“Aye, well, as ye’ve now assumed your duties at Elishaw, I doubt the man can hurt ye much with Fife. These devilish rumors will do mighty harm to Sibylla, though. What are ye meaning to do about that?”
“What have you heard, sir?” Simon countered. “In troth, no one has dared speak plainly to me. I thought it better to ignore the looks and snickers.”
“What I hear does not redound to your credit.”
“I kissed Sibylla. That is all, I swear.”
“Faugh,” Sir Malcolm snorted. “The tattlers claim much more. In troth, lad, I’m thinking ye’ll have to marry my lass after all, to protect her good name.”
“I’m willing enough,” Simon said, realizing the statement was perfectly true. “But I doubt that anyone can persuade Sibylla to marry me.”
Sir Malcolm sighed. “She’s damnably stubborn, is that lass.”
“She is, aye, and I fear that her stubborn nature may lead her to insist on living with the consequences of this. With any other woman, those consequences would drive her to accept marriage, especially as one will certainly be dismissal from Isabel’s household.”
“Sakes, I’d not thought of that till now, but I’ve nae doubt ye’re right,” Sir Malcolm said, rubbing his forehead.
“Fife watches Isabel’s every move,” Simon said. “He watches particularly for aught suggesting immorality in her household, because it would give him cause to insist that she live with the husband the Douglases provided for her.”
“Fife does not approve of women living on their own,” Sir Malcolm said. “Bless us, though, who can blame him for that? I don’t approve of it either.”
“Fife will learn of this soon if he has not done so, and he already urged me to renew my suit with Sibylla,” Simon said. A knot of anger formed in his stomach as he realized that Fife might be in league with the Colvilles, but he said only, “I’d like to discuss this with Thomas Colville, but he seems to have disappeared.”
“I heard that Edward left Edinburgh yesterday, so mayhap Thomas followed him,” Sir Malcolm said. “I’m thinking I should find another man for my Alice.”
“I agree,” Simon said. “I’m not one to bear tales, sir, but . . .” He described the incident at St. Margaret’s Chapel, and as he did, an idea stirred in his mind.
His experience of Sibylla had shown him that any logical discussion they might have about the situation was unlikely to end as he might hope or predict.
Marriage was, in fact, the only honorable way they had now to resolve the problem quickly and with minimal fuss. Although there were obstacles to his idea and the idea itself went against his sense of propriety, it was the only possibility that had occurred to him. He did not doubt her feelings for him or his ability in the long run to persuade her of his own. However, by the time he could ease her doubts and overcome her stubbornness, the damage to her reputation would be irreparable.
Even if he could work out the logistics, Sibylla would remain the greatest obstacle. Perhaps, though, if he could arrange to give her little choice and still let her make the final decision, the thing could be done.
It would take luck and considerable preparation. But nearly everything he’d ever done for Fife had required those things, and he had nearly always succeeded.
This time he would be doing it for himself and, whether she liked it or not, for the woman on whom he had so long thought only of wreaking his vengeance.
Chapter 16
Sibylla enjoyed her day away from the castle. The early morning gloom had given way to a bright azure sky filled with nimble white clouds, and the previous day’s rain had left the air smelling fresh and clean. The two men-at-arms Sir Malcolm had provided for the ladies’ protection trailed tactfully behind them, and Alice and Rosalie found much in the thriving burgh to fascinate them.
One fascination proved to be young George Denholm, but Sibylla took the “chance” meeting in stride and agreed to his polite suggestion that he join them to ride in the abbey park. Alice looked adoringly at him, but to the lad’s credit, he chatted as much with Rosalie and Sibylla as he did with Alice.
Drainage in the abbey park being poor as always, the horses’ hooves splashed along its paths, but no one minded.
Denholm took reluctant leave of them at Buccleuch’s house in the Canongate, where, despite being bereft of his company, all three ladies looked forward to dining with Meg, Amalie, and their husbands, both of whom Sibylla liked very much.
