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You will see it crumbling if you do not treat your tenants better,Murdoch thought bitterly. He had seen the gaping holes in the thatch of cottage roofs and the crumbling walls that bordered the flooded fields of crops. As well as that, the weather had been exceptionally cold that year, and the crop yield had been poor. The laird’s steward, an excellent man called Colin Dempster, had made provision for such an eventuality. However, Laird McTavish had not handed out the shares of the stores as generously as he could have, and many of his tenant farmers were in dire straits. A few had even died of hunger.
“Some of the tenants are hungry, M’Laird,” he said, trying to keep his tone flat and neutral. “The harvest has been poor this year.”
“I know!” the laird snapped back. “But there is only so much I can do, Murdoch. They all have the means to fend for themselves.”
But how do you fend for yourself if all your fields are flooded?Murdoch thought angrily. He had often gone down to the low-lying crofts beside the River Mar to help shore up the flood defenses and to mend the holes in the thatched roofs of the cottages. The steward knew about his secret missions and kept his secret, but the laird did not.
“It would help,” the laird said threateningly, “if you leave that to me. These people work for me, Murdoch, not for you.”
Murdoch bowed his head, still seething.I might work for the laird, but I do not have to like him.
He drained his cup of ale and stood up. He dwarfed every other man at the table except Dougie, and as they all got to their feet, Laird McTavish studied him carefully.
He would have to keep an eye on Murdoch Holmes. He had always been a faithful servant, but there was something about the man that was beginning to trouble him. People changed, after all, and Holmes was a man like every other, even if he did have the strength of two men.
* * *
“We will have to start thinkin’ like bandits,” Dougie suggested as they rode along. “They managed tae sneak into the castle somehow, so we need tae work out what they wanted. It must have been the grain, or maybe the cheese or honey, but now they have made their position even worse. A’ that grain could have fed dozens o’ people, but now it has gone up in smoke.”
“Well, as the laird said, I think it is somebody with a grudge.” Murdoch’s voice was thoughtful. “But the food was not destroyed on purpose. No, there has to be some other reason. I am sure the laird has a strong room somewhere where he keeps his most treasured possessions.”
“Aye, but jewels wilnae feed ye,” Colin remarked.
They rode on, looking for anywhere they thought a rebel band could camp. The castle sat at the top of a cone-shaped hill and was in the best defensive position for miles around. The village of Craigmar sat at its foot, an untidy, sprawling little place that contained a tavern called the Rabbit’s Foot.
The inn brewed its own ale, which was considered to be the best in that part of the Highlands, and it was not unknown for travelers to come from miles around just to taste it.
Murdoch and Dougie, who were frequent customers, had no trouble fighting their way through the throng at the bar to be served. As regular patrons, they knew they would be attended to first.
Dougie grinned at Ally, the tavern keeper, who was sweating and flushed as he poured out goblet after goblet of delicious ale.
“Busy tonight?” Murdoch asked.
Ally gave him an old-fashioned look. “Aye, but it brings the coin in!” he answered, then smiled. “Nay rest for the wicked!”
He thumped two cups of ale in front of them, and they sat down, surveying the throng inside the bar. They were mostly local farmers whom both of the men knew, and none of them worked at the castle, so how could they have gained entrance?
