“I will honor my brother’s love for you,” he repeated.
She gave one parting shot. “You would honor your brother more if you didn’t want his title so badly that you would cheat his son of it.”
“Enough! You will stay in the cottage beyond the garden. You will not leave Radbourne without permission. Do I make myself clear?”
“I shall petition the king!”
Don’t bother. I have already informed him of the unfortunate treatment you received in Scotland and the resulting child. Edward will not “come to your rescue. Resign yourself to a quiet life at Radbourne.”
Orelia could think of no other argument that might sway Richard. The injustice of it! She shook with rage. But for now she must do as he demanded. Somehow she would find a way to get the title back for John’s son. She would not rest until she had. “May I take Mary with me?”
“Of course. And Orelia? Don’t try to leave or I’ll lock you in the room in the tower.”
Trembling, Orelia went to her room and to the chest that held Ceallach’s parchment. Opening the lid, she reached in and fingered the paper. She needed a male champion, someone to vouch for her time in Scotland. Should she send for Ceallach? But would Richard believe him? Surely not, and Orelia could not endanger Ceallach, especially when there was so little hope of changing Richard’s, or Alice’s, mind.
She would have to bide her time. She thought of the strong resemblance in looks between John and Richard. Would Iain’s hair turn color? Or would he grow to look enough like John to make a case for his claim? And if not? What if the boy continued to favor Orelia’s side of the family?
If he continued to favor her grandmother, then he would never be the Earl of Radbourne and all would be lost.
THE ROAD LEADING TO DUNFERMLINE ABBEY was lined with wedding guests on an overcast day. Robert the Bruce stood on the steps of the church with Walter the Steward, his daughter’s young bridegroom. Remembering his own anxious thoughts at his wedding to Elizabeth de Burgh, Robert sought to calm the man. Yet when he took stock,Walter appeared perfectly at ease.
“Are you nervous?” Bruce asked.
Walter shook his head. “I know that Marjory is God’s choice for my wife. Maybe I’ll be nervous later, tonight.” He blushed.
Bruce refrained from chuckling at the boy’s admission. Instead he said sincerely, “If you love her and tell her so, all will go well.”
Walter swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’ve been married twice. Were you nervous?”
“Oh, aye. The first time, I had the same fears as you. I especially worried that I wouldn’t know how to please her. But you will find your way. Together.”
Walter nodded and Bruce continued. “Marjory is much like her mother—fragile and rather meek. But she must have an inner strength to match my own or she would never have survived the deprivations of her imprisonment.”
“I have sensed that.”Walter looked down at his feet, then raised his head and looked Bruce in the eye. “I admire her greatly, my laird.”
“And I am pleased that she has chosen her husband so wisely, Walter.”
The rain that had plagued Scotland for most of the past three weeks had taken a rest, although the skies remained gray and threatening. Robert just hoped the weather would hold off until all were safely indoors.
Trumpets sounded and both men took their cue, looking up to see Marjory coming toward them astride a white horse. Robert’s heart stopped at the sight of his child in her wedding finery. The people lining the road were throwing rose petals in her path, showering the bride with color.
The perfume of the flowers wafted subtly on the air and Robert glanced to where his wife stood. They exchanged a knowing look, a look filled with the memory of their own vows, of Elizabeth’s ride to meet her groom. Robert remembered his joy at knowing that she was his to love. That same feeling was reflected on Walter’s face, and Bruce relaxed. Marjory had indeed chosen well.
The horse stopped and Marjory’s friends helped her to dismount. They draped the train of her dress behind her and led her to stand before the two men. Marjory gave her hand to her father and he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he joined the young couple’s hands together, giving over his daughter into the young man’s care.
Bruce was glad to see his daughter well wed. It seemed that Walter indeed cared for her—he wasn’t put off by her shyness or lack of beauty. Indeed, he catered to her every wish, and it gladdened Robert’s heart to see it.
The two exchanged their vows on the steps in front of the crowd. Then everyone adjourned into the abbey to celebrate the wedding mass.