She also enjoyed Meg’s devoted servant Sym Elliot, a lad of twelve or thirteen summers with a shock of red hair, who rarely left his mistress’s side except to aid with the serving or to harry the other servants to do this or that for her or her guests.
Talk at the table was desultory until Buccleuch dismissed the servants. As he did, Sibylla caught Westruther’s stern gaze on her. He smiled then, looking friendlier.
Sir Garth Napier, Lord Westruther, had served as one of Isabel’s knights, so Sibylla knew him better than she did Buccleuch, well enough to know that Garth had something on his mind. The friendly smile was much more customary with him than the stern, measuring look it had replaced.
She glanced at Buccleuch, but he was talking to Rosalie. Wondering if the two men, or Garth alone, had already heard rumors, Sibylla would have liked to ask them but did not want to endure the discussion that would follow if she did.
Meg and Amalie engaged her in conversation, and although she caught Garth’s sober gaze on her twice more, his comments were unexceptionable.
When she and the two girls took their leave, he and Buccleuch saw them off with affectionate farewells and assurances of welcome whenever they should choose to visit, leaving Sibylla to wonder if she had imagined Garth’s concern.
She adopted a lighthearted mood with her companions until they reached their chambers, where Lady Murray informed Alice and Rosalie firmly that they would want to rest if they were to enjoy the evening ahead.
“I should rest, too,” Sibylla said as the others turned obediently away.
“Sit down, my dear; I want a word with you first,” Lady Murray said.
Both Alice and Rosalie glanced back, doubtless made curious by her tone, but Sibylla nodded and took the seat Lady Murray indicated. When the door to the girls’ chamber closed, she steeled herself for the rebuke she expected.
However, Lady Murray sat, too, and said in her usual way, “As you may have guessed, I have heard some rumors about what occurred last night. You need not fret, my dear. Simon has explained what happened, and I believe him. We raised him to know his duty, and he has accepted responsibility as he should.”
“But I don’t want him to,” Sibylla said without thinking. “Don’t be tiresome, my dear. It is the only answer.” Understanding better than ever where Simon had come by his certainty that he always knew what was best for anyone in his orbit, Sibylla gathered her wits.
“We were both at fault, madam,” she said. “Indeed, if anyone was more so, it was I, for I did the very thing—”
“Sibylla, I do not require to know more. The only facts that matter are that you were with Simon and someone saw you. I know you did almost none of the things of which you stand accused. Even if you were a young woman who would do such things, Simon would not be party to them. I know my son, and I have come to know you this past sennight. I’ve no right to tell you what to do, but I would counsel you to be sensible. I want you to know, too, that I’ll not stand in your way.”
“Thank you, madam,” Sibylla said. Overwhelmed and wondering what Lady Murray had heard, she realized she lacked the nerve to declare to her ladyship’s face that, gratified though she was, she could not marry Simon.
Her ladyship stood. “You will doubtless take your supper here tonight.”
“Nay, madam,” Sibylla said, relieved that she had not lost all her nerve. “ ’Twould give credence to the worst rumors, so I’ll act as I always do. If people choose to titter behind their hands or fans, they will do so. I cannot hide forever.”
Ag
ain surprising her, Lady Murray nodded majestically and said, “Then you should rest for an hour or so. You do not want to be tired.”
What Sibylla wanted was to see Simon, because if Garth knew, Buccleuch did, too, and either might confront him. But Simon did not appear for supper.
Many people did gape or point, making it clear that the rumors had spread. A more cowardly woman would have turned tail and run. As it was, Sibylla was sure the increasing scandal meant she would end up back at Akermoor under her father’s thumb. This time even Archie Douglas would refuse to help spare her that fate.
A message arrived from Isabel on Monday, declaring her intent to arrive in two or three days, but they still saw nothing of Simon. His mother said she thought he had gone out of town on an errand for Fife. Continuing to behave as if nothing had happened, Sibylla nevertheless retired earlier than usual Monday night.
