by Border Lass
“So you managed to slip down the service stairs and out through the garden.”
“It was easy enough. Had anyone looked down the corridor as I opened the door, he might have seen me, but their attention was on the hall, so I had little fear. I demanded a horse, and Angus brought me one. He tossed me up and said he’d fetch a pair of grooms.” She shrugged. “We may meet them on our way back.”
Tam and Sym had followed Garth with the sumpter pony, and as they reined in beside him, Sym gaped at Sibylla. “That were ye, a-riding like Auld Clootie?”
“Is that how I rode?” she asked him.
He nodded, gazing at her in rapt admiration.
“What is it, my lord?” Tam asked. “What has happened?”
“We’re going back,” Garth said. “At once.”
“Ye dinna want us to ride on and tell the Douglas? He’ll be expectin’ us.”
“He’ll see us when we can get there,” Garth said. “For now, I want you to follow me. I mean to ride on ahead. You keep an eye on Lady Sibylla.”
“He can keep both eyes on me if he wants,” Sibylla said. “But I don’t mean to dawdle, so we’re all going to ride like the devil now, Sym. Can you keep up?”
“Aye, sure, m’lady,” the boy replied eagerly. “That be how I always ride when I’m no burdened with older, slower folk.”
Trying to collect herself, and remembering Sibylla’s advice about never giving a man the advantage of her agitation, Amalie drew a deep breath and let it out. Then she drew another. Although far from serene, she did feel calmer.
She had not looked at Simon or, indeed, at any of the men.
She heard the scrape of a bench shifting but kept her head up and her gaze fixed straight ahead.
Hearing footsteps, she was certain they must be Simon’s, but to her surprise, Harald Boyd stepped before her, wearing his most charming smile.
“Lass . . . my lady . . . if I have given you any cause to dislike me, I would ask your forgiveness now. I promise always to cherish you as a husband should.”
Amalie did not respond. He blocked her view of the doorway to the entry hall, but she could easily imagine it. Just as easily did she imagine that Garth stood there. She could look right through Sir Harald and, with utter clarity, see Garth.
“I told you it would do no good,” Boyd said. “I cannot think why she has taken such an aversion to me, but so it has been from the outset.”
“You did not even try to win her over,” Simon said.
“Why should it be necessary to exert himself?” Fife asked. “The arrangement is already complete, the forthcoming settlements decided. It is a suitable marriage for the lass, and for him. No more need be said. Father, we can begin now.”
“No,” Amalie said, still staring right through Sir Harald.
“Amalie,” Simon said sharply. “Recall whom you address and show respect.”
“I mean no disrespect, Simon, but I do have every right under Scottish law to refuse to marry a man I do not want to marry. Moreover, our lord father told me that he was withdrawing his support for this marriage.”
“Well, he did not tell me that,” Simon said. “On the contrary, he told me he favored the match. Sir Harald is a belted knight, a man of honor, and one whom you should be proud to wed.”
“I don’t want him,” Amalie said. “He treats me with disrespect and has from the moment we met. I want naught to do with the man, and since the princess knows that Scottish law supports my refusal, you must know it, too.”
“Young woman, come and stand before me,” Fife commanded softly. When she hesitated, he said in the same soft tone, “Would you dare defy your King?”
“With respect, sir, you are not his grace the King.”
“Nevertheless, I hold all his grace’s power,” Fife said. “To defy me is to defy the Crown of Scotland. Do you understand the penalty for such defiance?”
“Amalie, get up and do as he bids you,” Simon snapped. “Not only do I mean to see this marriage take place but if you do not obey, I’ll do whatever is necessary to force your compliance, and I will do it here and now. Do you understand me?”
“Threats of violence are unnecessary, Simon,” Fife said. “Clearly, your sister does not yet understand the power I wield. You need only explain it to her.”
With a nod, Simon said harshly, “To refuse his command is a form of treason, Amalie, punishable—if he chooses—by death.”
