Free Chieftain by Arnette Lamb Page A

livestock.”
    “What of that bottomland near the loch?”
    So, he had been investigating her estate—the one subject that came easily. “I grow grain there and flax.”
    “And with no small success,” Brother Julian put in. “Each spring a merchant comes all the way from Glasgow to buy my lady’s white linen cloth. ’Tis highly prized.”
    Drummond emptied his goblet. “Cattle would prove more profitable.”
    Johanna waited for Evelyn to pour him more ale. “But it will not support the families who earn their winter livelihood by making flax into cloth.”
    “We could do both. Why not halve the land and import a small herd of Spanish beef? Grow your flax if you must, but raise cattle, too.”
    How dare he try to alter her well thought out plans? He cared nothing for the people here, their welfare and their self-respect. He should take his modern ideas and foist them off on his beloved Highland kin.
    “I’ll think about it. How fares your family, my lord?”
    “Well enough.” He shrugged, popped another onion into his mouth, and turned his attention to Brother Julian, who’d begun sawing at the trencher he shared with Alasdair. “Your ministry prospers?”
    “Indeed,” he said expansively. “My lady has provided a fine place of worship.” Then Brother Julian resumed his favorite topic. “Some of us in the spirituality believe the new king will favor a peace with all his subjects.”
    “’Tisn’t faith, but an empty treasury that concerns our sovereign,” said Drummond, casting a glance Johanna’s way.
    Did he expect her to comment? The troll could expect whatever the devil he wanted. She gave him a bland smile.
    “Why does His Majesty demand more revenues?” Brother Julian asked.
    Drummond picked a bone from the fish. Holding it before the light, he turned it this way and that. “To pay off the debt Edward the First left him. ’Tis said it’s two hundred thousand pounds.”
    “I want to go to Londontown and meet the king,” said Alasdair. “Can we go, Father?”
    “Only if your mother craves to see our sovereign again.”
    “Again?” Brother Julian dropped his knife. “Know you the new king, my lady? You never said as much.”
    Evasion seemed her only escape, for the topic was too dangerous for casual conversation. “Now where would I meet a king?”
    Drummond didn’t move so much as an eyelash, but his expression screamed accusation. “Pray let me refresh your memory. Edward the First brought his son with him to Scarborough Abbey when he fetched you to me. Both the king and his princely son escorted you to the Highlands and attended our wedding.”
    Her throat seemed to close. Gaining time to form a reply, she drank. “I had eyes only for my betrothed.”
    Drummond hadn’t expected flattery, for his face went blank with surprise.
    “Did the old king give you a present, Mother?”
    Recovering, Drummond said, “Aye, his son stayed with us for the better part of one winter. Your mother knew him well.”
    Fear stole Johanna’s breath. She couldn’t hold his gaze.
    Like a torch on a bleak night, Bertie’s voice flashed into the darkness. “They say the new king favors rustic crafts.”
    She could feel Drummond staring at her, compelling her to look at him. She stared at her left hand, which bore no ring, because Drummond hadn’t bothered to give one to Clare.
    Absently, Drummond said, “Edward the Second has been known to chop a tree and dig a ditch. Surely my lady can confirm that he is an accomplished sportsman?”
    Too distraught to reply, Johanna called for Evelyn to serve dessert.
    During the commotion of clearing the table, Johanna dredged up an old memory. She had met Prince Edward, but only by accident. Upon arrival at Scarborough Abbey, his father, King Edward I, had summoned both Johanna and Clare for a private audience. After studying them for the longest time, he had commanded Johanna to keep out of sight for the duration of his visit, and he made Clare swear never to