A noise at the door interrupted their quarrel. Seumas stood there. He was wet through—was everyone soaking?—and he looked troubled.
“Mistress MacKallan,” he said, “there is a man at the door. A neighbor, William Duncan. He wishes to see the master, but I ken fine the master and the young master are in a meeting o’ gey importance.”
“Nay, do not interrupt the master. Wha’ does Farmer Duncan want?”
“He says Master Evan was at his place and—there was trouble.”
Lady MacKallan caught her breath. “I will see him. Pray, show him in.”
As soon as Seumas backed out, she glanced at Annista. “Hold yer tongue, for the love o’ God.”
“Maybe this Duncan has captured him.”
“Maybe he has not.”
A clatter of hasty feet heralded the arrival of the neighbor, who lapped Seumas and entered the solar with speed. A man of middle years, he was soaking wet, to be sure, with brown hair, a workman’s clothing, and desperate eyes.
Though he burst into the solar, he paused when he saw only the two women, both of whom leaped to their feet. “Mistress MacKallan! Where be your lord husband?”
“Master Duncan,” Mistress MacKallan returned. “Wha’ is the matter?”
Duncan’s eyes plumbed the room. “My lady, I wish to see your husband.”
“As I am certain our man has told ye, my husband is occupied with other business.” Mistress MacKallan directed a look at the footman, who hovered behind their guest.
“But, Mistress, ’tis gey important.”
“Aye, so I am given to understand. Pray, seat yoursel’. Will ye tak’ a draught o’ ale?”
“Nay…” Duncan reconsidered it. “Aye—’twould brace me.”
Seumas slipped away. Duncan, though, did not sit down. He seemed to choose his words, now, with greater care.
“Mistress, ye ken the young master—Master Evan, that is—has been on to our place before. When he was—no’ himsel’, mostly.”
Drunk, the man meant.
“Aye, so.” Mistress MacKallan looked miserable. “Troubled, my son has been.”
“Troubled, aye.” Duncan repeated it as if substituting it for a far more apt word. “Well, he did turn up at our place no’ long since. That is, I discovered him in my hay byre. Sheltering there, like. Fro’ the rain. I asked him—most politely, I do assure ye, for I had nay wish to anger him—why he was there and if he could please to leave, and he—”
“Go on, Master Duncan.”
“I would far rather tell your husband.”
Seumas had slipped back in behind him. Now a maid appeared with a mug of ale. Duncan took it from her and drank deep.
Mistress MacKallan waved the maid off, though she allowed Seumas to stay.
“He flew at me, Mistress MacKallan,” said their visitor, as if fortified by the drink. “He came at me like a fury. He had a hay rake in his hand—one o’ our own. I thought—I thought sure he would kill me.
“My lad Geoff was there, by the grace o’ God, and tackled him. Took him at the knees and down. But Master Evan struck him and—did my boy a terrible harm.”
An awful silence fell, so profound Annista heard it clearly when Mistress MacKallan drew breath.
“Is your son all right?”
“I canna tell. We put him on his bed, but one o’ the blows took him in the head. My other boy, Oliver, has gone for the physician. But—”