Chapter 16
A shiver of fear rippled through Amalie. Recalling how easily Fife had ordered every detail of the coronation at Scone, and believing Simon, she got up.
Her knees felt unreliably weak, but she told herself that since she could not depend on anyone else in the room, she would have to deal with them all by herself. How she would do that, she did not know. She could not even think.
When the Governor gestured, she walked around the near end of the long dais table to the place he indicated in front of it, facing him.
“Now do you understand that I govern all Scotland and am not to be defied?” he asked her in that same soft, silky-smooth voice.
“Yes, my lord. But do you not have to obey the laws of Scotland?”
“Not when it does not suit me,” he replied. “Father, are you ready to begin?”
“I am, sir,” the priest replied. “But I must say that I cannot approve of marrying this young woman against her will.”
“Then it is as well for us that you are not the one to say what she will or will not do, is it not?” Fife said, looking sleepy. “You will stand here, beside me.”
“To be sure, my lord, all must be as you command,” Father Laurent said. As he obeyed, he said, “Sir Harald, come now and stand beside your intended bride.”
Sir Harald stood up, and Amalie’s hands curled into fists. She wanted to scream, and her feet itched to run. But she could see no escape.
Garth had urged his horse to its fastest pace, and the others soon fell far behind. Despite the lady Sibylla’s intent to ride like the devil, they’d had the sumpter pony to consider, so Garth had left it all to Tam to sort out.
Sibylla might have tried to keep up with him despite the sumpter, but her horse was blowing hard. She had to have pressed the poor beast fiercely to have caught them as quickly as she had.
When Garth dismounted at last in the stableyard, his horse’s sides were heaving, but one of the lads had heard the pounding hooves and came running. Garth tossed him the reins, saying, “Look after him, but don’t make a stir about it.”
Without awaiting a reply, he strode to the garden gate, hoping that no one had yet discovered that Sibylla had had to leave it unbolted. When it opened with its usual ease, he slipped inside. Dusk was fading to darkness, and the garden lay in shadows. But there was still enough light for anyone who looked out to see him.
The great-hall curtains were shut, and Sibylla had told him she’d seen guards only in the entry hall. Riding up the track, he had seen for himself that Fife’s men were still setting up their encampment on the hillside behind the men’s dormer.
None had paid the lone rider any heed.
At the postern door to the house, he remembered that if a man in the entry hall looked, he might see him moving about. Someone might also have taken the precaution of checking the premises and put a guard at the rear door.
Taking care but ready to declare himself a member of the household if necessary, he opened the door and stepped silently into the dim corridor. As he shut the door behind him, the one to the anteroom opened, and Isabel beckoned.
“We must hurry,” she said as she drew him into the little chamber. “Fife is determined she shall marry Harald Boyd despite her adamant refusal, and Simon has commanded her to obey. Even the priest is willing, law or no law. I do not think she can hold out against the four of them, sir. And Fife sent everyone else away.”
Garth muttered, “I have been trying to think. But in troth, madam, I do not know what I can do to stop them if you could not.”
&
nbsp; “Do you want to stop them?” she asked, peering closely at him.
“I do,” he replied. He realized as he said the words that it had become more important to him than he had imagined to prevent them from forcing the lass into a marriage she did not want, but the situation seemed hopeless. “The lady Sibylla said we need only stop the priest, but I’ve no idea how we can do that.”
“I know one thing that may work,” she said. “But only you can do it, and you’ve no time to give it much thought, because Fife just ordered the priest to get on with it. Mind you, even this tactic may fail. Moreover, if it succeeds, you will have made a dangerous enemy of my brother. But if you are willing . . .”
“I don’t care about any of that. Just tell me what I must do.”
As Amalie watched Sir Harald stand and move around the table toward her, she was wishing she could throw the sort of tantrum she had often thrown as a child, if only to relieve her fury. She had long since learned, however, that screaming and stamping her feet were more likely to win swift punishment than what she’d hoped to win, and she did not doubt the result would be the same now.