Alice and Rosalie invited her to ride again Tuesday morning, but she had no taste for exercise and did not want to miss seeing Simon if he came to see her.
When midday came without him, she went down to dinner with the others but took no appetite with her. Her father talked to her then, but he accepted her refusal to marry Simon with no more than a grimace and did not bring up the subject again.
She had no doubt, however, that he would say more in days to come.
At supper, after a long, lonely afternoon, she toyed with her food and strove to make polite conversation. Simon did not appear or send any message.
The noise in the hall was deafening as usual, and long before the others were ready to depart, Sibylla ached for her bed. As soon as Fife took his leave, she arose and bent to bid her father and Lady Murray goodnight.
“If you’ll wait a half hour longer, lass, we’ll go up with you,” he said.
“Nay, sir, I’m for bed. No one will trouble me tonight, for I’ll ask the steward to have someone escort me upstairs. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
It felt comfortably familiar to have a man-at-arms follow her upstairs again, albeit for perhaps the last time. The sense of being alone yet safe was almost heady. At the door to Isabel’s chambers, she thanked her escort and bade him goodnight.
Entering the solar, she found to her surprise that the chambermaid had failed to light the lamps and candles, or stir up the fire.
Ambient moonlight through the uncurtained window and glowing embers on the hearth provided light enough to seek a candle to light from the coals. She had taken only two steps when a heavy cloth enveloped her from head to toe.
An arm of steel snapped around her arms and upper body, holding her while what felt suspiciously like rope looped around her below it and tightened.
In seconds, she was off her feet, slung over a broad masculine shoulder like an unwieldy sack of meal. His shoulder bruised her ribs, but her struggles were useless.
Then, abruptly, the scent of cinnamon and cloves penetrated her outrage. She inhaled carefully and detected the slight scent of lavender, as well. Simon!
When he turned toward the door and she heard the latch click, she opened her mouth to scream, then shut it again, hoping she was not making a fatal error. That the sternly controlled Simon could do such an outrageous thing awoke a host of emotions, including fury that sent blood racing through her veins and set every nerve atingle.
Then doubt stirred. Most people of means used scent bags in clothes kists and sumpter baskets. Who knew how many mixed cinnamon and cloves with lavender? If her abductor was not Simon, she was in much greater danger than she had believed.
It had to be Simon, doing as he deemed best again without consulting her. He would learn his error, because she’d tell him exactly what she thought of such tactics. In the meantime, she did not want to draw anyone else’s attention if she could help it.
Until Sibylla wriggled again as he carried her down the deserted service stairs, Simon feared she had fainted from the shock of what she must surely believe was an assault. When she did move, he wondered why she had not screamed. He had been prepared to deal with that but was grateful that her silence made it unnecessary.
Slipping out of David’s Tower through a postern door shadowed by the huge bakehouse that served the castle at large, he made his way swiftly, depending on his black clothing and coldly stern demeanor to protect him and his burden.
One guardsman dared to approach him, but the yard’s torchlight was sufficient to reveal Simon’s all-black clothing. A warning scowl sent the man scurrying, unwilling to confront one of Fife’s so easily recognizable, generally ruthless men. At times, Simon mused, the reputation did prove useful.
Inside the nave of St. Margaret’s Chapel, he carefully set his burden on her feet and unwrapped her, noting in the glow of the cressets, as he whisked the blanket off her, the angry flash of sparks he had expected to see in her eyes.
“I knew it was you!”
“Then why didn’t you scream?”
“Sakes, because we’d already stirred enough gossip without stirring more. How dared you snatch me up like that!” She glanced warily toward the archway and the altar beyond before adding, “By heaven, you deserve flogging if you brought me here thinking I’d marry you. Had you done me the courtesy to ask, I’d have said I won’t have you! I told my father as much. Must I shout my refusal to the world?”
