‘God’s blood, no! He’s…’ She paused, uncertain what his reaction would be if he knew she was the daughter of the house. She backed away from him and turned and ran, wondering what he was doing on her father’s manor. The Scots had not raided this far south of the border for decades.
No sooner was she outside the stables than she collided with someone. She gasped as her arm was seized and a familiar voice said, ‘Cissie, what’s wrong? Why did you scream?’
At the welcome sound of her brother’s voice, she collapsed against him. Only to realise that his right arm was in a sling. ‘It’s you, Jack,’ she cried gladly. ‘But what have you done to yourself?’ She touched his shoulder and gazed into his beloved face. ‘Matt knew you’d been hurt. Thanks be to our Saviour that you’re home. Was it that barbarian in there who damaged your arm?’ She gesticulated in the direction of the stable. Mackillin had followed in her wake and stood in the entrance, gazing at them. Cicely eyed him warily. ‘Have you a sword, Jack?’ she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
He glanced at her as if she had run mad. ‘What use would it be against Mackillin? His skill with a blade is greater than any I have ever seen.’
‘So you fought him and lost?’
Jack gazed heavenwards as if for divine intervention. ‘No, Cissie. He saved my life!’
She was aghast. ‘No! He couldn’t have—not his kind. There must be some mistake.’
‘You’re wrong, Cissie. He’s a friend of Father’s.’
‘He can’t be. Father’s a cultured man. Well travelled, well read. What could he have in common with that—that Scottish wild man?’ She glared at Mackillin, who looked at her with an expression on his face that confused her. ‘I must speak to him. Tell him that he dared to kiss me!’ She turned towards the house.
‘Cissie, wait!’ called Jack.
‘What for? If you think to change my mind, then you’re…’ She glanced over her shoulder at him and stopped in mid-flight at the sight of the misery in his face. Suddenly she was scared. ‘What is it? Why do you look like that?’
The muscles of Jack’s throat moved jerkily. ‘You won’t find Father in the house.’
She retreated her steps. ‘Why? Where is he? Has he had an accident?’ He hesitated. ‘You’re scaring me, Jack. Tell me—what’s happened to him?’ she cried.
‘He-he’s dead!’ croaked her brother. ‘Murdered by thieving rogues.’ The colour drained from Cicely’s face and she shook her head, clutching his undamaged arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Cissie,’ he added.
‘I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it!’ Cicely picked up the hem of her brown skirts, revealing the lamb’s-wool ‘bags’ that had encased her legs whilst riding, and raced across the yard. The hens scattered before her as she approached the grey stone house. She ignored the three packhorses waiting patiently to have their loads removed and the man still mounted. She desperately needed to find her father indoors, shouting in his deep voice for his Cissie. She climbed the steps that ran at an angle along the wall to the entrance to the hall and struggled to open the door in the icy wind. At last it gave way beneath her fingers and she went inside.
As Mackillin watched her disappear from sight, that mixture of pity and dismay he felt deepened, overlaid with another emotion that he did not want to acknowledge. He had forgotten Jack had mentioned his sister was comely. If he had remembered, then he might have guessed her identity immediately. Even so, his not knowing she was the daughter of the house did not excuse his handling of her. Yet his body still thrilled with the memory of her in his arms. It was just as well that his sojourn here was of necessity to be short, otherwise he might be tempted to claim the reward the dead Nat Milburn had offered him.
‘I’ll go after her,’ said Jack, looking mortified.
Mackillin stayed him with a hand. ‘Allow her time to gain control of herself.’
Jack hesitated before nodding. ‘So you kissed her. Is that why she screamed?’
‘How could it be? She screamed before I touched her.’ There was a noise behind them. ‘Here is your explanation,’ said Mackillin, facing Master Husthwaite as he appeared, leading his horse.
The man’s jaw was swollen and showed signs of bruising. ‘So you’re returned, Master Jack.’
‘Who are you?’ asked the scowling youth.
‘Gabriel Husthwaite, nephew of your father’s man of business. He died recently and I have taken charge of his affairs. This family will have need of my services if my surmise is right and your father is dead.’
‘Aye. Set upon and murdered.’ Jack looked towards Mackillin with an uncertain expression. ‘This is the man Father’s agent spoke of in Kingston-on-Hull.’
Mackillin’s mouth tightened as Master Husthwaite smiled thinly. ‘Mistress Cicely wouldn’t have it that he was dead, but I told her it was the most likely explanation for his absence.’
‘So that is why she screamed,’ said Jack, running his free hand through his fair hair. ‘Yet she—’
‘Nay, it is not,’ growled Mackillin. ‘He was making a nuisance of himself, behaving in a manner that was unacceptable to your lovely sister.’
Master Husthwaite cast him a sly look. ‘Was my behaviour so different from yours? You demanded a kiss for your pains when you believed her to be a serving girl.’
Mackillin turned to Jack and said in a low voice, ‘Forgive me. She called me a barbarian and wanted to stick a knife in me.’
‘It’s because you’re a Borderer, Mackillin. I’m sorry,’ said Jack. ‘My great-uncle and grandfather used to tell us such hair-raising tales of the Scots reivers that we couldn’t sleep nights.’
Master Husthwaite stepped forward, ‘Mistress Cicely needs a curbing hand on her bridle. She threatened to do the same to me. I was only defending myself when this Mackillin came in on us.’
‘You lie. There was no sign of a blade and you were rolling her in the straw, man,’ said Mackillin, his expression disdainful. ‘She wanted none of you.’
The man sneered. ‘Nor of you. Get back to your own land. This family’s affairs are in my hands and have naught to do with you, barbarian.’
Mackillin’s anger boiled over and he seized Master Husthwaite by the throat of his surcoat and hoisted him into the air. Thrusting him on to his horse, he said, ‘Be gone from here before I put my fist down your throat and rip out your tongue.’ He hit the horse’s flank with the flat of his hand.
Master Husthwaite scrabbled to get hold of the reins and slid sideways but Mackillin forced him upright as the horse set off at a trot towards the beaten-earth track that led to the village and then the highway that would take him to Knaresborough, more than a league away.
Jack frowned. ‘I don’t like this. Father would never have agreed to such a man taking charge of our business affairs.’
‘That man’s a rogue. Is there someone else you can turn to help you deal with him?’
Jack nodded. ‘There’s Diccon, but I don’t know where he is…and there’s our stepsister’s husband Owain, who was a close friend of Father’s. I imagine Matt or Cissie will contact them. I wonder where Matt is?’ He glanced around. ‘He must be out somewhere. Otherwise he would have heard the commotion and come running to see what was going on. I hope he won’t be long. You will stay the night and speak to him?’
Mackillin looked up at the louring sky and nodded. ‘Aye. We would not get far before darkness fell. Now inside and see to your sister while Robbie and I deal with the horses. And, Jack, do not mention