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PROLOGUE
“If this weather is a portent of what is to come,” William Ballantine said miserably, “then God help us! Could he not have sent us a better day?” He looked up into the leaden sky, which was drenching them all with an unrelenting torrent of rain. Their woolen cloaks had long since become saturated and now weighed several pounds more than they had at the start of the journey. Their horses’ coats were dripping onto the ground as they picked their way along through a mire of squelching, sucking mud. It was impossible to urge them to go any faster on the slippery surface, so they proceeded at a slow, labored pace.
William’s father, Laird Malcolm Ballantine, managed a dry chuckle. “We need days like this, Son,” he remarked, “or the crops will not grow. Then everybody would starve, including the three of us.” He glanced sideways at his son and his friend, Bernard Taggart, grinning. “But think of the feast we will eat at the end of our journey and the fat feather beds we will sleep in. As well as all that, I have heard that Laird Stewart keeps the best wine cellar in a hundred miles.” He licked his lips in relish.
“You see the good side of everything all the time, Da.” William laughed, shaking his head at his father. “That tale may all be a pile of horse dung, and his wine might taste like vinegar!”
“We will take a bet on it,” the laird proposed. “A sovereign says the wine is the best we ever tasted.”
“And a sovereign says it is not,” William agreed.
They shook hands on the wager, laughing, just as the sun peeked out and speared them with a bright beam of light. Shortly thereafter, the rain began to lessen and finally stopped, and their heavy cloaks started to dry, steaming in the sunlight.
“Is it far to Howdenbrae now?” William asked.
He had been sitting in the saddle for most of the day, and as well as being drenched to the bone, his backside had become completely numb. He knew that he would have difficulty walking when he dismounted and doing anything more strenuous, like dancing, would be out of the question. Thank God the ceilidhs would not be starting for days yet since he had an inkling that it would take a long while for his posterior to regain all feeling!
“A matter of ten miles or so, I think,” Bernard replied. “But the mud on the road will slow us down a bit.”
“A bit? We should have taken the carriage,” William grumbled. “It would have been much more comfortable.”
“No doubt it would have been,” the laird replied, “but it would only take a single one of the wheels to become stuck in this mud and we would be in deep trouble. We would either have had to abandon the thing and walk the rest of the way or spend the whole day digging it out. How do you fancy that?” He looked across at his son, then at Bernard, who was taller and bulkier than both of them. “Maybe we could just leave it to you, Bernard.”
His suggestion was met with a snort from the big man, who could have knocked him over with one swipe of his left hand.
“I think not, M’Laird. These dainty hands of mine were not fashioned for digging.” He held them up for examination. The palms were broad, covered in calluses, and the fingers were long, with prominent knuckles. It was said that his right hook had once knocked a horse unconscious, although that was a fable. “These hands were made for caressing ladies,” he insisted, although he could not help chuckling.
William guffawed at his friend’s statement. “You could put those hands around a woman’s waist, and your fingers would meet in the middle! Caress? In your dreams, pal!”
Bernard was used to this kind of teasing and took no offense. He had just opened his mouth to answer when the laird interrupted.
“Excuse me, will you two stop rabbiting on?” Laird Ballantine grumbled. “If our plan works, we will be able to ride in as many carriages as we wish to soon.”
Once more, they grinned at each other. They could not have been mistaken for anything other than father and son since they resembled each other so closely. Both were of average height and build, with the same eyes that shaded from blue to grey according to their moods. They each had bright red hair, but Malcolm’s was showing a few threads of silver, and he wore a short, neat beard, whereas William’s hair was shaggier and he was clean-shaven.
Bernard was completely different. His hair was light brown and his eyes a shade that ranged from brown to green to amber, which all the young ladies loved. William had always found it strange that no woman had snagged his friend and hauled him down the aisle, but he had always said that he was waiting for the right woman.
“There is still a fair distance to travel,” the laird said ruefully. “I think my dreams of fat feather beds and downy blankets are not going to come true, at least not tonight. We may have to settle for the ground as a bed—wet ground at that. But then I have been a soldier, and I have done it many times before.” He sighed. “Sometimes I long for the simplicity of those days. I loved the comradeship of my fellow soldiers; their company was so easy. You could swear or get drunk or pass the time in many other delightful ways that are impossible in the company of ladies.”
“Do you ever regret marrying Mother?” William asked curiously. The thought had never occurred to him before, and it alarmed him somewhat.
“Not for a moment,” the laird replied with a sad sigh. “My Eileen was the best woman in the world.”
The rain had by now stopped altogether. They rode on for a while longer, and presently they arrived at a tumbledown wooden cottage they reasoned would at least give them shelter from the rain. Their two bodyguards, Stuart Wilson and Greg Martin, lit a fire and hobbled the horses, letting them wander and find grazing, then they ate quietly and took their blankets inside the ruined building.
They all sat and ate silently for a while, then William said, “What do you know about Laird Stewart? All I know is that the laird’s two sons are contesting the lairdship.”
“I know that Laird Stewart is meant to be an honest and fair-minded man,” Laird Ballantine replied, frowning. “He is well known for it. But as you already know, his sons are meant to be exactly the opposite. Completely empty-headed and stupid, it is said.”
“I can confirm that,” William said gloomily.
“And his daughter?” Bernard raised his eyebrows. “You have not spoken much of her.”
The laird sighed. “She could be a problem. Apparently she is a little more intelligent than her brothers, or so it is said.”
“I heard that she is quite lovely,” William said. “It does not matter much to me, of course, but men are more likely to look well on her if she is pretty. It will make our task more difficult if she is as clever as you sayandbeautiful. She may figure out our plan to elevate her stupid brothers and keep her out of the way, then find a way to sabotage us.”
“The brothers are twins,” his father said, sighing. “They are the ones we want to influence, of course, but she is definitely going to be a problem. I met her when she was about ten years old, and she was a little tigress even then.
