Story Update: Forging the Blade: Kithe and Kin, Chap. 4, 2/3
kageorge (kageorge@EROLS.COM)
Wed, 21 Nov 2001 10:11:12 -0400
Forging the Blade: Part II
Kithe and Kin
by MacGeorge
See acknowledgements and disclaimers in Part 0.
~~~~~~~
The letter requesting an appointment with the 6th Earl of Huntly had
been sent to Holyroodhouse, where, by the King’s Grace, his Lordship was
currently housed. A response had been received in only a couple of days,
but it took that long for Connor to make certain his best suit – the
same doublet and cape he had worn when Duncan had first seen him at Glen
Fruin – was cleaned and repaired, and that Duncan was outfitted in a
fresh plaid and a nice linen shirt, complete with lace jabot. The
dangling lace bothered his kinsman until Connor had to slap his hands to
keep him from constantly tugging at it. He had also gotten the lad a
much-needed new leather baldrick, cloak and knee-high boots.
Duncan paced the small room in his new finery while Connor pulled on his
hose and doublet and carefully tied his cape. He put on his hat, but
Duncan frowned at him, reached out to cock it at a slightly different
angle, then stepped back. “Well, you look like an damned fool, but I
guess that’s the point, aye?”
Connor couldn’t help but grin at his student. Duncan’s disdain for
‘gentlemen’ was partly born from his upbringing and partly from a fear
of being put in a situation where he would be ridiculed. And Duncan
MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had only his name and his pride to which he
could claim true ownership.
“You are to look the part of the fierce clansman. You need do naught but
stand at my back and look threatening.”
“Aye, well I suppose I can do that well enough,” Duncan agreed with a
grin.
“And don’t say a word,” Connor looked threateningly up into Duncan’s
dark eyes. Duncan met his glare for a minute, but then his gaze shifted
away.
“And what would I have to say to the likes of the Earl of Huntly?”
Duncan pronounced the title with a waggle of his head and a casting of
his eyes to the ceiling.
“Yes, well,” Connor looked Duncan up and down, dubiously. He wasn’t
certain taking Duncan with him was a good idea, but it would be a
learning experience, and if the Earl, who was not known for being a man
of particular honor or honesty, thought Connor was backed by a little
family muscle, well it could do no harm. And Duncan cleaned up nicely,
he decided.
The liveried guard only gave them a cursory look as they entered the
large foyer to Holyroodhouse. The large hall, with its decorated plaster
ceiling and heavy crystal chandeliers, was filled with milling courtiers
awaiting an audience with various representatives of their Scots-born
King – a fledgling monarch, raised in the English royal court, an ardent
Episcopalian who had yet to make it to the land of his birth since his
father’s demise. Instead, he had delegated favors and titles to various
members of the nobility who shared his distaste for the ‘bloody,
barbaric Gaels.’
With few exceptions, most of the great houses of Scotland were ardently
Protestant, if not Calvinist, and viewed the Episcopal Church as only
one step removed from popery. The new king’s Episcopal leanings not only
offended their religious sensibilities, but if Charles revoked the
current system of land grants, as every Scottish King was expected to do
at the age of 25, and replaced it with one that took control of the
tiends, or religious tithing, out of the hands of the Protestant
nobility, there could very well be a revolt. And Scots were not known
for their restraint when it came to bloodletting.
Navigating the murky, turbulent waters of royal, religious and clan
politics was a dangerous enterprise, Connor mused as he felt Duncan’s
looming presence one pace behind his left shoulder, instinctively
guarding his weak side. Eyes turned at their entrance to the Grand
Gallery, voices lowered slightly and the several women present lifted
their fans in a noticeable flutter of movement. Connor felt a bit of a
fool, despite his assurances to his clansman. Most of the men here were
dressed in European high fashion, and after spending a year in rough
woven wool and well-used leather, all the silks and satins, the wigs,
the perfumes and the exaggerated manners and subtle innuendoes of court
intrigue were simultaneously ridiculous and daunting.
“Connor? Connor MacLeod, is that you?” a young voice called, and Connor
turned, to see a handsome young man, fair of hair and face, dressed in a
bronze colored doublet shot through with tiny gold threads, making it
almost sparkle in the light from the high windows that lined one side of
the long room. A wide, silk collar, edged with fine lace, framed the
young man’s face, which was, itself, edged with a carefully groomed
mustache and goatee, although the youth looked hardly old enough to
sprout enough facial hair to manage it.
“My Lord Montrose,” Connor bowed over his leg, managing to sharply elbow
his student in the gesture, hoping that Duncan might manage to bend his
stiff, proud neck. “You made it safely back from Vienna, I see.”
