THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

the Bruce claimed his strength in numbers to be, nor his conveniences to be.
    “John, we need camp on opposing sides. I’ll not be traipsing across the damn valley every time I want to work my mount, so the answer is nay to ye stabling our cattle. As for the purses, I’ll not concede that either. ‘Tisna lack of trust on my part for ye, but for yer man. Though of Albany’s house, he is a newcomer. I ken Isaac’s honesty. He has repeatedly demonstrated his loyalty, and desire to remain within my holding. Ye canna say the same of William Kerr.”
    “True, but what if yer man takes it into his head to weigh my portion with his finger on the scales?”
    Isaac, fists clenched, came to his feet. Duncan couldn’t blame his friend for feeling insulted but waved him down. “Nay.” Turning his attention back to the Bruce he murmured, “By all means have ye man at Isaac’s side then, but Isaac collects and holds.”
    “Agreed.”
    Duncan narrowed his eyes, wondering what the Bruce plotted for ‘twas too swift a concession. He would have to see Isaac well guarded at the tournament, which posed another problem, of leaving Blackstone with less experienced men than he’d like. Damnation. Or did the Bruce really believe him easily defeated?
    “So ‘tis agreed,” Duncan murmured, holding up his chalice. “We willna be paired in hand-to-hand, but have our lots drawn by the List Mistress. We will pair—-with ye first—in all mounted contests, arriving with face plates up, bring our own heralds, hold our own cattle, and Isaac holds the purses.”
    The face shield idea had been Angus’s. ‘Twould be a hell of a thing for him to fight hard all day only to be challenged by the Bruce—-to have steel put on their lances tips in the final round—only to lose thinking he faced the Bruce when, in fact, he faced a fresh opponent. And the Bruce had several good men to choose from.
    “Aye, ‘tis agreed,” the Bruce affirmed raising his own goblet. They drank deep, both parched from all the talk. “Shall we join the ladies now?”
    “Why not.”
    They rose and the Bruce laughed, “’Twasna so bad, aye?” He then delivered a powerful slap to Duncan’s left shoulder.
    It took everything Duncan had to keep his face serene and not drop to his knees. Damn the man! He now had no doubt that the Bruce kenned his injury, but he could spare no energy in wondering how.
    He forced a smile, hoping he hadn’t gone pale. The pain radiating down his back and left arm was such that had he had a dirk on his person he would have gladly buried it to the hilt in the Bruce. Then twisted it. Thrice.
    Entering the hall, they found all before his lady wife; some in chairs, others on the floor, and some like Angus, with tears in his eyes, leaning against the wall. Apparently hearing his approach, his second in command straightened and blinked furiously. Angus nodded, thumping a closed fist over his heart. His friend’s signal confirmed what his eyes could see, that all was as it should be.
    He turned his attention to Beth wondering what she could possibly be saying to hold the assembly so enthralled, for Angus wasna the only one who appeared moved. They couldna ken her well, surely? Then he noticed Rachael at Beth’s side.
      As he approached he heard Beth say, “Alone with poor dead Elizabeth, the old crone...” Here Rachael interjected, “auld sotted widwife.” And Beth continued, “...opened the girl’s hand and found the prized locket.”
    “Did she give it to Mr. Bumble, my lady,” the anxious child at her knee asked, “so the orphaned babe could find his clan?”
    Beth ruffled the lad’s russet curls, “Nay, lad. The crone pocketed—-stole—-the locket before any spied it. Since they didna ken his rightful clan, Mr. Bumble christened the babe Oliver Twist.”
    Wondering if only orphans peopled his lady’s tales, he came to her side and cleared his throat. “My lady, what say we retire? ‘Tis nigh onto midnight surely.”
    Many an “Aw, but she isna done,” and “Oh, please, my lady, what of the babe?” went up from those at her feet.
    She smiled. “This tale will take many nights to tell.” She stood and placed her hand on his arm. “I promise to continue tomorrow.”
    Amongst much grumbling and yawning, the clan began to disperse. He covered Beth’s hand and found it cold and sweating. Frowning, he placed a palm to her forehead. “My lady, are ye ill?”
    She grimaced as she threaded her arm through his.