by Amanda Scott
“’Tis men’s business,” he said. “Moreover, it is not my habit to discuss even my business with every pretty lass I meet.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you meet so many?”
He chuckled. “Dozens a day, but not many who would look as beautiful as you do tonight in that gown. It suits you, lass. You should wear it often.”
Color flooded her cheeks. “Why do you say such things to me?”
“Because they are true,” he said, gazing into her eyes. Her pupils were enormous, her pale blue irises nearly invisible. As light as they were, they seemed to meld with the whites, fascinating him all over again.
Her mouth was rosy pink and bow-shaped. She dampened her lips—full, soft-looking, enticing lips—and his body stirred lustfully in response.
Sidony did not know what to make of him, but energy crackled from him, making her feel hot and a little dizzy when he stood as close as he was now. Her nerves tingled, and she felt as if she should reach out a hand, but whether to fend him off or draw him nearer, she could not be sure.
He was big, loose-limbed, and broad-shouldered, the sort of man one knew instinctively could protect a woman and do many other things well. And as brash as he was, he seemed to care nothing for what others thought of him, as if he were content to be who he was no matter what anyone said to or about him. He had not even apologized for sitting down in the leather breeks and jack-o’-plate he had worn for two days of riding to have supper with Lady Clendenen—faith, with all of them.
His shirt was white enough to make her nearly certain he must have put on a fresh one not long before they had met, but perhaps he was merely tidy in his habits and had not got it dirty. Even so, he had not mentioned his clothing before dinner or afterward, as most gentlemen would have done under similar circumstances. Nor did he seem bothered by it now.
Another thought occurred to her. Perhaps he had no proper town clothes. Perhaps in Galloway men did not sport finery. But Rob had kinsmen there, and Rob rarely wore anything but finery. Of course, she reminded herself, Rob was nearly as wealthy as the Sinclairs. Perhaps Sir Giffard was poor.
She realized with a start that as her thoughts had darted hither and yon, he had continued to stare at her in that odd, hungry way, making her feel his interest all the way to her toes. She ought to step back, she knew, to put more distance between them, but as the thought entered her head, he reached for her.
His large hands grasped her upper arms, and he drew her gently toward him and kissed her softly on the lips.
“Giff! You out there?”
“That’s Hugo,” she murmured, recognizing the voice.
“Step behind the tree,” he said. “He hasn’t seen you.”
She obeyed without a second thought. He stood between her and Hugo, and the shrubbery concealed her swaying skirts.
“Aye, Hugo,” he called, turning, “I’m here, admiring the sunset.” Without turning toward her but lowering his voice considerably, he said, “The sun is in his eyes, so just stand still until he and I go back inside. Then, if he does see you come in, he will assume that you were about your own private business.”
“What if he asks you about me?”
“His mind is on other things just now. I doubt that he will,” he said, already taking the first step away from her. “Are you ready to leave?” he called to Hugo.
“Aye, I’ve ordered out the horses, and Rob’s waiting out front.”
Sidony realized he was likely right in thinking that Hugo had forgotten about her, but she wondered what she would say to Isobel or her hostess if either saw her come in from the garden. She put the thought out of her head to enjoy watching him stride up the pebbled path to the steps. Hugo had already vanished inside.
Counting to one hundred, she went inside to find Isobel just descending the stairs with her bairn and his nursemaid. Hugo, thankfully, was nowhere in sight.
As the last rays of sunlight slipped below the western horizon, the Earl of Fife led a dozen other riders at a brisk trot along the Canongate from the abbey kirk toward St. Giles and the Castle. Fife wore his customary all-black attire, and the men in his tail wore black, too. They were all well armed and rode fine horses, for the earl had attended Compline at the abbey and had his image to maintain.
De Gredin, riding beside him and wearing far more fashionable clothing as usual, said, “I thought the monks did not allow visitors at their services.”
“I attend whenever I choose, whether that cross-grained old abbot likes it or not,” Fife said. “He once threatened to excommunicate me when I’d displeased him, but I like Compline, because I can make my confession and the service is short. Moreover, with a dozen armed men waiting for me in his kirkyard, what can he say?”
