Suddenly she grabs his arm. ‘Will, you must come home. If you do not, Father will make me wed Norman Wardlaw.’
‘Who?’
‘You know, Fat Norman,’
‘Oh, him. Why?’
‘Because Father says our reputation will be as nothing once it is known you are among the Castilians, and we will be punished for it.’
‘That makes no sense. Why it’s more likely to be of advantage to have me as part of the garrison.‘ He knows this isn’t so, even as he speaks, for his fellows have alienated the townsfolk.
She shakes her head. ‘You cannot prevail. I have it on good authority, from one of his officers, that Arran’s now determined to end this siege quickly. Oh Will, please come home.’
Before he can answer, Carmichael strolls out from under the portico, that supercilious smirk on his face which Will wants to smash each time he sees it.
‘Well, boy, what have we here? Have you brought your wee sister to look after you?’
She behaves as though Carmichael doesn’t exist, looking past him to Melville following behind. He’s proud of her, especially when he notices Carmichael’s face flush.
‘Don’t ignore me, you puffed up hussy,’ he says, reaching out to grab her by the shoulder. Melville knocks Carmichael’s hand away before Will can react, offering his arm to Bethia
‘Come, my lady,’ he says, ‘let me escort you. I hear you wish to speak with Master Lee.’
Will knows Melville to be an honest if dour man, and is surprised to see him behave with such courtliness. But then Melville does surprise. He can never look at him without remembering the calm delivery of the killing blow, as he listed the Cardinal’s evil doings.
They stride towards the guard-room. Carmichael sticks his foot out as Will passes, but he sees in time, leaps over, keeps going and doesn’t give Carmichael the satisfaction of reacting; now is not the time, and he’s discovering a certain pleasure can be had from it.
Richard Lee is leaning over the second pit they’ve started, calling down to the miners to put their backs into it. If Lee took up the pick-axe himself more often, he’d be more understanding of how painful it is to wield for a prolonged period, indeed, for any period.
Melville introduces Bethia to Lee, and he looks her up and down. Will bristles at this treatment of his sister, but the next moment he’s back to wanting to give her a skelp. She’s saying the Castilians are digging in the wrong place, she knows that Arran’s troops are mining, and where. Why could she not have told him what she was here for, and why is he only hearing it now? If she’d shared the information, he’d have told his fellow conspirators and been the hero, which would make a welcome change from feeling the dunce.
Lee’s all courtesy and consideration now: taking Bethia by the elbow; leading her above to the Cardinal’s rooms; introducing her to Young Arran. Will notices Bethia doesn’t admit to already having met James Hamilton. Lee calls for some wine for the lady. He glares at Will hovering in the doorway asking what he wants, and if it is nothing of import to get back to work.
‘This is my sister.’
Lee looks surprised. ‘Ah, so there is one useful member of the family.’
Will bites his lip. His mind churns back through all his wrongs; he risks his life daily here just like them, he works hard, his behaviour is more godly than most, and he has his sister as a spy. He frowns – Bethia has no Protestant sympathies, so far as he’s aware; why would she bring them information?
Lee is laying out parchment and a quill upon the board. ‘Tell me how the street looks wherein they dig.’
She speaks and Lee draws. Will is intrigued to see Lee’s chorography emerge and Bethia, glancing over Lee’s head mouths “John”, and Will nods, knowing how much their young brother would enjoy seeing this drawing of their town’s streets emerge.
He notices how respectful Lee is towards Bethia, now he’s spoken with her. Men like his sister, and it’s not only because she’s prettyish. He studies her. It’s something about how direct, and yet how unselfconscious, she is.
The servant comes with the wine and bowls of porridge, and goes to lay them by the drawing.
‘Take care, man,’ Lee says, waving his hand and coming close to knocking over the wine himself.
The servant hovers, uncertain what to do.
‘Put it on the kist, you mouldiewarp,’ Lee mutters.
Bethia is bent over the plan, absorbed and Will draws closer to see.
‘Move your fat head,’ says Lee.
‘My brother has greater knowledge of the town than I do. He can help plot the exact place.’
He knows he should be grateful to her for including him, but he is not. Nevertheless they bend over the chorography together.
‘The entry point is at the back of a house in Northgait. I believe they are digging from within the byre to stay hid.’
Will can see she knows perfectly well where that should be placed but is holding back, allowing him to show Lee and rather than mollifying, it incenses. Who is she, for all that she seems to charm every man in her sphere, including their father, to so patronise her own brother?
‘Well,’ says Lee. ‘Would someone care to show me the correct positioning of this byre.’
In the end it is a success for him. Between them, he and Richard Lee work out where Arran’s sappers are mining, with some help from Bethia, but it is he and Richard who agree the placement. Norman Leslie, who’s joined them, even pats Will on the back.
Then it’s decided that he and Nydie will take Bethia’s boat to fetch the miners. Even better they do not have to row because Geordie is here; indeed he has tied up his boat and followed Bethia into the castle.
‘I’m no taking you anywhere, laddie,’ he says when Will tries to give him his orders. ‘I’ll return your sister to the harbour and then I hae my fishing to go to. I’ve wasted enough time already the day.’
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ says Will, aware the disagreement is attracting attention.
Geordie raises his fists. ‘I’m no your servant and I’ll do as I choose with my ane boat.’
Will draws his knife. ‘I’ll slice your nose open, you old fool, if you argue any more,’
‘Stop it, Will,’ says Bethia. She tries to restrain him and he shakes her hand off. ‘Why must you always be such a fopdoodle?’ she cries.
He turns, ready to slice her whole body open, roaring. ‘And why must you always be such a fustylugs?’
‘Calm down, both of you,’ says Nydie stepping between them.
Will lowers his knife, and becomes aware of Carmichael, bent double with laughter, and muttering fopdoodle over and over to himself.
Bethia again lays a hand on Will’s arm but he flings it off.
‘Come,’ says Leslie, ‘there’s no time for this. You must to Tents Muir and back while the weather remains calm, for the wind may get up at any moment.’ He stares at Geordie, who hangs his head.
They go through the postern, climb down the ladder and into the boat, leaving Bethia in Leslie’s care. All goes smoothly from then on. Geordie glowers at him for the whole trip, muttering under his breath, but Will doesn’t care. He and Nydie talk and laugh and breathe the good air. Will has forgot his early morning escapade, has forgot about the painful scrambling, has forgot that he ever considered deserting his fellows.
They collect two miners, Hugh Forsyth hurrying them down the hill to the river once he understands what is wanted. Then they go to Erlishall, the nearly completed castle on the far side of the Eden. Nydie says it’s sad the old hunting lodge was knocked down to build it, but such is progress. There are provisions made ready for them and more boats sent to Nydie’s lands to collect the rest of the miners.