But then had come the night at the pond and the walk at Akermoor.
“You were angry with me, though,” Sibylla said abruptly.
His thoughts still at Akermoor, it took him a beat to realize she meant earlier that evening. He grimaced then but felt no need to equivocate. Despite their brief time together, he found her easier to talk with than anyone else he could call to mind.
“I was furious,” he said. “I’m no good at describing my feelings, or justifying them, come to that. I have learned to control my temper, usually. But when it does flare, it can do so with such heat that it burns anyone within range . . .” He watched to see if she understood, and when she nodded, he felt a glow of satisfaction.
“An apt description, sir. Shall I tell you how I have imagined your temper?”
“Do I want to hear it?”
The moon overhead revealed a twinkle in her eyes as she said, “The way you keep things inside until you spew them out reminded me of a kettle left to boil over the fire until its lid sticks to the rim. Do you know what happens then?”
“The same thing that can happen if I simmer too long without release, aye. What led you to evoke this so-flattering image of me?”
She looked out toward the sea again. “On our journey here, I thought about my first impression of you on the day that was to have been our wedding day.”
Bewildered, remembering feeling nothing at first but irritation at her childish prattle, he said, “As a result of that memory, you likened me to a spewing pot?”
“Not at first,” she said, regarding him more warily. “At first, I saw only a cold, self-absorbed man with no interest in me, wanting to get on with his wedding. I found the prospect of living the rest of my life with him so daunting that I fled.”
“Even so, a cold man and a boiling pot do not . . .” She shook her head. “My thinking was not so particular. I was considering your temperament—how I’d first judged it and what I’d seen since. Especially when—” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“Never mind.” She was irresistible, looking at him so, and he could easily suppose he had given her good cause at Elishaw to liken him so.
Noting that the guards seemed content where they were and that he and she stood in the shadow of a crenel, he pulled her nearer and lowered his mouth to hers.
With a low moan, she leaned toward him, opening her mouth to him.
Shutting his eyes, he called himself a fool for plunging into something that could lead only to turmoil of one sort or another but savored her taste nonetheless.
Without warning, Sibylla pushed against his chest and tilted her head back with a frown. “You have behaved differently since . . . since this afternoon,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk more now, and certainly not about me,” he said. But when he moved to kiss her again, she slipped from his grasp.
“Moreover,” she said, “you were angry with me. I saw it in the way you looked at me, as if it were my fault that Edward had cornered Rosalie. And, earlier, you refused even to talk to me about your meeting with Fife.”
“Sibylla, I explained those things. It would have been unwise—”
“Just tell me this, sir,” she said. “When you met with the Governor this afternoon, did he press you to renew your suit with me?”
Stunned by the question, he hesitated. But he could not lie to her.
“Faith, I can see that he did!” Tugging him out under the moonlight, she said fiercely, “Look at me! Now, sir, I challenge you to deny Fife’s urging if you can.”
He was not accustomed to any woman commanding him, let alone challenging him in such a tone, and would accept it from few men. But he steeled himself to hold his temper as he said, “By my troth, lass, it is not as you think.”
“Do not equivocate, Simon Murray. I asked a simple question that requires a simple answer. Did Fife urge you to seek marriage with me again or not?”
“He did, aye, but—”
“I knew it! Will you tell me you refused him?” Her words dripped with scorn, and when he did not answer immediately, she said, “Well, did you?”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” he warned her. “I know you are angry, but whatever Fife may have said, I swear it has nowt to do with this. You must—”
“Do not tell me what I must,” she said in a voice as cold as any he could produce. “You said yourself that you are still obedient to his will, but I will not become another pawn on Fife’s board, sir, or yours. I bid you goodnight!”
Chapter 14
Simon caught Sibylla’s arm and held her firmly when she tried to jerk free.
Determined not to let her make a greater sight of herself, he said with what he hoped was his usual calm, “You may go when I know you won’t storm off in full view of those men yonder. Here in the open, the moon is as bright as day and you do not want to stir talk of unseemly behavior. I’d prefer to escort you. But if you cannot agree to that, pray have the good sense to walk with your usual dignity.”
She scowled at him, then looked at his hand on her arm.
Hoping she understood that he would brook no defiance, he released her.
As she turned away, he saw the effort it took to cloak her anger. He matched his stride to hers, relieved when she made no effort to elude him. At the doorway, she paused to let him pull it open but then moved to go ahead of him.
“I’ll go first, my lady, as I should,” he said quietly.
He saw her grimace but knew it for a sign of annoyance with herself rather than with him. After living so long in a female household, doubtless she had got out of the habit of always waiting for a male companion to go ahead to clear a path for her across a crowded room or shield her from a fall down a spiral stairway.
He hoped she was pondering what little she’d let him say about Fife’s remarks and would realize she had misunderstood. She was a sensible woman. If he let her think now, perhaps he could smooth things between them before she retired.
That hope vanished when they reached the princess’s chambers to find the door open and merry feminine chatter sounding from within.
“Sibylla! There you are!” Rosalie exclaimed, appearing in the doorway with a grin and reaching for Sibylla’s hand. “Only see who has come!”
