A tall man with russet hair, dressed in red and blue, greeted them. From the gray that flecked his hair and the deep lines on his face, Laurien guessed him to be about two score and ten years. He grasped Darach by the forearm, then Malcolm, before he turned to her.
“Sir William of Lanark,” Malcolm said, “allow me to present the Lady Laurien d’Amboise.”
“Welcome to my home, milady.” Sir William bowed over her hand, his French as flawless as his manners. “I hope your stay will be pleasant. And I hope you will excuse us, but I have much to discuss with these men.” He signaled to a serving girl. “Jane will show you to your chamber. We will see you again at supper.”
Laurien turned questioning eyes to Darach, but his look told her to do as she was asked—without asking questions. Swallowing her irritation, Laurien decided she would obey, for now. Doubtless she could glean more useful information from Jane than she could from Sir William anyway. She followed the girl out of the hall and up the spiral stairs.
~ ~ ~
Watching Laurien, Darach did not even realize that William and Malcolm were walking toward the door until they called his name.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “We need to discuss—”
“Malcolm already told me most of what happened in France, when he first arrived two days ago,” William said. “The rest we can discuss outside.”
Darach frowned as he followed his friends out the door and through the bailey. When they reached the practice ground at the rear of the castle, the sight that met his eyes brought a soft exclamation of surprise from him, quickly followed by annoyance at William.
A group of a half-dozen young pages were practicing their swordplay under the watchful eye of one of William’s knights.
In the center of the group, doing quite well for himself, was Aidan.
Darach almost turned and walked back into the keep. “Will,” he ground out. “I thought your pages and squires would be away at one of the autumn tourneys.”
“Most of them are, but the training master thought these younger boys needed more practice before they were ready,” William explained. “I thought you might enjoy a chance to see Aidan.”
“I entrusted Aidan to you for his training because I knew he would be happy here,” Darach said tightly. “I am pleased that he is doing well, but I do not… you cannot ask me to spend time with him. You know why.”
“But watch him, Darach,” Malcolm said. “See how well he wields that sword.”
Despite himself, Darach could not help but feel a surge of pride at the lad’s obvious skill. Aidan was indeed accomplished for his age, fast and strong. He held his own against a larger boy, then defeated him with a brilliant feint and parry.
But Darach’s feelings of admiration were shadowed by pain. The boy’s features were so much like his own—and so much like Eamon’s. Every time he saw Aidan, images of his brother and Sibylla in bed together taunted him.
Before he could say another word, William called the lad over. Aidan came running, still holding his training sword, his cheeks ruddy from exertion. Though it was William who had called, he came to stand in front of Darach.
Aidan bowed quite formally, but a smile lit his features, reaching all the way to his blue eyes. “Father.”
The word went straight to Darach’s heart, sharper than an arrow. He had to clear his throat before he could get any words past it. “’Tis good to see you… son.”
“If you will excuse me,” William said, “I must speak with the training master. Mayhap you would accompany me, Malcolm? I am sure the lads could benefit from your experience and opinions.”
Darach shot William an irritated look.
“Father, are you angry with someone?” Aidan asked. “You scowl so.”
“Nay, lad.” Malcolm chuckled as he and William walked away. “Of late, your father normally looks that way.
Darach turned his scowl on Malcolm.
“Father,” the boy began again. “When Sir Malcolm was here two days past, he said he would be leaving soon on a journey. May I accompany him?”
Darach felt even more annoyed that Malcolm had known Aidan was here and had not mentioned it. He shook his head. “Nay, you cannot.”
At the disappointment on the boy’s face, Darach regretted his brusque words. He sighed in vexation. In truth, he felt a great deal of regret—and guilt—where Aidan was concerned. Darach had always kept his distance, to avoid reliving the events of that long-ago November night… but at what cost?
He did not want Aidan growing up feeling abandoned and bitter.
Of late, Darach had begun to realize that he may have been thoughtless and selfish for too long, about too many things.
He crouched down so he was closer to Aidan instead of towering over him. His action brought a puzzled look to the lad’s face.
Darach tempered his voice. “Aidan, I did not mean to be curt. It is not possible for you to accompany Malcolm because he is traveling a great distance.”
“But Sir William has taught me to ride better than even his squires. And I can already shoot a crossbow.”
“A crossbow? You have done very well.” Darach smiled, allowing his pride to show in his voice. “But there might be danger on this journey.”
The boy’s eyes lit with anticipation. “Then Sir Malcolm will need all the assistance he can muster.”
Darach felt admiration at Aidan’s courage. “Your offer is most generous.” He paused, thinking. He had denied the boy too much over the years. Surely he could grant this one small request in some way. “Sir Malcolm will be going past Castle Galbraith. I suppose he could enlist your aid for the first part of the journey. Then you could spend some time at Galbraith with Sir Thomas and his pages.”
Aidan responded with an eager nod and a broad grin. On impulse, Darach reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Go then, and tell Sir William he must make do without his favorite page for a few days.”
“Thank you, Father!”
Aidan ran a few steps, then stopped and turned around. “Father, the knight that I made for you… do you still carry it with you?”
