by Amanda Scott
Sidony submitted, knowing that Michael’s mother, the powerful Countess in her own right of Strathearn and Caithness, would expect them both to accompany her to the royal court, if only to increase the splendor of her retinue. Isabella knew her worth and considered it far greater than that of anyone in the royal family.
“Will Michael be back in time to go with us, do you think?” she asked.
“That will depend upon how his business prospers.”
“You said he was just riding to Glasgow. Surely, he should be back by now.”
Isobel shrugged and reached for her tambour frame. “He said he might pay his respects to MacDonald.”
“The Lord of the Isles—at Ardtornish? Sakes, I could have gone with him. He might have taken me home!”
“Don’t be silly,” Isobel said, taking up her needle. “MacDonald is as likely to be at Finlaggan, and even Ardtornish is still a good distance from Glenelg.”
“But he might have gone farther. The distance is not so great as that.”
“You could hardly expect him to take you with him, in any event, dearling. If he did go to the Isles, ’twas because he had important business there.”
“Do you know what business it is?”
Isobel looked directly at her then. “If I did,” she said quietly, “I would not tell you. I do not prattle about my husband’s business to anyone.”
Ruefully aware that she had overstepped, Sidony said, “You are right. I should not have asked such a question.”
Isobel smiled. “I’d have asked it myself,” she admitted. “But now, what do you think about having our seamstress change the narrow lace on your blue gown?”
Sidony made no further objection to discussing court dresses, but she lent only half an ear to Isobel’s plans. Her thoughts had returned to the interesting events of the day and Sir Giffard MacLennan.
The following morning, the Earl of Fife and his entourage arrived at Leith Harbor an hour and a half after Terce. The air felt damp, although no rain had fallen since the previous day’s light drizzle, and the sky was dull gray and low.
Reining in, Fife turned up the sable collar of his heavy wool cloak and tugged his hat lower as he faced the choppy gray water of the firth.
“Which one is she?” de Gredin asked, reining in beside him.
“The Serpent Royal,” he said, pointing at his new ship, riding at anchor near the eastern boundary of the crowded harbor, out of the way of careless helmsmen.
“She looks like some of Prince Henry’s newer ships,” de Gredin observed.
“I want her to mix in with his when we go north,” Fife said. “But pray refer to the impudent fellow as the Earl of Orkney if you must refer to him at all.”
“Aye, sure,” de Gredin agreed. “’Twas just habit, for Orkney’s people in the north use his Norse title. Also, living in France as I did whilst my father was envoy there, one forgets that we Scots have no princes, that our highest rank is your own.”
Fife grunted, still gazing at his fine ship. The design he had ordered combined comfort for himself with the best qualities of the speedy, easily maneuvered western galleys. It also included cargo holds fore and aft that were large enough to contain the Stone when he found it, as well as other spaces useful for smaller cargo, equipment, or provisions, albeit none as spacious as more cumbersome merchant ships boasted.
“Tell me more about her,” de Gredin invited. “How long is she?”
“Seventy feet, I think, and sixteen oars, as you’ll see for yourself in just a few minutes,” he said dismissively. His captain and shipbuilder had told him a great deal about the Serpent, but not being a sailor or fond of the sea, he remembered little of it. “There,” he added, “they have seen us and are manning a boat to fetch us.”
Never having learned to swim, Fife detested small boats, such as the coble being rowed now to collect them, and he realized that he ought to have sent orders ahead to tow the Serpent to a wharf.
As men scrambled to pull the coble higher onto the shingle, an imp of a lad leaped from it and ran toward him, tousled dark curls bouncing with each step, his baggy sleeves and the short skirt of his saffron-colored doublet fluttering about him.
By the time he reached Fife, one of his soled, roll-topped overstockings had sagged to rippled, untidy folds around his ankle. Without taking his eyes off the earl, he bent to tug up the stocking as he said, “Good day to ye, me lord Fife. Me da’ sent me to bid ye welcome. He’d ha’ come hisself, he said, only ye did give him orders no’ to leave the Serpent now till we sail.”
As the lad straightened, Fife said with easy condescension, “So you are Captain Maxwell’s son, are you? What’s your name, lad?”
