by Border Lass
Her fear that Simon had somehow given Boyd to believe he could have his way with her still chilled her. But it infuriated her, too. If Sir Harald Boyd expected rewards, he would quickly learn his error.
Sending a silent thank-you to Isabel for assuring her that she need not marry anyone she did not want, she decided that the sooner she reminded Simon of that fact, the better it would be for everyone. She was not going to marry a man she could not trust, and she had yet to meet a man she could.
Certainly, that man was not Sir Harald Boyd. She did not trust him one bit.
She glanced back when she reached her door to be sure he had not followed her. Even if he had, surely he would not dare to come to her bedchamber.
Nevertheless, she had a bolt on her door, and she used it.
Garth found Isabel in the garden with the other ladies. Despite the early hour—for it could be no later than half past eight—the ladies Averil, Nancy, Sibylla, and Susan all sat with her on turf seats at the center of the garden in a broad patch of sunlight. A pavilion formed of vine-laden trellises stood in shade against the eastern wall. The only tribute to the hour was the blanket each lady had spread beneath her over her doubtless dewy turf seat.
“Good day to you, sir,” the princess said. “I expect Sir Harald told you I wanted to speak with you.”
“He did, madam. How may I serve you?”
“Let us walk for a time. My ladies will rest here.” So saying, she rose gracefully to her feet. “We’ll go this way, I think,” she said, gesturing. “The pear trees are bearing fruit now. Mayhap you will pick some.”
Nodding, he walked beside her along a path between raised beds of a long, narrow, rectangular herb garden.
“I’ve not taken time before to speak with you, my lord,” she said when they were out of earshot of the others. “I wanted to judge what manner of man you were.”
“I hope I have won your approval, madam. But, if you please, address me as Garth or Sir Garth. Whilst I’m here, I’d liefer use my knightly title.”
“Many knights do prefer it, and it will draw fewer questions,” she agreed with a smile. “I’ve not had a landed baron serving as a member of my household before.”
He smiled back. “I warrant you have not.”
“When Archie Douglas told me at Scone that he was sending you to replace Sir Duncan, I own it did surprise me. But then he explained that you might help me learn the truth about Jamie’s death. I should tell you, though, I do not always trust the Douglas. He is friends with Fife and, I believe, wants you to prove Fife had naught to do with Jamie’s death. What say you to that, sir?”
“In troth, madam, I know no more yet than you do about James Douglas’s death. I have been trying to find the man who killed Will Douglas in Danzig.”
“Still, you must have heard things about James’s death,” she insisted.
“Aye, sure, but naught that you have not also heard.” He went on to relate all he had told Archie about the armorer and James’s cuirass.
“No one doubts the armorer failed to fasten his cuirass properly,” he said. “But Buccleuch said the throat wound would have killed James even so.”
“The armorer can tell us naught,” Isabel said.
“Aye, I ken that, too,” Garth said. “He is dead, killed in a dispute over nowt, his people say. I’ll admit, though, men may be paid to say anything.”
“And the man who killed the armorer is also dead,” Isabel said.
“I’ll not argue that. But if he is, no one admits knowing who killed him.”
She looked into his face, studying it, and he thought as he had before that she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Part of her beauty lay in the fact that she did not indulge in the gestures and affectations that so many women, beautiful or not, used to draw attention to themselves.
The lady Amalie shared that trait.
Feeling guilty at the thought, he refocused his attention firmly on Isabel.
“Tell me about Will,” she said quietly. “Archie said you were with him.”
“I was,” he said. Collecting his thoughts, he told her what had happened.
“I don’t know anyone named Haldane, do you?” she said at the end.
“No, madam. The man was just a common man-at-arms, hiring himself out for the expedition, but one of Will’s men did say he’d seen him at Edmonstone.”
“At Edmonstone! My husband’s home?”
“Aye,” Garth said. “But none there had ever heard of him.”
“You must ask Sir Harald Boyd,” she said with a wry look. “He came here from Edmonstone, supposedly at my husband’s behest.”
“You doubt his word?”
“Not his, Edmonstone’s, who told me Sir Harald would be coming when I saw him briefly at Scone. But sithee, although Sir John was the Douglases’ choice for me, he would not stand against Fife even to inquire as to my wishes. Sakes, Archie is Fife’s friend, so why should not Edmonstone be as well?”
Garth frowned. “Forgive me, madam, but might you be seeing enemies where there are none? I don’t know Boyd, but surely, to suspect Fife’s hand—”
Grimacing, Isabel said, “Sir John told me he was sending one of his own knights. Now, I expect Boyd stayed at Edmonstone long enough to speak truthfully about being there. But he knows less than I do about the place. So, I suspect that my brother Fife has sent him here to spy on me. He likes to know what I’m doing.”
“I am surprised that you do not send Boyd away if that is what you believe,” Garth said, hoping she would do just that. That would solve Amalie’s problem, too.
“Life is more agreeable if one does not infuriate one’s brothers, Fife especially,” she said. “It is dangerous enough to cross him, and I’ve done much of that these past two years, in protecting my interests from his grasping fingers.”
“Sakes, madam, how did you accomplish that?”
