Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2]

by Border Moonlight

  The Roman camp proved interesting, but they did not delay and forded Ettrick Water a short time later. Before crossing the river Tweed, they enjoyed the midday meal Sir Malcolm’s people had provided. Then, for a while after the crossing, they followed an old drove road through low, forested hills.

  The pace had grown tedious, and Simon’s thoughts drifted as they had before to what awaited him in Edinburgh. Recalling his mother’s warning, he wondered just how angry with him Fife might still be, and hoped Elishaw was safe from him.

  The Governor had formed a habit of collecting estates to increase Crown holdings—or so he said. In effect, Simon knew that Fife was increasing Fife’s holdings, because he controlled nearly everything related to the Crown.

  Simon had committed no crime that Fife could condemn. Nor had he ever opposed Fife except when Fife had wanted Rosalie to marry Harald Boyd.

  In the end, Boyd had suffered a fatal accident after seriously displeasing Fife. Surely, Simon told himself, Boyd had angered Fife more by his actions than Simon had by refusing to make Rosalie marry the scoundrel.

  Moreover, the taking of an estate by the Crown was illegal unless no other recourse existed, and it required the consent of the lords in the Scottish Parliament.

  They’d have no reason to consent even if he suffered the fatal accident Lady Murray feared, because his sisters would inherit Elishaw. Two were married to powerful men—Meg to Sir Walter Scott, Laird of Buccleuch and Rankilburn, and Amalie to Sir Garth Napier, Laird of Westruther. Both men were loyal Douglas supporters and could rely on Archie the Grim to back their claims against Fife’s. So, the likelihood that Fife would order Simon killed so he could seize Elishaw was remote. However, he could make life wretched for him if he decided to do so.

  As they approached Gala Water, rapid hoofbeats behind him made him look back to see Sibylla galloping her horse toward him. She had been riding with the younger lasses since fording the Tweed, and the way she smiled as she urged her mount to such speed for the short distance amused him.

  Did she mean to gallop on ahead of them all?

  He half hoped she would because it would give him an excuse to put his own horse to a gallop, if only to recall her to order.

  But she deftly reined in beside him, still smiling infectiously as she said, “That was wonderful but much too short! I must remember Isabel in my prayers tonight.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Because she rarely travels at such a tediously poking pace,” she declared roundly. “Do you think we shall reach Penkaet before suppertime?”

  “We ford Gala Water just ahead, so I expect we will,” he said. “We sent men on, at all events, to warn Lord Winton that we would arrive in time to sup there.”

  “Do you mind if I ride with you for a time?”

  “For as long as you like,” he replied.

  “I own, I grow weary of giggles,” she admitted. “But Rosalie is charming and gey generous, too, to offer to share her clothing with Alice. I left things of mine in Isabel’s chambers when we were last in Edinburgh, and told Alice that I had. But she sniffed at wearing my year-old fashions.”

  “Rosalie is a good lass,” he agreed. Digesting the full meaning of her words, he said, “I hope you have enough suitable garments to wear when you attend the princess. It never occurred to me that you might not, but . . .”

  Her eyes danced. “Having not lived at Akermoor for three years, I can assure you, sir, it did occur to me. I sent a messenger to Sweethope as soon as I knew Father would let me come with you, and asked them to send me what I shall need.”

  “What will you do till it arrives?” he asked as they approached the Gala ford.

  “I’ll be a bit ragged—by my sister’s standard, anyway. In troth, I cannot recall what I left, so I may be missing some necessities. But I can hire a sempstress. And I can borrow from Isabel’s other ladies. If all else fails, I’m handy with a needle and can cut simple patterns. One learns such things, serving the princess.”

  In his experience, ladies worried constantly about their attire, so he found her attitude unusual and refreshing. He rarely heeded his own appearance, because his manservant knew what he liked and replenished his clothing as needed. All Simon had to do was approve fabrics and stand for an occasional fitting.

