by Olivia Rae
“The boar?” Sir Pimberly had told her nothing about this boar.
Suddenly, the door to the hall burst open as four men dragged in a dead bull. A dented breastplate hit the floor with a thunk. Dressed in a black jack of plate and dark breeks, covered in blood, a lean muscular man led the gory parade. The leader’s hair was wild like a winter snowstorm and reached straight at his shoulders. His eyes resembled chips of blue ice, and his firm jaw and cleft chin reminded Audrey of the mountains and hills that surrounded this valley. A large brown and black hound lumbered in next to him.
“We shall eat well tonight,” the fierce warrior shouted.
A small band of moss-troopers, who looked incredibly young and terribly old, filled the hall. Servants appeared from the scullery and from the winding staircase. Gleeful voices rose and bounced off the walls. A cheery tune broke forth from a man’s small bagpipe. Caught up in the excitement that surrounded her, Audrey began to tap her foot to the music but quickly felt the cold draft of a rigid stare. Her tap halted, and her gaze locked with the frosty glare of the man in black.
Lady Francis leaned over as the man made his way to the hearth. “Chin up, my dear. You are about to meet my son, Gavin Armstrong of Warring. Whom I affectionately call ‘the boar.’”
Chapter Three
Gavin squared his shoulders and wrinkled his brow as he approached his mother’s new companion. Anything or anyone that came out of London and was recommended by Sir Walter Pimberly brought no goodwill to Warring Tower. The lass’s dark eyes grew wide, and then she looked away, but not before he saw the fear in them. Perfect. Perchance her distress would send her scurrying back from whatever dank, dreary London hole she had crawled from.
Standing close to her chair, he crossed his arms over his jack, pushing the metal strips sewn into the fabric closer to his chest. “And who be this?” he asked, laying on a thicker Scottish accent.
“This is Mistress Audrey Hayes. We have spoken of her before, Gavin.” His proper English mother’s strong stare would brook no mischief with their new arrival. “Do try to make her feel welcomed.”
The lass rose from her seat and dropped into a deep curtsy. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Armstrong.” She gave him a wide winsome smile. Her eyes were like the night sky full of twinkling stars.
She tried to goad him by calling him lord instead of laird. Ack. She was not scared of him at all.
A twitter of laughter came out of his mother’s lips. “Oh, Gavin. If you could but see your face.”
Without moving a muscle, he knew his frightful glower had faded away to dumbfounded bewilderment. He quickly recovered and motioned with his blood-stained hand to the chair. “Mistress, please take your seat. We do not stand—”
“On formality. Your mother has told me as much.”
Bairn, his large drooling dog, sat next to her chair. The turncoat. The beast’s foul pant permeated the air. Mistress Audrey covered her nose with her hand, turning her gaze to the bull carcass lying in the middle of the hall.
“Where I come from, men hunt pheasants, deer, and foxes. I have never seen a hunting party return with a cow.”
“A coo,” he boomed. “He is a bull from the same English who but five days ago stole cattle from us.”
Mistress Audrey did not blink an eye. She tipped her head to the side; her long black braid bumped off her shoulder. “Now I see. It is a bull. His shoulders are unusually bulky.” A tiny curve appeared on her lips as she assessed Gavin’s width.
The devil take him. She teased him. Edlyn would have been swooning by now, but not this woman. Poking and prodding him as if he were truly a bull. Gavin pressed his lips into a white slash. He would have to watch this wee baggage closely.
“Quit fussing about the animal and go and clean up. And have those men take that beast out of the hall to the kitchen. I just had fresh rushes laid this morn.” Lady Francis covered her nose with a cloth. “The smell is fierce.”
Gavin took a tankard of beer from a servant and then downed the hearty drink. The whole room had grown merry with laughter, music, and dancing servants. Even Mistress Audrey tapped her foot and hummed along. This was not the introduction he wished to have for the lass. He wanted her shaking, shivering, shrinking at the very sight of him.
He took another swig from his drink. “I shall leave, but the bull stays. See how everyone cheers as Cook slices meat from its belly. Why ruin their joy when there is so little of it to be found. Do you not agree, Mistress Audrey?”