“What, indeed?” de Gredin said cheerfully. “I am grateful that you have allowed me to stay, my lord. I trust that this time we shall achieve our goal.”
“Aye, sure, but we should not discuss that here,” Fife said. “You did mention providing ships, though, and I am curious to know how soon they may arrive.”
“As I recall, ’tis the season for shipping wool to the Hanseatic countries,” de Gredin said. “So I imagine they will arrive soon. With as many vessels as Leith Harbor will see in the next weeks, ’tis an excellent time to add a few more.”
“I’ve had one built for myself,” Fife said, switching to a topic less perilous for others to overhear. “The Serpent Royal harbors at Leith. Tomorrow I’ll take you to see her, for I doubt that even the Pope has one so fine.”
De Gredin expressed eagerness to see the Serpent, but Fife paid no heed. Not only did he have his own ship but also the promise of immediate papal aid, rather than the Pope’s less certain pledge before to support him only if he helped de Gredin find and return the Templar treasure. If all went well now, de Gredin would help him find Scotland’s Stone of Destiny, which was one item to which his holiness could make no honest claim even if it should prove to be part of the treasure. Moreover, if Fife found it, he would have little need of papal support to win the crown.
“I failed to mention earlier how relieved I was to find you were not still in the Borders, my lord,” de Gredin said. “Do you intend to return there soon?”
“Nay, for the constant threat there serves to keep the Douglas busy and out of my way here,” Fife said in a tone calculated to discourage further discussion. He had brought de Gredin along only because he preferred to keep an eye on him.
“Then I expect you mean to give your full attention to our quest now.”
“You talk too much,” Fife said, shooting him a look that would have terrified most men. “Practice the virtue of silence.”
De Gredin nodded, saying, “Forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect.”
Fife made no comment. The man’s submission did not surprise him. On the contrary, such easy submission was one of the several reasons he distrusted him.
Chapter 5
At the abbey end of the Canongate, Giff, Sir Hugo, Rob, and Rob’s armed tail, having seen the ladies Isobel and Sidony safely inside Sinclair House, had returned the way they had come and were approaching Holyrood’s gates.
Casually, Hugo said, “Giff, my lad, if you want to stop and complain to the abbot about the overlarge trout in his loch, I warrant he’d hear your grievance.”
Giff glanced into the dusky yard, thinking of his muddy breeks. “I might ask instead why the devil he doesn’t do a better job of draining that bog-ridden place.”
“Go right ahead,” Hugo said, grinning.
“I ken fine that you don’t think I’d do it,” Giff said. “But I just might.”
Chuckling, Rob said, “Not now, you fashious bairn. Not only is my lord abbot likely to fine you for trespass, but Fife is out and about.”
“Is he indeed?” Hugo said, looking up and down the Canongate.
“He is,” Rob said. “I saw him ride toward St. Giles earlier whilst I waited for you. He was not alone, either. He had six of his men with him, well armed. He ha
s been showing himself rather a lot since his return to Edinburgh.”
They turned north at the abbey gates and exited the royal burgh to follow the track toward Lestalric and the burgh’s official harbor at the village of Leith.
When they were beyond the slightest opportunity for anyone else to overhear them, Rob said in a crisp tone wholly at odds with the sleepy one to which Giff had grown accustomed, “Fife had another companion, Hugo, riding right beside him.”
“Did he?”
“Aye, ’twas our old friend de Gredin.”
The grim note in Rob’s voice made it clear that he did not like de Gredin.
“Should I ken more about this fellow?” Giff asked.
Measuring his words, Hugo said, “He is the chevalier Etienne de Gredin, some sort of kinsman to Lady Clendenen.”
“Don’t make too much of that,” Rob warned. “She is kin to nearly everyone who is anyone in Scotland and France, even to me, but I don’t trust the man, distant kinsman or none. No more should you.”
