by Border Lass
“Water?” he asked as Amalie took her usual seat.
“Thank you,” she said, watching him fill goblets for each of them.
“Now,” he said as he moved a stool and sat facing her, “what did he want?”
“He was just being tiresome,” she muttered.
He pulled the pot of butter closer and broke off another piece of his roll. “So it was not enough for him to have taken Isabel’s stable master to task,” he said. “He continued to rail on about your puny escort.”
“Aye,” she said. “Being tiresome, as I said.” She broke off a chunk of her own bread and jelly and ate it hungrily.
“He seems to have taken more notice of your escort than it warranted. Perhaps such a man may read more into such a ride than he should.”
“You usually speak more plainly,” she said. “Don’t change your ways now.”
“I’m suggesting, lass, that he might try to take advantage if you make a habit of such solitary rides.”
“Thank you for your concern, sir,” she said, lifting her chin. “Is there aught else you want to know?”
“You know there is,” he said gently.
She grimaced. “That will teach me to resist sarcasm.”
“At least tell me if you recognized either voice,” he said.
“Tell me first who sent you here.”
“Archie the Grim.”
She blinked. “Why would you not tell me that the first time I asked you?”
“I did not know you well enough. Isabel knows that Archie sent me, but most folks do not. I’d as lief keep it that way.”
“What do you know about me now that you did not know then?”
The look he gave her was indecipherable until he said, “I know you can keep a secret. Look,” he went on, putting his forearms on the table and leaning toward her. “I ken fine that you find it hard to trust me, but we both need to learn whom we can trust, and I think we can help each other if you will just try.”
“How?”
“I’m certain that whatever you overheard in Abbots’ House was more than a simple, innocent conversation between servants.”
“I told you they were not servants.”
“Hush, let me finish. You also told me you could not hear what they said. I did not believe that then, and I still don’t.”
“But—”
“If it were true, you’d have lost your temper with me by now and said so in such a way as to defy my continued disbelief. And, if there were no more details to impart, you would not have to decide whether to impart them to me. Therefore, the only thing tying your tongue is your continued distrust of me . . . of men in general. But I know, too, that you have said nowt to Isabel of what you overheard.”
“Faith, did you ask her?”
“Nay.” He said the word forcefully, but he did not give her the angry look that she expected. Instead, he sighed and looked helplessly at her.
Ignoring that look, her bread and jelly forgotten, she said, “If you did not ask her, how can you know?”
“Because she did not mention it, and she would have.” He sighed again. “I’ll answer your questions in more detail when I can, but I cannot reveal things Isabel said to me in confidence. You do know the subject uppermost in her mind, though.”
“James.”
“Aye, and Will Douglas has joined him there. I told you before that I want to learn the truth. I tell you now that my search for his killer has brought me here.”
“Because you want to compare such information as you’ve gleaned up to now with all that Isabel has learned. You hope to find a connection.”
“Aye, perhaps,” he said.
She saw that there was more to it. But she knew that if she pressed him, he’d insist that she tell him all he wanted to know before he would say more to her.
The thought of telling him no longer seemed impossible, and she knew she had to tell someone. When Sir Harald had said her family would visit, she had considered confiding in her father. But the niggling detail of her initial suspicion, that the first voice she’d heard might have been Simon’s, deterred her from confiding in anyone.
Sir Iagan knew from his sons’ involvement in the attempt to seize Hermitage after Otterburn that Simon would do nearly anything Fife asked of him. So Sir Iagan might believe Simon was involved in another of Fife’s plots. But he would not believe that any son of his was capable of murder.
Admittedly, both Simon and Tom had threatened to murder her at least once, but she could imagine Sir Iagan’s reaction, or her mother’s, to such an accusation. Simple, understandable sibling fury, they would say, nothing more.
“Well?” Garth said.
“I did recognize one voice,” she said.
“Who?”
“Fife.”
“So you knew straightaway when—”
“Don’t be horrid,” she said. “I may have heard him speak before, but I paid no heed if I did. So I did not know his voice well enough to recognize it through that door. I did not recognize it at all until we gathered at Moot Hill and he gave the King the land of Scotland and the people of Scotland their new-crowned King.”
“But you’re sure now that one of the two men you heard was Fife.”
She nodded, meeting his steady gaze. “As sure as one can be, anyway.”
“And the other voice?”
Amalie looked down, remembered her bread, and broke off another piece. She hoped he would think she had intended to do that when she’d looked away.
“Look at me, Molly-lass.” His tone was gentle, but she reacted with strong irritation nonetheless.
“My name is Amalie, sir, not Molly. Moreover, I have not given you leave to use my name, nor should you.”
To her further annoyance, his eyes twinkled, and she realized that he had purposely cast bait. She realized, too, that she had leapt at it like a trout to a fly.
“I just shortened your name,” he said. “Friends do such things, you know, and I have not changed my mind about wanting to be friends. Do you really mind? After the way we met, it seems disingenuous to speak with such formality when we find ourselves alone.”
Perhaps, she told herself, that explained why his lack of formality had not irritated her more. Sir Harald’s familiarity irritated her considerably.