Simon’s first thought was that the princess Isabel had arrived. However, he quickly recognized voices and realized his error.
Glancing at Sibylla, he knew she had heard them, too, because she smiled and hurried inside, exclaiming, “Amalie! Meg! How wonderful to see you! When did you arrive, and why did you not send to inform us you were coming?”
Stepping to the doorway, he saw the two elder of his three sisters greeting Sibylla with hugs. Amalie, rosy and round with child, seemed especially delighted.
“We just learned you were here,” she said. To Simon, she added, “Did you not know that Westruther and Buccleuch were coming to meet with the Douglas?”
“Nay, although I did see Douglas tonight, and talked with him. I came to Edinburgh because of a summons from the Governor.”
“Aye, well, they are downstairs in the hall, and they said we should send you to them if we found you. We’ve already sent Sibylla’s father away, and we mean to talk until our husbands send for us to return to the Canon-gate.”
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
Meg said with her wide smile, “Buccleuch has a house there. His brother usually lives in it, but he is away, so we’re all staying there. You must visit us.”
“I will,” he promised.
He bowed, responded when Sibylla thanked him civilly for seeing her safely back, and then left them to their reunion.
Sibylla was pleased to see Amalie and Meg and wanted to hear all their news. Despite her pleasure, though, a nagging voice in her mind kept diverting her thoughts to the scene on the ramparts with Simon.
Until he’d spoiled things by admitting that Fife did expect him to renew his suit, she had let her emotions rule her behavior.
/> Now she could see how foolish she had been.
She forced her attention back to her guests, but the nagging voice continued sporadically until Amalie said, “But Rosalie, the lady Catherine Gordon is not a woman grown. She is not even as old as you are.”
Sibylla stared at her. “What are you saying, Amalie? Catherine Gordon is to marry Thomas Colville. Surely, she must be at least Rosalie’s age.”
“But she is not,” Meg said. “Wat said only today that the lady Catherine is just seven, a year older than Strathearn’s daughter was when Fife arranged her marriage.”
Stunned but recalling her discussion with Simon on the same subject, Sibylla said, “But Margaret of Strathearn is Fife’s niece and her estates Stewart lands! Surely with an unrelated, Gordon heiress, he has to behave differently.”
Amalie said dryly, “Apparently not, as he’s giving her to Thomas Colville, who is one of his most loyal followers. Just as Simon is,” she added with a sigh.
When Meg nodded in agreement, Sibylla felt impelled to defend Simon.
“He supports Fife less eagerly now, I think,” she said. “He has been . . .” She paused, unable to say he’d been kind to her, for he had not, but seeking some way to explain that he had changed from the man Amalie had known.
Amalie chuckled. “Rosalie and our lady mother did tell us he rescued you and some child from the Tweed, Sibylla. Doubtless, he felt obliged to treat you civilly for a time. But I could tell at once that you were seething before you smiled and hurried in to greet us. Clearly, Simon had infuriated you.”
Annoyed with herself for giving her emotions away when she thought she had controlled them, Sibylla said, “You read too much into a look of weariness, my dear. I own, he was displeased with me, and rightly, but I’m not angry and neither is he. Now, tell me more about Catherine Gordon. Are you sure she is only seven, Meg?”
Amalie said, “Wat did say so, Sibylla. I heard him, too.”
“He said Fife used Catherine’s age as cause to declare himself her guardian, just as he did with Margaret of Strathearn,” Meg said. “He believes—Wat does—that
Fife means to add her estates to the Crown lands and control them, just as he controls Strathearn. But Wat thinks he will find it hard to do. Sithee, Sir John Gordon had other female heirs. And one is married to a man of consequence.”
“Even so, if Fife can make Catherine marry one of his own men, he can keep control of her estates if not her entire income—or so Garth said,” Amalie told them. “That is Fife’s usual practice, is it not?”
No one disagreed, but Meg changed the subject, asking Sibylla to tell them more about her daring rescue. “Rosalie said you jumped in after that child.”
Sibylla explained briefly but refused to let them draw her into detail, and soon changed the subject again by asking Amalie if she and Westruther were not looking forward eagerly to the birth of their first child, still some months away.
Although Amalie replied with loving exasperation that she would look forward to it more if Garth would cease trying to wrap her in cotton wool, this interesting topic entertained them until Sibylla tactfully suggested that Lady Murray might like some time alone with her daughters.
“Oh, aye,” Alice agreed. “I must retire, too, because although I delight in hearing all your tales and reminiscences, I can scarcely keep my eyes open. But may I speak to you in your chamber, Sibylla, before I go to my own?”
“Aye, sure,” Sibylla said before bidding everyone else goodnight.
When they were alone inside her room with the door shut, she said, “What is it, Alice? I hope you do not mean to complain to me about whatever Father may have said to you after you ran off as you did with young Denholm.”
“Nay,” Alice said doubtfully. “That is to say, it is all horrid, because Father said that if the Colvilles do not discard the notion of allying their family with ours after what I did, he means to move the date of our wedding forward.”
“Sakes,” Sibylla said. “I had hoped he would understand now why you dislike the match and how unsuitable Edward Colville is to be your husband. The Denholms are perfectly respectable, are they not?”