“My lord,” the priest said to Fife, “should not her lady-ship have someone to stand up with her, another of the princess’s ladies, perhaps?”
“I will stand up with her if she likes,” Fife said, not moving.
Amalie gritted her teeth and glowered at Simon. To her surprise, he looked disconcerted, as if it had at last come home to him what he was forcing her to do.
“Simon?” she said softly.
“Sir Harald will be a good husband to you, and you’ll live near Elishaw,” he said. “All will be well, lass, you’ll see. You will like having your own household.”
“Go stand by her, Simon,” Fife said. “You must give her away, after all.”
“Don’t do this, Simon,” Amalie said. “I don’t want this, and you can stop it.”
“Nay, then, I cannot,” he said, getting up and moving to stand at her left.
Sir Harald, in obedience to the priest’s gesture, moved to her right.
When both were in place, Fife said, “You may begin now, Father.”
“Very well,” the priest said, turning toward Sir Harald, “Harald, if thou wilt have this woman to thy wedded wife, repeat after me . . .”
Amalie, gazing blindly at a point beyond the priest’s shoulder, saw the anteroom door move. Then it opened wide, and her imagination seemed to play the same trick it had played earlier, letting her see Garth standing there.
“One moment, Father,” he said as he stepped into the hall. “I believe you have left out an important question or two, have you not? Do not the laws of Holy Kirk oblige you to ask if there be any man present who knows cause or can show just impediment to this marriage? Also, as I recall the last wedding I attended, you ought to ask each of the primary participants that same question. You did not.”
Clearly startled half out of his wits, the priest whipped his head around and exclaimed, “By my faith, sir, do you declare such a cause or impediment?”
“I most certainly do,” Garth said. “These two cannot marry, because the lady Amalie is already married—to me.”
“Don’t be a damned fool, Westruther,” Fife said, getting to his feet as Amalie’s astonished gaze collided with Garth’s.
He looked steadily at her and said, “Her ladyship is my wife, my lord. There is nowt you can do to alter that unless you are willing to kill me now and go on with this travesty. I’d submit, though, that you had better think before you do that, because many people in this house, who are not fond of you, will know what took place here. Moreover, the lady herself will refuse to submit willingly to Boyd as his wife. She is bold enough to hold her own with anyone, as I know to my own cost.”
Amalie dampened suddenly dry lips. For a man who prided himself on always speaking the truth . . . How did he dare to tell such a great lie to the Governor of the Realm? And what would happen when Fife learned it was a lie, as he must?
“I had not heard that the lady Amalie had married,” Fife said with a chilly look. “Or that you had, come to that.”
“She is not married, not to him or to anyone,” Simon declared angrily.
“Let her deny it then,” Garth said.
Fife looked at her. “What say you, lass? Tell the truth, or I will be angry, and you do not want that. Art married to Sir Garth Napier, Baron of Westruther, or not?”
Amalie’s hands were shaking. She gazed at Fife for a long moment and then looked up at Simon, beside her. She dared not look at Garth. Even so, she could feel him. His presence filled her mind more than that of all the other men in the room, enveloping her like a warm blanket.
Fife would hang them both when he learned the truth, but she could not say the words he demanded to hear. Not only was her mouth dry and her body quaking so that she could barely trust herself to force out sensible words, but also, if she said Garth had lied, she would have to marry Sir Harald.
“She does not deny it,” Garth said, sounding as if he had expected as much.
“I do deny it,” Fife said. “If you continue this farce, Westruther, I shall demand an examination of the lass. As her maidenhead is intact, that will prove—”
Amalie shot a look at Simon and was horrified to see his lips twitch as if the horrid threat amused him. The look vanished, but Simon astonished her further by saying firmly, “I’d certainly agree to such an examination, my lord.”