Her foot stalled midtap, and she tried to hide her surprise that he even cared about her opinion. “Why, my lord, I have been here less than half a day, and everyone has been kind and friendly. If they are sour, it might be the company they keep.”
What was this? She jabbed him again? Did she not know that he could have her thrown out with just the wave of a hand? He examined her tiny nose and her high cheekbones. Her back straight and proud. Her hands delicately placed in her lap with her palms primly clasped. Her fair skin contrasted by her inky hair and bewitching eyes. She sat like a queen. Ah, that was it. She was not your average mistress come to console his mother. This lass had been trained in a palace. By Queen Elizabeth or another? In truth, it did not matter. He was sure she was sent here for no good.
“Then I shall leave you to more suitable company.” Gavin bowed slightly.
Just as he was about to turn away, a streak of red hair and brown clothing ran behind his mother’s chair—Thomas. As usual, the lad picked the most inopportune time to make his presence known. The dog leaped up and barked wildly, wagging his tail. One severe look from Gavin sent the beast to sit once again.
“Where is your nurse, lad?” Gavin snapped. “Should you not be upstairs learning your manners?”
Thomas screwed up his face. “I dinnae want to be upstairs with her and that cryin’ bairn—”
“Quiet. What you want is not important,” Gavin chastised, then hated himself for doing so. But the lad had to learn you did not always get what you wanted in life, especially living in the borderlands.
The lad ducked and then peeked out from behind the chair, staring with his round copper eyes.
“Stop, Gavin. You are scaring the boy.” His mother reached around her chair and pulled at Thomas’s sleeve. “Come here and meet our guest.”
With timid steps, he shuffled to the side of the chair, turning into his grandmother, placing his head on her shoulder. “Is she nice, Gran?” the lad whispered.
A glow of warmth softened Gavin’s mother’s features. “Quite, and she has come from far away just to stay with us.” His mother pushed the lad until he stood between her chair and that of Mistress Audrey. “Let me introduce you.”
The lad looked sheepishly at Gavin and then lifted a doubtful gaze to his gran. “Will she be my new ma?”
Peals of laughter left Gavin’s mother’s throat as Mistress Audrey blushed. The dog let out a howl.
Gavin almost dropped his mug on the floor. “Nay, lad. Dinnae be foolish. She is here to spend time with your grandmother.”
Properly admonished, Thomas glanced at the woman and then twisted to his gran for assurance.
“What a fine-looking boy you are,” Mistress Audrey said, giving Thomas a friendly smile.
“I am not a boy. I am six summers old. I am almost a man, and I act like one too.” Thomas folded his arms across his chest and pouted.
“And so you are!” Her evaluation pivoted to Gavin. “You stand just like your father, but I wager you look like your mother.”
Gavin’s breath seeped soundlessly from his lips. What a foolish presumption. “Thomas, make your apologies and leave. Now.” The hurt in the lad’s eyes burned a hole in Gavin’s gut. The child nodded and gave his gran a hug before clumsily bowing to Mistress Audrey. He hurried up the tower steps without a look back. The hound plodded after him.
“Truly, was that unnecessary. He is just a boy,” his mother admonished.
“Hmph,” Gavin sputtered. He was used to her scoldi
ng, but the censure in Mistress Audrey’s face dried his throat and sent hot nettles to every muscle in his body. “Leave it alone, Mother.”
His mother’s lips thinned, and she shifted her gaze toward the dancers while Mistress Audrey watched him like a cat watches a rat.
“It seems I am disturbing everyone’s good mood. I shall retire to my chamber.” Gavin gave a slight bow to the ladies without spilling a drop of his beer. “Have Blair bring up a trencher when the meal is ready and have her prepare me a warm bath.” With long strides, he made his way to the stairs, all the while feeling the Englishwoman’s stare burrowed into his back. Let her look. She knew none of the truth, and if he had his way, she never would for she would be gone before the summer grass grew.