She smiled impishly. “Chiefly by persuading my father to sign a paper and my brother Carrick—his grace now—also to sign it, giving me life interest in the properties from which James granted me income. That document also reinforced my right to my own properties, such as this one. James signed Sweethope Hill House over to me as a betrothal gift. It was ramshackle then, but I love it most dearly now.”
“ ’Tis a fine house with beautiful gardens,” he said.
“Aye, the gardens are thriving,” she agreed. “But now, tell me more about Will, because I mean to help you all I can to prove the truth.”
He was willing enough to comply with that request, but the door to the house opened just then and Amalie stepped onto the stone porch, diverting his attention.
Chapter 8
Amalie loved the gardens at Sweethope Hill House. The front one, with its tall, thorny rosebushes to keep out wandering livestock, and its raised flowerbeds and wide walkways of scythed grass, was pleasant and welcoming to visitors. But the walled garden was her favorite.
She entered it through the back door of the house, located between the service stairs and the rear anteroom to the great hall. The stairs led up to the rear of the floors above and down to the kitchen. A nearby door led into the north wing, and a corridor connected the rear entryway with the front entrance hall.
As soon as Amalie stepped outside, she saw Sir Garth and Isabel strolling along a gravel path by the herb garden. Beyond them, the other ladies sat chatting in the rose ring, a sunny circle of turf-covered seats with rosebushes behind them. Pink and white roses bloomed in massive numbers on those bushes and, with the varied colors of the women’s dresses, provided a colorful scene.
The garden was warm even at so early an hour, because the high stone wall protected it from the winds that frequently blew through the Vale of the Tweed. Even so, it was early for Isabel and the others to be outdoors, so Amalie decided Isabel must have wanted to talk privately with Sir Garth.
For a princess to be private with a man who was not her father, brother, or husband was not easy, but the garden afford
ed excellent opportunity for such discourse. Amalie wondered what they were talking about but knew better than to look overly curious. As it was, the others were already watching her.
Lady Sibylla Cavers smiled, and Amalie hurried to join them. As she arrived, Lady Susan said, “He is very handsome, is he not?”
Amalie’s stomach growled. She wondered if the others had broken their fast already. She’d had a pear from the hall table before her ride, but that had been hours ago.
Lady Averil said, “You must have better things to talk about, Susan. Did you not bring your stitchery out with you?”
“No, my lady. I did not think we would be outside for so long.”
“Your thoughts should concern nothing beyond your duty to the princess,” Lady Averil said. “Pray, go back into the house and fetch something to occupy your hands—and your mind,” she added dryly.
Susan looked at Amalie’s empty hands and said, “I fear that Amalie, too, has neglected to bring her work with her, my lady. She can bear me company.”
“I want to speak with Amalie. Moreover, it is not for you to decide such things, Susan. Go along now, at once.”
Making her curtsy and then rolling her eyes so that only Amalie could see her, Susan passed her without a word and went inside.
“Have I also done something I should not, my lady?” Amalie asked, taking the turf seat Susan had vacated.
“No, my dear, but that young woman is too concerned with other people’s business. It is my duty to snub her.”
“But you enjoy that duty, Averil,” Lady Nancy said with a teasing smile. The two were of similar age and experience with the princess, so Nancy took liberties that the other ladies dared not. “Mayhap you ought to take yourself to task for that.”
“No doubt,” Lady Averil retorted dryly. “Being senior companion to Isabel does provide some advantage, though, and Susan’s airs and affectations annoy me.”
“I think we are all in accord on that subject, my lady,” eighteen-year-old Sibylla agreed with a chuckle as she shifted a loose plait of dark auburn hair off her shoulder. Turning to Amalie, she said, “Did you enjoy your ride this morning?”
Taken aback, and anxiously casting a glance at Lady Averil, Amalie said warily, “I did, aye. ’Tis a fine morning and I watched the sunrise.”
Lady Averil said, “I trust you took more than one groom with you, my dear.”
“Aye, two, my lady.”
“Then you were very well protected, were you not?” Lady Sibylla said with teasing glance. “I told everyone that you had gone for a ride, of course, because Isabel asked. But he is a handsome gentleman, just as Susan said.”
“Sakes,” Amalie said. “I thought she was talking about Sir Harald.”
Lady Averil’s gaze sharpened. “What is all this then?”
“Nowt to trouble anyone’s mind,” Sibylla said cheerfully. “Sir Garth also rode out, sometime after she did. But he did follow you, did he not, Amalie?”
“He did,” Amalie admitted. “But my grooms never left us.”
“I thought he seemed troubled when he left,” Sibylla said, flicking a glance at Garth and Isabel. “My window overlooks the front garden, as you know. By the look of him, I suspected that he had suffered some sort of nightmare.”
Amalie stared at her and then wished she had not when Sibylla went straight on to say, “But I see that you know about that. I hope it was not too terrifying. He has much experience of battle and death, I know. It disturbs me that evil spirits often force such men to revisit the horrors they have witnessed in their sleep.”
She eyed Amalie hopefully.
“Faith, Sibylla, you don’t imagine that young man can have told our Amalie about any such dream, do you?” Lady Averil demanded. “No man would do that.”
