Turn of the Tide (25 page)

He had a number of calls to make before he could head for Kilmaurs; none, it seemed to him, of much consequence. No matter, he was glad of the chance to see Archie and to mend the atmosphere
between them. But as he rode up the valley and Kilmaurs came into view, he felt the memory of his last visit,
en route
to Annock, as a chill wind in his face.

It was a quiet coming, the courtyard deserted as he slid from the mare’s back and allowed the reins to dangle. Dismayed at the lack of life, he ran up the short flight of steps to the
heavy oak door, but though he rapped loudly, it remained firmly shut. He had no better luck with the postern, nor could he find anyone in the stabling, though a couple of horses stirred restively
as he entered. He led Sweet Briar into an empty stall, filled a bag with hay and a bucket with water from the pump and, taking a brush from a shelf in the tack-room, began to groom her with long
sweeping strokes. A rustle behind him. He stepped quietly round Sweet Briar, his hand resting lightly on her nose. More rustling, a scuffle, giggles. Whoever dallied in the hayloft, they were at
least evidence that he wouldn’t starve. He went back to his rhythmic grooming but swung round as a lass of about fifteen slid down the ladder.

‘We didna hear . . .’ She brushed at her skirts, her gaze darting between Munro and the loft above.

‘Is it only the pair of you here?’

The lad slid down the ladder and stood, his arm circling the lass. ‘An if it is?’

Munro admired the sharp, upwards jut of his head, his combative tone, his protective intent. He held up his hands. ‘Nothing. Only that I hoped to find the household at home.’

‘Well you havena.’

The girl wriggled loose. ‘Glencairn and William . . .’ she began.

The lad cut her off swiftly. ‘I said you havena.’

‘Hamish!’

Munro saw that her colour, which had begun to return to normal, bloomed afresh.

‘We have a guest and mustn’t be rude to him.’

‘We dinna ken if he’s a guest or no.’

‘And do you know Archie Munro?’ He saw the look that flashed between them. Relief . . . and something else.

‘If it’s Archie you’re after, you’ve just missed him. He’s gone to Glengarnock to bring Lady Glencairn and the bairns and Sybilla, she that is maid to Lady
Glencairn.’ Words were tumbling from the girl, and again the lad cut her short, but with less agression.

‘We dinna expect them till tomorrow. Glencairn’s wi’ the court and no likely to be home anyways soon and as for William, I wasna tell’t an I didna ask.’

Munro stifled a smile. ‘And the rest, you’ve surely not the whole place to look to?’

‘They’ll no be long,’ a defensive note crept into the girl’s voice. ‘It’s no often that we have the chance of the whole family away. They’re at the
fair. I didna go for I wasn’t feeling just the best.’ She hesitated and then in a burst of almost defiance said, ‘I’m bravely now.’

‘I can see that,’ Munro kept his voice level. ‘And what would you advise that I do? I came to see how Archie and Sybilla fared.’ Again the disquieting flash. ‘I
don’t wish to delay my return beyond the morn.’

‘Go to Glengarnock then. You have the time, though . . .’ the boy ran his hand over Sweet Briar’s rump. ‘If you’ve come far . . . ’

Munro, seeing that his thought was for the horse, warmed to him.

‘I didn’t press her hard and though she may not be altogether pleased at leaving a comfortable stable and will no doubt show me so, she has plenty of run in her yet.’

‘You’ll take a wee sup before you go?’

He saw the pucker of worry in the girl’s face and guessed that she feared that word would come back of a lack of hospitality. ‘A wee pickle would be grand, and in the kitchen
just.’

Her smile took in them both. ‘If you’ll come then, I’ll no be a minute.’

Rain came and went before Munro was ready to leave, his stomach heavy with bread, its solidity masked by a liberal spreading of butter, the flavour marginally improved by the
sharp tang of the ewe’s cheese that topped it. He sat with the boy and forced himself to eat with a semblance of enthusiasm while the lass hovered, her nervousness diminishing with each
slice. At his fourth slice the line of worry disappeared altogether from her forehead and he judged it safe to stop.

Saddling Sweet Briar, he wondered if she would notice the additional weight, then chiding himself for the thought, turned to offer his thanks and was rewarded by a shy smile. The bread was maybe
not her blame, though he wouldn’t be seeking to steal her for his own kitchen just in case.

Steam rose around Sweet Briar’s hooves, as so often happened when heat followed a heavy shower, the air filled with the scent of moss and dying bracken. The wind behind them, it was still
light when he saw the line of Glengarnock’s curtain wall ahead. The tower was prominent on the skyline, gable-end onto the stream that tumbled at its base. He took them by surprise, Lady
Glencairn recovering quickly, though it was clear that she thought the excuse he proffered for the visit a flimsy one.

‘I trust you didn’t find it inconvenient to have to ride the extra mile. It would indeed have been a pity to return home without news of your brother. Did he not write
lately?’

‘Not since his return and our mother . . . age has made her more anxious and as I was to be close to Kilmaurs . . .’ He had the sense that she let him off the hook.

‘Well, you’re here now and we will have a doubly fine escort to take us home.’

Supper was an informal affair, the general atmosphere relaxed, though for both Archie and Munro the memory of their last meal together intruded: an awkwardness that needed to be set right.

Archie spoke first, ‘I owe you an apology. My leaving . . . it was not well done. Indeed,’ he smiled across at Sybilla, ‘It was hot tongue and cold shoulder I got once you were
gone.’

Munro was quick to respond. ‘We shared both blame and consequence then. And have, I trust, learnt from the experience.’

‘Since we came back . . . I see things differently.’ Archie glanced at Sybilla again, dropped his voice, ‘You asked me once where my loyalties lay. Well you may pray Glencairn
is hale for many years yet, for William is increasingly hard to thole.’

The worry, which had irritated Munro like an itch since Archie’s departure from Broomelaw, began to subside. ‘We may all pray that.’

The cook at Glengarnock was clearly a step up from the baker at Kilmaurs, so that he could eat to his fill with an honest relish. He watched and listened and occasionally contributed as
conversation washed around him. There was much talk of the new-fangled paper making, fine and handy no doubt and at a price that couldn’t fail to please, though the quality was, as yet, a
little lacking. Much laughter too over Roche’s latest venture: his gold mining plans having come to nothing, he had convinced the King of the cleverness of a patent method of salt production,
guaranteed, or so he claimed, to make all who would venture with him wealthy men.

‘We shouldn’t mock,’ Sybilla choked on a sweetmeat. ‘He should be paid for the entertainment value of his schemes and he would indeed be a wealthy man, salt or
not.’

In the morning, as they made for Kilmaurs, Munro reined in at Sybilla’s side. It was the first chance he’d had to speak to her in private since she left
Broomelaw.

That it was in her mind also was obvious. ‘How is your mother? Is there any change?’

‘A little more tired perhaps and less ready to have the bairns scrambling over her. I have sometimes thought, though I haven’t tried to discover the right or wrong of it, and maybe
couldn’t if I did try, for her servants are gey loyal; that she saves her appetite and her energies both for when we are there. . . . But what of you? Does Kilmaurs meet your expectations?
And the Cunninghames?’

‘I’m good. And it does, though,’ a worm of disquiet, laid to rest again as she continued, ‘I had forgot how good a cook could be till we went to Glengarnock.’

‘It wasn’t only yesterday’s bread then? I had a taste on my way and was the heavier for it.’

‘It’s as good a way as any to watch the figure, for there isn’t much inclination to over-eat.’

‘It will be good for Archie then, I had a fear he might run to fat.’ He was aware she hadn’t said anything of the Cunninghames and so asked again. ‘And the Cunning
hames?’

‘Lady Glencairn isn’t hard to please and,’ she nibbled at her lip, ‘I don’t have much to do with Glencairn himself, for he doesn’t spend much of his time at
home at present.’

‘And William?’

‘Nor William.’

Her voice was devoid of intonation, but he saw her stiffen. They had slowed without realising and were falling behind.

‘We should keep up,’ the twinkle was back in her eyes. ‘I may be free, but you have a reputation to guard. I wouldn’t wish to be the means of raising a rumour.’ She
moved ahead of him and, despite the twinkle, he had the suspicion that it was their conversation rather than other gossip that she wished to end.

When they rode in through the turn of the gateway and halted in the cobbled yard, two lads appeared immediately: one the boy from yesterday, clearly in charge, who signalled to the younger lad
to look to the children’s ponies but came forward himself to grasp Lady Glencairn’s bridle. He glanced at Munro and as quickly away again, as if afraid that he might make reference to
yesterday’s arrival.

William held himself upright against the doorframe. ‘Mother!’

‘You’re back? Business done?’ Without waiting for an answer, Lady Glencairn swept past him, indicating for Sybilla to follow.

Munro was startled by her tone. William swayed in the doorway as Sybilla approached, a snake poised to strike. She didn’t stop, only ducked her head and gathered her skirt more closely,
turning sideways to squeeze past. Archie stiffened.

On impulse, Munro turned. ‘I won’t bide,’ he said to Archie. ‘Make my excuses to Lady Glencairn. I was well fed at breakfast. Besides that,’ he tried to inject
humour into his voice, ‘Agnes has given me strict instructions not to dally.’

William’s attention switched to him. ‘You’re surely not at the beck of your servants?’

‘I am at no-one’s beck.’

‘Dangerous sentiment, Munro. It’s as well I don’t take you serious.’ He straightened up and waved his arm towards the stair. ‘Have a drink before you go.’

Archie added, ‘It will set you up for the ride.’ He half-turned, his back to William, spoke in an undertone, ‘You may be going, but I have to stay and William annoyed
isn’t pretty, drunk or sober. You can spare a minute or two.’

There was no sign of Lady Glencairn, nor Sybilla, when they entered the hall. The frown on William’s face deepened. ‘My mother forgets the courtesies.’

‘No matter,’ Munro hovered near the doorway. ‘No doubt she sees to the bairns.’

‘We have servants to see to the bairns.’ William flung himself down on the settle and snarled at Archie. ‘Are you still here?’

‘I thought . . .’

‘I don’t pay you to think. Nor to be social. Now get out and bring us a drink.’

William’s breathing was ragged and fumes of ale rolled from him in waves. ‘How long does it take to fetch a drink? That brother of yours isn’t very satisfactory.’

‘Perhaps he has been called on to provide another service.’

‘That slip with my mother, he aye wishes to serve her. As I do myself.’ His tone became confidential, ‘And she is willing, that I’ll wager. Redheads are aye
hot.’

Munro dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

‘You have another brat, I hear.’

A movement of air behind Munro, un-noted.

‘The bairn,’ he emphasized the word, ‘is a fine wee lass and sonsy with it.’

‘A lass,’ William licked his lips. ‘When she is full ripe, bring her to me: I’ll tell you if she be sonsy.’

Drunk or sober it was outrageous. Munro leapt forward and smashed his fist into William’s face, sending him sprawling against the angle of the window. He was hauling himself up as Munro
swung at him again, and this time William’s head splintered the glass behind him. He grasped the window frame, snarling, levering himself towards Munro, a cut on his head pouring blood.
Glencairn was between them, thrusting William back into the window reveal, closing it off with his arm. Archie grabbed Munro from behind, held him.