“I don’t think I am any connection to either of them,” Giff said, then reconsidered. “Except that you and I are cousins, so I expect . . .”
“You see how it is,” Rob said with a smile.
“At any event,” Hugo went on, “de Gredin grew up in France. His father was Scottish envoy to the French court, and the chevalier apparently encountered men there who persuaded him that the Templar treasure rightfully belongs to the Holy Kirk. We’ve dealt before with de Gredin and at least one other of his ilk. Such men believe that God favors their quest and will forgive them any sin they commit in His service, and will even reward them in heaven if they die serving Him.”
“Well, they all sound a bit daft to me, and I don’t trust any man I don’t know,” Giff said. “But is there more than his regrettable beliefs about the treasure and the Almighty’s supposed support to make you distrust de Gredin?”
“His present apparent friendship with Fife, for one,” Hugo said. “They had a falling-out last year, a serious one, and de Gredin applied to Henry Sinclair for aid.”
“What sort of a falling-out?” Giff asked.
“Sithee, when Fife tried to arrest Adela, de Gredin intervened.”
“I intervened,” Rob said grimly. “De Gredin did make himself useful at one point, but he did nothing before then to keep Fife from dangling Adela a hundred feet above the river Esk and threatening to drop her in when she would not talk to him.”
“Aye de mi, he must have terrified her!” Giff exclaimed, truly shocked.
“He did,” Rob said. “I suspect that afterward, when he saw that Fife would fail, he wanted to ingratiate himself with us. It worked, too. Henry took him to Girnigoe.”
“Henry felt obliged to take him, to get him out of Fife’s reach,” Hugo said.
With a wry smile, Rob said, “Since de Gredin believes, as Fife does, that the Sinclairs have the treasure, I’d wager he was nobbut a damned nuisance there.”
“It was kind of Henry to offer his protection,” Giff said. “But why, then, would de Gredin risk facing Fife again? And why would Fife trust him now?”
Hugo looked at Rob, who said, “Because both of them will exploit anything that takes them a step closer to the goals they seek.”
“The main one being to find the Templars’ mythical treasure,” Giff said. When his companions did not reply, he went on thinking aloud. “Plainly, Fife is a menace. I heard in the Borders that men who merely annoy him have a habit of disappearing, whilst others die suddenly and violently.”
“That is true,” Hugo said. “Rob’s father and brother were two of them.”
“Sakes, I’m sorry, Rob,” Giff said. “I did know that.”
“We all ken fine what the earl wants,” Rob said. “He wants to rule Scotland.”
“Aye, sure,” Giff agreed. “Yet he cannot think Parliament would support him just because he happened to find that treasure—assuming that it does exist.”
The other two remained silent.
“Sakes, do you mean to say it does?”
“It does,” Hugo said. “You should know that much so that you will treat their determination to find it with greater respect.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Nay, we do not,” Hugo replied firmly.
“Does Henry?”
“We will refrain from speculation on that point. It is not for us to know.”
But Giff’s mind had been racing. “Aye de mi,” he said. “It is not the treasure at all, is it? Even if Fife could lay hands on it, it would not gain him the throne, because every other nobleman would fear such enormous wealth in royal hands.”
Neither of his companions spoke.
“’Tis the Lia Fail,” he said. “I should have guessed at once. Sakes, but his standing with Parliament would soar if he could return the Stone to Scotland. But one first has to believe that it somehow carried itself back here from Westminster.”
“I told you before,” Hugo said. “The Stone never left Scotland.”
“You did, aye, but I find that hard to believe,” Giff said frankly. “Och, now don’t stiffen up like that, Hugo. I don’t doubt your honesty, just . . . Sakes, man, the thing has been missing now for . . . what? Eighty-five years, is it not?”
Hugo nodded.
“Well, then, do you think King Edward of England, whom the Scots called ‘the Hammer,’ was such a dafty that he carted off the wrong block of stone?”