Darach withdrew the small woodcarving from the sheath in his left boot, holding it up to show him. “Always.”
The happiness on the lad’s face made Darach smile. He watched his son run across the yard toward William.
His son.
The words still brought a twinge of pain, but this time they also filled him with a sense of purpose, and a feeling that was stronger and deeper than mere affection. Aidan was his nephew, in truth… but his son in every way that mattered.
He had been a thickheaded fool about that for too long. He thanked God that, judging from the boy’s manner, ’twas not too late to make amends.
He could hear his brother Galen’s voice in his memory, his last words. “Protect them all.”
“Aye, brathair,” Darach vowed as he straightened. “That I will.”
He went to talk to Malcolm.
~ ~ ~
Laurien paced up and down in the richly decorated chamber, impatient for Jane to leave. She needed to explore, to find a way that she might leave the keep. So far, she had learned naught that might be useful, even though the serving maid spoke French well enough to make herself understood. Jane bustled about, lighting a fire in the hearth and seeing that a washtub and towels were brought up and placed before it.
“Your castle is most strange to my eyes,” Laurien said, trying to sound only casually interested. “Is there only the one stair that leads to these chambers?”
“Nay, milady, two. We have a second stair to the bouteillerie,” the girl explained. “I would show you about, but since you are Sir William’s ward, I am sure milord would prefer that honor.”
“Of course.” Laurien sighed.
“I will leave you to rest now.” Jane drew back the blue velvet bedcovers. “Pray call for me this evening when you are ready for your bath. I shall bring some gowns for you to choose from. Until then, milady.” S
he curtsied and left.
As soon as the door closed behind Jane, Laurien went to the window. After pushing aside the velvet curtains, she opened the shutters—and gazed out upon a sheer drop to the courtyard below.
That, she grimaced, would not do as an exit.
Looking to her right, she saw a scene that made her stare in surprise. A group of pages was practicing their swordplay in the bailey—and off to one side, Darach was engaged in conversation with one of them, a boy of about ten years.
The lad had a shock of blond hair that he kept pushing from his eyes. He held the Scotsman’s complete attention. Laurien watched in disbelief as Darach crouched down, smiling, and ruffled the boy’s hair. Such public affection made her wonder if the man was Darach after all. And who could the boy be? A young kinsman?
She closed the shutters, telling herself that she needed to keep her mind on more urgent matters. If she did not leave this place—soon—she might never get another chance to escape. In a matter of days, she could find herself wed to the Comte de Villiers.
She crossed to the door and peeked out. Glancing in both directions, she started down the corridor, opposite the way she had come with Jane. When she reached the second staircase, she hurried down to the bouteillerie, the larder. Unlike in a French castle, it was not underground, but on the ground floor. The sounds and scents of baking told her the kitchens lay beyond… and when she tiptoed closer, she saw a small door that opened onto a vegetable garden.
It would be easy to slip out this way, she thought. All she would need to do was wait for the cover of night, when everyone was asleep.
She slipped back up the stairs to her chamber, making sure no one saw her. With her escape route planned, she had naught to occupy her for the next several hours. She curled up on the bed, thinking it would be wise to take a nap, but she could not relax.
Sir William had taken no precautions to prevent her leaving. And Darach would not be expecting her to go anywhere… not after all that had happened between them.
Laurien buried her face in the pillows, closing her eyes. Neither of them had any choice. They each must finish what they had set out to do, on that day in Chartres that seemed so long ago, when he had taken her hostage. He had to carry out his mission.
And she had to carry out her escape.
But finally having her freedom so close at hand brought her no happiness at all. The idea of never seeing Darach again made her feel… as if something deep inside her were being torn asunder.
While the thought of seeing him tonight at supper, if only for a short while, made her heartbeat quicken.
Was this what it meant to be in love with a man? she wondered, curling into a ball and hugging one of the pillows against her. This was not the feeling the troubadours sang of. This was pure misery.
If this were love, she told herself as tears slipped past her lashes, she would be much happier without it.
Chapter 18
Standing at the top of the stair, Laurien smoothed the full skirt of her emerald gown and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of spiced meats and freshly baked bread. Sir William had arranged a small feast this evening, to welcome his “new ward” who had just arrived from France, to help her feel at home.
Never mind that she did not intend to be here long enough to feel at home.
As she descended the steps, Laurien heard the musical sound of feminine laughter amid the louder hum of masculine conversation. At least forty guests sat at tables arranged about the sides of the hall, while a dais at one end of the chamber held a large trestle table for the lord and his honored guests. The warm light of dozens of torches and candles glittered on the guests’ finery. Sir William appeared at her side as soon as she reached the bottom step.
“You are truly the jewel among us this evening, Lady Laurien,” he said, escorting her through the crowd toward the head table.
“You are too kind, milord,” Laurien mumbled, only half hearing his compliment, already searching the unfamiliar faces, looking for a tousled blond head.
She had spent far too much time on her bath and her hair, and nearly driven Jane mad by choosing and discarding one offered gown after another. Laurien told herself that her unusual attention to her appearance came from a desire to postpone the tension she would face this evening… not from any wish to look her best for anyone in particular.
