“Then we’ll walk outside, where we can talk privately,” Simon said.
“I’ve a notion ye want to quiz me as well,” Sir Malcolm said as they went downstairs. “Seems providential, this. Have ye taken an eye to my lass again?”
“No, sir, nor would it do any good if I had,” Simon said. “She made her position clear years ago, and I see no indication that she has altered it. Nor,” he added firmly, “have I changed my views. You may recall what I said to her then.”
“Roared at her, more like. But she’s a stubborn one. Defiant, too. Whilst our Hugh were alive, she’d go to him first and have him plead her case with me. He indulged her too much, did Hugh. In troth, though, I was as wax in the lassie’s hands, too. Bless me, but I ought to have taught her obedience.”
“There are tried and proven ways, sir,” Simon suggested.
Sir Malcolm grimaced. “I’m not a man of violence with my lasses, sir. ’Tis no use expecting that from me. I roar, though, and Alice—bless her—submits to roaring. But Sibylla just stands and looks at ye, waiting for the storm of ‘ye won’t’ to pass before she says, ‘I will.’ ”
“I warrant you are not the first man ruled by a stubborn daughter, sir,” Simon said, vowing again that no woman would ever rule him.
“Sithee, lad, she’s the spit of my dear wife, rest her soul. Not in temperament, mind ye! My Mary were as gentle as a woman could be, but our Sibylla looks so much like her that . . . Well, I’m a weak man, is all. That’d be what ye’re thinking.”
“Nay, sir,” Simon said, although he was. “I should tell you, however, that my mother does not know I once nearly married Sibylla.”
“I suspected ye’d said nowt to them at the time, so it does not surprise me that ye’ve told them nowt since.”
“Doubtless you’ve guessed that I feared if I did tell them, they would forbid the match. I had good reasons of my own, too, to agree to it.”
“Fife, of course. I cannot blame ye for that when gaining an ally in the man was my reason for accepting the suit. I knew ye’d not be doing the thing without him guiding your steps, and your close access to him was desirable to me. As to not wanting to tell your mother . . . Sakes, me own sweet Mary could be a terror if she learned of such things after the doing, so I’ll not tell Annabel on ye. When she was young, she was the soul of competence and good sense, but folks tell me now that she’s known better for her managing disposition.”
“She is still a competent woman, sir, and gey shrewd,” Simon said mildly. He wished he could in good conscience quiz the man about Lady Murray’s younger days and learn how well he had known her. Instead he said, “I value her opinions, but I own, I’d liefer she not hear about that arrangement from anyone but me.”
Sir Malcolm smiled wryly and said, “Take my advice, lad, and tell her at the first opportunity. I’d not put it past that contrary puss of mine to let summat slip.”
“She has not done so yet,” Simon said. “Nor did she tell my sister Amalie, although Amalie served with her in Princess Isabel’s household.”
“Even so . . .” Sir Malcolm paused.
“Sakes, sir, you’re taking her home tomorrow. With the river Tweed between us again, I doubt we’ll see much of either of you after that.”
Two hours later, a rider from Edinburgh arrived with a message for Simon from the Governor of the Realm. He was to join the royal court as soon as possible.
When Sibylla left Lady Murray’s solar later that afternoon, she saw no sign of Sir Malcolm or Simon. Returning to the solitude of her bedchamber, she pondered how she might gain her father’s permission to rejoin Isabel in Edinburgh.
As fond as she was of Sir Malcolm and of Alice, and as pleased as she would be to see the latter, she could not let the two of them immure her at Akermoor.
One way or another, she would rejoin Isabel, and quickly, before Sir Malcolm should take it into his head to order her to stay home. Even Archie the Grim was unlikely to support her in defiance of such a command.
“Mistress?”
Startled, Sibylla turned to find Kit behind her on the stairway.
“Faith, lassie, how do you tread so lightly?”
“If nae one hears ye, nae one tells ye to do summat ye dinna want to do.”
“Is that why you disappeared again this morning before I awoke?”
Kit looked around as if she feared someone were listening, then whispered, “Tetsy’s no happy an she finds me in your room. She shoos me away.”