“The Abbot of Scone had weeks of warning that Edward meant to seize the Stone,” Hugo said. “That abbot, being sensible and a patriot, entrusted it to another as trustworthy as himself, who later told Robert the Bruce. Before he died, Bruce entrusted the Stone’s safekeeping to two Templars, demanding their promise not to reveal its location until the Scottish throne was truly safe from English seizure. All Scottish Templars are, of course, bound by that same promise.”
“Who were these trustworthy people who aided Bruce and Scone’s abbot?”
Rob said gently, “Do you really want to know that just as you undertake its protection? Are you so certain you can keep silent if Fife gets his hands on you?”
Giff thought about that, recalling that the Templars’ most beloved grand master had found it impossible to keep silent under torture. Jacques de Molay had even uttered the heretical falsehoods his torturers demanded. To be sure, he had recanted them before they murdered him, but his disavowal had aided no one.
“Nay,” Giff said. “’Twould be unwise unless I need to know to succeed.”
“You may be sure you do not,” Rob said, and Hugo nodded agreement.
“So, where is the Stone now, and how do we move it?” Giff asked.
“We have a plan and several options,” Hugo said. “We’ll let you see it before we move it, but we must first try to learn what mischief Fife and de Gredin intend.”
“Aye,” Rob agreed. “Sithee, it is still possible that Fife intends only to glean information about Girnigoe and Orkney from de Gredin and then means to send ships and men there in search of the treasure, believing the Stone lies hidden with it.”
Hugo said, “That doesn’t fully explain de Gredin’s accord with Fife, though.”
“Nay,” Giff said, “for if Fife has more reason to distrust him than to trust him, why would he heed anything the man says about his time with Henry? I should think he would more likely suspect Henry’s hand in any plan that de Gredin suggests.”
“Aye, Fife suspects everyone,” Hugo said. “He’s had minions following us, even during his lengthy excursions into the Borders this past year. They slip in and out of Roslin glen and think we don’t see them, because we leave them alone unless they annoy us. But we cannot have them flitting about whilst we move the Stone.”
“So the Stone is near Roslin,” Giff said.
“Aye, and as soon as we take greater precautions, Fife will know we’re up to something,” Rob said. “There’s Lestalric ahead,” he added. “On yonder hilltop.”
Gif
f peered through rapidly fading light and saw a steep hill jutting from a nestlike woodland at its base. He could barely discern the outline of a castle atop it but could determine neither the castle’s size nor its features beyond a tower or two.
Moments later, as they passed into the dark woods, Rob said, “I’m thinking the first thing we must do is furbish you up a bit, Giff. The King and his court return to Edinburgh soon from Stirling, which means Fife is likely to remain here, at least for a time. You’d do well to look as if that is the reason you are here, too, until we can arrange all the details for moving the Stone. I hope you enjoy court life.”
“I don’t,” Giff said, but as he did, he found himself wondering if the lady Sidony might decide to attend any court functions. He still wondered how in the world Hugo had managed to forget her existence after supper, as if she had faded from the great chamber like a ghost or one of the wee folk. Realizing that Rob apparently expected him to expand upon his curt reply, he said casually, “Mayhap we’d all be wise to attend court once or twice, to learn what Fife means to do.”
At Sinclair House, Sidony had conjured up a similar thought, that she might exert herself to attend court a time or two, to see who else might do so.
Even so, when she and Isobel retired to the ladies’ solar after seeing wee William Robert tucked sleepily, if fussily, into his cot, and Isobel suggested that they ought to consider what they still needed to complement their court dresses, Sidony said, “You know I dislike taking part in all that din and revelry.”
“It is hardly a place of quiet reflection,” her sister agreed, smiling.
“Reflection?” Sidony said with an unladylike snort. “The King’s kinsmen behave as if they were raised in a sty, and others want only to outdress and outdrink one another. I don’t know why any civil person should want to go.”
“One must pay one’s respects to his grace,” Isobel said seriously. “Recall that Countess Isabella will come to town soon. Doubtless we may look for her to arrive within the sennight, and if you think she will allow either of us to stay at home whilst she attends court, you might just as well think again.”