell into one of the two squat towers that rose above the castle's main building. At the top of the first flight of stairs, two doors opened off a damp, narrow landing.
“Lord Macpherson,” Oswald whined, pointing to one of the doors. “And Lord Campbell, in here.”
The steward pushed open the two doors and turned unceremoniously to retreat down the stairwell.
“Steward,” Colin commanded. “Have the water brought up now. And send up a heating brazier for each room, as well.”
Celia watched Oswald avert his eyes from Colin's fierce glare, and with a furtive “Aye, m'lord” disappear down the steps.