  Fife’s men, like Fife himself, wore primarily all-black clothing. Otherwise, Simon preferred colors of the forest or hills and enjoyed new fashions, although even in his callow youth, he had spurned particolored hose, absurdly long-pointed shoes, and similar outlandish styles that other young noblemen fancied.

  He and Sibylla had ridden for a while in the same comfortable silence they had enjoyed the night before when she said, “Do you know Edward Colville, sir?”

  “I’ve seen him with Thomas,” he said. “I cannot say I know him. In troth, I do not know Thomas well. Fife encourages competition rather than amity amongst those who serve him. I warrant he fears conspiracy, but I confess I have sometimes envied the strong friendships of men who fight together.”

  She nodded. “Hugh’s friends were like brothers to him.

  And one has only to see Amalie’s husband and Meg’s together to see the bond they share. Amalie says she thinks Garth would sometimes rather talk to Wat Scott than to her.”

  Amalie was probably right, Simon thought, especially if pregnancy had turned her irritable, as it did some women. But she loved her husband and he loved her. Simon liked Westruther, too, and thought him a good match for her.

  “Why do you ask about Edward Colville?” he asked Sibylla.

  “Because Alice confided to Rosalie and me that he and his brother are now in Edinburgh,” she said with a grimace.

  “As he is to marry Alice, would it not be good for her to get to know him better in company?” The thought crossed his mind that he would have liked to know Sibylla better before their aborted wedding.

  She said, “Mayhap it would be good had Alice not also confided to us that the man she rather tediously calls her true love will be there as well. She had begun talking solely to Rosalie by then and had forgotten I was there.”

  “Were you not riding three abreast, with Alice between you and Rosalie?”

  “Aye, sure, but Alice looked at Rosalie as they talked. I saw Rosalie’s eyebrows shoot up, whereupon Alice turned sharply to me and begged me not to let Father forbid her to speak to this love of hers, whom Father calls a plaguey lackwit, or force her to be more than civil to Edward Colville. I made no such promises, because I know of no way to keep them. But I fear uproar may lie ahead.”

  Wondering what Rosalie had made of these confidences, he said dryly, “Who is the true love?”

  “She also calls him her dearling Geordie. I thought it better not to stir debate in Rosalie’s presence, or encourage Alice by asking for more details.”

  “I just hope she does not offer young Colville to Rosalie.”

  A gurgle of laughter escaped her. “Faith, sir, would Rosalie want him?”

  “She has declared that she wants to marry as soon as possible,” he said.

  “Does she know how close she came to marrying last year?”

  “Nay, and she has not said what sort of man she seeks. I think it has not yet occurred to her that the man might make a difference to her happiness in the union.”

  She chuckled again, making him smile. “Wait until she meets Edward,” she said. “If he is half as cocksure of himself as Alice says he is, or as Thomas is, Rosalie will quickly see her error. Alice suggested, too, that something has gone amiss with the Colvilles, but she admitted that she has no idea what it may be.”

  He shook his head. “How can she even know of such a thing?”

  “Apparently Edward has visited Akermoor, paying court to her. She said he had not formed any intent to go to Edinburgh, that he left only because Thomas sent for him urgently a few days ago. Do you know of any crisis?”

  “I know little save that Fife has likewise ordered me to Edinburgh,” he said.
“But if my sister may take interest in a Colville, I promise I’ll learn all I can.”

  “You care deeply for her,” Sibylla said.

  “I just think she is still too young for marriage,” he said. “My father thought so last fall, and my mother is in no hurry to send her off to her own establishment. Nor would any sensible man want Rosalie for his wife.”

  “Mercy, sir, why not?”

  “Because she kens nowt of housekeeping. Both Meg and Amalie knew much more, Meg especially. But I fear that Rosalie has become everyone’s dearling.”

  “I am sure that anyone as kind and generous as she is deserves all the affection she receives, sir.”

  Sibylla saw no reason to mention that Amalie had said that Simon doted on Rosalie. He did not seem the sort of man who doted on anyone.

  Her first impression of him, on that long-ago rainy day, had been of a chilly, self-absorbed young man interested only in getting on with the business at hand. At Elishaw, it had taken just a short time to see that he was more complex than that.

