by Olivia Rae
Lady Francis strode to the front of the chapel while Audrey followed along. Turning her head slightly, she watched as Blair, Cook, and a few others joined them. The rotund woman Audrey saw chasing Thomas appeared with a young child in her arms. When Lady Francis looked expectant, the woman just shook her head.
“Let us begin.” Lady Francis faced the altar, dropped to her knees, folded her hands, and bowed her head. All within did likewise.
Like a good Christian, Audrey closed her eyes and waited, but no words were spoken by Lady Francis or anyone else in the chapel. Peeking through her long lashes, Audrey found many were quietly moving their lips and some did not move them at all, but all seemed to be deep in prayer. Well then, I guess I shall do the same. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for sending your son to die for my sins. Please watch over me in this place and let me do no harm to the innocent here. Take care of my mother and my new family back in London. Guard my thoughts and lips from evil…”
She then continued by saying the few prayers she knew from the Book of Hours, which Queen Mary had all her ladies recite often. When she was finished, she raised her eyes to find all staring at her. Audrey’s skin heated. Had she said her petitions out loud? She hoped not for they were Roman prayers.
A peacefulness rested on Lady Francis’s face as she beheld the cross above the altar. “Praise be to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. May his mercy and grace support us this day. Amen.”
Some made the sign of the cross over their chests while others did not. Audrey held her hands fast, not wanting to give away her true beliefs. All took their turn trailing out of the chapel, returning to the hall or to their other duties.
Lady Francis looped her arm in Audrey’s, leading her to the hall. “Come, let us break our fast and then we shall take a walk.”
A walk! Nay, she wanted to find Thomas. But once again Audrey had to remember her place. She had been sent here to be a companion to Lady Francis. Despite her failed plan to find Thomas, Audrey felt her spirits lift. Surely some family information could be gained from the family’s matriarch. “I would love that, my lady.”
They had no sooner sat down when Thomas raced into the hall, his rusty curls tousled and his cheeks pink from the morning wind. Audrey lifted her eyes upward, thanking God for his speedy answer. Just maybe she would be allowed to spend some time with the boy.
In his hands, he cradled a scrawny fish. “Look what I have caught.” He proudly held out his catch to his grandmother. “Can I eat this instead of me pottage?”
Pride shone in Lady Francis’s eyes as she clasped her hands together. “Why, of course you can. Give it to Cook to clean and prepare.”
“Nay. I want to cook it.” Thomas pulled the fish protectively to his shoulder.
Lady Francis chuckled. “All right then. Go and prepare your own meal, but do not come crying when the bones tickle your throat.”
The boy skipped gleefully away and only managed to drop the fish once on his way to the scullery.
“I know what you think.” Lady Francis glanced sideways at Audrey. “I am spoiling him when I should be scolding him for not being at chapel this morn.”
The thought had crossed Audrey’s mind, but she kept her peace, remembering she was here to be a companion, not to be an adversary. A stab of guilt pained her brain…not a companion but a spy come to learn the loyalties of those in the keep. Thus far she had learned Lady Francis was tolerant of both faiths. An action that revealed little of the family’s political beliefs. But then she had only just arrived, she had at least six days before Peter would be back, expecting a missive for the queen. She should also send word to her mother for she was slightly distressed when Audrey left.
Blair plopped the pottage and oatcakes on the table. “Eat hearty. There be nothin’ until this eve.”
A few grumbled at the pitiful meal, but most seemed grateful and happily conversed with their fellow neighbor. One by one they finished their food and left until only Lady Francis and Audrey remained in the hall.
“Come. Let us get started.” Lady Francis began to rise from her seat when Thomas appeared from the scullery, walking with measured steps, trying not to drop his bowl and oatcake.
He sat down next to his grandmother, who took her seat once again. “Cook helped with the bones, but I prepared the fish.” Dotted with black spots, the paltry fish lay limply in his wooden bowl.
“Perhaps you would like a little pottage, after all?” Lady Francis asked.
The boy picked at the fish, then nodded. Before giving the call, Blair appeared with a bowl in hand. “Thought the lad might want a little more.”
