Page 6

6: PROVOCATIVE TALK

“WHAT A FEAST,” Lennox murmured, his gaze traveling down the table to the array of platters the page boys were setting out before them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the like … even at Castle Varrich.”

“Neither have I,” Iver agreed distractedly.

Actually, he’d been wishing he was enjoying a quiet supper back in his chamber—but even he had to admit the banquet was a lavish one.

Blinking, he too surveyed the spread before them.

Two suckling pigs with apples stuffed into their mouths, venison pies, and braised lamb all graced the table, with a magnificent roast swan taking center stage.

There were also baskets of different kinds of breads, tureens of spiced stews, buttered and mashed turnip, and platters of braised greens.

Aye, it was impressive, yet he still wished he could have begged off attending.

“Just as well I haven’t eaten much today then.” Lennox rubbed his flat stomach before holding up his pewter goblet so that a passing page boy could fill it with rich French wine.

“This should be a banquet to remember.”

“It should.” A big and broad-shouldered man with an unruly mane of black hair, shot through with grey, and penetrating grey-blue eyes seated next to Lennox spoke up then.

Colin Campbell, the Lord of Glenorchy, was well into his fifth decade yet as hale as a man half his age.

His gaze narrowed as he swept it down the rows of trestle tables that filled the great hall.

“Especially since the king has invited a traitor to the crown.”

Despite his distracted mood this eve, Iver frowned.

He knew that Campbell was loyal to the Stewarts, yet making such comments in public was inflammatory.

Tensing, he glanced around, preparing himself for someone to take offense at Campbell’s comment.

Fortunately though, the din of conversation and the music that drifted down from the minstrels’ gallery drowned out the man’s words.

Also, the ‘traitor’ in question—William Douglas—was seated well out of earshot.

The clan-chief, tall and lean with hawkish features, sat near where the king reclined in a high-backed chair.

He and James were currently talking, both their expressions unreadable.

Shifting his gaze from the pair, Iver lifted his own goblet to his lips, welcoming the wine’s warmth.

He then glanced back at Campbell.

“The king has decided to leave off talking politics until tomorrow,” he reminded his companion.

The laird snorted. “Aye, well, if it were up to me, I’d strike off the conspirator's neck now and be done with it.”

“I’m surprised Douglas agreed to attend these celebrations … or the council,” Lennox replied, inclining his head. “He knows the king doesn’t trust him.”

Iver stifled a sigh. Couldn’t they leave off discussing politics, for once?

Campbell’s mouth pursed. “James has promised him ‘safe conduct’ during his stay.” His gaze shifted once more across the hall to where the Earl of Douglas was nodding at something the king had just said. “Look at him … the treacherous bastard.”

“Enough provocative talk, Colin,” Iver answered, his exasperation surfacing. God’s blood, this conversation was wearying. “Let’s just enjoy this evening, shall we?”

Their gazes fused before Campbell’s mouth curved, his gaze glinting. He then nodded. “Aye, let us appreciate this banquet … and the fine company.” His smile widened then. “There are a number of pretty lasses present, I note.” He glanced over at a well-built woman with straw-colored hair, her formidable bosom spilling over the edge of her low-cut kirtle and surcote. Like many of the ladies present, she’d entered the hall wearing an elaborate mask, yet she removed it for the banquet. “Perhaps tonight will be the right occasion for ye to find yerself a wife, Mackay.”

Iver took another gulp of wine, even as irritation spiked through him. Not again. Campbell hadn’t been present the eve before when the king had questioned him. Nonetheless, it seemed that everyone in Scotland had an opinion about his position as an unwed chieftain.

He wasn’t blind—he’d noted there were dozens of pretty women present this evening. But many of the younger ones had a hungry gleam in their eyes. They were husband-hunting, and Iver wouldn’t be caught.

“I hear ye have become a bit of a recluse,” Campbell went on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Iver was now scowling. “A dance or two with a comely lass might sweeten yer mood.”

“I don’t need my mood sweetening ,” Iver growled back, even as his temper simmered. He’d been distracted and wishing he were elsewhere earlier, yet now he was vexed.

“Aye, ye have a point there,” Lennox quipped. “My brother even shuns his family’s company these days. He’s at risk of turning into a curmudgeon.” He smirked then, meeting Iver’s eye. “Colin’s right, why don’t ye relax a little this eve, brother?”

Iver glowered back at him, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet. Curse Lennox, he was deliberately goading him again. Aye, it was true that Iver had started to spend increasingly more time alone over the past couple of years, but that was his business and no one else’s.

He was tired of others having an opinion about how he lived his life. At home, his mother wouldn’t stop nagging him about taking a wife every time she cornered him. Was it any surprise he sought solitude these days?

What did it matter anyway? His broch and lands prospered. Iver’s kin and retainers didn’t need to see his face every day. Lennox dealt with any disgruntled or feuding tenants, while Kerr kept the broch’s defenses strong. And if important decisions had to be made, Iver was always available.

“There will be more guests arriving after the banquet concludes.” The Lord of Glenorchy winked at Lennox. “And even more beauties to flirt with. As a widower myself, I shall be on the lookout.”

Lennox’s expression sobered. “I heard about yer loss, Colin,” he replied, “and was sorry to learn of it.”

Campbell shrugged. His heavy-featured face tensed. “Aye, well … Aileen was always sickly.” An uncomfortable silence followed before Campbell cast a lingering glance over at the well-endowed blonde once more. “I shall ensure my next wife is sturdier.”

A moment later, he shifted his attention back to Iver.