“I expect she thinks you ought not to creep into my chamber at night, as you have, without an invitation,” Sibylla said gently.
“Aye, sure,” Kit replied. “She said I must no . . . must not do it again, but I dinna . . . do not like sleeping wi’ Tetsy. She snores louder than Dand does.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Sibylla said. “I shan’t be here much longer though, Kit. My father has come today, and he means to take me home with him.”
Kit’s face fell. “Where do ye live then?”
“A place called Akermoor, on the other side of the river Tweed—where you and I met.” The child’s silence and solemn face made Sibylla want to reassure her. “You and Dand will be safe here,” she added. “The laird will look after you.”
“Aye, but I like to sleep with ye in here,” Kit said. “D’ye think my hair will one day grow to be as long as what yours is?”
“If you do not let anyone cut it, it will,” Sibylla said, opening the door to her chamber. “You may come in if you like. Is your hair always kept short?”
Kit shook her head. “I cut it m’self t’other day.”
“Why?”
Kit shrugged. “I just did. Ye dinna have anything to pack up, do ye?”
“Not much,” Sibylla agreed, hoping her hostess would not object if she took the two kirtles with her to wear on the way. “Now that I think of it, do you happen to know what became of the riding dress I was wearing when I fell into the river?”
“It got ruined,” Kit said. “The laird took it away and put it in the scullery sink, and then a scullery maid rinsed it out and hung it by the fire to dry. It shrunk to bairn’s size, Tetsy said. She said it be fine wool, too, and they ought to ha’ asked her ladyship’s woman how to dry it. Tetsy were fearful ye’d ask after it afore now.”
Sibylla would miss the riding dress, which had been a favorite. But she could order another made in Edinburgh. Boots were a more pressing matter. A day’s ride in a pair of silken slippers was unthinkable.
It occurred to her that she would need more than boots and a riding dress in Edinburgh, because her father was unlikely to agree to return to Akermoor by way of Sweethope Hill. Sweethope lay miles northeast of Elishaw, while Akermoor lay nearly as far to the northwest.
Her father would say, and rightly, that she had garments aplenty at Akermoor. That they were all years out of date would not matter to him. And, since he assumed she would stay at Akermoor, he would say that it should not matter to her either.
Her sister would have fashionable clothing, to be sure, but unless Alice had grown since the last time they’d seen each other, she was smaller in every way.
When the princess arrived in Edinburgh, the matter would resolve itself. Isabel was of a similar size and generous with her cast-off clothing, and the lady Susan Lennox was also much the same size as Sibylla.
Lady Susan was not as generous as Isabel. But Sibylla had no doubt that she would be pleased to lend her clothing if only to feel superior in doing so. Such things mattered much to Lady Susan and not at all to Sibylla.
The best course, she decided, would be to send a messenger to Sweethope from Akermoor to request that they send a selection of her clothing to Edinburgh.
The trick, of course, would be to get to Edinburgh in the first place.
Kit had wandered to the washstand and was refolding the towel there. When she turned and scanned the room, Sibylla felt a touch of amusement at the child’s determination to serve her.
“I wish I co
uld take you with me, Kit,” she said impulsively. “I think you will make a fine attire woman for a lady one day, especially if you continue to improve your manners and speech as I have noticed you doing here.”
Flushing, Kit nibbled her lower lip, but Sibylla thought she was pleased.
When Tetsy entered a short time later, she threw up her hands at seeing Kit. “I vow, m’lady, that bairn be like smoke,” she said. “One minute ye see her; the next she’s vanished. I’ve told her she’s no to follow ye about, but nae one misses her in the kitchen. She’s no been trained for scullery work, and she’s too small to reach the sink anyhow without she has a box to stand on.”
“Never mind, Tetsy. You may let her sleep here again tonight. I must go home tomorrow, and I warrant Kit will behave just as you like then.”
“Och, aye, I ken fine that ye’re going, and I must tell ye that yon dress—”
“Kit already told me that my riding dress shrank. I hope you did not throw it away, though. Someone smaller can still make use of it.”
“They will, aye, for the laird did say to give it to Cook’s wee daughter.”
“An excellent notion.”
