"Go on! Get out, then!" Sir Udolf said in not particularly hospitable tones. He unrolled the parchment and began to read it. As he read his face began to flush and then grow scarlet with his outrage and his anger. Finally he flung the document towards the dead hearth, shouting, "I will not be cheated! I will not!"

"What is it, my lord?" But Father Peter suspected he already knew.

"Read it yourself!" Sir Udolf said grimly, gesturing toward the fireplace where the crumpled document now lay. "I will not be cheated of what is mine! Does that fool in York think he can cheat me?"

Father Peter picked up the parchment and, smoothing it out, read it. He had been a fool, of course, to allow his master to keep giving that priest in York-what was his name-Walter? Aye! Father Walter, monies. While he had not sensed it immediately, he had sensed later on that the priest was dishonest. And now that he recalled it, there were no seals but one on the alleged dispensation. "You have been the victim of a fraud, my lord," he said quietly to Sir Udolf. "I am sorry, my lord. But now you have been given His Grace's official ruling in the matter and must abide by it."

"I must abide by it? Why must I abide by it?" Sir Udolf demanded. "Alix Givet is mine, and I will have her no matter what this archbishop says!"

"My lord," Father Peter pleaded, "Do not, I beg you, persist in this folly."

"There is but one woman for me, and that is Alix Givet," Sir Udolf declared.

"My lord! The church forbids any union with Alix Givet. They have declared it incestuous! You must understand that. You must! Will you damn your immortal soul to everlasting hellfire, my lord? You cannot have this woman!"

Sir Udolf grabbed Father Peter by the neck of his robe, glaring down into his face. His eyes almost bulged from their sockets. "Cannot? Do you dare to tell me what I can and cannot do, Priest? I will do as I please!" And he flung the frail man from him. As Father Peter fell backwards, his head hit the iron ball of an andiron in the great fireplace. His neck snapped audibly as he crumpled into the now-cold ashes of the hearth, which were quickly stained with the priest's blood. He was quite dead, and Sir Udolf knew it just looking at him. "Old fool!" he muttered. Then, picking up his goblet, he went to the sideboard and refilled it. "I must go to Scotland and fetch Alix," he said aloud. He drank down the contents of the goblet. "Aye, I must go to Scotland today. I will change my garments and then be on my way. My horse!" he shouted. "I want my horse saddled immediately!" Then he hurried upstairs to find fresh clothing. Where were the servants? Lazy good for naughts! Alix would see they behaved when she returned home. She would see they did their duty.

An hour later Sir Udolf Watteson rode forth from Wulfborn Hall and headed north for Scotland. He knew Alix would be at Dunglais. She was a prisoner, of course. Had she been free she would have returned home to him at Wulfborn. He thought of how beautiful she was with her honey-colored curls. He thought how his foolish son had mistreated her. I will not mistreat her, Sir Udolf thought to himself. I will love her, and she will give me another heir. He rode on determinedly.


At Dunglais a different scene had played out. The bishop's Franciscan, Brother George, had come directly from York with the good news he knew the Laird of Dunglais and his wife were waiting for and would welcome. The drawbridge leading into the keep was up as he approached it in late afternoon. "Brother George from the bishop of St. Andrew's with a message for the laird," he called up to the watch. Then he sat upon his horse and waited. After a few minutes the drawbridge was lowered, and the iron portcullis raised up to allow him through. He heard both means of entry being replaced as he rode into the courtyard. A boy hurried to take his horse away, and a man was suddenly at his side, bowing respectfully.

"I am Iver, the laird's steward," the man said. "If you will come with me, Brother George, I'll bring you to the great hall. The laird has been anxiously awaiting your arrival for some weeks now." As Iver spoke, he hurried along into the house, leading Brother George into the hall.

The scene that greeted the priest brought back memories of his own childhood. The hall was not large, but it had two fireplaces now burning. Four arched windows were set high in the stone walls. The furniture was well polished. The stone floors clean. On a cushioned settle by one of the fireplaces sat a young woman who he saw was with child. She was sewing. On the floor at her feet sat two children. A lovely little girl with long dark hair and a little dark-haired boy who looked perhaps two. They were playing with a puppy. The man who had been seated next to the woman now rose and came forward, his hand outstretched.

"I am Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais," he said.

"Brother George of the bishop of St. Andrew's secretariat," the cleric replied.

"Welcome to Dunglais," the laird said.

"I have just come from York, and I believe I bring good news, my lord," Brother George said with a smile.

The laird brought him to the hearth where his family sat, introducing him to Alix and the children. He offered him a comfortable high-backed chair in which to sit. "First some wine," he said, as a servant stepped forward to offer Brother George a goblet. "Hospitality should not be neglected even when the news is of great importance."

The Franciscan took the goblet, swallowed down some wine, and then set the goblet down upon the floor next to his chair. Reaching into his robes, he withdrew the rolled parchment with it red wax seal and black ribbon binding. "With the compliments of His Grace, the archbishop of York, my lord. And the compliments of my lord, His Grace the bishop of St. Andrew's," he said, handing the document to the laird. "If you cannot read I will read it for you," Brother George offered.

"I can read, and so can my wife and daughter," the laird replied, "but I thank you." He slowly unrolled the parchment, and his eyes began to scan the words written thereon. When he had finished he handed it to Alix. There were tears in his eyes.

She took the document from him and read it. Then she began to weep.

"Mam!" The little girl sprang up from the floor and put her arms around Alix.

