by Olivia Rae
“May I never have friends like that.” Jaxon’s attention flipped to Fraser who was fast becoming well into his cups. “Come. We better be goin’ before I have to explain to me da why Fraser is drunk and why I was fightin’ with the Maxwells.” Jaxon rose and grabbed Fraser by the arm.
Taking one last pull from his mug, Gavin stood and nodded toward Rory Maxwell, who returned the sociable gesture with a glare.
On the ride back to Warring Tower, the cool mist nipped at Gavin’s nose and cheeks. Satisfaction rippled through his body. Maxwell didn’t attempt to put a knife in his back. A good sign. A very good sign.
* * *
Not a half a day had passed and Audrey had visited every corner and cranny of Warring Tower. Truly, there was not much to see. She examined the kitchen, the hall, the pens where the sheep, cattle, and other pigs were kept when the fields were not safe. Lady Francis did not venture to the floor above their chambers. Nor did they glimpse into the older woman’s room.
From the tower gate, she pointed to the hovels that dotted the countryside and housed Warring’s tenants. She then escorted Audrey to the children’s nursery, which was slightly larger, but just as meagerly furnished as Edlyn’s room.
Mistress Jonet sat on a chair humming and rocking Marcas, who could not be older than one summer. Thomas sat straight legged in a corner breaking small sticks in half.
“Would ye like to hold the bairn?” Mistress Jonet held out a child with a shock of blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. There was no mistaking this was Laird Armstrong’s son minus the ferocious frown.
“Very much.” Audrey reached for the babe.
Snap!
She stalled. Her vision seeking out the source of the sound. Thomas held two pieces of a jagged stick in tight fists, his cheeks flushed and his breathing heavy. His gaze rigid and fixed on his brother. This is what happens when affection was given to one child and not the other.
Audrey made her way to Thomas’s side and knelt down. “What are you trying to make?”
He leaned back, a deep glower on his face. “A pile.”
“A pile of what?” Audrey asked, trying to hold her features in check.
The boy’s lower lip puffed out, and he shrugged.
“If it is all right with your grandmother, we could go and find some pitch and build a tower like Warring?”
Immediately the boy’s frown fled, and he scooped up the remaining sticks. He looked toward the door where his grandmother stood. “Can we, Gran?”
“Well of course. I am sure there is a bucket of something sticky down in the stables that will hold your tower together.” Lady Francis touched her temple. “You go along with Mistress Audrey while I go lie down. I fear my head is pounding something terrible.”
“An’ what about the bairn?” Mistress Jonet asked, arms stretched out, holding the kicking, gurgling child.
Thomas froze and glared at Audrey. A few sticks fell from his fingers and rattled on the floor.
“I shall come by later.” Audrey bent over and picked up the sticks. “Right now, we must build a tower to keep our defenses safe. Is that not correct, Master Thomas?”
A huge grin grabbed at Thomas’s cheeks as he nodded and scampered out of the doorway and down the stairs. Audrey followed with light steps—a victory won. Spending time with the boy would not be such a terrible chore after all. Far better than spending time with Gavin Armstrong of Warring.
Trying to keep up, Audrey heard Thomas’s laughter floating from the courtyard. When she got to the stable, shouts and cries of the stable master could be heard. Approaching the noise, she could understand the man’s complaints. A pail of feed lay on its side next to an upended bench, and a fidgeting Galloway pony banged a hoof against his stall. Clean and soiled rushes were strewn about as if a strong gale force wind had raced through the structure.
“Calm down, lad. Give me a mite an’ I’ll get what ye need,” bellowed a grey-haired man whose back resembled a round mountain.
Audrey put a hand to her nose to mask the pungent odor. As she proceeded to the back of the stable, she marveled at the horses within. Most were Galloway ponies, but there was a beautiful grey palfrey and an old brown mare. Audrey reached out to pet the palfrey’s muzzle.
“What do you think you are doing?”