* * *
With keen eyes, Audrey watched Gavin Armstrong of Warring head for the spiral stairs as if he had fire on his heels, all crusty and cross. Obviously, he wanted her gone, and how she wished she could oblige him. Regrettably, that was not going to happen anytime soon. Not until Queen Elizabeth gave the order. Her Majesty might be right. Maybe he was hiding something or he was hatching a devious plan. Perhaps that was why he treated her with such disdain. Although, he was just as strict to his son Thomas. Worse. What kind of man would be cruel to a child? A boar, that is who.
Even Lady Francis called him such. But how did a man get that way? Surely he was not born with such a brutish bent. His mother seemed gentle and generous. Was his father a cold and callous man? That would certainly explain why he treated his son in such an unkind manner.
“So, what do you think of my son?” Lady Francis asked without taking her eyes off the raucous servants twirling and singing.
“He is a very interesting sort, but I do not really know him.”
“What a safe answer.” Lady Francis rotated toward Audrey. “Where is the pluck you showed my son? Pray tell, be honest. You will not offend me.”
Even with permission, Audrey balked. What mother wants to hear ill about their child, no matter his age. “He seems a little strict with Thomas.”
A look of sadness crept into Lady Francis’s eyes. “It has not always been so. He used to do many things with the boy, but then Edlyn gave birth to Marcas, and all that changed. He spent more time with the babe. Then the tragedy with Edlyn…” Lady Francis shook her head. “Gavin has not been the same since… Such a pity. All of it.”
Surely, Laird Armstrong loved his wife and was one of those men who loved babes too? Her heart warmed slightly at the thought. If Edlyn had not died, in time, his affections would have equally returned to Thomas.
Audrey reached over and boldly touched Lady Francis’s arm. “You all have suffered much. No one ever understands why our Lord sees fit to take a mother from her children and from a man that deeply loved her.”
Lady Francis pulled away. “Is that what you call it—our Lord taking someone away? I would call it something else.”
Audrey worried her lip. How stupid of her. Lady Francis’s pain was deep as well. “I am sorry. How cruel of me. I just meant God has a plan that we do not always know. A woman dying of female complaints is not an easy matter when she has a young family.”
“Female complaints?” Lady Francis widened her eyes. “You do not know anything about Edlyn. Speak the truth. These platitudes of God and purpose mean nothing in this case.”
“I-I am not trying to offend you, my lady. ’Tis that we do not always see the good in God’s plan until much later.”
“God’s plan!” Lady Francis slammed her hands on the arms of her chair, her face curling up in a bitter twist. “Edlyn jumped from her chamber window and killed herself. Where is God in such a foolish death?”
Chapter Four
Not one wink of sleep. Audrey spent much of the night staring at the narrow window, wondering how Edlyn had managed such a deadly feat. How had she squeezed her body through such a small space? Why would a woman with two wonderful children kill herself? And why didn’t Sir Pimberly give her such an important fact? Unless he didn’t know how she died.
Last eve, Audrey had been so distraught upon hearing the fateful news that once she arrived in the cold, eerie chamber, she crawled quickly into bed. With stiff hands, she pulled the musty coverlet around her as if it were a shield against Edlyn’s ghost.
Now, in the early morning light, she assessed the room more closely. Dust filled the corners. A lone straight-backed chair sat next to an iron brazier. Clearly, this room had not been inhabited for some time, nor was it made welcoming for her. Under the window stood a rickety table with a basin on top. Next to the basin, she spotted a painted wood miniature of a woman. Audrey scanned the room again. This was the only personal belonging in the chamber.
Her heart quickened, and her curiosity once again battled down her fears. Wrapping the coverlet around her body, she tentatively lowered her feet to the cool floor. With quick steps, she made her way to the table. Carefully, Audrey picked up the painting. A thin-faced woman with wavy brown hair and glassy eyes greeted her. There was no doubt the artist had worked hard to make the woman look attractive and joyful, but somehow he managed to fail. The woman’s lips were slim, her cheeks sunken, and her face seemed shrouded in sadness and loneliness.
This had to be the likeness of Edlyn, but why would she have a miniature of herself? Shouldn’t this small painting be in Laird Armstrong’s chamber? Or was the reminder of her too great to handle? Her clothes and personal effects quickly discarded after her death to stop the grief? Possibly.