She had finally decided upon a gown of emerald velvet, with a white silk belt at her waist embroidered with silver and studded with tiny pearls, the tasseled ends falling almost to the hem. Jane had plaited her hair, weaving in emerald ribbons and silver threads with expert fingers.
Sir William seated Laurien in the place of honor at his right, and she responded politely when introduced as his ward to the knights and ladies at the table. Three trumpeters sounded as the first course was served.
“I hope you will find our fare to your liking,” Sir William said. “I asked the kitchens to prepare a number of Scottish delicacies for you.”
Laurien only half listened, having spotted Darach. He sat only a short distance away, his back to her, wearing finery that had made her mistake him for a nobleman on first glance—but in truth, he was a nobleman. It was not always easy to remember that about him.
Tonight, he looked very much a lord, wearing a tunic of the finest linen and a surcoat of silk. His hair was newly cut. And his garments, she noticed with chagrin, were of the same colors as hers: the tunic of emerald green, the surcoat white. The silk had a symbol embroidered on it, in silver: a falcon poised to strike.
Laurien scarcely sipped at her barley broth and only nibbled on the ribs of mutton placed before her for the second course. In addition to Darach’s clothing, she could not help noticing his company: a strikingly beautiful, red-haired woman, a few years older than herself, came to stand beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
Darach did not look up, in fact registered no surprise at all at her action. He motioned for a servant to fetch a flask of wine.
The servant had not moved two steps when the woman brought the requested wine herself. Taking Darach’s chalice, she poured a draught and handed it to him, a smile enhancing her pretty features. Laurien had the impression the two of them knew each other exceedingly well.
She did not realize that her hands were tightly clenched until she felt the pain of her nails digging into her palms. She turned to Sir William, suddenly aware that he had been speaking to her.
“Lady Laurien,” he repeated, “would you like me to introduce you to her?”
Laurien took a long drink of wine before replying. “To whom?” she asked lightly.
“The lady you have been watching.” Sir William nodded in the direction of the red-haired woman. “Lady Fionna.”
“Nay, milord,” she said quickly. “I… would not want you to interrupt your meal.”
Laurien felt her gaze drawn back to the pair, watching Lady Fionna help herself to a seat at Darach’s side. The woman listened politely while Darach conversed with a man across the table. Laurien could not help thinking that this Fionna seemed most obliging, attentive, quiet… everything that she herself was not.
But why should any of that matter to her? she thought crossly. She had no claim on Darach. He was free to frolic with whomever he wished.
And she would be leaving. Tonight.
Sir William cleared his throat.
Laurien turned to him again. “I apologize, milord. You were saying?”
He regarded her curiously. “I merely asked, milady, whether you had finished. The servants would like to clear our table.”
“Oh. Aye, I have finished,” she said, belatedly noticing that the third course of roast fowl in a cinnamon sauce sat untouched on her trencher.
Sir William helped her to her feet and led her from the dais. “’Twould seem that your thoughts are occupied this evening. I had hoped for a chance to come to know you better.” They moved to one side as the tables were cleared. A group of musicians, seated in a gallery above the kit
chens, struck up a lively tune, and a trio of jugglers entered, performing as they moved among the guests.
“My thoughts, Sir William, are occupied with my future,” Laurien said, the music preventing her voice from reaching those around them. “And as for coming to know me better, we both know that I am not your ward, but your hostage.”
“I wish your abduction had not been necessary, milady.” Sir William’s tone held genuine regret. “And I understand you are not eager to return to your betrothed?”
“I have accepted my fate,” Laurien lied. “Your men have made it clear to me that I have no choice in the matter. But I have not yet been told precisely how and when I am to be returned to the comte.”
Sir William hesitated a moment, then relented. “As soon as we receive the alliance bearing King Philippe’s seal, we will arrange your passage back to France.”
“And Sir Darach will take me there?”
“Nay, Sir Darach is to return home on the morrow. His part in this is done. I shall escort you.”
Laurien felt as if her heart were splintering. Darach had not mentioned that.
But judging from the way he was ignoring her tonight, he was already finished with her.
“I see,” she said numbly.
The jugglers completed their performance, and the musicians began to play a lively carole. Sir William escorted her over to the circle of dancers that was forming. “I will do my utmost to make your stay in Scotland as pleasant as possible, milady,” he said, his tone indicating that he considered the subject closed. He bowed over her hand. “Do you enjoy dancing?”
Laurien nodded, though in truth, she had not danced since her childhood.
Sir William took her hand and led her into the movements of the carole. She glanced at the other dancers as they circled the room to the high-pitched notes of pipes and lutes and the regular beat of a tabor. She did not see Darach and Lady Fionna.
Mayhap, she thought irritably, dancing did not number among the woman’s talents.
As the carole ended, a new musician appeared in the gallery, holding an instrument Laurien had never seen before. It appeared to be a large sack attached to an array of pipes. When the player blew into it, the bag puffed up and emitted a sound that was more screech than music to her ears.
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