The familiar roar stalled Audrey’s hand. She gulped as she turned to find frost in Laird Armstrong’s frozen eyes. “I-I just—”
“We’re goin’ to build a tower.” There spotted with black pitch and bucket in hand stood Thomas with a wide grin on his face.
Laird Armstrong’s blond eyebrows shot to his hairline. “And who gave you such a foolish idea?”
“I did.” Audrey cleared her throat. “’Tis not foolish at all. Methinks it is a wonderful idea, and we will not be deterred.” She pulled back her shoulders, and her spine stretched upward. “I have heard you are an expert on this tower. So why not put your expertise to work and help your son build this one?”
Chapter Six
How brash! Blood poured into his cheeks as his jaw began to stiffen. Did not the English have a handle on their women? Encouraging the lad to run off and build a tower with sticks. Nonsense. A small nugget of memory produced a time when Gavin was the same age and used to build boats, carts, and horses out of leaves, twigs, twine, and stones. Look where such playful amusements got him, in debt with a dead wife and a child that was… Gavin gritted his teeth.
He handed the reins of his mount over to the stable master, and towering over his son, he said, “Go find your nurse, lad.”
The bucket of pitch slid from Thomas’s hand and landed with a thunk. His fingers grew white around the fistful of sticks as his body began to shake. What was this? Did the lad think to defy him? Gavin smacked his gloves against his leather-clad thigh. The lad paled. He fled, holding the blasted twigs in his hand.
Unclenching his teeth, Gavin took a deep, calming breath. His attention spun to the planner of the situation. “Mistress, you will follow me.”
He stomped to the steps and did not stop until he reached the first floor. Even then he only paused briefly to make sure she trailed. Once he heard her huffing behind him, he proceeded up the stone spiral staircase to the top floor. He expected to wait for her, allowing his temper to cool, but to his surprise, she was less than a handful of steps behind him.
“My, that was altogether invigorating.” Mistress Audrey dabbed a hand to her cheeks, brightened from the exertion. Her back straight as an arrow. “Now then, what do you wish to say that could not have been said down below?”
Gavin ground his teeth and pushed open a low wooden door with his shoulder. He led her to the narrow battlements that overlooked the greening valley.
“Oh my, such a lovely view. I was never allowed to admire such at…” Her mouth snapped shut, and her lips moved as if she tried to chew her words away.
“Mistress, please continue. Where you not allowed to go?”
“I-I mean in London, we do not have such splendid views of hills and meadows. The streets are extremely dirty, and even in the near countryside, the stench of city air singes the nostrils and…” She wrung her hands to the point where Gavin believed she would twist her fingers right off.
He folded his arms over his chest and set his back against the battlement wall. “And…do go on.”
She kept swallowing as if she had eaten the pitch Thomas wanted to use for his tower.
“Where Queen Elizabeth resides, are not the grounds lovely there?” he asked.
Red streaks sped up Mistress Audrey’s neck and colored her face. Her whole body began to wobble; he feared she might go over the wall. Nay, not again. A shadowy figure from the past wrapped his heart in horror. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Are you all right, mistress?”
Immediately, the color in her cheeks fled, and she placed a hand to her temple. “I-I am fine.”
Gavin could feel the rapid beat of her pulse when his hand slid down to her wrist. With little thought, he us
ed his own body to shield her from the low battlement wall. Her sweet breath twisted up his neck and pulled his gaze to her lips. He cleared his throat before stepping back. “Forgive me. I should not have been so bold. But I—I thought you…”
The color in her cheeks returned to normal. Her breathing slowed, and her tempting heather scent drifted away on the wind. She brushed back her black locks and tried to feign a look of indifference, but not before he saw the heated glisten in her dark eyes. “I am fine. The walk up the steps must have winded me a little, but I am recovered now.” She folded her hands to calm her shaking. “Now then. Why did you bring me up here?”
For a moment, he just marveled at how quickly she had regained her composure. She was not as weak as expected. He grunted and gestured over the land. “To see what I fight for. Though you can see far, my land only goes to the water’s edge. This small piece and this tower are all that I own. Someday it will belong to my heir.”