Audrey scanned the chamber again. The place was just as eerie in the daylight. Not a tapestry hung on the wall or an ornate trunk sat on the floor. Nor was there a lamp stand to illuminate the room. The bed was narrow and meant for one. This was never meant to be a lady’s chamber, and yet somehow it had become one. What had caused Edlyn to wind up in such a dismal place?
And where was Laird Armstrong’s chamber? Should that not be next to this one? As if the boar had heard her thoughts, a thump of footfalls on the floor above her sent a sprinkle of dust and debris from the rafters. Moans and groans and garbled speech greeted Audrey’s ears. Suddenly the clip-clop of horses’ hooves filled the courtyard. She raced to the window to see two broad-shouldered men sitting on their mounts, dressed in brown breeks and weathered breastplates. One held the reins of a black Galloway pony. Their scraggly appearance and long brown beards reminded Audrey of the many villains she would see lurking on the London street corners.
“Come on, Warrin’. We dinnae have all day. The marches willnae patrol themselves,” one of the burly men said.
The thumping above her ceased at the slam of a door. Hurried footfalls descended the spiral stairs, and before her thoughts settled, Laird Armstrong raced to his horse with his large hound behind him. His cold gaze reached up to her chamber window, a sarcastic smirk across his lips.
Audrey knelt down below the window, straining to hear every word.
“Yer early. We should wait for the others,” Laird Armstrong said.
“What for? The old man will hold us back, and I have no wish to hear wailin’ of the young whelps. We dinnae need yer pathetic moss-troopers.”
Not a word answered the bully man’s plea. The next time Audrey dared a peek, clouds of dust kicked up from the horses’ hooves wafted on the wind. They galloped away from Warring Tower like three demons out to do the devil’s bidding.
“Well is that not a fine good morn to you,” Audrey said to the miniature in her hand. She placed the picture back on the table and dropped the coverlet back onto the bed. She stretched her arms above her head, staring out at the misty grey skies. A chill shivered down her back. “Spring or not, it would be a fine day to stay in bed.” But as she contemplated doing just that, she heard the stirrings of life. A rooster crowed and chickens clucked, the smell of baking bread drifted up to her nose.
Looking out the window once more, a lad with a fishing pole in hand dashed to the open gate followed by a rotund woman struggling to catch up. “Master Thomas,
where ye be goin’? Yer gran will be wantin’ ye to say yer mornin’ prayers with her.” The woman gave up her chase and stamped her foot. “Ye be just like yer da.” Placing her hands on her round hips, the woman harrumphed and then limped back to the tower, mumbling all the way.
Audrey’s plan for the day just fled through the gate. Keeping track of a six-year-old boy would not be an easy feat. Quickly she took care of her needs and dressed. With quiet steps, she made her way down to the hall. Maybe if she followed the river, she would find Thomas.
To her surprise, Lady Francis and Blair stood near the entry discussing the day’s chores. After dismissing Blair, the older woman switched her regard. “Mistress Audrey, I did not expect you to be up this early after your long days of travel. Would you care to break your fast or first join me in the chapel?”
Audrey wanted to say neither, but that was not the way to gain the trust of the Lady of Warring Tower. Inwardly she sighed and plastered an eager smile on her mouth. “Oh, chapel first, my lady.” Audrey’s stomach rumbled in protest to her words. But God did come first, and now, more than ever, she needed to raise her prayers in help and hope.
Graciously, Lady Francis nodded. “Very well then, follow me.” They made their way to a small chamber tucked under the stone spiral staircase. At the door, Lady Francis paused. “My husband built this room to house weapons, but I convinced him it would be better used as a house of prayer. There is not a kirk nearby, and with those of the Roman faith and the Reformed Faith claiming equal truths in these lands, this chapel is a much safer place.”
Audrey wondered just which religious prayers, the True Faith or that of the Reformed Kirk, she would be participating in this morn. The heavy wooden door scraped the stone floor, and once opened, showed a plain room with a makeshift altar and a simple bare cross. The rest of the room was just as stark. Ah, Reformers then. A Roman chapel would be more ornate with a symbol of Christ hanging on the cross.