CALLING OUT THE ENEMY
The day was surprisingly warm, and Alf spent the afternoon in the courtyard with Lewis, the chief guard, scrubbing down their shields and sharpening swords. It was a painstaking business, bettered by the good company.
“A bad winter and a good spring, eh, sir?” Lewis said. His eyes wrinkled in the corners as he bent to scrape a particularly stubborn rust spot off the blade.
“So it is said,” Alf nodded. He smoothed sand over a notch in his wooden shield, wondering if any amount of polishing was going to get it out. He doubted it. However, today, he had hope enough for everything. He closed his eyes as he recalled the previous night he had spent with Ambeal. The reconciliation and the flame of their love, renewed, burned inside his stomach like a forge fire.
“Well, you seem cheerful with it, so that's a good sign,” the man grunted, kneeling up so he could reach for the long knife that lay on the bench beside them.
“I am cheerful,” Alf commented, scrubbing with a will at the shield.
“Makes light work,” Lewis nodded.
They were silent a while longer, Alf scrubbing away at the shield, his thoughts recalling every gasp and moan of the night before, the war chief busy with scrubbing at rust spots. Alf heard footsteps crossing the courtyard.
Probably just the maidservant off to the kitchen garden. All the same, those footsteps sound different.
He looked up in time to see Ambeal, light-footed, running over the flagging before them, long hair a pennant on the wind.
“Ambeal!” he said, squinting into the sunlight, a happy smile stretching his cheeks up in a grin.
“Alf!” Ambeal said. Close up, she seemed worried. Alf frowned, wondering why.
“What is it, dear?”
“Beiste,” she said succinctly. “He's here.”
Alf frowned. He stood, setting the shield aside. He had something to say about that. He turned to Lewis, an apology on his lips.
“I need to go now,” he said softly. “I'll finish later.”
“Very good, sir,” the chief guardsman grunted. He bent his graying head over the blade again.
“Ambeal?” he asked, frowning as he caught up with her. “Why? Do you know?”
Ambeal shook her head. “I don't, no.”
Alf went with her as, together, they went through the main doors into the castle. Ahead of her, he frowned down where she stood on the lower rung of the steps.
“Ambeal,” he said gravely. “Please, don't let yourself be close to him alone. Keep away from him. He means you ill.”
Ambeal nodded. She looked afraid and Alf felt a tremor of nerves down his own spine. She really was fearful of this man. She nodded. “I'll stay away,” she promised.
“My lady!” A maid, Mrs. Ainsely's daughter, appeared. “Oh, there you are. The master called you to the solar.”
Ambeal nodded to her. “I'll go.”
Alf looked at her. She nodded fractionally as if she heard the unspoken question that he posed.
“I'll also come,” he said.
Ambeal breathed out, seeming relieved as he joined her in the hallway. Together they went up the long and winding staircase to the upper colonnade.
“Thank you,” she whispered at the head of the hallway.
“It's nothing, dear.”
Ambeal gripped his hand and they walked along the long, well-lit colonnade together.
At the solar, Ambeal hung back. Alf stood behind her, feeling the way her whole body went rigid with fear on simply smelling him. He rested a hand on her shoulder, feeling an almost unreasoning anger at anyone who made her so afraid.
“I'll come too,” he said.
Ambeal gripped his fingers with her hand and nodded. “Thank you, dear.”
Together they walked into the solar.
The light streamed in through the long windows, casting wavering shadows on the floor. In the blaze of it, a man sat on the settle. Her father stood at the edge of the room, squinting into the light.
“Ah, daughter...” he began. His eyes fell on Alf and he stopped, hesitant.
“Allow me to express my gladness upon seeing you again, in such rare health,” a man said. Someone – Alf presumed this to be Beiste - had stood up smoothly from the place he had occupied on the settee, long legs unfolding from where they'd been crossed before him. He smiled down at Ambeal, his eyes filled with apparent warmth. Alf, he ignored.
“Ambeal is very well,” Alf said stubbornly. “My lord,” he added with a trace of irony.
Beiste looked at him, his long, grim face showing no real expression. Only his eyes danced.
“Ambeal,” he said, turning to her. “Come, sit down. I hope you are not tired by this sudden warmth in the air?” he indicated the blazing sunlight that poured down through the arches.
“I find the warmth invigorating,” Ambeal said lightly. “As well you know, Beiste. How many summers did we spend in the fields, as children?”
Alf felt his own heart ache at that. This was someone she had known as a child. Someone to whom she had given the precious gift of her trust. Only, he had twisted it, used it to try and steal her birthright and her choices in her own life!
Beiste smiled, though it was not a smile that reached his eyes, not a pleasant smile. “I recall,” he said. “Though I do recall your delicate nerves were agitated by the heat you enjoyed back then.”