“My thanks, Blair. What would this place be like without you?”
The young maid tilted her head and straightened her white cap. “It be a lot dirtier, I wager,” she said as she stared at all the empty bowls on the table.
“I would have to agree.” Lady Francis absentmindedly played with the hem of her sleeve before focusing her attention on a servant clearing away the mess. “I wonder, would Duncan feel the same way?”
Blair bristled and glared at the other servant. “Duncan may be swift in a footrace and may think of himself as a moss-trooper, but he’s nothin’ more than a son of a cottar tryin’ to put on airs. I can set and clear a table faster than him or anyone else in this hall.” She grumbled, scooping up bowls in her arms before stomping off to the scullery.
Lady Francis’s gaze never left the maid’s back. “That one does not appreciate the life she has. I am certain she would not like living in her father’s cottage with her four brothers and the family’s sheep again. But then we all have short memories. My cousin comes to mind.”
Audrey felt the color rise up her neck. How she wanted to confess why she was really here. She bit the inside of her mouth as a lie took root. “The matter of Edlyn’s death may have sprung forth a river of compassion in Sir Pimberly. He seemed truly sad upon hearing she was gone. I am not certain he knew the true nature of her death, but even if he did not, I am sure he would be concerned.”
Gad, she rambled on like a fool. Why wasn’t she like her brother? Asher was always calm, even when things were at their worst. When she was growing up, Asher would shield her from the truth with his cool and casual manner.
Lady Francis drummed her fingers on the table. “Mmm, possibly. Though I always believed him to be an unfeeling man. But then I have not seen Pimberly in over ten years.”
Ten years! What was the queen thinking sending her here? That was just it, she wasn’t. Audrey picked at a piece of oatcake stuck to the table while her mind raced on. Finally, another lie developed. “Perchance he has changed over the years. I do believe he spoke of visiting you soon.”
“Did he?” Lady Francis delicately touched her white veil. “It would be so nice seeing someone from my home.” Suddenly her face softened, and she seemed to drift to a different time.
Home? According to Sir Pimberly, Warring Tower had been her home for close to thirty years. Would she not think of this place as her home?
Lady Francis directed her attention back to her grandson, watching him pack his cheeks with fish and pottage. She gently stroked his head. “I wonder what he would think of this lad?” When the boy was finished, she kissed him on the cheek. “Mistress Jonet is very displeased with you for running away this morn and missing prayers.”
Thomas wrinkled his nose and stuck out his lower lip. “I dinnae like Mistress Jonet.”
“You do not like, Mistress Jonet.” Lady Francis cleared her throat. “Do try to speak like a proper English boy.”
Thomas pushed his bowl of pottage away and stood, crossing his hands over his chest. “I am Scottish, and I say dinnae, like Da.”
“Like your father,” Lady Francis corrected. “Now go find Mistress Jonet and I do not want to hear that you are misbehaving or I shall have to inform your father.”
The boy’s lips began to tremble. He unfolded his arms and dropped his chin. “Aye, Gran.” Thomas shuffled away like an
old man.
Lady Francis sighed. “I blame this on my son. He knows how to act and converse with both English and Scots, but he denies his son the same education. It is altogether troublesome.” She splayed her hands on the table. “I know you think me rude and cruel for saying such, but the truth of what is going to happen is clear to me. These lands will never belong to the Scots. They put their stock in someday having Mary of Scots on the English throne. I tell you, Queen Elizabeth will never let that happen.”
No indeed, she would not. Audrey rolled a morsel of oatcake between her fingers. “Only God knows what will happen, my lady.”
“Mark my words, Queen Elizabeth will not tolerate Mary of Scots.”
Audrey prudently did not answer. Obviously, Lady Francis was a supporter of the English Crown.
“If only I could find a decent nurse who had the ability to train the boy in both customs of the Scots and English. I would do it myself, but I tire so quickly these days. We removed Mistress Jonet from the kitchen and made her nurse after…” Lady Francis frowned and then quickly brightened. “But, of course, I have you! You know English customs coming from London. Better than me, I suspect. Thomas would gain much from your instruction.”
