by Olivia Rae
With a heavy sigh, Audrey decided to write to her mother instead. At least she could give warning of what was probably going to happen. Her poor mother, she had barely survived the last time she had been thrown into debtors’ prison. The possibility of being in prison again would be her end. Her mother must flee. If given enough warning, perhaps she and her new family could sell the farm and leave the country like Asher had years ago. But where would they go? Her mother was not young, and her stepfather was a stubborn man. No one knew where Asher exactly lived. There would be no help from that quarter.
Dropping the quill, Audrey placed her head in her hands. Dear Lord, I beg of you. Please protect my mother and my stepbrother and stepsisters. None of them deserve to suffer for my sins. Let the queen’s wrath fall on me alone. God, I know you never want the innocent to suffer. Please, deliver them from evil and keep them safe.
Audrey dried her eyes and swiftly wrote her letter. Once finished, she slipped it into her trunk. If Lady Francis’s plan failed, the letter would be ready to send.
* * *
Trouble brewed. He should have ordered a cart to take Mistress Audrey away the day after she swooned in the courtyard. However, his mother had pleaded to give the young woman a few extra days to get her strength back. That had been his first mistake.
Three days later, the meek mistress came quietly into the hall and pleaded her case to stay.
“I am terribly sorry for what happened, and I promise, if you will let me stay, I shall never, ever question your judgment again.” She stood, her hands modestly folded and her head penitently bowed. Outwardly she acted humble, but inwardly he knew the truth. She could not hold that plucky tongue forever. In no time, she would be back to influencing his mother and Thomas with foolish notions.
Gavin stood before the hearth and jabbed at the heated embers with a poker. “Mistress, we both know that is false. Your true nature will win out. I cannae allow such bullheadedness to be shown around my sons.”
He saw that spark of spirit, which she desperately tried to hide, fill her eyes. “I can assure you, from this day forth, I will not speak a word that you would not approve. I will be a humble companion to your mother.”
“And you will not interfere in Thomas’s rearing?”
Her clasped hands shone white. He had his answer.
“I think not.” He set the poker against the sides of the hearth and then took a firm stance in front of her. “Let us be honest. You have difficulty controlling your tongue. No doubt that is why you were sent here in the first place. Your manners at court were certainly questionable.” He added the last statement to trick her, hoping to get her true purpose for being here.
“Court? I was living with my mother and my—”
“I have heard the story enough. Sir Pimberly just happened to think you would be a good companion for my mother. I do not care where you came from. You are leaving, and that is that.”
Gavin expected her to rant, but she did not. She drew in her cheeks as if she could suck away the words that were begging to be released from her lips. All he needed to do was prod her a little more. He planned to do just that when his mother strolled to his side.
“A word with you, my son,” she said pleasantly.
“Can it not wait? I am having a discussion with Mistress Audrey,” he said impatiently, placing one hand on his hip.
“Are you? Looks to me like you are barking and she is mute.” The twinkle in his mother’s eye should have cautioned him, but it did not.
Gavin let out a long sigh. “What do you want, Mother?”
She fixed the sleeves of her gown before casting an affectionate smile. “I have a suggestion. Would it not be a good idea to place one of the butts in the courtyard to use for archery and dagger toss practice? Truce Day will be here before you know it.”
“Truce Day!” Gavin shook his head and held on to a laugh. “Which might be held. Mary de Guise, the dowager queen, keeps inviting more French troops into Scotland, and the English are slipping across our borders daily. The Lords of the Congregation, whom you are so fond of, are causing all sorts of ruckus in Perth. War probably will come to us again, and I fear we will be right in the middle of it on Truce Day.”
“But surely there will be some event. The tenants look forward to it. If not at its usual time, then perhaps later summer?”
Gavin squared his shoulders. She had never been interested in the feats of wager on Truce Day before, why now? The reason mattered little to him. He had other concerns to take care of, starting with the removal of Mistress Audrey.
“If setting up a butt cheers you, then by all means do so.” He waved a dismissive hand.
“My thanks,” his mother said, and then she gave him an unexpected hug before hurrying away.
