Page 7 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)
Ian, his muscles tensing, flexed his fingers around the dirk’s ornate hilt to keep blood flowing and shouted, “Enter.”
The door swung wide and Shamus stepped in. “There you are. Albany wants you.”
Ian blew out a breath and relaxed his hold on Kate. Returning his dirk to its sheath, he growled, “Brother, knock the way ye’ve been instructed or one of these days you’ll find my blade betwixt you ribs.”
“Sorry.” Shamus’s gaze shifted to the left and he grinned. “Hello there. Who might you be?”
Ian glanced right and found Madame Campbell grinning at his brother over his shoulder. So much for protecting the lady’s identity and therefore her reputation. He stepped to the side. “Madame Campbell, may I present my brother, Sir Shamus MacKay of Siar Dochas. Shamus, Madame Katherine Campbell of France, widow of Robbie Campbell, formerly of Ardkinglas. ”
As Kate dipped into a curtsy, Shamus arched an eyebrow and silently mouthed, “Seriously?”
Ian nodded. “Now what does Albany want?”
Ignoring him, his brother stepped forward and took Kate’s hand and brought it to his lips. “My pleasure, madame.”
After Kate murmured in kind, Ian glared at his brother. “Albany?”
His brother let loose of Kate’s hand. “He didn’t say, but looks fit to be tied.”
Ian silently cursed and turned to Kate. “My lady, if ye’ll excuse us.” The bird squawked, drawing their attention. Seeing Kate smile at Leo, he murmured, “Ye two may get better acquainted while I tend to Albany.”
Kate nodded, her gaze coming back to him. “As you wish.”
As he wished. Humph. If wishes were horses, she’d be on her back, he riding above her.
He bowed and reached for his claymore. “Come, Shamus.”
Striding down the hall shoulder to shoulder, Ian murmured, “What goes on?”
“Alistair Campbell has apparently petitioned for a court hearing. I don’t know why, but he was sequestered with Albany for well over an hour before a messenger arrived disrupting them. And now Albany wants you.”
Jogging down the well-worn steps, Ian murmured, “Campbell isn’t happy with the sudden appearance of Robbie’s widow.”
Shamus chuckled at his back. “I still can’t believe that wee shit was married to the lady in yer chamber. There must be some mistake.”
Never one to waste words, Shamus had succinctly stated precisely what had been bothering Ian since first meeting the lady. Envisioning Robbie Campbell simply touching Kate turned his stomach.
He stopped and looked up at his brother. “No one goes into my chamber whist I’m gone.”
Shamus nodded. “Done.”
“And that means you as well.”
His brother looked at him oddly, then laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You randy goat.”
Irritated, Ian knocked his brother’s hand away and waved him back up the stairs, then continued on.
Entering Albany’s suite, Ian found his seventy-two-year old-regent gazing out an open window. “Yer grace, ye summoned me?”
Albany faced him. “Aye. A messenger just handed me this.” He held out a crumpled missive.
Ian flattened it on the nearby desk and held it up to the oil lamp.
A McLellen captain reported that whilst reiving cattle across the boarder, a fire started, but not of their making. The English had retaliated by torching two of their outlying villages. Several men had been injured, and one woman and two bairns were dead.
“God’s teeth.” Fire had to be the worst of deaths. “ Where’s the McLellen?”
Albany collapsed into the heavy chair King Robert had used as a throne. The one James I should be sitting on. “On his way home, his contingent with him. “I fear,” Albany sputtered, “if this reiving continues, war with England will be inevitable.”
“Aye.” And the boarder lords had been warned time and again to keep their men on this side of the wall. Fearing there would be a McLellen reprisal for the deaths, which would no doubt spawn a massive English counter-response, Ian asked, “Any chance we can call on the French to cause another distraction?”
Their allies across the channel were at best fair-weather friends but effective.
“Aye, but how much coin will it cost us this time?” Albany stood and began pacing, setting his once-red but now sepia beard to swinging in pendulum motion.
“We are caught in a chasm, my friend. We can’t afford an all-out war with England nor can we afford to keep doing what we have.” He slammed his fist on the desk. “Christ’s blood, can’t these fools see what their raids are doing? We don’t have the coins to reclaim Murdock, much less our king. And we’ll never have them if we have to keep paying the French to nip at the lion’s paws! I swear I could hang them all for their friggin’ avarice!”
Ian agreed but said nothing and reached for the wine. Murdock, the duke’s eldest son, had been captured by the English nine years ago. God only knew what condition the man was in now.
Holding out a full chalice, he said, “Here, my lord.” After Albany took a drink, Ian asked, “Where do ye wish me?”
“Here for now. I’m proposing a tax in the morn to increase our coffers so we might someday see our lads home. Some, I fear, will not take kindly to the proposal.”
Albany collapsed on the chair again and turned to the window, the moonlight magnifying all the chasms lining his face, evidence of the man’s years of angst. “You were but a gleam in your da’s eye the last time we ransomed a king. Bankrupted the country it did. Bairns and women starved by the thousands. And when the English came, they marched right up to these verra walls and took control. Took us, with barely a pockpud killed.” He looked at Ian then, fire in his water-blue gaze. “I will not bankrupt this land again to ransom a bairn that can’t lead, can do us naught but a world of harm.”
Ian’s heart stuttered despite understanding the man’s logic. He’d heard the old ones tell of those dark times past and shuddered to think of his clan going through them again. But to leave their lad languishing in an English tower was also unthinkable. Worse, should he die—-and many a man had in prison--Scotland could find itself in civil war.
“Aye, my liege.”
At the door he turned and asked, “What has Alistair Campbell concerned?”
“Very little gets past you I see.” Albany grunted. “Campbell intends to sue Robbie’s widow. He doesn’t want to pay her a bawbee, much less a penny, nor does he want her under his roof, where he claims she could interfere with the security of Loch Fyne and subsequently Ardkinglas and his sept. And as acting liege he does have the right to be heard before the council.” Albany shrugged. “I tried to convince him otherwise but gave up. The court will convene in four days’ time.”