Stephen smiled. “You’ll ride with us to Bronwyn’s home?”
Tam stood, moving his great bulk slowly. “I would be honored.”
“Then could I offer you a space in my tent?”
Tam raised one eyebrow. “This is too fancy for me. I need no spoilin’ at this stage in my life. I have my plaid but I thank ye just the same.”
For the first time Stephen became aware of Tam’s dress. He wore a shirt with big, gathered sleeves, and a long, quilted doublet that hung to mid-thigh. On his feet he wore crude, thick shoes over heavy wool hose that reached only to below his knee. His muscular knees were bare. About his shoulders was thrown a long, wide piece of tartan cloth. A thick, wide belt was around the doublet, a dirk at his side.
Tam stood quietly during Stephen’s examination, waiting for the usual English comments.
“You might get cold,” Stephen said.
Tam grinned. “We’re no weak men, we Scots. I’ll be seein’ ye in the mornin’.” He left the tent.
Stephen stood still for a moment, then went to the flap. He gave a low, quiet whistle, and after a moment Rab came to him. “Bronwyn,” he commanded in a quiet voice.
The dog gave a quick lick to Stephen’s hand, then walked toward the dark woods with Stephen following.
Bronwyn was asleep, wrapped tightly and snugly in her plaid. He smiled down at her, pleased with her ability to sleep on the cold, hard, damp ground. He bent and picked her up. Her eyes opened briefly, but he kissed the corner of her mouth and this seemed to reassure her. She snuggled against him as he carried her back to his tent and his bed.
Chapter Six
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON THE NEXT DAY WHEN THEY reached Larenston Castle. Bronwyn, too impatient to wait any longer, spurred her horse forward.
“Go with her,” Tam urged Stephen. “I’ll wager ye’ve never seen anything like Larenston.”
Curious to see the place that was to become his home, Stephen urged his horse up the grassy hill.
Tam was right: nothing could have prepared him for Larenston. The hill he was on fell away sharply to a wide, deep valley where shaggy cattle grazed and crofters’ cottages rested. A narrow road led through the valley and up the wall on the far side. At the top of the valley wall was a high, flat, red-stone peninsula that jutted out into the sea like a huge armored fist. The peninsula was connected to the mainland by a piece of rock only the width of the narrow road. The sides fell away in sheer drops to the sea. Guarding the entrance to the peninsula were two massive gatehouses, each three stories high.
The castle complex itself consisted of several stone buildings and one enormous hall in the center. There was no surrounding wall. There was no need for one. The sheer cliffs rising out of the sea could be guarded by a few men with bows and arrows.
Bronwyn turned to him, a light in her eyes that he’d never seen before. “It has never been taken,” she said flatly before she started down to the valley below.
Stephen had no idea how they knew she was arriving, but suddenly every door to every cottage opened and people came running toward her, their arms open.
Stephen put his horse to a gallop to keep up with her, then he stood back as she hastily dismounted and began hugging people—men, women, children, even a child’s fat pet goose. He was touched by the scene. He’d seen her only as an angry young woman. She’d told him her clan meant her life to her, but he hadn’t visualized the individuals of the clan. She seemed to know them all personally, called each person’s name, asked after their children, their illnesses, if they had everything they needed.
He lifted himself in the saddle and looked around. The ground was poor. His horse pawed it and turned up little more than peat moss. Yet he saw fields. The barley growing was stunted but it was making an effort. The cottages were small, very poor looking.
It came to Stephen that these people were akin to the serfs on his brother’s estates. Bronwyn owned the land and they farmed it. The very same as the serfs.
He looked back at her as she accepted a piece of cheese from a woman. These people were her serfs, yet she treated them as part of her family. He couldn’t imagine any lady he knew touching a serf much less hugging one. They were calling her Bronwyn, not Lady Bronwyn as was her right.
“Ye are frownin’, lad,” Tam said from beside him. “What of our ways displeases ye?”
Stephen removed his hat and ran his hand through his thick hair. “I think I have some things to learn. I don’t think I understand what a clan is. I thought her clan members were like my men. They’re all from noble houses.”
Tam watched him for a moment. “Clan is a Gaelic word which means children.” His eyes twinkled. “And as for nobility, ye can ask any Scot and he can trace his ancestry back to a Scots king.”
“But the poverty…” Stephen began, then stopped, afraid he’d offended Tam.
Tam’s jaw hardened. “The English and the soil God gave us have made us poor. But ye’d best learn that in Scotland a man’s worth is based on what he is insid
e and not the gold he has in his pocket.”
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll remember it.” He urged his horse forward until he was beside Bronwyn. She gave only a brief look up at him, then turned away to continue listening to an old woman’s talk of some new cloth dyes.