How could it be that his daughter was twenty years old and a woman grown? Bruce sat beside his wife and held her hand, wondering where the years had fled. The years of hardship and denial had aged Elizabeth, but she remained beautiful. Now in her thirtieth year, she despaired of giving him a child. She insisted that the fault lay with her, that Marjory and Bryan were proof of that.
Perhaps she was right. But Robert had not given up hope; he prayed daily that God would bless them as he had Sarah and Abraham.
NEARLY TWO YEARS after Bannockburn, Edward of England still refused to acknowledge Robert the Bruce as the rightful king of Scotland. Orelia wasn’t surprised when she heard that Bruce had taken to raiding northern England again in retaliation. She knew that Radbourne Hall was situated far enough north that Bruce might come there. But the estate lay in a sheltered valley, and Richard assured everyone that the Scots would not find them.
Orelia’s enforced stay at Radbourne had been a subdued, daily trial. But when she heard of Bruce’s raids she thought of Ceallach and wondered if he might come to England with his king. And if so, might he come to Radbourne? How she longed to leave this place that had become a prison.
Orelia sat at the loom in the weaving hut Richard had built adjacent to her cottage. As she passed the shuttle back and forth her mind seemed to weave its own tapestry of recent events. The spring and and summer after Iain’s birth had been unusually wet and that year’s harvest was poor. Fortunately, the previous harvests had been abundant, Radbourne had a good supply of grain in storage.
Orelia passed the shuttle through another time and pulled the beater bar down to tighten the weave. The wet weather remained, and she was weaving a tight, woolen cloth to shield them from the rain. But unlike the checkered cloth she’d woven with Ceallach at Dunstruan, this cloth was a dark blue with only a faint red stripe in it. Plain, like Orelia’s life.
She shook off her melancholy and resumed passing the shuttle through the open shed of the warp. Last October had marked the one-year anniversary of Orelia’s departure from Scotland, and she fought to repress the memory of Ceallach as he watched her leave. If she’d known then how much she would miss him, would she have gone?
She didn’t know the answer to that question. Some days she was sure she would have stayed in Scotland—coming back had accomplished nothing except imprisonment. But as long as she remained in England she might be able to restore Iain’s inheritance. When he was old enough to defend himself from Richard and Alice’s accusations, Orelia would take Iain to London to see the king.
But for now she took pleasure in the milestones of raising her child. A few months ago, Orelia and Mary had celebrated Iain’s first birthday in the small stone cottage where they lived in quiet obscurity.
They’d had another wet spring and summer. The weather and the enforced exile combined to make Orelia restless. With each passing day, Orelia prayed that her brother-in-law and his wife would release her. But Alice’s behavior since the birth of her own son had been erratic, and Richard did nothing that would upset his wife.
The days passed and Orelia concentrated on taking delight in her child. The child whose red-tinged dark hair and laughing blue eyes so reminded her of John. His paternity became clearer with each passing day. Did Richard not see it?
FOURTEEN
Dormitory lights shall remain burning throughout the nig
ht “Brothers will refrain from boasting of to discourage unnatural behavior. post prowess or brave deeds.”
—from the Rule of the Templar Knights
I shall am tired of fighting and I want to go home. How many soldiers have written those words over the ages, I wonder? I’ve been fighting in Ireland this past year as it seems not all the Irish share Bruce’s desire for a united Gaelic army. But with our latest victory here in Kildare, the last of the Irish resistance is overcome. Edward Bruce will soon be crowned High King of Ireland. Now we need not fear that Ireland will fall to England’s power; Scotland’s western seaboard will be protected.
I cannot imagine these tidings will bring Robert much joy, under the circumstances. News of his daughter’s death reached us just a few hours ago. My prayers are with him and Walter and the babe. No one seems to know if it was a boy or girl.
Aye, I am praying again. I have not decided for sure that anyone is listening, but prayer seems to give me the peace for which I’ve been searching. Peace that I have found nowhere else. Perhaps that is proof enough that God exists.