Amalie bowed her head to keep the truth from showing on her face.
Lady Nancy said lightly, “Oh, indeed, Sibylla, no gentleman would describe a nightmare to a young lady. I warrant he rode out only for exercise and then, chancing to meet her, brought her safely home again. Very kind of him, I’m sure.”
Looking up to meet Nancy’s gaze, and hoping to ease the tension she felt, Amalie said quietly and in a way to include the others, “It was kind, was it not?”
Agreeing, the ladies turned to more ordinary topics, and Amalie was able to congratulate herself for deft handling of a sticky situation.
She indulged that belief until Garth and Isabel joined them, when Isabel said, “I left a basket in the hall with some threads I was sorting, Amalie. Do fetch it for me, will you? Sir Garth will escort you.”
Poised on the brink of insisting that she could fetch the basket perfectly well without help, Amalie swallowed the words and stood. Noting Sibylla’s knowing gaze and Lady Nancy’s wide-eyed one, she strove mightily to look calm.
Isabel said casually, “There is no need to hurry. I mean to enjoy this sunshine, and I warrant neither of you has yet broken your fast.”
“N-no, madam,” Amalie said, avoiding Garth’s eye and pretending not to see the arm he extended to her.
But he just put a hand between her shoulder blades instead and urged her forward. The firm touch of his hand there was far more disturbing than when he had placed a gloved hand over hers at Scone Abbey. His hand was bare this time and her bodice summer thin. The warmth of his touch was more evident. But her unease arose more from the fact that the warmth spread all through her, stirring sensations in other parts of her body, unfamiliar but oddly pleasant ones.
To make matters worse, they met Susan at the door. The look she gave Amalie as she hurried past could have turned water to ice.
“What is wrong with that woman?” Garth asked as he held the door for Amalie, barely waiting for Susan to get beyond earshot.
“I haven’t a notion,” Amalie said. “You may leave me now, sir.”
“May I?” She heard laughter in his tone.
“There is naught in any of this that is funny,” she said, nearly stamping her foot. “Sibylla saw you ride out this morning. Moreover, she knows you had a nightmare, and she very nearly asked me what you had dreamed.”
His eyes widened, but then he shook his head at her. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “How could anyone know such a thing? Is the woman a witch?”
“Well, if she is, she is a noble witch. Her father is Sir Malcolm Cavers.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Not a word, because Lady Averil intervened. But when Isabel told me to go with you, she gave me the most knowing look.”
“Isabel?”
“Nay, Sibylla, of course. And like it or not, witch or not, she sees things others do not and seems to know things others don’t know. She has a good heart, though.”
He waited, pointedly holding the door open until she entered the house. But when he guided her through the anteroom into the hall, she protested.
“I cannot believe that Isabel meant for you to stay with me,” she said.
“I have a duty to protect her ladies,” he said loftily.
“That may be so. And her knights may have chambers inside the house—”
“Boyd will stay in the dormer to look after the men who eat and sleep there.”
“As I was saying before you interrupted me,” she said between gritted teeth, “the men’s chambers are in the north wing for a purpose, sir. Her knights are never supposed to be private with her ladies. If no one has explained that to you—”
“I have Isabel’s permission,” he said.
“Her permission! Why would she give such permission?”
“Because I requested it.”
Glowering, she stepped away from his hand and faced him, hands on her hips, grateful that no servant was in the hall. With the midday meal hours away and no fire in the fireplace, none would come unless she shouted for one, or he did.
Fiercely, she said, “You had no right to ask her for such permission!”
His eyes narrowed, making her sharply aware that she was alone wit
h him.
Forcing calm into her voice, she said, “You must have told her more than that you wanted to be alone with me.”
“I told her that I believe you know certain things that might help clarify matters about which she is curious.”
“The only thing that makes Isabel curious these days is her determination to learn the truth about James’s death,” Amalie said, feeling her calm slip away again.
He remained silent.
“Sakes, what do you think I could know about that?” she demanded. “I have heard only what Isabel herself has heard. Indeed, not as much, because I know only what Wat Scott told us both and the things that she has repeated to all of us.”
“What did Harald Boyd want with you?”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“Sakes, lass, stop trying to counter everything I say and just answer my questions. Isabel is unlikely to let this conversation go on all day.”
Amalie’s stomach growled again, the sound long and protesting.
Sir Garth’s lips twitched, and when hers responded in a like manner, he said, “Let’s find something to eat. We shall both be more comfortable if we sit.”
She turned quickly away to forestall any notion he might have of touching her again, and strode to the dais table. A basket of manchet loaves, pots of butter and quince jelly, and a ewer of water were all that remained from the others’ breakfast.
She knew she could send someone to fetch sliced beef or fresh salmon, but the last thing she wanted was a hovering servant. Nor did she think Sir Garth would let one stay if she sent for one. If he had reached the point of persuading Isabel to allow his interrogation, he meant to get the answers he sought without more delay.
Accordingly, she split a manchet, slathered quince jelly lavishly on both halves, and placed them on a fresh napkin.
Garth pulled the basket to himself and, taking a roll, tore off a chunk and buttered it thickly. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed.