At one point, Rosalie said, “You did not tell me where we will stay, madam.”
“Simon has chambers in the castle,” Lady Murray said. “I suppose we will stay there as your father and I often did.”
Knowing that Fife’s gentlemen had cramped quarters, Sibylla said, “Isabel also keeps rooms there, madam. As she has not yet replaced Amalie, she’ll have an extra one. So if his lordship’s chambers are not adequate, let me see what I can do.”
“That would be very kind, my dear,” Lady Murray said with a gracious nod.
The afternoon was pleasant and the distance from the Teviot to Akermoor just five miles through low hills. Two hours after they had eaten, the castle came into view, giving Sibylla an unexpected surge of pleasure.
Akermoor Castle sat high above Wolf Burn on a rocky knoll that protected all but the west front of the castle and provided a solid foundation for its square, four-story keep and the two round, five-story towers flanking it. Watch-towers on corbels made the two towers look as if they wore peaked hats.
On the west front, a walled forecourt protected the entrance. Gates opened for them into the court, where a raised portcullis guarded the archway to the door.
As Sibylla watched, the door opened and Alice Cavers stepped out, waving excitedly. Waving back, Sibylla realized she was glad to have come home.
Chapter 9
The forest surrounding Akermoor reminded Simon of Elishaw. The primary difference was the way Akermoor perched above the trees on its granite knoll. The track up to it was a good one but dropped off precipitously to the burn below, so anyone trying to attack the castle would be at a distinct disadvantage.
The distance to the water was about three hundred feet at the track’s highest point. A siege might be possible, he thought, but if the tower were well stocked . . .
“Have you a source of water inside?” he asked Sir Malcolm.
“We’ve a spring in the cliff just above us, aye,” that gentleman replied.
“How far are we from the loch?”
“A mile, no more, by yon track,” Sir Malcolm said, pointing to a narrow dirt path into the woods. “But come in, lad. I’ll show ye the whole place.”
Dismounting in the forecourt, Sibylla hurried to embrace her sister, who met her laughing. Alice also had their father’s light gray eyes but was half a head shorter than Sibylla, very fair, and of a willowy shape and build.
“I am so glad you’re home,” she said to Sibylla. “I’ve missed you.”
Introducing her to Lady Murray and Rosalie, Sibylla said, “The Murrays were very kind to me, and they stay only one night before riding on to Edinburgh to join the royal court. We must show them our finest hospitality.”
“Oh, how I wish I could go to court,” Alice said, looking at Rosalie, her envy plain to see. “It has been so dull here, and everyone else is going somewhere!”
“Your turn will come,” Sibylla said, her attention drifting to Simon and her father, who had dismounted and were heading toward the stables together.
“I know I shall go one day, Sibylla,” Alice said. “But our lord father says I must marry first, and I—” Breaking off, she glanced at Lady Murray. “Forgive me, madam— and Lady Rosalie, too,” she said ruefully. “I should not be talking about myself. Do come inside and I will show you where you may refresh yourselves.”
“Thank you, Lady Alice,” Lady Murray said. “I am sorry you will not be going to court. I had hoped that you and our Rosalie might become friends.”
“I’d like that, aye,” Alice said, smiling at Rosalie. “I have two cousins my age, but I rarely see them. ’Tis a pity I am not to go to Edinburgh.”
Sibylla said, “Someday, dearling, but let us go in now.” She accompanied them to the chamber Lady Murray and Rosalie would occupy that night. Waiting until her lady-ship’s woman joined them, and assured that their baggage was on its way up, Sibylla said, “Now you may take me to your room, Alice love, and tell me all the news.” With their ladyships’ door shut behind them, she added quietly, “I want to hear all about this young Colville our father tells me you are to marry.”
Alice’s face fell but she silently led the way to her bed-chamber and shut that door. Then she said, “Sibylla, Edward Colville is horrid!”
“I own, although Father wanted me to marry his brother, I have never met Edward. Sakes, I scarcely knew Thomas Colville.”