“With the assistance of your good offices, yes, I did. The arrangements
you made for our transport were splendid.” The nobleman turned to the
young woman at his side, her dark curls framing a round, pretty face and
big, green eyes. She hardly looked a day over fifteen, but the artful
use of her fan and the twinkle in her eyes bespoke of a sophisticated
familiarity with the courtship rituals of the nobility. Her eyes kept
wandering to somewhere over Connor’s left shoulder, and he suspected
that, once again, his kinsman was going to create trouble with no effort
at all.
“And this is your lovely bride?” Connor asked, bowing more deeply. “You
are indeed a fortunate man, my Lord.”
“Yes. My dear, this is Connor MacLeod. I told you about him. The man I
hired as guide, translator and personal guard during my travels in
Italy. He got me into…and out of, several close calls, as I remember.”
“Ah, it seems our memories differ slightly in some respects, my Lord.
The incident at the Doges’ Palace in Venice was none of my doing.”
“But you were the one who introduced me to…,” Lord Montrose’s eyes
darted towards his new wife, and his face colored. “Perhaps you are
right, Connor. In any event, we had a grand time, eh? I’m headed back to
the Continent in a few months. Perhaps you would consider joining my
party?”
“With respect and regret, my Lord,” Connor inclined his head with a
smile. “I must decline. My kinsman and I are in the midst of dealing
with a…complex inheritance matter in the Highlands which requires our
presence.”
“Ah, this is your kinsman, then?” Lady Montrose finally spoke, her fan
fluttering across her bosom.
Connor felt his smile stiffen slightly, wondering how much damage
control would be required as a result of his student’s first encounter
with nobility, and a flirtatious female at that, but he nodded and
stepped aside. “Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, I have the honor of
introducing James Graham, Earl of Montrose and his lovely wife…” Connor
paused, waiting for the Earl to supply a name. Instead, the lady in
question stepped forward and offered her hand.
“Magdalene Carnegie Graham,” she supplied in a low tone, “of Kinnaird.
Are you from the Isle of Skye then, sir?” she asked Duncan. “I visited
Dunvegan Castle a couple of times with my father, and I am certain I
would recall had I seen you there.”
Connor’s jaw clenched at the child’s open flirtation, but the Earl
seemed only amused at his young wife’s actions. Even so, Connor was
tempted to close his eyes, and found himself holding his breath as
Duncan was confronted with the beautifully gowned and bejeweled young
woman with the forward manners. But a startled look quickly disappeared
behind lowered eyes as Duncan took her hand and bowed over it as
gracefully as any seasoned courtier. “Nay, my Lady. My origins are far
more humble, though nonetheless deserving.”
The Earl of Montrose chuckled. “Well spoken, my friend. You will forgive
my lady. She is famous for being forward, especially when confronted by
a bra’ Highland warrior so well turned out in full regalia, whatever the
current court fashions.”
Lady Montrose cast an affectionate glance at her husband. “The ladies at
court may all titter at a nicely stitched doublet and well-filled silk
hose, but I believe our Highland men are certainly fine specimens of
manhood, especially…well, let’s just say I’m delighted to see you at
Holyroodhouse, Mr. MacLeod,” she said as she tapped Duncan gently on the
chest with her fan, her eyes bright with a flirtatious smile.
“I am honored,” Duncan stammered slightly, then stepped back, his cheeks
flaming, his lowered eyes darting to Connor with a silent plea for
rescue. While the lad had a way with barmaids and Highland lasses,
dealing with the innuendoes of a teenaged wife of an Earl clearly was
beyond his ken.
Connor barely controlled a small smile before he once again stepped up
and engaged the Earl in earnest conversation about the current favorites
and outcasts among the various factions in both Edinburgh and London,
again feeling Duncan silently trail behind, albeit slightly further away
than before. Despite the Earl’s youth, he was quite knowledgeable about
court politics and Connor soon confided in him about his appointment.
“The Earl of Huntly?” the Earl frowned. His hands were folded behind him
and he thoughtfully led Connor away from the small clusters of men who
had formed near the doorway to the palace’s inner apartments. “Well,
he’s back in favor with the new King, after being in exile in his lands
in the north for a number of years. He is, like many of us, cash poor,
which is why he must have gotten involved in brokering imports and
exports. Your captain must be Catholic, and mistrusting of Heriot’s
Calvinist connections. I can think of no other reason he would trust
your affairs to that man.”
“I agree, my Lord. But the letters of agreement regarding the shipment,
and the instructions regarding its disposal, and the allotment of
expenses and profits, is very clear,” Connor supplied. “He would be
eligible for the usual fee, but no more.”
“Unless he simply lies about how much the goods brought. And if you keep
calling me, ‘my Lord,’ I’ll have to cuff you, you know. You haven’t
called me that since you pulled me out of those disgusting canals of
Venice.”
Connor smiled down at his friend. “We are in public, Jamie,” he said
quietly. “And you were always less mindful than you should be of your
station.”