“Aye, but he be leaving, too. The Governor did summon him to Edinburgh.”
“Did he?” Sibylla said, her thoughts racing. “How providential!”
When Simon entered the hall for supper that evening, his family and one of his guests stood at their places by the dais table, awaiting his arrival. Sibylla, however, came to meet him as he stepped onto the dais.
She wore a gray kirtle with a pink sideless surcoat over it, and he noted that tonight her eyes were silvery. The dark rims of her irises emphasized the effect.
“May I have a word with you, sir?” she said so quietly that he doubted anyone else could hear her.
“Certainly,” he said in much the same tone. “How may I serve you?”
Keeping her back to the others, she said, “You mean to depart soon for Edinburgh and, I suspect, will take the Selkirk road, which passes near Akermoor. I had hoped I might persuade you to escort me there to rejoin Isabel.”
“You know I cannot do that without your father’s permission,” he said. “But how is it that you are so well informed? I have told no one of my plans.”
Eyes twinkling, she said, “The wind whispered the news to me.”
Recalling that Amalie had said some folks thought
Sibylla might be a witch, he nearly believed it just then.
Then, as he took his seat, Lady Murray said in her customary stately tones, “I have decided that Rosalie and I shall accompany you to Edinburgh, sir. She is old enough now, I believe, to attend the royal court.”
Chapter 8
Sir Malcolm said to Simon in surprise, “Bless me, Murray, d’ye go to Edinburgh, then? If so, ye’re bound to go by way of Selkirk.”
“That is my usual route, aye,” Simon said.
“Then ye’ll stay the first night at Akermoor. We lie but two miles off yon Selkirk road. After your kindness and hospitality to my lass, I’ll hear of nowt else.”
“Looking after the lady Sibylla was no trouble, sir,” Simon said, sensing his mother’s immediate tension. “In troth, you need not—”
“Simon, you know our lady mother dislikes traveling more than fifteen miles in a day,” Rosalie said. “It is kind of Sir Malcolm to invite us, is it not?”
“It is, aye,” Simon said, glancing at her and wondering at his mother’s unusual silence. The pause, however, was all Rosalie needed to continue.
“I should like to see Lady Sibylla’s home,” she said eagerly. “I want to meet her sister, too. If she has not yet turned fifteen, she is just a year older than I am and I know few girls so near me in age.”
Simon turned to Lady Murray. “What think you, madam?”
“Two miles off the main road is four miles out of our way,” she said. “Doubtless, you will prefer to ride on to Selkirk.”
Sir Malcolm said, “Whilst one always respects your judgment, my lady, that would mean riding twenty-two miles the first day. I’m thinking ye’ll be content to stop a few miles sooner, especially if ye’ve packing yet to do before we depart.”
“We are not so fragile, sir, nor so lacking in fore-thought,” she replied. “We have prepared for Rosalie’s court appearance this year, and I set my women to packing as soon as I learned of Murray’s intent. We will be ready when you are.”
“Aye, then I’ll tell ye this, lad,” Sir Malcolm said. “A good hill track leads north from Akermoor past an ancient Roman camp. It fords Ettrick Water west of Selkirk and the Tweed not far beyond. ’Tis shorter and will take less time than if ye have to ride all the way to the Abbot’s Ford at Melrose to cross them both.”
“That route is unknown to me,” Simon said.
“Aye, well, I’ll see ye safely on your way,” Sir Malcolm said with a chuckle. “Once ye clap eyes on Ettrick Water, ye’ll ken fine how to go.”
Sibylla remained quiet, but Simon’s memory of their earlier conversation diverted his attention to her. Her gaze met his with a twinkle. Then she smiled.
That smile sent a jolt of heat through him. As he collected his wits, Sir Malcolm said, “Yon Roman road affords some grand views of the Vale of Tweed.”
Rosalie’s gaze, Simon noted, had fixed itself on their mother.
Tempted to look at Sibylla again, he resisted the urge and said to his mother, “If you have no objection, madam, I would like to try that route.”
“My dear sir, you are master here. We will naturally submit to your will.”
He wished he could believe her, but she sounded too submissive, so he suspected she would make her true wishes known before the night was done.