“I’m sure Thomas was just as bad, but you were so brave, Sibylla, refusing him as you did. I just wish I could refuse Edward.”
Recalling her father’s threat to lock her up if she encouraged rebellion, Sibylla said cautiously, “But why do you want to refuse him? Father says he has property, and if he is like Thomas, he is handsome. What makes him so horrid?”
Alice shuddered dramatically. “He is the sort of man who says what he thinks people want him to say and then behaves as he wants to behave.”
“How do you mean?”
“At Yuletide, when we were all at Ferniehurst together in a large company, he heard our father express admiration for the Bishop of St. Andrews,” Alice said. “Straightaway Edward began to act holier than I expect it has ever occurred to the bishop to act. One might have thought he aspired to take holy orders himself.”
“Perhaps he does. Many younger sons go into the Kirk.”
“Edward has no such intention,” Alice said, grimacing. “One has only to see the way he leers at anyone in a skirt to know that.”
“He is exactly like Thomas then. So why did you agree to marry him?”
Alice rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you how it happened. Father came to me and asked if I was a good, obedient daughter. I thought I must have displeased him, so I assured him that I am as obedient and dutiful as I know how to be, which is true.”
“I know it is, dearling,” Sibylla said.
“Aye, well, then Father asked what I thought of Edward Colville.”
“And you said . . .”
“I told him I scarcely knew him but he had done naught to attract my liking. Father frowned heavily, the way he does, making my knees quake. So I said, ‘Faith, sir, what would you have me say of him?’ ”
“And he said . . . ?”
“That he expected me to agree that Edward was a worthy young man that any marriageable maiden would rejoice to have as a husband.”
“Mercy, Alice, did you agree?”
“I did not! I told him I could not say such a thing without lying. Faith, but I had no reason to like Edward Colville, let alone to call him worthy.”
“What did our father say to that?”
“That he is sure I will be very happy with him as my husband. So you see—”
“I do not see,” Sibylla said. “Surely, you disagreed with that, too.”
“I did, aye, and he began bellowing at me. You know his way.”
“I do. But the law will side with you.”
Alice shook her head. “Nay, then, it won’t, because I’ve told him every way I know. But he went ahead as if I had agreed to everything. We marry in August.”
“But—”
“I saw how your behavior infuriated him each time you refused a husband. He regarded it as a personal affront that you sought the Douglas’s aid to defy him.”
“Mayhap he did,” Sibylla agreed, ignoring a twinge of guilt. “I did what I believed I had to do, Alice. I did not think of it as defiance but as taking my own path rather than fading to dust here at home.”
“But to do such a thing was defiance, and I have no one to aid me. I wish you had come home when Hugh died,” she added wistfully.
“I suppose you do, but I did not learn of his death for weeks. Do not forget that Isabel had just lost her husband, too. By the time the news of Hugh’s death caught up with me, we were in Galloway,” Sibylla said. “But I have visited twice since then. And Father seemed gey pleased to see me at Elishaw. He did not even scold me much for falling into the river Tweed.”
“Sakes, neither of us could imagine how yo
u came to do such a thing!”
Sibylla described her adventure, and the two spent a cozy time talking of Kit and Dand and the household at Elishaw. If Sibylla passed over the master of Elishaw, noting only her gratitude that he had appeared in time to help her get Kit out of the river, she doubted that Alice noticed any lack.
Alice made no further reference to her own situation as they chatted, and Sibylla did not press her. She knew that her sister lacked the fiercely independent spirit that had inspired Sibylla to reject each of their father’s plans for her future.
Alice would not defy him, but she had given her sister food for thought.
Sibylla hoped she was not emulating Isabel’s tendency to see Fife’s hand in any ill. But, since Fife had tried to marry her into the Colville family, she believed he might also have had a hand in Alice’s betrothal. Had he not tried to marry young Rosalie to his man Harald Boyd after failing to force Amalie to marry him?