Audrey’s insides tumbled. She had been sent here to observe, not to instruct. “My lady, I know nothing about teaching children.”
“You are not really teaching him, just showing him how the English would act in different situations. He is young and sharp, and I am sure he will notice and mimic your mannerisms quickly. You do not have to spend all day with him, just a morning or afternoon, here and there.” Lady Francis squeezed Audrey’s hand. “Please.”
Keep an eye on his boy. Queen Elizabeth’s words bellowed in Audrey’s brain. The queen would see this request as good fortune. A chance to carry out her wishes. Using a child as a pawn against the father seemed nothing less than nefarious. Had she not planned to do the same earlier this morn?
“Someday Thomas will be laird. How much better for the Armstrong family if he is able to deal with the English as easily as he does the Scots?” Lady Francis gave Audrey’s hand one more squeeze. “You are my only hope.”
Truly, what could the boy say or do that would betray his father’s confidences? “Of course, I will do as you wish. However, do not get your hopes up. Thomas has a deep desire to please his father, and he will do anything to gain his affections.”
Lady Francis released Audrey’s hand and sat back in her chair. “There is the problem. The boy cannot do anything to please Gavin. Nor do I see that changing in the near future.”
A twinge of sadness grew in Audrey’s heart. How could a father reject his own son? “Then I shall pray that God softens his heart toward Thomas.”
“You are a kind woman, Mistress Audrey Hayes.” A fine mist clouded Lady Francis’s gaze.
Guilt clawed at Audrey’s insides. What would Lady Francis say if she knew the truth? What would Laird Armstrong say? The glacial blue eyes and granite-tight jaw floated through her mind. Just what was Laird Armstrong capable of doing?
Chapter Five
Gavin rode along the banks of Liddel Water, scanning the meadows and the hills around him. All seemed peaceful this day, but that did not mean they would remain so. At any moment, a reiver from a neighboring family, the English, or even the French might invade this quiet countryside. He swiveled to see his cousin Fraser crossing back and forth over the river with his brother, Jaxon. At present, the two Armstrong families were at peace. But tough times were known to make the best of friends into the worst of enemies. Even the buzz of an annoying fly could change the moods of the borderland families.
Their father, Hew Armstrong, was meaner than most. A lump of meadow grass turned the wrong way might send the man into a hostile berserker. Age had mellowed him somewhat, though Gavin was not allowed on any of Hew Armstrong’s land. The riff came when Gavin’s mother and father married. A staunch English Reformer did not sit well with Hew and his Roman beliefs.
Hence, Fraser and Jaxon snuck away to Warring Tower where rules were a little more lenient. The friendship with the brothers began years ago when they were just lads. Gavin and Jaxon had been fighting over fishing spots and soon found more could be caught if they joined forces. Fraser, always following his older brother, became a welcomed addition. Most border villages knew that when the terrible trio came riding, it was best to lock up your daughters and livestock or in the morn one might be ruined and the other gone.
Though they still rode the marches together when their families weren’t feuding, they no longer caused havoc in the neighboring villages—that ended when Edlyn died.
“Ack, I am tired of ridin’, and me gut is a growlin’,” Fraser complained. “Let’s stop in yonder village an’ cool our throats.”
“Are ye mad? We are on the edge of Rory Maxwell’s land. The villagers will take one look at Gavin and string his English hide up on the nearest tree. Especially since he stinks like a fartin’ mule, or is that yer dug?” Jaxon rode up beside Gavin, holding his nose. He swung his horse wide when Gavin reached out to give him a slug.
Gavin sniffed and glanced down at Bairn. The hound meandered through the fields and did smell like he had bathed in a pile of dung. “Speak for yourself. If I remember, the last time we were here, the wummin didnae leave me alone.”
“He’s right.” Fraser glanced back at Jaxon. “They were holdin’ their noses at ye, brother.” Fraser gave out a howl, kicked the flanks of his horse, and took off toward the village.
Jaxon frowned. “The fool hasnae any sense. Sure as God made the earth, Fraser is goin’ to get his head bashed in one of these days, an’ I dinnae care to hear our da screamin’ about it. I wonder what has gotten into Fraser lately. He used to be so reserved.”