A rush of unease poured through Gavin’s body. He narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin. But, just as quickly, the doubt fled when he looked to Mistress Audrey.
“I am sorry I will miss this Truce Day, I do so like such joviality,” she cheerfully chimed.
He puffed out a spout of air. “Methinks you’d be glad if the fields were covered with English and Scottish souls.” He bowed. “Good day, Mistress.” He strode to the hall entry, feeling quite satisfied.
That was his second mistake.
The following morning, a cart was readied to take Mistress Audrey back to London. Once she was gone, then he would focus on more important things, such as gaining the trust of Rory Maxwell. Gavin gazed longingly at the butt standing in the courtyard. Fraser and Jaxon wildly threw blades at the cloth mark. Their skill was miserable, but their laughter was contagious. Gavin shook his head. He wished the squabbling and fighting between England and Scotland would pause long enough. They all needed to practice for the feats instead of riding the marches, then maybe they would have a chance at winning the Truce Day prize. What he wouldn’t give to beat Maxwell just once. Plus, the extra coin was sorely needed at Warring Tower.
With long strides, Gavin made his way to the cart where Mistress Audrey slumped against the wheel like a woebegone maid whose betrothed ran off with a more inviting lass. He raised his vision to the bright sky as he pulled on his riding gloves. “Fine day to be traveling, mistress.”
“I suppose,” she said glumly, her lips in a delectable pout.
The thought gave him pause, but then he warmed to it. The lass was leaving, there was no harm in enjoying a hearty glance at her beauty. She was that. Her fine dark hair curled around her oval face while her black lashes protected her deep dark eyes. Not too tall nor too short. Even the modest plain brown gown seemed elegant on her. She was slim in the right places and wide in the hips. Someday she would birth beautiful English children far from Scotland.
The lass pulled a wayward lock from her cheek. “I am not one of your horses to be appraised,” she snapped.
A smile tugged at his lips. “I agree, you are not. Even though we have had our differences, I wish you well.” His horse was brought to the courtyard. “There has been much activity on the marches lately. Duncan, Clyde, and I shall accompany you until you are safely on English soil.”
“Who is Clyde?”
Her answer came shuffling out from the stable leading a Galloway pony. Hunchbacked and older than any Roman ruin, Clyde had been a moss-trooper at Warring Tower since anyone could remember. Out of charity, he still rode the marches when the weather was fair and the pace was steady. Following a rumbled cart would be a perfect duty for Clyde and a green lad like Duncan.
“Heaven help us if we do meet up with any ruffians,” Audrey mumbled. Then a look of mischief added to her enchanting looks. “Are you not worried an English arrow might be placed in your back?”
He chuckled. Of course, she would think of such a thing. “I fear an arrow would not be as sharp as your tongue.”
Color clouded her cheeks before she looked away. Just maybe he would miss this bonnie lass.
“Mistress Audrey, Mistress Audrey,” his mother called, running from the tower. “Y
ou forgot this.” In her hands she held a leather sheath, which she gave to the younger woman.
“My thanks, Lady Francis. How could I have forgotten my father’s dagger?” She pulled the weapon from its sheath.
Gavin stretched his neck to have a look, but the lass quickly curled her fingers around its hilt.
“My dear, you will be missed.” Gavin’s mother reached out and hugged the young maid.
The lass stepped back and eyed the butt. “I shall miss you too.” She tapped the blade against her side. “Stand aside, sirs. I should like to take a throw,” she shouted to Jaxon and Fraser.
Gavin had to squelch the hearty laugh that lingered in his throat as he watched her take a firm stance. The dagger left Audrey’s delicate fingers and landed square in the middle of the cloth. Gasps filled the air. Gavin’s heart kicked up a beat. Before he had a chance to examine the strike, she ran to retrieve the blade.
Duncan hooted, and Clyde coughed. Jaxon and Fraser both clapped their hands and gave her a slight bow before she returned to Gavin’s side.
“A lucky strike, mistress,” he said, holding out his hand. “Can I—”
“A lucky strike!” She turned and flipped the knife toward the butt again where it landed in the same spot. “I think not.”
