“Are we in agreement about the votes?” his father asked him, shoving more porridge with honey into his mouth.
His father loved his breakfast porridge this way, eschewing the traditional salt, which he said rendered it inedible. His eccentricity had been put down to a lack of patriotism. He was obviously not a true Scotsman.
“Aye.”
William’s mind jerked back to the present as he thought about Alasdair’s performance in the foot race, which had taken place on a makeshift running track where the guards practiced. Neither of the men had ever played any sport or done anything athletic in their lives, and the race got off to a bad start when Andrew tripped and fell a few yards after the starting line.
Much to everyone’s surprise, he sprang to his feet and overtook Alasdair. His brother was not to be beaten, however, and as Andrew sprinted past him, Alasdair grabbed him by the back of his shirt, throwing him off balance. He fell and took Alastair with him, and the brothers landed on the ground in a tangle of limbs and obscenities.
William nodded. “Definitely Alasdair. And he is a bad sport and quite ruthless, both of which suit us.”
He thought a little about Bernard. One of the guards had told him a titbit of information about his friend and Janice that had intrigued him, and the more he thought about it, the more his thoughts became a certainty. There was something going on between them.
Suddenly he felt his father’s elbow in his ribs and realized he had been daydreaming.
“Sorry, Father,” he said, grinning.
“I know what you were thinking,” Laird Ballantine said, watching Janice as she threaded her way through her guests. “Have you changed your mind about her yet? She is a beautiful woman, and if you could get her away from here, our problems will be over.”
“She is lovely, Father, but I told you before. I would not take her as a gift. She is far too dominating,” William said firmly. He drained his cup of ale and stood up. “Now let us go and watch the clowns. It should be extremely entertaining!”
* * *
Janice was doing her best to completely avoid Bernard and William. She was walking around the circle of guests with a large bowl into which the men and women were dropping slips of paper with the name of one of her brothers on them. She felt extremely foolish as she held it out. She had hoped that her father would send someone else to collect the votes, but he had said she was the only one he trusted to collect the votes and count them properly, so she had reluctantly obeyed him.
Some of the men patted her on the backside as she went past them, or gave her unwanted hugs. In any other circumstances she would have screamed at them and pushed them away or even kicked them, but she did not wish to embarrass her father, so she endured it. However, by the time she had taken the last ballot from William, she was in no mood to hang around and make idle conversation with anyone. Consequently, she took his vote, then, with a quick surreptitious glance at Bernard, she rushed away.
Janice went back to her father’s office and counted the votes as fast as she could, then went out to Laird Stewart, who was seated on a chair by his fellow lairds, talking, laughing, and drinking wine.
“Da, I must speak with you,” she said urgently.
They went inside to his office, and he looked at the two neat piles of votes. They were exactly the same height.
“A tie?” he asked, frowning.
“No. Alasdair won by one vote,” she replied.
The laird frowned and sat down. “I will have to think about this,” he said slowly. “It really makes no difference who I name since you will be in charge anyway, my dear.”
“What shall I tell them?” Janice asked. “They will be expecting something. It is what they all came here for, after all.”
“That was just an excuse for most of them,” the laird said bitterly. “They came for a party, for some free food, and plenty of my good wine. The voting was merely to add a little fun. I could have called a council of elders but all those old men, dry as sticks… I thought this might be more fun for you.” He sighed and stood up. “Just tell them the truth, Janice. Alasdair won. They are all going home tomorrow anyway.”
Janice stood for a moment gazing at the laird. He suddenly looked so old and infirm that she wanted to take him in her arms and look after him for the time he had left. What would she do without him? She kissed his cheek and left to go out and speak to the crowd.
* * *
There was a chorus of both disappointment and cheering after Janice had made the announcement, and Bernard felt infinitely sorry for her, and for himself. He was leaving, and he knew that he would miss her more than he had ever missed anyone else in his whole life. But he did not love her, he told himself. This was simply a temporary fancy, and he would get over it as soon as he left.
William watched his friend’s eyes following Janice’s shapely figure as she passed out of sight. “One of the guards told me he saw you kissing the lovely Janice last night,” he said mischievously.
Bernard was speechless. He could not deny the truth since William could read him like a book, but to confirm it would put Janice in a dreadful position. Women were not allowed the same latitude as men when it came to sexual matters; men were expected to be promiscuous while women were expected to be pure. It was unfair, but it was the way things were done.
William raised his eyebrows. “Ah! I see that this was your plan all along!” he said gleefully. “Tell me, did you manage to go any further? Did you sleep with Janice? Was it good? If you marry her, it will give us a lot of influence here, and it would be a very good political move.”
Bernard turned to his friend, looking at him in horror. He clenched his fists, opening his mouth to make an angry retort. At that moment, he felt that his blood was literally boiling. He saw William’s eyes widen as he realized that he had gone too far and saw his friend raise his hand to fend off the blow that he knew was coming. What might have happened next was forever a mystery because a cry from behind them made them both turn their heads.
Janice was staring at them both, her mouth open, her face chalk-white. Her eyes met Bernard’s.