“You mean your land. Cannot your other children inherit some movable property?”
She stunned him. Why would she care what his children inherited? “Aye, but take a good look, mistress. My lands are not plentiful. To the east lies my uncle’s holding. This land was divided when their older brother died.”
He paused when he noticed her frown. Aye, she too knew that wasn’t how the laws went. The next eldest should inherit, but that did not happen here.
Gavin cleared his throat and continued, “To the west is Maxwell land, who would like nothing more than to take my land.” He waved a hand across the open fields. “Do you not see? The Armstrong family weakens itself even when movable possessions are divided. What you see here must go to one son only. The eldest. Often, fights break out over family possessions. Did you know that my father and my uncle had another brother? The oldest brother. He had a tragic accident of questionable circumstances.”
Without asking the question he saw racing across her face, she moved to the battlement wall and gazed outward. “That is a tragic story, but I have been told that the whole family would fight together when called.”
I have been told. By whom? Once again, uneasiness settled on Gavin’s shoulders. Mistress Audrey was a mystery that needed to be unraveled cautiously.
“Is that not true?” Again, she feigned the look of an innocent maid.
“Most of the time, but not always. A quarrel among brothers or cousins can be just as troublesome as fighting with another Scottish family or the English raiding our livestock. To this day, my uncle plots against me.”
She pierced him with her fathomless gaze. “And why is that?”
He should hold his words, but the truth might frighten her enough to send her dashing back to England. “He was not happy when my father married an English lass. He cursed the day when he and my father decided to split the land. I believe he seeks to control all of it. So that someday his youngest may inherit it.”
She brushed her fingers lightly on the cold stones. “I see.”
“Do you? I have two sons also. Do you think the youngest will be happy with a few heads of cattle and sheep?”
She drew in her cheeks and examined the meadows. A modest herd of cattle grazed near the river while a farmer hoed a slim slice of land. Warring Tower could ill afford to give up one animal let alone a whole herd. Audrey bit her lip, clearly unable to come up with a reasonable solution.
“Now you see my predicament.”
“If Thomas inherits this land, should not he be using his days in more useful pursuit than building stick towers?”
Time stretched as Mistress Audrey contemplated his words. Surely she could see he spoke the truth—if the lad inherited. The notion unsettled him. What would his son do if he ever learned the truth?
“An heir has much to learn about running an estate, but I fail to see what education Thomas is receiving by sitting on a floor watching his nurse care for his younger brother.”
By the stones beneath his feet, she wanted to gainsay him about his son’s rearing. “Mistress, my son’s welfare does not concern you.” He expected that to be the end of it as she stepped toward the door.
“I am sorry, but that is where you are wrong.” A wicked grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Your mother has asked me to spend time with Thomas as she fears he will not have the manners or skill to deal with his English neighbors when he comes of age. Unless you would like to take on that role? For I noticed you seem at ease with both the English and the Scots.”
His jaw dropped, but not one sound came forth. Bold, brash, and bonnie. Bonnie! His mind was running amuck. May he be lashed with a horse whip.
“So good day to you, my lord. I have a tower to build.” The wicked smile became devilish. Quickly, she curtsied and fled.
Before he could verbalize a correction, he heard her footfalls rushing down the stairs.
Gavin slammed his hands on the stone wall. What a brazen woman. Heat engulfed his temples. He took a few steps to follow her, then stopped. Barreling after her and barking like a dog would solve nothing. A stubborn lass had to be dealt with in a different way.
Laughter drifted up from the courtyard as he saw Thomas and Mistress Audrey race toward the gate with the pitch bucket in hand. She tilted her head and nodded in his direction before dashing into the meadows.
He worked his fists at his side, drawing in deep breaths. If he believed in God, then this might be a trial. But Gavin no longer believed in such myths. This was nothing more than a short inconvenience, something to be remedied… And he knew just how to do it.