  He still often seemed chilly, but she was not sure now that the description was apt. To call him a private man, perhaps a lonely one, might be more accurate.

  He certainly took his duties seriously, but aside from his displeasure, he did not share his feelings easily if at all.

  An image awakened from years before of a pot she had seen blow its lid off when a kitchen maid had failed to shift it to the hob in time. Soup bubbling to the rim had stuck the lid tight, but the contents had boiled until increasing pressure broke the seal, abruptly and violently. The lid flew off, and erupting soup had scalded a maid.

  Realizing that she was comparing Simon to a soup pot, she concealed her amusement. He had proven to be more observant of her expressions than most men were, and she doubted he would appreciate the image if she described it to him.

  As she continued to ponder his apparent ability to talk comfortably with her, she recalled Amalie saying that she could never tell what Simon was thinking. But Amalie had also described Simon as harsh and had clearly been wary of his temper.

  Yet Sibylla had stirred his temper more than once, just to see what would happen or to divert him from a point on which she preferred he not dwell. And she had done so—thus far, at least—with impunity.

  He had spoken sharply to her, had even scolded her. But his temper had seemed mild by comparison with her father’s or Hugh’s—or even her own.

  “You seem deep in thought,” he said, startling her.

  She smiled. “I was thinking about temperamental men.”

  “Do you number me amongst them? I’d not blame you if you did.”

  “You did not know my brother well, then,” she said. “Nor have you seen aught but my father’s milder side. The Cavers temper is renowned, sir.”

  “Yours, too? I have stirred your displeasure more than once, but I would not describe you as temperamental.”

  “In a household of explosive men, a sensible woman learns to control her ire. But I confess that I grew more adept at such control in Isabel’s service than at home. She does not like discord, but some of her ladies tend to seek faults in others and try to exploit them to their own benefit, so one must ever take care.”

  “You can tell me little about service in a royal household that I do not know,” he said with a wry smile.

  “I expect that is especially true in Fife’s service,” she said.

  Their conversation continued in this friendly way as they followed the Gala Water road to Penkaet Castle, where they arrived in good time to dress for supper with their host. Lord Winton and his lady, genial hosts, had done them the honor of hiring minstrels for their entertainment, so the evening was a pleasant one. They all sat up later than they should have, and even Simon smiled more than usual.

  Simon watched his mother and the Wintons, surprised that she seemed so at ease with them. Members of Scottish nobility did know of one another, but the level of her ease after such a long day suggested she had known them a long time.

  Yet when he asked her, she replied, “Oh, no, dearest. They are mere acquaintances. So kind though, and it has been a pleasant day, has it not?”

  Sir Malcolm, too, was enjoying himself and revealed no sign of the volatile temperament Sibylla had described. Simon suppressed a smile at his mental image of Sibylla with a spitting temper. She had shown claws once or twice but nothing he would call rage.

  Remembering Sir Iagan’s rages and the icy fury with which Fife could terrify anyone within earshot, he decided Sibylla knew naught of what she spoke.

  Well aware of the effect his own temper had on his sisters, and how quickly it could erupt if he did not keep it firmly checked, he wondered what Sibylla would think if he ever unleashed it on her. Not that he would. He was coming to like the saucy lass now that he knew her better. And with her father at hand, he could enjoy her company and give thanks that she was no longer his responsibility.

  The next morning he did come within a hair’s breadth of losing his temper when his mother and the other females in his charge all seemed bent on moving slower than snails as they prepared to depart.

  While he dealt with any minor task he could find to occupy his hands and thus keep his temper, it occurred to him with force that trouble lurked ahead.

  Knowing the road and knowing, too, that Edinburgh Castle lay nearer twenty miles from Penkaet than fifteen, he feared that Sir Malcolm would suggest stopping at Dalkeith Castle for the night, rather than pushing on.

  Dalkeith, the Douglas seat nearest the capital, lay some seven miles southeast of it. They would pass within a mile, and he was sure that Lady Murray would accept such an invitation if she had not already done so.

  In the hope that she had not, and to ward off the likelihood of its happening later, he seized the first opportunity to speak privately with Sir Malcolm.

  “Our journey today is again longer than my mother likes,” Simon said. “Nevertheless, sir, I do not want to spend another night on the road.”

  “Nay, for ye’ll want to learn what Fife has in mind for ye,” Sir Malcolm said. “I ken that fine, lad. I’d offer to assume the escort of your lady mother and young Rosalie myself if I thought ye’d allow it—or that she would.”

  “She would not, sir,” Simon said. “You and I both know how it would look if you and your tail were to escort her. And she looks askance at gossip, let alone scandal. Mayhap if I knew what stirred that dispute betwixt our families . . .”

  To his surprise the older man blushed like a schoolboy but said hastily, “Nay, I told ye, lad, ’twas nobbut bit o’ ribble-rabble. In troth, I scarce recall it, but ’twas nowt for making a bard’s tale about, so I’ve nae intention of speaking more on the subject. If Annabel wants to tell ye, she will, but I’ll tell ye nowt.”

  “Very well, sir. It must be as you say. I’ll be much obliged to you, though, if you can manage to distract her from talking of time and distance today.”

  “I’ll do that and happily,” Sir Malcolm said. “I’m gey pleased that I decided we should come. I’d forgotten what a fine sense of humor your mam has.”

  Simon stared at him. He had heard many things said about his mother in his lifetime, and he fancied he knew her well. But no one had ever accused Lady Murray of having a sense of humor, and he had never expected anyone to do so.

  Whether Sir Malcolm knew what he was talking about when it came to her ladyship or not, Simon was relieved when he did manage to keep her diverted.

  By the time they approached Holyrood Abbey at the southeast end of Edinburgh, the sun was low and Sibylla was again riding beside him. Her eyes were bright as her gaze swept westward from the abbey bell tower and upward to Castle Hill. Her expression revealed simple pleasure in the view.

  “Do you enjoy life in court circles?” he asked her.

  She looked startled at the question but gave it thought before saying, “I like being with Isabel, but I dislike all the intrigue at court. Someone is always plotting something, so o
ne has to watch for pitfalls if only to avoid falling victim to a prank meant to make someone else look bad.”

  He nodded. Having been party to many such intrigues over the years, if only as an adjunct to a primary player, he knew she was right.

  “One must be devious by nature, I suspect, to enjoy such things,” he said.

  “Are you devious, sir? I would not have thought that of you.”

  He said, “I don’t think I am, but I was raised to be loyal to my liege, and obedient. I was both of those things, and I am still loyal to the Crown.”

  “And the Crown is Fife,” she said with a sigh.

  “Aye, the Crown is Fife.”

  She glanced back. “I should fall back to ride with the other women, should I not? I am surprised that neither her ladyship nor my father has commanded it.”

  He was reluctant to agree with her but knew he must. “Aye, you should,” he said. “You do not want to stir talk, not if you would please Isabel.”

  She sighed. “She does not dare keep anyone who stirs gossip, lest she give Fife cause to make her leave Sweet-hope Hill and live with the husband she detests. Even the Douglas would refuse to tolerate scandal in her household.”

  He missed her company after she fell back with the others, but the castle looming ahead soon turned his thoughts back to Fife.

  As they rode along the Canongate, past St. Giles, and into the High Street, Sibylla described the royal burgh’s points of interest for her sister and Rosalie. The most impressive view of it came as they wended their way up the steep road to the castle with the burgh sprawling below and southeastward to Holyrood Abbey.

  Passing under the tall gate tower into the castle precinct, they rode to the easternmost end, to massive David’s Tower, containing the royal apartments.

  Greeting them just inside, the steward for those apartments solemnly informed Sibylla that the princess Isabel was not yet in residence.

  Chapter 11

  Sibylla received the news of Isabel’s absence with more equanimity than did other members of their party. Sir Malcolm, showing signs of incipient wrath and ignoring the steward’s presence, demanded to know if she had purposely misled him.