Ambeal blinked. “That's not true,” she said.
Alf saw Beiste look at her father, as if in confirmation of some long-held suspicion. Her father nodded.
“Daughter, you are not well. Come; let Beiste take you down to the great hall. Luncheon has been set out there.”
Ambeal stared at him. “Father...” she protested.
Beiste was there at her side. “Come, dear. I'll help you down. We have so much to discuss, you and I. Many plans...” he trailed off as Alf clenched his fist, standing in the way.
“Sir,” Beiste said, his voice growing ice. “I do not believe we've met. I do know you're in my way. Now step aside, please, and we will make acquaintance later.”
His eyes, baneful and expressionless, seemed to suck at Alf's soul, draining its warmth. He glared back.
“We have not met, no,” he said. “And I am in your way. I'll clear off when you leave the lady to speak for herself. She's most capable.”
Beiste laughed. He bit his lip. “Oh, dear,” he said ruefully. “I see you are mistaken. The lady has need for assistance. If you've been informed otherwise, you were lied to.”
Ambeal looked up at Alf, her face a picture of horror. Alf looked back, eyes shining.
“Lady Ambeal tells the truth,” he said thinly. “As you should now. Now, let her go.”
Ambeal looked a warning at him, but Alf stood firm. He stared down Beiste, who stepped back, snorting in distaste.
“Fine,” he said, though his voice was so brittle Alf thought it might shatter in the open, like a badly tempered steel sword.
He said nothing, but stood back to let Ambeal pass. She stepped past both of them and, head held high, headed to the door. At the door she stopped, and turned.
Alf was standing in front of Beiste. The thane had crossed the room and stood on his left. His one hand on his hip, his presence radiated anger and threat. Alf looked back at Ambeal, rather glad she'd stopped there. The air smelled of murder, loosely held.
“Ambeal,” he said quietly. “I'll follow you.”
Ambeal stayed where she was, waiting. Tense with frayed nerves, Alf made himself walk past Beiste. The man looked at him with eyes narrowed murderously, and Alf almost felt that that stare cut him. He walked out of the room.
“Alf,” Ambeal whispered as they walked down the hallway together. “You mustn't test him.”
“I can't help it,” Alf said grimly back. “That man's looking for trouble. If I didn't, he'd start it anyway.”
He wasn't sure if that was true – he had been provocative to Beiste, intentionally so. However, he suspected he was right. He wanted a fight. He wanted to clear the place of all opposition to Lady Ambeal's hand. If Brodgar had wed her, it would have been the same, Alf thought slowly. However, he had to wonder if Beiste would have tried so desperately to separate Ambeal from his cousin, with whom she had only had the most tentative bond of friendly acquaintance.
Does he hate me for my interference? Or because it is obvious, the depth of our regard, mine for Ambeal, and she for me? Is he jealous?
He had no idea. All he could do was walk, tense and with his back alert for strikes from Beiste, who walked three or four paces away from him, to the great hall, behind Ambeal.
In the hall, all the men-at-arms were assembled at the benches and a great feast had been laid out. Alf felt his mouth water as his nose carried the scents of roasting, baking and spice toward his stomach. He felt his stomach rumble ambivalently, and looked across at Ambeal. Her face was white, cheek tense, as if she held back her instincts to either fight or run.
He looked into her eyes, his own eyes soft with care. Hers were tense, closer to gray than brown, her pupils spiraled down to points of tension. He could see how drawn she was, how clearly terrified of Beiste she had become.
The more he saw of her response, the more he felt he hated the man. He glanced back at him, but he was behind in the dimmer shadows of the hall, talking to someone.
Ambeal stepped up on the dais, and Alf followed. The steward, Roderic, was already there. He bowed and shuffled round to his lordship's seat, clearly wanting to put in a word. The thane joined him. Beiste took the place beside Ambeal and Alf stubbornly sat opposite. That put him at the left hand of the thane.
“Friends!” the thane declared as the steward left, his message clearly delivered. “Welcome to my hall! We celebrate another visit from my exemplary ward, Beiste, heir to the clan McGormond.”
The men-at-arms knocked on the wooden tables, their tapping growing to a roar that signified approval. Alf closed his ears to it, unable to help wondering if he would be as welcome. He sought Lewis at the benches and saw him, a dim outline against the darkness of the place, lit only by clerestory window or by the licking, shifting light of the vast hearth fire.
“Well, then!” the thane shouted, grinning and clearly pleased by the positive reception. “With no further ado, welcome! Let us eat.”
A roar went up from the assembled men and Alf noticed that the servants were there also, at another table further to his right. The visit from Beiste was clearly meant to be an important event. Why though?