“Now, whose was the other voice?”
She said nothing for a moment. But he was buttering his second manchet, apparently content to leave her to her thoughts for a short time.
“I did not tell you everything Sir Harald said to me,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows but continued to chew his roll.
“He is even more annoying than you are,” she said. When that, too, drew no response, she sighed. “I don’t know why he annoys me so much. I did think it was because he was overly familiar in his behavior, but he said no more than you have said, so it cannot have been that. All he really said was that my family will visit here on their way home from Scone. He did not say when they will come, but my mother does not approve of rapid travel, so I expect it will be a day or two yet.”
“Is this another diversion, or did my question remind you of that detail?”
“I don’t see how it—” But she did see only too clearly how her mind had leapt to her family from his question about that second voice.
As she met his gaze, she knew that his thoughts had followed a similar path, and that she could no longer refuse to answer. Hoping he would believe her, having no idea how to persuade him if he did not, she said, “I did think I knew that voice when first I heard it, sir. But with my ear to the door, I was not certain. I hope I was mistaken, but . . . but you must see that I cannot name him without being certain.”
He held her gaze for a time in silence. Then he said, “I do understand your reluctance, lass, and I won’t press you to name him. Just tell me what they said.”
She nodded. Recognizing that his trust placed an added burden on her to be honest with him, she said, “I think Fife wanted the oth
er man to kill someone.”
Garth drew a long breath. He had exerted his patience nearly to its limit but knew he’d be a fool to reveal that now. Although she clearly believed that one of the men in her family was the other person in that room, he would not learn today which one she suspected. All three Murray men had attended the coronation.
He considered the best course to take with her. She appeared to be strong-willed and capable, even saucy from time to time. But underlying all that, he sensed something fragile that affected her ability to trust.
She reminded him of a puppy or young horse that had been mistreated. She had the same wariness, the same inclination to snap or kick. He hoped she would respond to patience in the same way, too. Still, he had to know all that she knew before he could decide if it aided him in any way.
“Who does Fife want to kill?” he asked.
When she began to shake her head, he felt his jaw tighten and drew another long breath, determined not to let his impatience show.
She detected it though, because she said, “Truly, I don’t know. You snatched me away before I heard a name or anything else that might identify the man.”
“It was a man, though.”
“Aye, sure. Why would Fife want to kill a woman?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But it may be important to know why you thought it was a man.”
She frowned, thinking, and he kept silent.
“Fife said ‘him,’ ” she said at last. “He said, ‘If we give him enough cause, he will cooperate, but we cannot trust him from one minute to the next.’”
“That cannot be all he said.”
“Nay. The most chilling part was when he said it would suit him better not to have to concern himself with him at all. Then the other said, ‘Sakes, sir, is it murder you seek?’ Fife said, ‘I did not say—’ And that is when you grabbed me.”
“So Fife denied murder.”
“Aye, he did say those words, but there was a note in his voice . . . He speaks like syrup pouring from a pitcher, sir, all sticky sweet but smooth withal. I’d say he murmurs, but his voice carries easily. It just—”
“I know, and that is an apt description. Did he speak that way throughout?”
“No, he sounded terser when he first spoke of the . . . the subject of their exchange. I thought he was annoyed. At the end, it sounded as if he’d accept the man’s murder if it served his purpose, and if reasoning proved useless.”
“We must hope their target is not another Douglas,” Garth said, mentally scanning a list of Douglases who might annoy Fife enough to incite murder.
“It cannot be the earl,” she said. “He is Fife’s ally.”
“Archie is his own man first,” Garth said. “He will support Fife as long as he thinks Fife should rule Scotland, because he knows his grace cannot handle the job and does not want it. But, believe me, Archie would spit Fife’s head on a pike over the gates of Threave Castle if he were to discover that he was responsible for or complicit in James’s or Will’s deaths.”
Amalie was not sure she could believe that Douglas would have Fife’s head for any reason. Was not the Governor the most powerful man in the realm?
She recalled others saying the Earl of Douglas was the most powerful. But at the time, they had been talking of the second earl, not the third.
James Douglas could raise ten thousand men in days. Archie had given up Tantallon Castle to Fife. Some said he’d forfeited the Douglas stronghold on the coast east of Edinburgh to win Fife’s support and become the third earl.
Fife’s support might not have been the sole reason the Douglases had chosen Archie, but it had helped. Any number of Douglases believed as he did that Fife was the only one in the royal family strong enough to rule Scotland.
The rest of her conversation with Garth was desultory until they had eased their hunger. Then he escorted her back into the garden.
As they approached the others, he said quietly, “Your instincts about Boyd are sound, lass. Take care not to be alone with him again.”
Anger stirred, but she could say nothing then. She had forgotten Isabel’s basket, too, but no one mentioned it, and the ladies all soon went inside.
The rest of that day passed without incident, as did Saturday and Sunday. On Monday, Sibylla strode into the hall just before Nones, announcing as she stepped onto the dais to join the others that visitors were approaching from the north.