Tensing, Iver took another sip of wine. He didn’t like the calculating glint in the man’s eye. He was beginning to rue the fact that Colin Campbell had seated himself next to them—actually, he was deeply regretting leaving home at all.

“Of course, if ye find no woman fine enough for yer tastes here, I can offer ye my daughter’s hand,” Campbell went on, holding Iver’s gaze. “Ye would be well matched … and fear not, Davina is a comely lass.”

A shadow passed over Campbell’s face then. It was brief, yet Iver marked it all the same. Mentioning his daughter had hit a nerve, yet Iver wasn’t interested in discovering the reason for it.

“I told the king, and I shall repeat myself for ye, Colin,” he said, allowing displeasure to creep into his voice. “I’m not looking for a wife. Not tonight. Not ever .”

Campbell’s greying brows crashed together.

“I hear that building work has been completed at Kilchurn,” Lennox said then, smoothly interjecting as tension rose between the two lairds. “Is that true?”

Campbell glanced over at Iver’s brother. A moment later, his disgruntled expression smoothed, and he smiled. “Aye. The castle is quite a sight too. It’s a great five-floor tower house … with its courtyard protected by a high outer wall.”

Despite himself, Iver was intrigued. “It’s well-defended then?”

Campbell nodded. “Kilchurn perches upon a small island at the northeastern end of Loch Awe. The only way to reach it is by a low-lying causeway. If anyone wanted to lay siege to my fortress, they’d have trouble.”

Lennox’s gaze widened. “It must be quite a sight.”

The laird of Glenorchy nodded, grinning now. It was clear he was proud of his castle. “Why don’t ye lads stop off for a visit on yer way home, after these celebrations? I have some business to conduct in Stirling, yet if ye are willing to wait a few days, we can travel back together.”

Iver tensed at the invitation. After Campbell’s description of the castle he’d recently finished building, he did have a hankering to see it. However, the Lord of Glenorchy had just tried to push his daughter at him, and he was wary of going anywhere near her.

Iver’s lips parted as he prepared to decline the offer. But his brother spoke first. “That sounds like a fine idea.” Lennox flashed Iver a wide smile then. “Does it not, brother?”

Heat ignited in Iver’s belly. The devil take ye, Lennox . Why couldn’t his brother keep his mouth shut? He’d effectively backed Iver into a corner. Campbell was watching him now, his expression expectant—and since they were neighbors, it wouldn’t do to upset him. As such, Iver forced a benign smile and nodded. “Aye, thank ye, Colin.”

A trumpet echoed through the great hall of Stirling Castle then, cutting through the roar of excited voices. Conversation and music died away, all gazes swiveling to where King James the Second had risen from his high-backed chair.

Raising a slender hand, he waited for the last of the chatter to quieten. He then smiled. Clad in a crimson surcote, his flame-red hair brushed out around his shoulders, the young king was a striking sight.

“Lords and ladies of the realm.” His voice carried across the cavernous space. “I thank ye all for gracing me with yer company on this winter’s eve to mark the start of Lent.” He paused then, motioning to the woman seated next to him. “And to help me celebrate my queen’s nineteenth birthday.”

Mary favored her husband with a gentle smile.

Lithe and as pale as moonlight, Mary was a beauty. She’d been a fine choice for a Scottish king, for she was the daughter of the Duke of Guelders, and their marriage had formed an alliance between Scotland and Flanders.

James picked up a jewel-studded goblet then and held it aloft. “Please join me in a toast to wish the queen the merriest of birthdays.”

A chorus of well wishes rumbled through the hall as the guests, including Iver, obliged.

“Feast and drink to yer heart's content,” the king continued. His cheeks were flushed with wine, and he was clearly enjoying his speechmaking. “And then we shall be hosting a masquerade ball … a spectacle none of us will ever forget.”

More cheers followed this pronouncement, while Iver’s mouth pursed. Find someone else to attend these meetings in the future, Niel Mackay, he thought sourly. Next time his clan-chief made such a request of him, he’d ensure he got out of it.

Of course, Niel’s insistence that Iver act as his emissary was a compliment. His clan-chief appreciated the blend of diplomacy and toughness the chieftain of Dun Ugadale employed at meetings. The Mackays were a powerful Highland clan, and relations between the king and the north were often tense.

Once, Iver had enjoyed the cut and thrust of negotiations—but that seemed a lifetime ago now. He didn’t have the patience for all this pomp, and he didn’t want to don a mask and dance either.

James had reseated himself now, and all gazes remained upon the king while he helped himself to a sliver of swan breast.

No one would eat before he did. But the moment James took his first bite, his guests fell upon the banquet with relish.

Iver ate slowly, listening as his brother and Colin Campbell chatted like old friends. It appeared they shared a passion for boar hunting and dog breeding. In contrast to Iver, Lennox wasn’t irritated by the man. Instead, he seemed charmed by him.

Yet Campbell wasn’t trying to make a match between his daughter and Lennox. As the second-born son, he’d been spared all that.

Like Iver, Lennox was unwed by choice. But whereas Iver’s decision was a result of disappointment, his brother’s choice had more to do with his need for freedom. Lennox had no interest in shackling himself to a wife and bairns.

Brooding over the invitation his brother had just accepted on his behalf, Iver helped himself to a spoonful of rich venison stew. He’d hoped to travel directly back to Dun Ugadale after Stirling, yet a detour to Kilchurn would lengthen their journey by days.

Not only that, but Campbell would likely make another attempt to foist his daughter upon him.