CEALLACH WAS NEARLY AS GLAD to be back in Scotland this time as he’d been after his escape from France. The past year in Ireland fighting against his fellow Gaels had made him anxious to return to Dunstruan and take up the life of a rural sheep farmer. He’d had time enough away from the place that the memories of Orelia shouldn’t haunt him. Or so he hoped.
But before he went home he wanted to pay his respects to Bruce. He went to Dunfermline, and soon after arriving he faced his foster brother in the privacy of the king’s solar. They sat in comfortable chairs before the fire. A servant brought refreshments and closed the door behind him when he left.
Once they were alone, Ceallach said, “I am truly sorry about Marjory’s death, Robert. How did it happen?”
Bruce looked pained. “A fall from a horse. She was not the best of horsewomen.” He stopped. “When it became apparent she would not live the surgeon was called. He . . . had to cut the child from her as soon as she died.”
Ceallach closed his eyes and thought of young Walter the Steward. What a horrible decision for a husband to have to make. “And the babe?”
“A boy. Healthy except for an injury to his leg, either from the fall or from the surgeon. Walter has been quite distressed, as you may imagine.”
The talk of childbearing reminded Ceallach of Orelia, and again he wondered how she had fared in delivering her child. The child would be nearly a year and a half old by now. Ceallach forced his thoughts back to the present.
Robert asked, “What news do you bring from Ireland’s new king?”
“Your brother sends you greetings. He still must subdue a few more Irish chieftains but essentially he is in command of the country.”
“Good. I hope this gives him the contentment he’s searched for. I love my brother, but Scotland truly is too small for the two of us.” He set his glass down and tapped his fingertips together several times. “I’ve decided to raid England again, Ceallach. Would you like to come along?”
This surprised Ceallach. He’d thought the raids were over. “What has Edward done to anger you this time?”
“He still doesn’t acknowledge me as the rightful king of Scotland. Says I’m a propped up puppet with no support from my people. I thought I’d show him the reach of my ‘propped up’ government by harassing his subjects.”
Ceallach considered whether or not he would go with Robert or return to Dunstruan. “When do you plan to leave?”
“I can wait until you’ve had time to see to things at Dunstruan.”
“How far south do you expect to raid this time?”
“At least to Ripon, if not further.”
Ripon, Ceallach knew, was less than a day north of Radbourne Hall. Perhaps he could inquire after Orelia’s welfare. Or even see her. He shook his head to rid it of such a fanciful thought. He would do nothing to jeopardize her life or that of her child. He just needed to know they were well and safe.
“Aye, I’ll go with you.”
A messenger called Robert away, and Ceallach stood in the solar and stared at a painting hanging on the wall. He smiled, remembering when it had been painted, the year Ceallach joined the Bruce household as a foster son. Robert’s stern father had threatened them with a thrashing if they so much as moved during the sitting. The warning had been needed—he had followed Robert into any number of rousing adventures.
Just as he was about to do again.
ORELIA SAT ON A WOODEN BENCH in the small garden behind her cottage at Radbourne, watching Iain play. She took advantage of the listless summer sun this morning to be outdoors for a change. Iain ran about on sturdy legs, chasing after a butterfly that flitted cooperatively amongst the rock-strewn paths.
Iain was the image of his father, and Orelia’s heart clenched at what John was missing—at what the child was missing by not knowing his father. Nearly two years after John’s death, Orelia could only conjure the image of his face when she looked at their son. Her memories about what he had been like were fading as well, and she’d begun to tell Iain stories to help her remember.
The cottage had proven very agreeable. A path led to the main house, but was quite overgrown with grass, as only the servants who brought food and other supplies used it.
Though hard to imagine, Orelia had not stepped foot in Radbourne Hall for nearly a year, nor had Alice come to the cottage. Richard visited regularly to make sure they were quite comfortable and faring well. His visits were surprisingly pleasant; she sensed that he came to the cottage to escape Alice’s sharp tongue as much as he did out of duty.