* * *
Audrey swung the pitch bucket back and forth as Thomas held the timber tower gently in his hands. By all accounts, it had been a productive afternoon. Perhaps not by Queen Elizabeth’s standards, but certainly by Thomas’s.
Once they had bolted from the tower, Thomas led her to a nice cozy spot near the river. Pink ragged robin and meadowsweet were starting to bloom, sending up a bouquet of fragrances. The afternoon sun warmed the air and lightened their moods.
Thomas had laid all the sticks before him and then curled his lips inward to help focus on his tower. He placed four sticks to form a square. “They not be even,” he cried.
“They are not even.” Audrey mimicked his words with proper English speech. She picked up one of the sticks. “But that can be fixed easily.” She rose to her feet and found a sharp stone and began filing the pieces of wood. “This would be easier if we had a knife.”
The boy’s eyes glittered. “I ken where to get one.”
“You do?”
As quick as a vole, Thomas scurried to a large boulder by the river. Immediately, he began digging and did not stop until he produced a dull dagger. He held up the weapon like a proud warrior.
“I found it in the stables under a pile of soiled rushes. Me da would be mad if he knew I had it.” His eyes clouded with doubt. His head whipped from side to side to see if anyone was about. Only bushes and the soft sound of the trickling stream greeted their ears.
“Have no fear, I shall not tell him.”
“What about Mistress Jonet an’ Gran?” Thomas itched his nose, trying to hide his fear.
“I will not tell them either.” Those few simple words sealed their bond. From thence forth, Thomas chattered away as if he had not confided in anyone for a long time. He revealed his secret hiding places and all of his treasures.
The lad was an accomplished thief or a serious collector. Besides the dagger, he had long lengths of rope, a broken hoe, a flail, a woman’s veil, strips of cloth, a single peasant boot, a bowl, and a mug.
“These are lovely riches. It must have taken you a long time to collect them.”
The boy’s cheeks pinked, and he looked around once again. “Only Hetta knew I took them.”
Ah, a thief then. “And who is Hetta?”
“Me old nurse. She left after me ma died.”
This new piece of information begged for more questions, but before Audrey opened her mouth, Thomas crawled over to a lar
ge oak and began to dig.
After a while, he pulled out a bound strip of cloth. Carefully he untied the small package. “This belonged to me ma.” Reverently, he held up a lovely ring encased in a heavy crust of dirt. “I took it when me da shoved all her things into an old trunk. He didnae even miss it.”
She wanted to examine the ring, but the boy protected it close to his chest as if fearing the jewel might magically disappear. Suddenly another find stirred Audrey’s senses. “In my chamber there is a miniature—”
“That’s me ma. I put it in there—in her chamber.” Thomas focused on the ring in his hand. “Nobody ever went in there after she died. But then ye came.”
Audrey wanted to hug the boy until the sun faded away. So desperate he was for love. “Would you like it back?”
He shook his head. “Nay, just leave it there…in her room.” His voice cracked.
“You loved your mother very much, and I am sure she loved you too.”
The boy nodded his head as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
An ache grew in Audrey’s chest. She reached out and let her fingers catch the first tear that rolled down his cheek. “You can come and look at her picture anytime. I am sure she would be happy that you have her ring and cherish it.” A squeak caught Audrey’s attention. A small red squirrel busily searched and dug at the ground for last season’s bounty. What would this creature do if it came across some of Thomas’s treasures? She flipped her attention back to the boy. “But I am not sure this is a safe place to hide such a valuable possession.”
Fear settled in his blinking eyes. He pulled away from her. “I cannae keep it in me room. Mistress Jonet goes through me things every night.”
Doubtlessly she did, looking for snakes and rodents.
“She took the silver rattle Gran gave to Marcas.”
There seemed to be more than one thief at Warring Tower. “You should have told your grandmother.”
Thomas shook his head. “She widnae believe me. Besides, Mistress Jonet would say I was lyin’ and took the rattle meself.”
Somehow Audrey believed there might be a kernel of truth in those words. “Have you been caught stealing things?”