Free Joanna Fulford by His Lady of Castlemora Page A

immediately that he wasn’t looking at a friendly gathering.
    * * *
    Needing to escape from the confines of the still room Isabelle temporarily put aside her task. It afforded too much leisure to think. Fortunately there were other domestic arrangements to deal with, particularly the matter of the evening meal. With tensions running as they were she didn’t want to risk incurring her father’s displeasure through some perceived slight towards their guest. Therefore it behoved her to speak with the kitchen servants and soon.
    She hurried along the passageway to the outer door and had just gained the courtyard when she heard the sound of men’s voices. That wasn’t unusual in itself, but the tone was subtly different from their typical bantering exchanges. She paused, listening. The noise originated from the area behind the stables. It was the location that raised a question in her mind for it seemed covert somehow.
    For a moment or two she hesitated. It was not her part to interfere with men’s affairs, and ordinarily she stayed as far away from Murdo’s mercenaries as possible. Just as she was debating with herself what to do, she saw Ban. He was closer to the stables than she and evidently heading towards the source of the noise. Curiosity strove with caution. He would deal with it. She ought not to get involved. Yet somehow his being there made it harder to resist. She hesitated for a few more seconds. Then, against her better judgement, she followed him.
    Rounding the end of the building she was not surprised to see a large group of men, but her heart sank for it needed none to tell her they had not met in friendship or good humour. The very air seemed charged. The focus of attention seemed to be the Glengarron retainers. The two called Jock and Ewan were standing together, their expressions tense and angry. The third, Davy, was squared up to one of the Castlemora soldiers. She recognised the man, Taggart, for he had been one of those implicated in a rape case brought before her father. The case was dismissed for lack of evidence—it came down to three men’s sworn word against that of the plaintiff in the end—although Isabelle knew whom she most believed. The village girls avoided the mercenaries when possible, and with good reason.
    Her gaze moved from Taggart to Murdo, standing close by. He alone seemed quite at ease, almost as though the scene afforded him quiet amusement. Isabelle frowned and hastened forwards, but Ban was before her and she heard Murdo’s greeting.
    ‘Ah, well met, my lord.’
    Isabelle was both embarrassed and annoyed knowing beyond doubt that mischief was brewing here, though what the cause might be she could not tell. If Ban had detected anything amiss he gave no sign of it. She saw him acknowledge the master-at-arms with a slight inclination of the head. Then he turned his attention to his men.
    Both Jock and Ewan looked flinty, Davy slightly flushed. His glance flicked from Ban to Taggart, with whom, evidently, he had been in conversation a few moments before. The latter was older than Davy by at least ten years. Of a short stocky frame he was nevertheless well built and the weathered face bore an expression both crafty and malicious. Cold grey eyes surveyed the younger man, eyes that did not reflect the smile on the mouth below.
    Keeping his tone deliberately neutral Ban said, ‘What’s happening here?’
    ‘A friendly conversation, my lord, no more,’ replied the other.
    ‘Indeed?’ Ban glanced again towards his own men and saw their silent indignation. ‘What manner of conversation?’
    For a moment there was stony silence. Then Murdo spoke.
    ‘The discussion was about swordsmanship. Isn’t that right, Taggart?’
    The man grinned, revealing stained and rotting teeth. ‘Aye, sir.’
    ‘What about it?’ asked Ban.
    ‘’Tis just that we’ve all heard much about the mettle of Glengarron,’ Taggart replied.
    ‘And what have you heard?’
    ‘That they’re brave