Trust and Treason: A Historical Novel of Scotland (Archibald the Grim Series Book 2) by Tomlin J R

Author:Tomlin, J R [Tomlin, J R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

15

The plowed fields of the fermtoun spread out before us. Only a sprinkling of green showed against the brown earth, and a child was running back and forth in each field, shouting at birds as they landed. In one, a boy banged a drum as he darted at a flock of starlings that took off in a twisting dark cloud. Gil was grinning in delight.

“Where are the sheep?” I asked.

“Up in the hills. Better grazing there.”

I kneed my gelding, pulling on the sumpter’s lead. The animal resisted for a moment, but I sped to a canter. The bright, warm day was blessed with a gentle breeze that cooled my face and ruffled my hair. It carried the earthy scent of the land damped with spring rains. I was ecstatic at last to be nearing Joneta’s home. I could not stifle my laugh. The sun, the wind, a good horse, and a beautiful lassie. Nothing could be better, and I was determined to forget the ills of the last year. For now.

As we neared, one of the lads whooped and ran for one of the five sturdy cots. Gill laughed. “My brother. The youngest and always glad to escape his chores.”

All the children were running, squealing, and bouncing with excitement. Some chickens squawked in protest as their scratching was disturbed. One of the women leaned her poking pole for planting peas against the wall. The doors of the cots opened as parents hurried out to investigate the raucous tumult.

Stretching the stiffness from my back, I breathed in the spring air. All the tension in my body eased watching such simple pleasure, the children’s joy. A streaky brown skylark burst into the air from the grass a few yards in front of us. As if it were thinking, it uttered a quick volley of soft notes, erupting into full song. Then, it reached its height on fluttering wings and poured forth its liquid warbling song. I could not help the smile that spread across my cheeks. The sky was blue, the air mild, and God had given us a joyous springtime masterpiece.

Standing in the doorway, Granny Matylda shaded her eyes with a hand as she watched us approach. The youngest of her grandsons peeked around her to watch.

I dismounted, still unable to wipe what by now must be a rather gormless smile from my face. “Granny Matylda, God’s blessings on you.”

She gave a courteous bob of her head. “Ingelram isnae here, Sir.”

I looked around at the thriving little fermtoun. “Taken the sheep up in the hills for grazing?”

“Aye. ‘Tis that time of the year.” She looked over her shoulder into the cot and sighed. “But I welcome you to our home in his name. You have more…” She twisted her mouth as though at a loss for the right words.

“I have things that must be put away, aye, but that must wait—until tonight.”

A plump woman in a clean but worn kirtle was hugging Gil as his father slapped him on the back.

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