Turn of the Tide by Margaret Skea Page B

was the
best to be had at short notice.
    Reaching Alexander, Hugh saw that William had caught up with James. He urged the horse again, but was held back by Alexander.
    ‘Bide your time, laddie. Don’t press the beast too hard, the terrain we cover today will tax the best of mounts – something in reserve will, I think, serve us well.’
    Alexander, although making every appearance of pushing his horse, was, in reality, holding him in check.
    ‘Not much chance of pressing this one,’ Hugh saw James favour William with a smile and some pleasantry that brought an answering smile in return. ‘William makes capital at our
expense. This was not, I take it, in the plan?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Alexander was brusque. ‘We have a day ahead of us. The end will be better than the beginning, have no fear. Let William burn himself out in the preliminaries
and do you make sure you are in at the finish.’
    ‘And how,’ Hugh, gave his horse, who showed signs of slowing further, another jab, ‘do you suggest I achieve that on this beast?’
    ‘I don’t. Your poor beast will serve me well enough later and mine you. There is not the expectation on me to keep up with James – my talents are otherwise. We can exchange
mounts once the real work starts. I suspect William will be less than pleased when he finds yours is the fresher horse. And though I cannot swear to it, it’s likely Glencairn will give him
blame if his horse fades before the finish. But still, I have no wish to end the day in walking, so content yourself with second place for now.’

Chapter Thirteen
    At Greenock, it was a different sort of sport that concerned Elizabeth. The steward stood at the door of the solar, rabbits in one hand, his other firmly clasping the back of
the urchin’s ragged tunic.
    ‘Janet cried me to the warren to choose a fine pair of bucks and there was this rogue bagging them as if they were his own.’
    ‘Rogue, Hamish, hardly, he’s only a child and not above five or six.’
    The steward did not relinquish his grip of the lad. ‘Old enough to know right from wrong.’
    ‘There are different sorts of right and wrong.’
    ‘Stealing’s stealing whatever your age and he will do well to learn his lesson now, before he grows up to swing for it.’
    The lad looked up at the mention of hanging and wriggled uneasily, hopping from foot to foot, so that she saw that his feet were not only dirty, but also criss-crossed with old scars. It was
likely he came from one of the clutter of cottages that huddled on the fringes of the town, though she couldn’t tell if she had ever seen him before.
    ‘What matter a rabbit or two, and that probably the only meat the boy’s family are likely to see this side of the fair. With half the household away, we have plenty and to spare.
Leave the child to me. I’ll reprimand him and send him on his way. And take the rabbits to the kitchen.’ She looked down. ‘I don’t wish to have them drip blood on my floor,
more than I have already suffered.’
    He turned and she saw by the set of his back that he didn’t trust her to deal with the boy, but that his sense of loyalty, if not to her, at least to her position as temporary mistress of
the house, meant that he would not openly question her authority. No doubt in the kitchens it would be a different matter. As he pressed down on the latch, she said, ‘And would you take a
look at Star. I thought this morning he was perhaps a little lame. Your opinion wouldn’t go amiss.’
    He clumped away, clearly not mollified, and pulled the door behind him so hard that it bounced open again. The child shivered in the draught and Elizaeth put out a hand towards him, but he
shrank back, a flash of desperation in his eyes.
    Her thoughts were not easy, for it was aye fine for a laird’s daughter when food was scarce and prices were high; though they might tighten their belts a little, they didn’t fear to
starve. But for the cottars it was a different