The Night Side by Melanie Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

privy streams being so devastating to the pages’ velvet livery. But for all the destruction of clothing, and the king’s disappointment at his improvement in the sport, Colin still considered the match to have been a success.
    “Well, shall we play on?” Colin asked of his newmistress. For himself, he would have preferred a few hours’ rest to regain his land legs and some dry clothing. However, such an inclination was probably not what was expected of a true Master of the Gowff.
    “ Oui! But perhaps you are fatigued? I would not have you exhaust yourself while travel-tainted,” the beauty suggested politely, clearly hoping that he would not claim weariness.
    “Not at all. If you will overlook my ceremonial nudity, I should be happy to begin at once,” Colin replied with a deprecating gesture. He was not wearing the scarlet brat Mistress Balfour had provided, but rather one of the MacLeod’s hunting tartans. He did not plan on wearing the violently red cloth a great deal unless the lady insisted. “Let us proceed. MacJannet will bring the clubs.”
    Colin turned to the young laird and smiled. “We shall have to work on your form before all our balls end up in the sea. I brought a great many with me, but the supply is not endless.”
    “I think the matter is hopeless,” George confided shyly. “We are between the hawk and buzzard here at Noltland, and I cannot seem to make the ball fly straight.”
    “You shall,” Colin promised. “To begin with, I suspect that you are standing somewhat behind the ball. And it may be that your club is of an improper length.” This was a fairly universal bromide and he felt safe offering it.
    “Oui, he is behind the ball,” Frances agreed. “And there is—”
    A sudden hideous wailing split the air, making Mistress Balfour break off abruptly and assume a ferocious scowl.
    “That sounds almost like pipes,” Colin commented, squinting up at the battlements from whence the ghastly noise came. “Are you slaughtering pigs to-day?”
    Frances and George both grimaced.
    “That is Agonybags,” George explained. “He likes to play the pipes when we are out gowffing.”
    “ Agonybags ?”
    “The creature’s name is Tearlach MacAdam—and if he approaches us with his man-staff I wish you to beat and castrate him,” Frances said.
    “I beg your pardon?” Colin asked, exchanging a puzzled look with MacJannet, who was playing respectful ghillie and standing a pace back with the pannier of clubs. Surely man-staff could not be a vulgar name for a club?
    “If he comes down from the wall without his clothing I wish you to beat and castrate him,” Frances repeated. “The MacLeod said that you would assist me in every possible manner to improve my game. This would assist me. Who can play well with that monster about?”
    “Is he apt to come down without his clothing?” Colin asked, a frown forming between his brows. He did not relish having to inform Mistress Balfour that his assistance with her game would likely stop short of perpetrating grievous bodily harm upon anyone—especially not the insane.
    “ Oui. It is most annoying. How am I to play with that filthy man about, torturing the dead skin of an animal? And he is not a fit sight for my cousin, who is still most young and innocent.”
    “Have you considered taking away his pipes?” Colin suggested. “That would be less drastic than actuallydestroying them or him. Pipes are quite expensive, you know.”
    “That is a most clever idea,” Frances agreed. “And perhaps we should remove his tongue as well. He could not speak without a tongue.”
    “His tongue?”
    “ Oui! His tongue and man-staff and pipes. I want them gone from my presence.”
    Colin stared, quite dumbfounded. The woman, he was certain, was not jesting. But surely she could only suggest such a spleenful thing because she had never seen someone tortured.
    Disturbing as her speech was, it did partially explain the MacLeod’s attraction to this