Alf looked about, feeling uncomfortable. On his left, the thane was sitting, eyes narrowed with resentment, a festering rage loosely held in the semblance of polite restraint. Opposite him, Beiste was glaring with unconcealed hate. Ambeal, sitting between the two, looked at her plate, head bowed.
The sight of that fired anger in Alf he had not thought possible to feel. All courtesy went out of him and he wanted to strike, to maim, to kill. How dare they reduce her to a shadow of herself? The Ambeal he knew was bright as sunlight on a lake, as effusive and as irrepressible.
The Ambeal who sat between these two was reduced, silent, gray in their shadows. He would not have it.
His lordship had raised a goblet and held it out.
“A toast,” he said thinly. “To our illustrious future.”
“To the future,” Beiste said, a small grin illuminating his face.
“Future,” Ambeal said. Her eyes were pools of shadow and Alf felt his heart clench with concern for her.
“To the future,” he said stiffly. His voice rang with hope.
They all drank.
Down in the hall, the men were murmuring, talking among themselves, and food was circulating, brought in by the serving men who walked out from the arches in the back. Alf felt his own stomach roil with anticipation and was relieved when a man stepped out from the shadow of the wall to bring the first course of fish soup to the table.
As they ate, Beiste related some incident from his year's visit to the castle at Edinburgh.
Alf didn't listen. He sat and watched him. Watched the way the two men talked among themselves as if Ambeal was not even there. Beiste reached across her for the dish of salt where it sat, pride of place, beside her father's dish. His arm reached past her and then withdrew and neither man said so much as “pardon me”. Alf tensed
They both seek to use her for their own gain. She is a piece in their struggle for power, to be traded. Nothing more. I love her.
He looked across the table as Beiste scraped back his chair, sighing contentedly, and his eyes met hers. He gave a small, uncertain smile. She looked into his eyes. He could almost see the color return to her face. He let out a weary sigh. At least the old Ambeal was still in there, ready to resurface when she could.
The meal stretched out in uncomfortable tension, course following course and finally dessert. Alf stretched his legs under the table, feeling restless. He'd spoken maybe three words the entire time.
When the dinner was over, the thane stood.
“Friends,” he announced to the group at large, his big, genial voice filling the hall and echoing up to the rafters. “I am about to take my leave! But that does not impinge on my hospitality. Stay awhile, enjoy! We'll feast again, doubtless, before long.”
Alf felt his own brows shoot up. What was it that the thane was so sure they'd celebrate, so soon?
The thane left and Ambeal pushed back her chair, looking desperately at Alf, who understood. She didn't want to be stuck here with Beiste. She also wished to leave. Alf stood first, scraping back his chair over the wooden, rush-strewn boards below them.
“I am tired,” he said clearly but thinly. “I will retire. Excuse me.” He gave Beiste a cold-eyed stare.
“I also will retire,” Ambeal said quickly. She stood and, before Beiste could stop her, hurried to the edge of the dais.
Beiste stood, too. He followed her. Alf let her past, and then stood at the head of the stairs, blocking his passage down behind her.
The two men glared at each other.
“You will leave her alone,” Alf said.
“You will not meddle in my concern,” Beiste said, voice hard as he stared him down. “I warn you.”
Alf stared back at him. His back tensed and he felt his hair stand on end with the threat, but he held his ground. “Did I say I that was not a warning?”
He turned and walked out of the room.
In the hallway, he caught up with Ambeal, who was running, quickly, to the stairs.
“Ambeal!” he called. “Wait.”
She turned round. Her eyes were damp with tears. “I must get away,” she said.
Alf caught up with her. He held her against his chest while she sobbed and sobbed. He didn't move, just let her sob against his chest, all her rage and fear draining as he held her close.
She looked up at him, frightened. “Alf,” she whispered. “What is happening? What do they plan?”
Alf sighed. “I don't know,” he whispered gently. “All I know is, we won't let them.”
“Alf,” she whispered. “Please. Don't do anything dangerous. You've seen him. How unpredictable he is. Please. I need you to live. I don't care about them, one way or the other. Just, don't risk it.”
Alf sighed. “I cannot leave them,” he said softly. “I cannot let this go unanswered.”
“Alf, please,” she said. “Don't do something foolish.”
Alf sighed. He looked down into her eyes. “I promise I won't take any unnecessary risks.”
She sniffed. “Thank you.”
She still looked worried, though, and, as he led her up the stairs to their chamber and shut the door, very gently, behind him, heading to the window and looking out, he brooded.
He would not take unnecessary risks. However, that did not mean he would do nothing about this. He would take the very necessary risks.
He would not let Beiste get away with what he was trying to do. He would stop him. Whatever the cost. It was necessary. He would fight him if he had to. If it had to happen.
Somewhere, in the back of his heart, he knew it would, the man was itching for a fight, and he was ready – more than ready – to give him that.