With these thoughts in mind, another occurred to her with near certainty. If Thomas Colville had found himself a wealthy heiress, Fife must have arranged that as well. Moreover, the connection would somehow benefit Fife.
Deciding that she must help Alice but would have to be subtle about it, Sibylla soon went to change from her riding dress to garb more suitable for supper with their guests. Then she sought out Sir Malcolm and found him having just entered his bedchamber with his manservant.
“What is it, lass?” he asked when she peeped through the doorway.
“Prithee, sir, I would beg a word with you.”
Her father nodded to his man, who bowed and left the room. “What, then, lassie?” Sir Malcolm said, adding, “I like that yellow dress on ye.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile. “ ’Tis one of the old ones I left here, but I like it, too, although such a pale yellow is usually better on Alice. I own, I am quite jealous of her. She has grown to be a beauty, has she not?”
“Aye, she’s well enough. But I doubt ye came here to praise the lass, so I’ll tell ye to your head, Sibylla, I’ll have none of your argie-bargle.”
“You will do as you think best, sir. I’ve just realized how little I know of her. She was a bairn when I left and is now old enough to marry. The only pity I see is that she must do so before she has had any opportunity to see and be seen.”
“Here now, what are ye saying?” he demanded, scowling.
“I hope I’ve not said anything to vex you,” she said. “Mayhap ’tis only that I’d like to know her better myself before she marries.”
“Ye’ll have plenty of time for that, for she’ll not marry till August. The pair of ye can talk yourselves mute afore then if ye like.”
“Nay, sir, for Isabel will be in Edinburgh by now or as soon as makes no difference. I must return to her service.”
When he bristled, she added hastily, “It will not do for me to anger her after she has been so kind to me, sir. Also, Murray has offered to escort me. As Lady Murray will likewise be with me, my journey need not trouble you in any way.”
“Aye, ye’d be safe in Annabel’s charge,” he agreed, still frowning.
Satisfied with that response, Sibylla said, “I do wish Alice could go with us. Seeing the court would be such a treat for her, and under an eye as watchful as her lady-ship’s, she would be safe, too. But doubtless the Colvilles would disapprove.”
His frown had grown darker before she paused, and she suspected that by shifting so abruptly from her plan to his, she had unsettled him.
He did not speak for a long moment, and she kept silent.
At last, he said, “Why d’ye think the Colvilles would disapprove?”
With a little smile, she said, “Why, sir, surely you can see that men will need only to look on our Alice to fling themselves at her feet.”
“Aye, well, I’ll have none of that!”
“You certainly won’t if you keep her clapped up here,” Sibylla agreed. “Edward Colville must be pleased that you have, because he surely knows that better and wealthier men than he would leap at a chance to marry our Alice. He won her so easily, I suspect, only because no others had seen her.”
“Sakes, she has not been buried here. I took her to Ferniehurst at Yuletide.”
Sibylla nodded. “To be sure you did, sir. But one must suppose that nearly everyone at Ferniehurst was a kinsman of ours on one side or the other. And most of the younger men who were there are married, are they not?”
“Aye, they are that,” he said, looking thoughtful. Deciding she had made her point, Sibylla said, “You will take good care of Alice, I know. I just wanted to tell you that I shall accept Murray’s kind offer to escort me to Edinburgh. But if you should choose to visit me whilst Isabel is in residence there, I can easily provide chambers for you and Alice at the castle.”
Her sister could share her room, but she sent a prayer aloft that he would not demand to know if she thought the princess had taken to including gentlemen as her guests. She also prayed that Archie the Grim had not forgotten his promise to house any guest of hers in his gatehouse apartments. As generous as he could be, he might have made the same promise to others and might find himself short of space.
It was not in her nature to worry about things she could not control or influence, and she knew Archie well enough to be sure that if he were there he would find space for
Sir Malcolm. So she went in search of Rosalie and Lady Murray.
“I trust you find everything to your liking,” she said when they bade her enter their chamber.