How true. Fraser had changed these past six months. Jaxon had always been the one to raise a ruckus, and Fraser had always held back somewhat. He even tried to talk Gavin out of playing a game of chance with Rory Maxwell, which had cost him dearly years ago. The question was what caused Fraser’s change?
“Ye can wait here if ye like,” Jaxon said.
On the contrary, Gavin did want to come. Now more than ever he wanted to make contact with the Maxwells. “I will go along. If we have to knock a head or two, all the grander.”
“I thought ye have sworn off the fightin’, havin’ two wee children.” Jaxon cocked his head. “Methinks ye are up to somethin’.”
The mention of his sons froze Gavin’s heart. ’Twas because of them he wanted to meet Rory Maxwell. “Come on or your brother will take all the best lassies.”
With a swift flick of the reins, the pair took off toward the village. There they found Fraser’s Galloway pony tied outside a small thatched-roof inn that served drink and food to weary travelers and hearty town folk. Inside, a few tables sat near a roaring hearth. A burly fellow served up small beer and ale to those who had the coin. His pretty daughter warmed hearts with her saucy lips and mutton stew. Gavin’s pulse quickened when he noticed that at one of the tables sat Rory Maxwell and his son Ewart. Both vocal supporters of Queen Mary of Scots and the papist faith. They were robust rivals when it came to reiving.
According to Gavin’s mother, Rory at one time had been a friend of Gavin’s father, Ian Armstrong. As long as Gavin could remember, the families have always been feuding. Rory Maxwell was a rugged, repulsive man. His earthy-brown eyes resembled puddles of mud, and his long grey locks hung like a dirty mule’s tail. For certain the lengthy scar that went from his brow to the middle of his cleft chin made him mean and ornery. Nevertheless, Gavin wished to speak to the man.
At another table, Fraser sat, tossing down drink as if it had sprung from an eternal well. Jaxon took a seat next to him. “Hold there, brother. We have a ride ahead of us.”
Hauling out another chair, Gavin glanced over his shoulder at Maxwell and gave him and his son a nod. His friendly gesture was met with a sneer and the showing of Rory’s back.
“Why ye al
ways tryin’ to make friends with him and his lot? He would rather stick ye through the gut than give ye a hug.” Jaxon tapped his fingers on the table. “Dinnae ye like our company?”
“I like it just fine,” Gavin answered, taking a drink of his own brew. “But there are advantages in getting along with the Maxwells.”
Jaxon let out a puff of air. “What that be? They smell like fish, an’ their wummin look like oxes.”
“They are good staunch supporters of Queen Mary and the Roman faith.”
“And so am I,” Jaxon gibed. “If ye be wantin’ true believers, look to yer own family.”
Gavin slightly shook his head and lowered his voice. “They are close to those who wish to see her on the English throne.”
Jaxon slammed his mug on the table. “Leave them be.”
Gavin rubbed his chin. How he wished he could, but Maxwell was his only connection to those who might help him. “Stay here.” Gavin picked up his mug and walked over to Rory Maxwell’s table.
“Ye not be welcomed here, Warrin’. Best ye move along with yer cousins.” Maxwell leaned over and spat on the floor. Ewart quickly moved his foot from the vile spot.
Gavin winced inwardly and then dropped his gaze to the table, to Maxwell’s cup. “These men need more ale.” Gavin waved to the burly innkeeper.
Rory Maxwell leaned back and rested his hand on a dagger at his hip. “I dinnae want to drink with ye, unless ye want another game of chance?”
The mention of that fateful day where he had almost lost Warring Tower for good curled Gavin’s insides. Instead of a fist to the mouth, Gavin gave Maxwell a thin smile. “Nay. Accept the brew as a gift to better times between our families. You have a good day.” Gavin sauntered back to his original seat.
Jaxon let out a low whistle. “What ye say to him? He looks like he’s ready to put a dagger between yer shoulders.”
Gavin took a drink before answering. “Just a few welcoming words among friends.”