Shouts and cheers from the servants and guards ricocheted around the courtyard. Even a donkey brayed his praise. Frasier let out a long whistle while Jaxon took the blade from the butt and handed it to Mistress Audrey. She curtsied as everyone clapped.
Now more than ever Gavin wanted to inspect the dagger. But once again he was denied the chance.
To everyone’s protest, she shoved the blade back into its sheath. “I am ready to leave now,” she said, her cheeks pink and her dark eyes sparkling.
Gavin stood slack-jawed. Could luck have visited her twice, or did she really possess such fine skill? Perchance the blade was specially made. All he needed was one look.
“My dear”—his mother pushed him out of the way and hugged the lass again—“I did not know you were so talented. Why, your skill with the dagger is better than most men around here.” Her gaze veered to Gavin.
He bristled. How dare his mother think a woman could best him. He pulled his own knife and flung it at the butt. The blade struck the cloth in the middle. In truth, it was a fortunate strike. He puffed out his chest as those in the courtyard called for Mistress Audrey to challenge him.
With a raise of her lovely lush brow, she drew her dagger from its sheath once more. A snap of her wrist sent the weapon sailing toward the butt. Her blade skidded on top of his, knocking his knife to the ground while hers stuck firm in the cloth. His jaw slacked, and he could feel the cool spring breeze on the back of his throat.
Cries erupted, and before he uttered a word, his mother, Duncan, servants, stable lads, and guards picked up Mistress Audrey and carried her back into the hall.
Clyde hacked. “Better keep the mistress.” He shuffled after the joyous crowd.
Jaxon sauntered over, his hands in his belt. “Methinks the lass should stay too.” He slapped Gavin on the back and raced to join the parade.
Fraser plucked the dagger from the target, then handed it to Gavin. “Ye should send her away. She will bring nothin’ but trouble.” Frasier hung his head as he trod toward the hall as well.
Gavin glanced at the blade. He had seen it before. He had seen it often. The dagger belonged to his father. Mistress Audrey and his mother had played him false. As much as he wanted to take Frasier’s advice, there was no getting rid of her now. All in Warring would boil his bones first.
Falling for her trap had been his third mistake.
Chapter Nine
Within a day, everyone in the borderlands was blabbering about the maid who had the ability to outdo any man at blade tossing. No matter where Gavin went, people were either asking him about Mistress Audrey’s talent or saying the best man the Armstrongs had was a wumman. Both comments were like a weasel gnawing at his insides. The Maxwells and the English were all quick to offer Audrey entry into any trials of feat. Hew Armstrong flatly refused until his sons persuaded him that she was the Armstrongs’ best chance to win the event.
Attitudes in the tower had changed as well. You would have thought Queen Elizabeth or Dowager Mary de Guise had come to live with them. Servants bowed and fell over each other to do Mistress Audrey’s bidding. Thomas followed her about and chattered continually. As the days carried on, the pair could be found picking wildflowers or at the river catching fish. Once they were spotted hoeing the ground with the tenants. Frowns curved to smiles wherever Mistress Audrey appeared.
This morn her laughter drifted up to his chamber window like an exotic potion brought from the Far East. He looked outside to find Jaxon standing a hair’s breadth away from Audrey’s slim back as he whispered in her ear. Gavin’s shoulders tensed. The lass didn’t need Jaxon’s help to throw straight. A pinch of pain squeezed Gavin’s back. Bah. Jaxon adored Audrey like a besotted fool. What would Hew Armstrong say if he knew his son consorted with an English lass?
Bairn whined and scratched at the door. Probably he too wanted to find Mistress Audrey to get a few rubs behind his ears. “All right, ye beast, go. But dinnae get too attached to the lass, we’ll be riding the marches soon.” Gavin opened the door, and Bairn took off like he was chasing his mother’s fat cat. Lately Gavin had warmed to the fluffy white feline since she did not seem enraptured with Mistress Audrey at all. Such a wise animal.
He made his way into the hall to find his mother working on her mending. “The world must be coming to an end if you are spending half your day lying in bed,” she said, not taking her eyes off her chore.