“They are, aye,” Alice said. “But Father is so angry with me, Sibylla, and one cannot blame him. Also, he blames himself for not watching me closer, and that makes him angrier. I know I ought never to have walked away with Geordie as I did, but when he asked me to go, I just went. I did not think at all.”
“I am glad you understand that you were in the wrong, love. Not just for going with Denholm but for abandoning Rosalie as you did.”
“I know,” Alice said. Looking guiltier than ever, she added, “Rosalie knows now that you and her brother nearly married, Sibylla. But I vow, I did not tell her.”
“Nay, Edward Colville did that,” Sibylla said.
“So she said, aye. But she is sure that her lady mother knows naught of it. We know we mustn’t tell her, but we do think that you or Simon should.”
“Simon has said he will,” Sibylla said. “But you are growing wiser, love, surely wise enough now to know that you need not marry Edward Colville.”
“But I told you, I cannot defy Father as you did,” Alice said. “You don’t understand, because it is always so easy for you to do as you please. But not everyone is like you, Sibylla. I am not.”
An idea stirred, and Sibylla paused to consider it before she said, “Look here, Alice, are you sure you love
George Denholm? You are not just encouraging him as a way to escape Edward, are you?”
“Nay, I swear! I have loved Geordie for more than a year now, and I loathe Edward Colville. But I don’t know what to do,” she said. Then, with a sigh, she added, “Mayhap Geordie should just go to Father and demand that he let us marry.”
“He can hardly do that whilst you are betrothed to another man. You must break the betrothal first.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!”
Sibylla sighed. “It is rarely easy to follow one’s own course, Alice,” she said. “No one can do it for you, you know. You must do some things for yourself.”
“Then tell me what to do,” Alice begged. “Just do not say that I must stand up to Father and explain to him.”
“It did occur to me that if you love Denholm, you might run away together and get married,” Sibylla said. Before Alice could protest, she added, “Sithee, you are past the age of consent, so you do not need our father’s permission to wed.”
Alice stared at her in dismay. “You must be joking, Sibylla! I could never—”
“You sought my advice, and I have given it,” Sibylla said, losing patience. “I do not think less of you, dearling, but I cannot help you if you refuse to help yourself. Now, prithee, go to bed and let us both get some sleep.”
Scowling mutinously, Alice left the room without another word.
Knowing she had handled the situation badly but with no idea of how to help her sister, Sibylla summoned the chambermaid. As she prepared for bed, her thoughts shifted back to Simon and the abruptness of their parting.
He had kept silent all the way back from the ramparts, but she had sensed more easily than usual with him that he had had more he wanted to say.
She’d cut him off when he’d tried to explain, not wanting to hear him defend his loyalty to Fife. A more civil person, one with a stronger guard on her tongue, would have let him speak. Not, she decided, that anything he could say would alter the facts that Fife wanted to see them married and Simon habitually obeyed Fife.
She lay in bed, lulled by the murmur of voices in the solar and thinking of things she had omitted in telling Meg and Amalie about her stay at Elishaw. Recalling Amalie’s remark that Simon, having rescued her, felt obliged to treat her civilly, she realized she’d had similar feelings of obligation to Kit. Might Simon’s thoughtful gestures have been similar to the small indulgences she allowed the child?
When she’d felt bad at leaving Kit to sleep in the shadowy kitchen, and had let her sleep in her bedchamber ins
tead, had it not been much the same as Simon’s unwillingness to send her to bed with wet hair after her moonlight swim?
The fact was that, annoyed with him or not, she wanted to share her thoughts with him and tell him all she had learned about the lady Catherine Gordon. When she told herself that she just wanted to hear what he’d say about it all, the voice in her head laughed. He’d say that it was none of her affair, and he would be right.
She wondered if Simon was already aware that Catherine was only seven. He had said he did not know the family, but he might still have known her age. Perhaps Fife’s habit of assuming guardianship of little heirs and heiresses was so common that it had not occurred to him to mention it to her. Then she remembered his anger with Fife for trying to marry off the thirteen-year-old Rosalie.
Surely, then, had Simon known Catherine’s age, he would have mentioned it.
Even so, she could almost hear him say that while it was one thing to concern herself with Alice’s betrothal to Edward Colville, having spurned Thomas herself, she had no right or reason to take interest in whomever Thomas might marry.
He would be right, but she still wanted to talk to him. On that thought, she slept, only to wake to a drizzly morning that reminded her of their near-wedding day and thus brought Simon to mind again.
As she accepted the chambermaid’s aid to dress, she wondered if he would come in search of her as he had before, and demand private speech.
By midmorning she persuaded herself that she had declared her distrust so blatantly that he never wanted to speak to her again.
Deciding to prove to herself, if not to him, that his silence meant nothing to her, she passed time before the midday meal casting dice against Rosalie and Alice while Lady Murray worked at her tambour frame. But when they entered the hall, Simon was not there to impress with her lack of concern.
Nor did she see Westruther, Buccleuch, or their wives. “Did not Meg say they would all dine with us today?” she asked Lady Murray.
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