She was not normally an early riser, but he hoped she would not expect him to delay his departure, because he wanted to deal quickly with Fife’s wishes. He hoped to distance himself more from the Governor, but also, with raiders growing more daring, he did not want to be long away from home.
Agreeing to Lady Murray’s suggestion that they meet in her solar in half an hour’s time, Sibylla returned to her bedchamber to wash her hands and face.
To her surprise, Tetsy and Kit were in the room when she entered.
Tetsy greeted her with a smile. “Her ladyship did say ye’d need a proper riding dress, boots, and a warm cloak against the chill,” she said, gesturing to a light brown, hooded cloak on a wall hook, leather boots on the floor beneath it, and a tunic and skirt of russet-colored Say cloth that lay draped across the bed. “I’ve put out a fresh shift for ye, too,” she added.
“Thank you,” Sibylla said, watching as Kit busily tidied the washstand. “I see you have your helper with you again.”
“Aye, m’lady, she’s willing enough, I’ll say that for her.
Come along now, lassie, if ye’re done there,” Tetsy added, turning toward the door.
“I’d like to keep her a moment longer, Tetsy,” Sibylla said. “Prithee, do not forget that I have given her leave to sleep in here again tonight if she likes.”
Assuring them both that she remembered, Tetsy nodded and was gone.
“Kit, I have good news,” Sibylla said, measuring a boot against one silk-shod foot for size. “His lordship and Lady Murray are going to Edinburgh when I leave here, and my father and I will ride with them. I thought you might like to go, too.”
“Och, nay,” Kit said, her eyes widening. “I’d liefer stay here—wi’ Dand.”
“Sithee, I thought that, as we traveled, you might see familiar country. You might even see your home if we pass by it. Or someone we see may know you.”
Kit shook her head fiercely. “The bad men may see me and take me away. That be what they said they’d do, so I’d liefer stay here. Tetsy says I’ve gey much to learn afore I’ll be much good to anyone. I want to learn, m’lady.”
“But his lordship . . . all of us— We’ll see that no harm comes to you.”
Kit shook her head again, clearly frightened, so Sibylla
did not press her. She sensed that more was amiss than fear of the raiders. But as tight-lipped as the child was, she doubted she would get anywhere by demanding an explanation.
It occurred to her that she ought to have consulted Simon before inviting Kit to go with them. And, as she hoped to go on to Edinburgh with the Murrays, she ought also to have consulted her hostess about Kit.
With time to spare before meeting Lady Murray in the solar, she went in search of Simon and found him still on the dais in the great hall, talking to his steward. A number of his men were already laying out pallets in the lower hall.
“Your father decided to retire early, Lady Sibylla,” Simon said, flicking a frowning glance at his men. “His chamber is on the floor above yours. ’Tis the room you slept in last fall when you stayed here with Amalie.”
“I was looking for you, sir, not my father,” she said. He looked mildly displeased but dismissed the steward, saying to him, “I’ll rely on you again to see to everything whilst I’m away. You know my ways now.”
The man bowed and left. Before Sibylla could speak, Simon said, “I’ve told you I cannot take you to Edinburgh unless your father agrees. You should speak to him.”
“I want to discuss another matter with you,” she said. “Art ready, then, to tell me how you slipped out of this castle?”
She was finding it easier to meet that penetrating look of his. “I suspect you know how,” she replied, her own direct gaze challenging him to deny it.
“I would hear the words from you.”
Satisfied that he dared not mention the tunnel without first being sure of her knowledge, she said, “I won’t invite more reproaches from you, sir, so if you have a new charge, make it. I believe you dare not, lest you find yourself in error and provide me with information you’d liefer I not have.”
His look of puzzlement came so swiftly and sincerely that, although it vanished as swiftly, she wondered if it was possible after all that he did not know of the tunnel.
He said, “I do not like this game, lass. I would have the truth from you.”
“You threatened to make my father ask me,” she reminded him.
To her astonishment, a rueful smile appeared, the first smile she had seen from him. It was small, but it powerfully altered his features, adding light to the fascinating green eyes and revealing just how fine-looking a man he was.
Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] Page 11