“I wasnae in bed.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “I was going over Warring’s affairs.”
“Will we survive another year?”
“If the fields remain free of blood and if our crops thrive before winter comes again. It should please you, Mother, that the Protestant reformers are calling for Mary de Guise’s head.”
His mother paused in her work. “You know I do not believe in such bloodshed. I want the reformers and the papists to live together in peace.”
Gavin rolled his shoulders to release the kink that had plagued him all morning. “Because that is the Scottish way.”
“Do not make fun of me.” A deep frown settled on her face. “Your father and I put aside our religious differences to make a home for—”
“Do not lecture me. I have heard it often enough. Da put aside his religion for you and in doing so turned his back on his other kin.” The white cat jumped up onto his lap and began to purr.
“This will all change when Jaxon and Fraser are lairds.” She resumed with her sewing. “You shall see. Our families will be united again.”
“Will they? I think not. Their land is almost as weak as ours.” Gavin slid his fingers through the cat’s soft fur. “Jaxon being the eldest will inherit, and Fraser will have to live off the scraps offered by his brother. I see a fight brewing.”
“They get along now,” his mother replied, jamming the needle through the cloth.
Gavin laughed. “Aye. But now is not later. They will fight, and the stronger will win, and the other will have to forge his own way in the world. Just like Da and Hew had to whittle out their own brother.”
His mother glared at him without stopping her task. “That is not how it was. Colban fell off his horse and broke his neck.”
Gavin puffed and pushed the soft feline from his lap. “A seasoned reiver would fall off his horse when a rabbit came hopping by? Nay. Think on it. Why did Father give land to Hew? They formed a pack against their own brother. You know I speak the truth.”
“I know nothing of the kind. The hills can be fierce. An excellent rider could meet his demise by one wayward stone.” His mother stubbed her finger with the needle, dropping her sewing onto her lap. “I know in my heart your father would never kill his brother over a piece of dirt.”
Clenching his t
eeth to prevent further words, Gavin stood. “I dinnae care to rehash the past. I’m going to ride the marches.”
“Alone? I dare say, last I noticed, Jaxon had his arms wrapped around Mistress Audrey. I am not sure a good whipping would scare him off. And Fraser has not been about in days. Of course, you could take Clyde.”
A loud snore cut the air from where Clyde slept against the wall. His mother could needle him better than she did her mending. Now challenged, she wished to continue the fight. He had no desire to discuss Jaxon and Mistress Audrey’s disgusting display of affection with his mother. And as for Fraser…he had been the one man who had not fallen under the woman’s spell. So just where was he spending his days? Unable to solve this puzzle, Gavin shrugged and answered, “I shall take Bairn.”
His mother laughed. “If you can drag the beast away from Mistress Audrey’s side.”
Gavin shoved his fingers into his riding gloves and stomped toward the hall entry, unwilling to take the bait. “The dug prefers the marches much more than a lovely lass who should be mending with you.” His gaze rotated to the sleeping moss-trooper. “Clyde! Let us go.”
The bench tipped over as the old man scrambled to his feet, blinking bleary-eyed in Gavin’s direction.
His mother’s laughter followed him all the way out into the bright courtyard. He shielded his eyes to see Mistress Audrey leaning against a cart with Jaxon by her side. Bairn, like the traitor he was, sat on the lady’s feet. Least he was keeping Jaxon honest.
The dog’s ears perked when Gavin let out a high whistle. “Let’s go, dug.”
The lass whispered to the animal, who reluctantly gave up his seat to come to his master’s side.
Gavin released his tight jaw. “Are you coming, Jaxon? There is work to be done. Or are you going to entertain the maid all day?”
Jaxon never let his gaze drift from Mistress Audrey. “I will be along a little later.”
A little later. Bah. When the winter winds blew. Deep down Gavin understood. Who wouldn’t want to look at a lass whose beauty rivaled the rolling hills of the marches? For certain after Truce Day, the lass would have to leave or Hew Armstrong would kick Jaxon’s Scottish arse out of his home for good.