“Jake Maxwell, me lord.” Glancing over the rest of the party, he said, “How many will ye take aboard wi’ ye? The wee coble canna carry all these in one trip.”
Fife looked at the “wee coble” disapprovingly. Six muscular oarsmen stood with it, and the water in the harbor was relatively calm, but he saw no reason to overburden the boat. He gestured toward de Gredin. “They need take only this man and me. We want to decide what more needs seeing to before the Serpent sails. Do you mean to sail with us, Jake Maxwell?” he added with a touch of humor.
To his surprise, the lad said, “Aye, sure, me lord.”
“I should think you’d be wiser to bide safely at home with your mother.”
“Me mam’s dead,” Jake said. “Me da’s teaching me all he kens so I can be captain of a fine ship m’self one day. Will ye board our coble now, me lord?”
Fife hesitated, eyeing the daunting distance from shingle to ship.
Jake, misreading his emotion, said proudly, “She’s a fine vessel, is she no’?”
“Aye, that she is,” Fife said. “Lead on, Jake Maxwell, and tell those men of yours to put their backs into their oars. I do not want to be all day about this.”
“Aye, sure, sir, I’ll tell them,” Jake said. Grinning, he ran to obey.
At Sinclair House, Sidony was feeling uncommonly dull. Not only did the overcast sky fail to clear by Friday midday, but during that same time, she had seen no one but her sister Isobel, Isobel’s son, and the servants. Any lingering interest in her own or her sister’s court wardrobe had vanished, and thanks to her usually entertaining nephew’s difficulties with the incipient arrival of a new tooth, not to mention the resultant loss of two nights’ sleep for most of the inhabitants of the house, no remedy had yet presented itself to rouse her from increasing languor.
“I wonder why Rob has not been to visit, or Hugo,” she said to Isobel as they savored a few minutes of blessed quiet in the ladies’ solar after their midday meal. “Recollect that both of them promised to look in often whilst Michael is away.”
“Sakes, it has only been three days since we saw them.”
“Aye, but mayhap we should ride to Lestalric this afternoon to visit Adela and see for ourselves that all is well there.”
“Not today,” Isobel said, looking out the window. “It looks as if it might rain, and I should not like to arrive at Lestalric soaked to the skin. Nor is Will likely to enjoy an outing just now.”
“Then leave him with his nursemaid,” Sidony suggested. When Isobel looked astonished, she said guiltily, “I’m being pettish, I know, and I’m sorry. But I feel as gloomy as the weather. I just wish someone would visit us.”
“We’ll attend kirk at St. Giles on Sunday,” Isobel said. “You’ll see nearly everyone we know in town there. And next week, Adela’s supper—”
“I don’t want to wait,” Sidony said. “I want to talk to people.”
Isobel shot her a shrewd look but said only, “I warrant Ealga would welcome a visit, too. You must not go alone, of course, unless you want to risk Hugo’s ire again, but I’ll send a pair of gillies with you if you like.”
Sidony nearly said she did not want to go but held her tongue, not only because she did not like the tone of the thoughts in her own head but because it had dawned on her that Lad
y Clendenen had an ear for gossip and always knew what everyone in her extensive orbit was doing.
Accordingly, she summoned a smile and said, “’Tis an excellent idea. I cannot remember when I’ve let a mood overset me like this one, but with her ladyship, I shall have to behave. Pray, forgive me for being so beastly, Isobel.”
“Aye, sure,” Isobel said with a chuckle. “And when you see Ealga, be sure to ask her where all our menfolk have hidden themselves.”
Nearly certain that Isobel knew it was not their menfolk who had sunk her into such a mood, Sidony decided to ignore the chuckle and the look that attended it. As she went upstairs to tidy her hair, she decided that the becoming pink and gray bodice and skirt she had on was presentable enough for a visit to her ladyship.
Twenty minutes later, admitted to Lady Clendenen’s private sitting room and welcomed with a warm embrace, Sidony politely let her lead the conversation until Lady Clendenen mentioned the King’s expected return to the royal burgh.
“I swore I did not care about such things,” Sidony said. “But I own, madam, I quite long for amusement. Without Michael and the others in and out all the time, Sinclair House has grown dull. Poor Will is teething, too, so Isobel and I have only stolen moments now and again to talk to each other. We expected to see more of Rob and Hugo, but I expect Hugo has gone home by now and Rob . . .”