Montrose made a rude noise. “Somehow, I doubt your kinsman is too
impressed with my station,” he observed, watching over Connor’s shoulder
with an amused smile.
Connor turned to see Duncan surrounded by a gaggle of fan-fluttering
young women, clearly led by Jamie’s young wife, who clung possessively
to Duncan’s arm. His student looked like he was uncertain whether he
should be flattered or terrified as he murmured polite responses to the
battery of questions, comments and seductive laughter that floated
around him. Connor cocked his head back at the young Lord, who returned
his questioning look with a laugh.
“My Magda loves to flirt, but I’ve never doubted her loyalty or love. I
am a very fortunate man, MacLeod. While our marriage was approved by our
parents, we have been friends since childhood. And as soon as I saw your
young clansman stride in, full of pride, dressed in his finest philabeg,
I knew he would be too tasty a morsel not to show off to her friends.”
Jamie shook his head with a small frown. “Court life does not suit me,
Connor. I’m afraid ever since James VI became King of both Scotland and
England, Edinburgh has become infested with Sassenachs and their
manners, their religion, and their attire. Personally, I’d prefer a nice
boar hunt, or a night of drink down at the tavern over a royal court
ball.”
“I recall a few nights in taverns in Rome, my Lord, that…”
“Your memory was always remarkable, given your capacity for drink,
Connor MacLeod, but there are some misadventures I would as soon not
recall.”
Just then, the door to the inner apartments opened and a servant
announced, “His Lordship will see Connor MacLeod!”
With a slight bow to the Earl, Connor stepped up, and somehow Duncan
managed to disengage himself from the ladies’ clutches in time to
accompany him through the carved oak door to the inner chamber, where
they found the Earl of Huntly reading several pages of correspondence by
the light streaming in from a high window. The view looked out over a
carefully manicured lawn, complete with paths winding through bushes and
flowerbeds laid out in intricate designs that mimicked the great gardens
of Versailles.
A fire crackled in a huge marble fireplace, but provided little warmth
to the large room. The Earl turned to them, then crossed to an ornately
carved desk and let the papers flutter to its surface.
Connor stopped halfway into the room and made the proper bow. “My Lord,”
he acknowledged. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
The earl was dressed in a long, heavily embroidered waistcoat of soft
blue, with matching silk hose. He was in his mid-fifties, at least, and
his face was hard and laced with deep lines around his nose and mouth.
He had affected a long wig of dark brown curls that cascaded over his
shoulders. Lace frothed at his neck and wrists, and emphasized his
gesture that Connor take a seat in front of the desk. Connor took a
quick look back, and noted with approval that Duncan had taken a
wide-legged stance some distance behind Connor’s chair.
“I am pleased to see you, actually. I received correspondence from your
Captain O’Brien over six months ago, and was becoming concerned that you
had met with a misadventure in the Highlands. They can be very
dangerous, as we both know.”
Indeed. Connor smiled tightly. Huntly’s lands in the far north were held
by main force, and against the wishes of local clan chiefs. There were a
number of stories of the extremes Huntly had gone to in his quest to
secure, or even expand, his holdings. “I am touched by your concern, my
Lord. However, I have never feared for my safety, as I have the loyalty
of my clansmen to call upon, should the need arise.”
Huntly’s eyes flickered briefly to the large, muscular fighter stationed
at Connor’s back. “No doubt,” he smiled tightly, showing short, ragged
teeth. “But the shipment made it safely to its destination, and your
captain secured decent prices in Lisbon, Le Havre and London. His
accounting is complete, I believe.” Huntly handed over the sheaf of
papers he had been examining upon their entry.
It would be rude to examine them in the Earl’s presence, so Connor
folded them carefully and slipped them into his pocket. “O’Brien is a
good man,” Connor agreed. “I have worked with him several times in the
past and he has always proven reliable. If you will forgive me, my Lord,
what is your connection with him?”
Huntly smiled, and the showing of his uneven teeth was slightly
disconcerting. “I purchased the note on his ship last year, and part of
our agreement with regard to repayment was that I was to be the agent
for his future transactions.”
“I see. But this particular transaction was contracted well over a year
ago,” Connor smiled back at his host, also showing his teeth.
“It seemed…easier to just assume that all Captain O’Brien’s business
would be transacted through me. I assure you that the terms of the
agreement will remain the same.”
Connor didn’t like it, but hardly had any grounds for objection. “I
assume then, that the proceeds from the sale, less the stipulated
commission for Captain O’Brien, and your own fee, will be made
available…say tomorrow?”
The Earl stood, prompting Connor to stand, as well. “Tomorrow it is,
then, Mr. MacLeod. I believe 3 o’clock will be most convenient. Oh, and
Mr. MacLeod?” Huntly added with another feral smile, “It is unnecessary
to bring a bodyguard into the Palace. You are in a civilized city, not
among unwashed barbarians.”