“Nay, then, you will not, sir, for you no longer have that right,” the priest declared. He turned to Fife. “I cannot marry the declared wife of another man to Sir Harald, my lord. You know as well as I do that marriage by declaration alone is perfectly legal in Scotland. Sir Garth has declared himself her husband and she does not deny it. Therefore, they are legally married.”
Amalie had all she could do not to demand instant explanation, but Fife was already speaking.
“Take her then,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “See to it that she does not trouble me again. Indeed, if all she had to do was tell us she had married you, she has caused us all much unnecessary bother. You should beat her soundly for that, sir.”
“I have been looking forward these past few moments to doing just that, my lord,” Garth said, striding toward her with a stern look on his face.
“No,” she protested. “Wait! You can’t!”
“Silence, Molly-lass,” Garth said, his tone warning her not to argue.
She glanced at Simon, who had opened his mouth, surely to protest Garth’s declaration again. But he closed his mouth with a snap when he caught her eye, and looked down at his feet.
Fife had already turned away.
A firm hand grasped her upper arm, and before she had any idea what Garth meant to do, he picked her up and draped her facedown over his shoulder.
“Put me down!”
He ignored her, and realizing what a sight she must present to the others, she held her tongue as he carried her into the anteroom. The first thing she saw as he did was Isabel, looking unusually fearful as she tried to see past them into the great hall.
“Shut that door and bolt it, madam,” Garth muttered. “Your unpredictable brother is doubtless already having second thoughts and may yet follow us.”
The relief Amalie had felt at leaving the hall behind her evaporated.
“Aye, he may,” Isabel said as the door shut and the bolt clicked home. “But I did manage never to tell him you were here as a serving knight, sir. So unless Boyd tells him so immediately, Fife will expect you to take her away at once. Can you not take her to Westruther or to Scott’s Hall?”
“Neither lies close enough,” he said. “There is no moon tonight.”
“Aye, sure, I forgot. You must take her to your room then. No, wait, Fife and Simon will be sleeping in the north wing tonight.”
“I’ll sleep in my own room,” Amalie said, trying to collect her wits. “I’m very grateful to you for rescuing me, sir, but we are not married and they ca
nnot molest me upstairs. Pray, do put me down. This position is most uncomfortable.”
“Keep silent, lass,” Garth said. “We’ll talk later, but not here or now when someone may break in at any moment. We have to stay at Sweethope, so we must behave like a properly wedded couple. And, since I told Fife that I mean to beat you, he must not find us bickering here. He may accept that the princess stopped us, but I must still look like an angry husband in complete control of his wife. What about her bedchamber, madam?”
“No, not there!” Amalie protested. Although she had evidently escaped marrying Sir Harald, disaster still lay ahead if Garth learned the truth about her. And, alone together, in her room . . . “My . . . my room is too small.”
“She is right,” Isabel said. “With the best will in the world, sir, the pair of you would never contrive to sleep or do otherwise in that tiny room.”
Otherwise! There could be no otherwise, or he would find out and hand her right back to Simon! “But I can sleep there alone,” Amalie said. “Then, tomorrow, after Simon and Fife leave, Sir Garth can take me to Scott’s Hall. Faith, madam, you cannot mean for him to sleep with me!”
“He has the right now, my dear,” Isabel said gently. “You heard the priest. You are truly married now.”
“We must go somewhere, madam,” Garth said urgently. “I don’t want to see Fife or Simon again tonight if we can avoid it. Nor do I want her answering any questions about what happened in there.”
“You are quite right, sir,” Isabel said. “Clearly, you must take my bedchamber for the night. Go straight up the service stairs, and Amalie will show you where it is whilst I go back into the hall and try to divert them for a time.”
“Isabel, I cannot take your bed,” Amalie protested. “Where will you sleep?”
“I shall take Averil’s bed, and she can take a maidservant’s cot. We’ll sort everything else out tomorrow after your brother and mine have gone.”
“But I—” She broke off, tensing, when Garth put his free hand on her backside but relaxed when she realized he was only shifting her weight a little.