“You need only tell me,” he said calmly.
“This should not be happening,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “We did none of the things of which those horrid rumormongers accuse us, and so—”
“Did we not?”
“Nay, sir! Do not flatter yourself.”
He remained silent, holding her gaze until blushes suffused her lovely face.
Sibylla ignored the fire that swept through her body, ignited by the memory of his touch and his stirring kisses. Fighting to hold on to her anger, she said, “Other men have kissed me, and no one demanded that I marry any of them. There can be no need for us to marry, and I will not have it.”
“If you are certain of that, you need only say so.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“I mean just what I said. I did bring you here tonight because I’ve obtained special license for the bishop to marry us here. I thought—”
“You did not think, for you had no right to do that. I gave you no right.”
“Sibylla—”
“You gave me your word on the ramparts the other night that Fife had naught to do with . . . with your kissing me,” she said. “But how can I know that he has not ordered all this, as usual? That would explain why you told Thomas he was just in the way and why Fife stared so at me afterward. The two of you both showing up in that disastrous room, both serving Fife, could quite easily mean you were all—”
Her words ended in a shriek when he gave her a rough shake.
“Stop it,” he said harshly. “I know you are angry, but you know that I blame myself for what happened and would not conspire with anyone against you, let alone with Fife or Colville. Use your sense, Sibylla, if you still have any.”
“But how else can you have acquired a special license for so hasty a marriage if Fife did not provide it? He organized everything last time.”
He was silent, and a twinge of wary guilt stirred in her, but she suppressed it. She knew too much about the wily Fife not to suspect his involvement.
At last Simon said quietly, “I paid a large fee, Sibylla. One may pay a fee to any bishop and be married in the Kirk without banns.”
Stunned by that news but determined to speak her mind, she said, “Still you arranged this without discussing it with me. You said you respected my opinions, but you acted without a word to me, snatching me up as if I were a bundle you had forgotten to pack. Sakes, you carried me here in no more than my tunic and skirt.”
“So, tell me, lass, art angry with me because I should have given you time to dress more appropriately before abducting you or because I carried you here?”
“Both,” she snapped. “Am I never
to make my own choices? If I were fool enough to marry you, Simon Murray, would I not be far less in your household than I am in Isabel’s? Do you still seek penance from me?”
“I do not, nor would you ever be less to me than to Isabel,” he said. “But if you think I will always tolerate this sort of volcanic eruption from you, I’d advise you to think again, lass. I’m having all I can do not to answer in kind.”
“Aye, sure,” she retorted. “Gentlemen may erupt whenever they like.”
“Even if that were true, I doubt it would daunt you, but I think we can find more entertaining ways of erupting together. God knows, we have only to look at one another . . .” He paused, capturing her gaze as he could do so easily. “The bishop is waiting, my wise and charming vixen,” he said softly. “So what say you? Art truly opposed to the whole notion or just furious with me?”
It wasn’t fair that when he looked at her as he did now, he seemed to see right to the part of her she had so carefully and for so long kept hidden from others.
As that thought formed, another struck. She could see him as clearly.
Those fathomless green eyes pulled her down into him until she felt as if she knew him in so many ways that the small bits she did not yet understand became insignificant. In the ways that counted, they two could almost be one person.
And that person would be Simon.
“I . . . I can’t,” she said, and for once, she found it easy to look away first. “You would swallow me up, my lord.”
He moved both hands back to her shoulders. “Listen to me,” he said, stern again. “You reject my promises, saying you cannot know I will keep them.”
“I know you mean to keep—”
“But you do know what you face if we don’t marry,” he went on inexorably. “Your reputation will be destroyed, Sibylla. Isabel will dismiss you, because she has to protect her reputation. Next and worse, your father will order you home to Akermoor, and he will keep you there this time. The alternative is marriage to a man who cares for you and believes you will make him an excellent wife.”
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