“Despite the sky’s inclination to drip today, they fly the Murray banner, Amalie, dear,” she said. To Isabel, she added, “I sent word to the kitchen, madam. Indeed, I warned them yesterday that we might have visitors today.”
“How far away?” Lady Nancy asked her.
“Oh, a mile or two, I expect.”
Isabel said, “You cannot have seen their banner at such distance, Sibylla.”
Sibylla chuckled. “I could say its spirit wafted to me on the wind. But as dreary as it is today, if a wind stirred, it would just carry more drizzle. They sent someone ahead with the banner, of course. The rest will arrive in a half hour.”
“Very well, then I expect you also told our people to put off serving us until our visitors have had time to dry themselves,” Isabel said.
“I did, madam,” Sibylla said with a nod. “I knew you would want to wait.”
Amalie wondered if Sibylla had also learned of Garth’s nightmare from someone else. Perhaps that was how she so often seemed to know things others did not.
In any event, the Murray family arrived in an impressive cavalcade with the Murray men riding at its head and Rosalie riding beside Lady Murray’s horse litter.
Lady Murray’s waiting woman rode at the litter’s other side, and Sir Iagan’s usual tail of men-at-arms followed. The morning’s drizzle had eased to soggy air.
Amalie hurried with Isabel to greet them, hugging her younger sister with delight but a little surprised to find both Simon and Tom with them.
Tom leaped down to lift Rosalie from her pony.
Simon had long since made clear his belief that service to Fife was excuse enough for his part in the business at Hermitage two years before, but Tom had carefully kept out of Isabel’s way since then—and Amalie’s, for that matter.
Since Archie Douglas now controlled Hermitage, and since neither Fife nor any of his minions was likely to try seizing it again anytime soon, Tom doubtless hoped Isabel had forgotten by now that he’d taken part in the attempt.
Isabel had not forgotten, nor would she. But Amalie knew her well enough to know that she would politely accept him and Simon as guests in her house, while offering nothing friendlier. The princess was affable to an extent that her haughtier brothers derided as a fault. But she could be haughty, too. Indeed, Amalie knew that Isabel could change from one demeanor to the next in the blink of an eye, especially if someone angered her.
Undisturbed by the damp, Sir Iagan followed Rosalie, bowing to Isabel and hugging Amalie. She hugged him back. She had not missed him, but she enjoyed the familiar feeling of his embrace, as well as his blustery greeting and smacking kiss.
“Ye’re looking well, lass,” he said, as if he had not seen her just eight days before. “ ’Tis a fine, comfortable-looking house, this is now.”
“Thank you, Sir Iagan,” Isabel said. “It has taken two years to bring it to this state. But if you recall how it was when James gifted it to me, you know the work took nearly every minute of that time.”
“Aye, sure, thanks to the damnable English. Bless us, but we must hope this latest truce lasts its time. Raiders do far less damage than the English army.”
“They are also less likely to attack us here,” she said, adding as her gaze drifted beyond him, “Welcome to Sweethope, Lady Murray. We have held dinner for you, so I warrant you will want to refresh yourselves quickly. Amalie can take you and Rosalie to her chamber and then show you the way back down to the hall.”
“Thank you, madam,” Lady Murray said, sweeping her a deep curtsy. “We have enjoyed the gre
at honor of your esteemed brother, the Governor’s, company these past two days. You will be pleased to hear that he is in excellent health and looking forward to seeing you very soon.”
“Indeed,” Isabel said, evincing no pleasure whatsoever in that news.
Chapter 9
Rosalie demanded directions to the garderobe, so Amalie turned her over to a friendly housemaid. Then, dutifully taking her mother up to her own room, she looked hastily around as she entered to be sure that neither she nor the efficient maidservant who attended her had left anything out of place. Lady Murray would take instant, censorious note of untidiness.
Surprisingly, Lady Murray condescended to compliment Amalie on her appearance, and even to approve of the little room. Speaking with uncharacteristic cheerfulness, she declared it a pleasant place indeed.
“It has a fine view of the walled garden,” Amalie said with a nod toward the single, narrow, half-shuttered window.
“I warrant it does, and there is water awaiting you in this ewer,” Lady Murray replied. “So I see you are well served.”
“Aye, sure, we are comfortable,” Amalie agreed warily.
“I am sure the princess looks after you well,” Lady Murray said. “One presumes that you have made the acquaintance of her serving knights.”
“Yes, madam.” Aware now of where her mother’s unusual geniality would lead, she said, “As they often eat in the hall with us, it would be odd if I had not.”
Lady Murray shot her a look that might have scared her witless as a child. Today it had no effect. Amalie was having too much trouble concealing her fury.
She did wonder why her mother hesitated to speak her mind, for she was not usually one to delay sharing unwelcome news.
Lady Murray had turned to dry her face, neck, and hands with a towel. Turning back as she put it down, she said archly, “Dare I hope you may prefer one of those knights to the others? ’Tis said that one is especially handsome and charming. He also enjoys excellent connections.”
“Madam, forgive me, but coyness does not suit you,” Amalie said. “If you have aught to say to me, pray say it and have done. I have no interest in any knight, or indeed, in any man. I thought I had made that plain.”