Connor met the Earl’s cold gaze with one of his own. “Are we?” he asked.
“I have found many a barbarian walking palace halls, dressed in fine
silks, just as I have found more nobility in the Highlands than I have
found…” he glanced around the finely furnished room. “…elsewhere. Good
day to you, my Lord.” He bowed, wanting to say more, but the
disadvantage of dealing with nobility made that impractical. He pivoted
around and left without a backward glance, trusting that Duncan would
follow. He didn’t slow until they were outside the gates of
Holyroodhouse, and among the crowds at the bottom of the Royal Mile.
“That Huntly’s a nasty, pompous ass,” Duncan growled at his shoulder.
Connor glanced at his kinsman. In his preoccupation of trying to figure
out what the Earl’s hidden agenda might be, he had almost forgotten
Duncan’s presence.
“Aye, well, best to stay out of his way, if we can,” he answered.
“But surely he is…” Duncan waved his hands in frustration, unable to
determine exactly what the man was trying to do.
“Yes, he surely is,” Connor smiled, then clapped his kinsman on the
shoulder. “I need a drink, my friend, and you must tell me about your
conversation with all those lovely young ladies.”
Inspecting all the taverns along the Royal Mile appeared to have become
Duncan’s current goal in life, so Connor was content to trail along with
his outgoing student, sampling each publican’s special brew until they
all seemed to blur together. It was getting late, he was getting tired
and ready to head to their rooms, but Duncan was still going strong,
when he felt a nudge at his elbow. He turned to see Jamie Graham, Earl
of Montrose, dressed in a simple kilt and coat, take a place by him on
the bench.
“Jamie! Out for a night on the town, eh? You might want to join Duncan,”
he added with a smile as the large group in the corner of the tavern
broke into a bawdy song.” Duncan and Jamie were not that far apart in
age, and the two of them were alike in many ways. The young Earl was
forthright, honest, a natural leader who was easy and comfortable with
commoners and enjoyed the company of his guards more than that of the
court toadies that bowed and scraped every time he entered a room.
“He looks like he’s having a good time,” Jamie noted as he poured
himself a mugful of ale from the pitcher on the table. “But that’s not
what I came for. I’ve been looking for you all evening. One of my men
had a chat with Huntly’s clerk, and I think I may know what the man is
up to, and it is’na good.”
“Perhaps we better talk somewhere where there are fewer listening ears,”
Connor replied softly, and led his friend out of the pub and into the
dark street, where they slipped into a side alley. “What is it, Jamie?”
he asked, once they had both peered around the shadows to make certain
they were alone.
“The clerk said Huntly had bought up several notes of various ships
hauling goods. Then Huntly investigated each of the primary merchants,
and insisted that he handle the disposition for several of them. It
seems that each of them is unmarried, and without issue or heir.
Actually, I should say ‘was,’” Jamie corrected himself. “For each met up
with a mysterious death before the proceeds of sale could be
distributed. The funds are then left in the control of the middle man
until heirs are found, but if there are no heirs…,” Jamie shrugged.
“The murdering bastard!” Connor hissed.
“I have several men with me,” Jamie added quickly. “They are absolutely
loyal to me and will keep you safe until you have your proceeds.”
“No,” Connor shook his head. “Everyone knows who your men are, and you
do not want to make an enemy of Huntly. You are a natural leader, Jamie,
and a good man. Scotland needs you, and you need to stay clear of all
this intrigue so long as Huntly is a favorite of Charles. But here.”
Connor took his purse out from under his doublet cape, and extracted
only a few coins. “I would consider it a favor if you would hold onto
this for me.”
“Dammit, Connor, I will not let Huntly murder you for the sake of a few
pounds. The man should be hanged for what he is doing!”
“And you know as well as I that without proof, nothing will be done, and
that murders and disappearances are common enough that pure coincidence
isn’t enough. But if you get in the man’s way you might just step
straight into the path of a dirk in the ribs. No, Jamie, do not fear for
me. You know I can take care of myself.”
“You are as fine a swordsman as I have ever known, Connor, and as wily a
fighter as I ever hope to see, but…”
Connor clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Just bring me back my purse
tomorrow night, and you can buy me a drink in celebration, eh?”
“Connor, please reconsider…”
“No, Jamie. I want you and your men to stay far out of this. I have my
own plans to deal with the Earl. Trust me.”
The Earl of Montrose gave him a long look, then sighed and shook his
head. “You have never let me down Connor MacLeod, and if you ask me to
trust you, that must be what I will do. Tomorrow night then. Here, at
sunset?”
“I’ll be here.”
~~~~~~~
...Continued in Part 3