Page 12 of The Forest Bride
He rummaged to produce a cloth-wrapped packet. “Meat pie! Mutton and barley. The woman at the inn gave it to me, with ale.” He drew out a small pottery jug, and another packet wrapped in parchment. “And cheese. She only asked a half-penny, but the coins you gave me were not clipped, so I gave her a whole penny. She gave me clothing too, seeing blood on my shirt.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I witnessed an ambush along the road and escaped without being seen. She promised to send word to the Stirlingshire sheriff and said he might come this way in a few days for a woodland court and a village fair. She gave me extra food too,” he added. “I did not say there were two of us in case someone overheard.”
“How kind of her.” Margaret drew out the folded things—a tunic shirt, woolen trews, a knitted hat, patched hose. Though old and worn, they were clean.
“She said her son wore them, but he was killed in a battle. There will be a court for public complaints and hearings near the village soon. It is not far from here. We could stay in the forest until then. The sheriff might be there. I learned something else too.”
“What is that? Are you hungry?” She opened the wrapped pie and broke it, steam rising, in half, then handed Andrew a wedge.
“This is good,” he mumbled, then swallowed. “The dame in the inn said men were in there last night, saying that Sir John Menteith’s men saved a young lady whose escort was attacked by brigands, that they brought her to safety.”
“Saved her!” She blinked. “His men were the brigands. Where did they take her?”
“To the protection of her family, so the dame heard.”
“Impossible!”
“The woodland court will be an ayre court, the innkeeper’s wife said.”
“An ayre? I know of those. They are outdoor courts overseen by regional justiciars instead of just sheriffs. A judge in an ayrecourt can hear grievances and decide cases. If only we had proof, we could bring a complaint against Menteith.”
“I saw the badges. I can witness that they were Menteith’s men. A justiciar of northern Scotland will be there to hear complaints, the good dame said. She said he comes here once or twice a year.”
“Menteith is also a sheriff, so that could be trouble,” she said. “We cannot accuse a sheriff of wrongdoing without evidence.”
“There are dead men lying in a field, Margaret. Someone should know of it.”
“Aye. We must report the ambush. If Menteith is there, I want to talk to him.”
“Why? To ask if he stole Lady Lilias away? It is too risky! Let the sheriff or the judge do that. The dame at the inn also said a market will be held in the village. We might learn something there that would help.”
“With luck, we will get assistance from the judge.”
“Meg,” Andrew said, “will they believe us? It sounds like a wild tale.”
“It does.” She sighed. “And we should be careful about mentioning Lady Lilias Bruce in a public court. There are so many English about.”
“What if I followed Menteith to see if he has Lady Lilias at Dunbarton Castle? You could wait in the forest and I would come back with Bruce’s daughter and all our men.”
He was so young, so earnest. Margaret smiled, shook her head. “You dear lad! Now who would take a risk?”
“What then, Meg?” He sounded desperate. Her heart went out to him.
The cloak and its contents—the dagger, the bow, the clothing—tugged at her thoughts. How could they make use of those? She felt responsible for Andrew and Lilias and there was little time. This sat on her shoulders.
“There might be something else we can do. Listen…”
Chapter Three
“Ihope weare near done hearing cases,” said Sir Constantine Murray of Pitcairn, sheriff-deputy of Stirlingshire, as he resumed his seat on a bench in a woodland grove beside the justiciar.
“It has been a long day,” agreed Sir Duncan Campbell, laird of Brechlinn and justiciar of the north of Scotland. He was glad his old friend Con Murray had been assigned to the ayre court with him. They sat at a trestle table in a sunny clearing bordered by birches edging a forest lush with spring growth. Beyond an expanse of flowery meadow lay a village and a bustling market fair. Savory cooking and sweet baking smells wafted toward the grove.
“I am hungry, Brechlinn,” Constantine said as he rifled through another stack of parchments handed to him by Duncan’s clerk.
“Aye, but we have work to do. Just a few left.”