"It's all right, Fiona," Alix said. "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they are happy. And I am very happy by the news Brother George has brought us. Remember the wicked man who had me taken away and whose men frightened you so?"

Fiona, her blue eyes wide, nodded. "Aye, I remember."

"Well, he can no longer harm us. God has forbidden him from it, my daughter. We are now safe and may ride out again once I have birthed this new bairn who currently resides in my belly," Alix told Fiona. "We must thank Brother George for riding all this way to bring us this happy news."

Fiona turned and smiled at the priest. "Thank you," she said.

"You are most welcome, young mistress," he told her. They were a beautiful family, he thought. And he was glad for his part in lifting this burden from them.

"You will remain the night," the laird said. "I've some fine venison, and rather good whiskey we make here. You've ridden a long ways, and have more miles ahead of you, I know. When you reach St. Andrew's, tell James Kennedy I am in his debt, even though he already knows it. Ahh, Father Donald. Here is Brother George, who has ridden from York with good news. We have been freed of the lord of Wulfborn at last. Father Donald is our priest, Brother George. He once served your bishop."

"Praise God and his Blessed Mother you are now rid of that crazed lord," Father Donald said. "We are free to roam our own hills again in safety."

Chapter Sixteen

He was near now. He sensed it. He had stopped at one of the Douglases' lairs just on the border separating England and Scotland. The Douglases populated both sides of the periphery between the two countries. He would not remain the night with them, for he did not trust them, but stayed only long enough to gain directions to Dunglais. While he had been there once before, he was not entirely certain of the way. He rode out again. Above him the sky was lowering and threatening. There was the sound of thunder in the distance, and the distant sky was filled with sheet lightning.

The Douglas chief watched him go, and his son remarked that the man was a fool to leave when the weather was turning dangerous. "What does he want at Dunglais so badly that he continues on in such a storm?" the boy asked his father.

"The laird's wife," the Douglas chief said, laughing knowingly. "He stole her once before. It's not likely he'll succeed again. The man is as mad as a rabid fox."

"Should we send word to the laird then, Da?" the boy asked.

"Nah. No need. The laird will kill him on sight. No reason for us to be involved," the Douglas chief decided as the skies opened up and the rain began to pour down. He peered through the torrent, but Sir Udolf Watteson was no longer in sight.

Indeed, he was now a distance from the Douglas house and struggling to keep his edgy horse under control as the thunder boomed and jagged lightning began to pierce the skies around him. The animal danced nervously, becoming more frightened with each clap of thunder, which seemed to be growing louder. In a rare moment of sanity, Sir Udolf began to consider that perhaps he should have remained with the Douglases at least until the rain was over with. And then, without any warning, a bolt of lightning shot almost directly into the path before them. It was so close it singed the horse and Sir Udolf smelled the scent of burning hide. His animal reared up, terrified, throwing the rider from its back and galloping off into the mists.

Sir Udolf hit the ground and his head struck a rock, rendering him unconscious. But before he lost his senses he heard a crack and a fierce pain shot through him. Around him the thunder continued to boom, now moving away with the lightning, but the rain poured down in torrents for at least another hour. Night fell, and Sir Udolf lay unconscious on the hillside. Now and again he would swim to the surface of the darkness only to fall back again.

The following day dawned fair, and two women out seeking medicinal plants came upon the injured man. One of them was young and garbed in a red jersey gown. The other, obviously a servant, older. It was she who spotted Sir Udolf first.

"Mistress, look!" She pointed to where the fallen man lay.

"Is he alive, Fyfa?" the younger woman asked, her bright blue eyes curious. "I hope he is alive. It has been some time since I have had a man to amuse me." She peered closely. "His clothing is good. See what is in his pockets. Does he carry a money pouch? It's been so long since I've had any coin of my own."

"Mistress, this is not wise," she said nervously.

"Do as I bid you, Fyfa!" the younger woman commanded in a hard voice.

The serving woman bent down and rifled through the fallen man's clothing. She found one small pouch containing some silver coins and three coppers. "Here," she said, handing them up to her mistress. "It isn't much."

The man groaned suddenly, and Fyfa jumped up with a little shriek.

"Oh, he's alive!" the young woman said. "Good! We must get him to the cottage if we are to keep him alive. You stay with him. I will go back and fetch Rafe."

"Mistress," Fyfa quavered. "I do not think this is wise."

"You never think what I do is wise, Fyfa," the younger woman replied, and then she tripped off.

The man groaned again, and his eyes opened. "Where… am I?"

"Do not move, sir," Fyfa responded. "You have been injured. We are getting help now. How came you here?"

"Where is my… horse?" Sir Udolf asked.

"There was no horse when we found you," Fyfa said.

"The storm…"

"Is long gone, sir. It was yesterday afternoon, and a fierce storm it was," Fyfa replied. "Did the storm frighten your beast? Did it throw you?"

Sir Udolf tried to remember, and his brow furrowed. Then he nodded. "Aye."

"When we get you safe to the cottage I'll send Rafe to seek it. If you are a fortunate man we will find your horse, sir," she told him.

"Where am I?" he asked her again.

"Near my mistress's cottage. She has gone to get help. We have a man to do heavy chores. He is simple-minded, but willing and strong of back," Fyfa said. "She is fetching him so we may get you back to the cottage in order to treat your wounds, sir. It appears that you hit your head on yon rock. See. There is blood."