But otherwise Orelia might as well have lived miles away. The arrangement suited Orelia just fine, although she feared that as Iain grew older, the confines of the cottage would not be sufficient. She must speak to Richard. It was time to resume some semblance of normal life; to visit her old acquaintances, to find new friends. Her grief was at last subsiding, and it was time to think upon the future. Surely Richard did not intend to keep up this charade; Iain was clearly a Radbourne and must take his rightful place some day. In the meantime, Orelia needed to return to her own life as well.
The scrabble of pebbles on the garden path drew her attention and she looked up as Mary walked into the garden. The maid wrung her hands, her expression anxious. “My lady, the earl and countess are walking down the path. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Orelia stood up from the bench. She went to Mary and laid a hand on her arm in reassurance. “Take Iain inside and I’ll see what we have in the way of refreshments.” Mary glanced down knowingly and Orelia clasped the material of her skirt to hide her trembling hands.
Richard and Alice coming together to visit? Were they here to at last acknowledge Iain as John’s heir or did they have darker intentions?
Mary took the toddler by the hand. Iain protested at being separated from the butterfly he was chasing, but Mary deftly distracted him with the promise of a sweet. “Come, let’s wash your face and make you look a proper gentleman for your aunt and uncle.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Orelia followed them into the cottage. She put water over the fire to heat and readied her meager store of tea to offer refreshment. The wet spring weather hindered the growth of herbs as well as crops, and supplies for tea were dwindling.
Soon the sound of footsteps announced her guests, and Orelia carried Iain outside to greet Richard and Alice. Even for such an informal visit, they were dressed as if they were visiting royalty. Clearly their new station in life suited them.
They were followed by their sullen, five-year-old daughter, Anna, and a maid carrying a child that must be young Richard, six months younger than Iain. Except for the reddish tints in Iain’s dark hair, the boys could be brothers. Certainly no one would dispute that the two were cousins.
Richard allowed his gaze to go from one boy to the other and silently acknowledged the resemblance with a sigh. With a brief glance of malice toward Iain, Alice came forward
and greeted Orelia with a kiss to the cheek and a false smile on her face.
A cold kiss of disaffection, like the one Judas gave the Lord. Orelia suppressed a shiver of dread. Her motherly intuition sensed danger for her son. Was she being foolish? Orelia didn’t think so. As soon as possible she would pull Mary aside and warn her not to let Iain out of her sight.
Richard looked at the child in Orelia’s arms and his expression showed his lack of ease. What was the purpose of this visit?
Orelia handed Iain to Mary. “Why don’t you take the children into the garden?”
“No! Young Richard must stay with me!”
Alice’s outburst shocked Orelia. “I’m sure the servants can watch—”
“My son is too delicate to play in the open air.” Despite her obvious devotion to the boy, Alice made no move to take him from the maid and hold him.
“Alice,” Richard said, his voice placating and patient. “Remember we came to talk to Orelia. We mustn’t have little ears about.”
Alice threw a cold look toward her husband, and Orelia was again surprised, this time by Alice’s obvious animosity. Then she smiled warmly at him, changing her demeanor with frightening speed. “Yes, you are right. Go on, let the boys play together with Anna.”
Alice’s changeable moods had Orelia questioning the wisdom of letting Iain play with his cousin. But Mary could be trusted to watch over him so Orelia dismissed her misgivings. She cleared her throat. “How nice of you to visit.” Orelia forced some warmth into her voice and invited her guests into the cottage.
Orelia served refreshments, then sat facing Richard and Alice before the fireplace in her tiny parlor. Orelia made small talk wondering how long it would take for Alice or Richard to reveal the reason for the visit. No one mentioned the similarity between the boys, but the knowledge seemed to hang in the air around them.
“The wet weather doesn’t bode well for the crops again this year,” Orelia commented.
The Mark of Salvation Page 18