“Indeed, Lady Sibylla, Akermoor seems most comfortable,” Lady Murray said.
“Thank you, but pray do call me Sibylla. Praise from one who knows a well-run household when she sees one will mean much to my father.”
“I have seen too little to judge how well it is run,” Lady Murray said more austerely. “And I should think your charming sister or Sir Malcolm’s housekeeper would deserve the credit for its management. In my experience, gentlemen know little of how to run a household smoothly.”
“I am sure you are right,” Sibylla said. Smiling at Rosalie, she said, “I would ask a kindness of you, my lady.”
“Anything you like,” Rosalie agreed.
“My sister is sadly envious of your journey to court, so I would beg you to be as tactful as you can if the subject arises. My father’s notions on such things are stern, I’m afraid. He believes she should marry before she attends the royal court.”
Noting Lady Murray’s knitted brow, Sibylla said they must let her know if they needed anything more for their comfort, then suggested they go down to supper.
Simon enjoyed his tour of Akermoor.
Although he had once believed that Sir Malcolm had misled him about his daughter’s willingness to marry, Simon’s anger had soon shifted to Sibylla. He now found that he liked her father. Moreover, Akermoor was thriving, so he seized the opportunity to ask questions about matters that had perplexed him at Elishaw.
Sir Malcolm answered them all with hearty good sense, and the two men had spent the entire afternoon together in perfect amity.
Entering the great hall at suppertime with his host, Simon saw Sibylla on the dais, talking with Lady Murray. A short distance away, near the large fireplace, Rosalie chatted animatedly with the lady Alice Cavers.
As they all took their places, servants scurried about with dishes of food and pitchers of what was likely ale for the lower hall and wine for the high table.
They paused where they were while Sir Malcolm said the grace before meat.
Evidently believing he had already talked with Simon as much as courtesy dictated, Sir Malcolm turned to Lady Murray as they sat down, and engaged her in conversation. Simon was amused to see her respond with smiles and arch comments.
Beyond her, Sibylla chatted with Alice and Rosalie. Simon’s ears were sharp enough to hear most of what the others were saying without troubling himself to take part in the conversation. Soon his thoughts drifted to Edinburgh and Fife’s
summons. Those thoughts proving less than cheerful, he pushed them away only to have them drift back whenever he let down his guard.
Fixing his attention firmly on Sibylla’s low-pitched voice and the younger girls’ higher ones, punctuated now and again by her throaty chuckle and their giggles, he found the sounds oddly peaceful, even comforting.
From time to time, his host would address a comment to him, and he would reply. Each time Sir Malcolm quickly returned his attention to Lady Murray. Thus, he surprised Simon as they were finishing the meal when he said abruptly, “Sibylla, lass, Murray has asked several times today about our loch. I’ve been thinking ye could put your riding dress back on and take him to see it afore darkness falls.”
“I do not need to change my dress, sir,” Sibylla said. “At least an hour of daylight remains, and it is no more than a twenty-minute walk through the woods to the loch. His lordship is fit enough, I think, to manage that without undue exertion.”
Simon’s spirits lifted. “I’d like that,” he said, smiling.
The naturalness of Simon’s smile startled Sibylla. The only other time she could recall seeing his smile had been the small, rueful one he had offered her the previous night in Elishaw’s great hall when she had reminded him of his threat to have Sir Malcolm ask her how she had got out of the castle.
Even that smile had altered his features considerably. This one did much more. When he looked at her, still smiling, every nerve in her body reacted.
Sir Malcolm’s suggestion that they go to the loch had surprised her, but she knew his reason for the apparent impulse. He still hoped for a union between them.
Still, she was grateful to escape an otherwise tedious evening, doubtless a prime sample of how it would often be if she had to remain under her father’s roof.
Outside, the sun touched a nearby hill to the west, and she knew they would see the sunset when they reached the hilltop. The track up through the pines and beeches was wide enough to walk side by side. As they followed it, Simon glanced back twice.
“What is it?” she asked.
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