When she paused, her ladyship said, “Aye, Hugo rode home Wednesday morning, because naturally, his duties at Roslin include arranging for Isabella’s journey to town. You have seen for yourself how she travels with her sheets and favorite furniture, as if she forgets how comfortable Sinclair House is. Her cavalcade is always enormous, and ’tis Hugo who sees that it travels safely.”
“Did Rob go with him?” Sidony asked. “If he did and Adela stayed at home with tiny Anna, they may be feeling as dull as Isobel and I are.”
Lady Clendenen shot her a look much like the one Isobel had as she said, “Rob had not gone anywhere as of this morning, nor yet that charming friend of his, Sir Giffard MacLennan. Rob is furbishing him up to join us all at court. Sir Giffard cannot have brought much baggage, riding here from Galloway as he did.”
“No,” Sidony agreed. “Mayhap they will be at St. Giles on Sunday.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” her ladyship said. “Sithee, my waiting woman’s niece is in service at Lestalric, and she told my woman that Rob and Giff mean to ride to Roslin later this afternoon, doubtless to assist Hugo. She said they would return tomorrow evening, but I think that is most unlikely, because Isabella likes a large retinue, as much for safety as to display her consequence. If she asks them to stay until she leaves, I expect they will do so.”
“Do you know yet just when she comes to town?”
“On Wednesday, I believe.”
That life could remain dull for five more days gave Sidony an urge to revert to a childish display of temper, but she managed to suppress it. Taking fond leave of her hostess an hour later, she returned to Sinclair House.
Several ideas occurred to her on the way, none of which would appeal to Sir Hugo, and only one of which she dared hope might appeal to Isobel.
At Sinclair House, she found her sister looking worn out and unsuccessfully trying to comfort her son, who was loudly suffering the discomfort of his teething.
Sidony said, “I’ll take him for a time, dearling. You’ll come to Aunt Sidony, won’t you, Will?” When she held out her arms, the baby tumbled into them and curled tight, shoving his fist into his mouth. “You see?” she said. “Go and rest.”
“I’m glad you’re back,” Isobel said gratefully. “He’s been crying almost since you left, and wants nothing to do with his nurse. But he’ll always go to you.”
Sidony could not boast that she comforted Will, but she walked with him and crooned as he whimpered and sucked his fist. All the while, her thoughts were busy, rejecting one plan after another to devise some amusement for herself. She could not ignore the frequently intruding image of Sir Giffard MacLennan, or that each time it appeared she felt the imprint of his lips on hers again, but she assured herself that she had little interest in the man. She just wanted something more interesting to think about than dealing with teething babies or feminine wardrobes.
Waiting until Will had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion and Isobel had had time to relax, have her supper, and enjoy a goblet of claret, Sidony said as they rose from the table, “We need a respite, my dear. What would you think about riding to Hawthornden tomorrow morning, to visit Sorcha? I was thinking—”
“Sakes, you weren’t thinking at all,” Isobel said. “You cannot imagine I’d leave Will when he’s feeling so poorly. It is not like you to be so thoughtless.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Sidony said, suppressing a huge surge of guilt. “But much as I love you and Will, and little though I understand it myself, I have been feeling like a captive for days, and I need to breathe. Surely, you understand that. Don’t you remember how you used to fly off on a horse after only a day’s rain at Chalamine, or two of company? Moreover, I’ve thought it all out. We can take him with us. You know he likes to ride with us, and it will take his mind off his teeth.”
“It is six miles to Hawthornden,” Isobel said. “That is too far.”
“He’ll sleep most of the way.”
“Even if he does, he won’t sleep coming back, and if we stay overnight with Sorcha, we’ll have to stay till Monday, because she and Hugo always attend the services at Roslin, and Isabella would expect us to do so as well.”
“I did not think of that,” Sidony admitted. “But, with Michael away, even if we did have to stay, we’d have no urgent reason to return sooner. Adela’s supper is not until Tuesday, and Sorcha won’t mind having us there. Nor will Hugo.”
“Oh, yes, they would,” Isobel said. “Recall that they have no children of their own yet and that Hawthornden is not nearly as large as Roslin or even Sinclair House. Do you imagine either of them will like hearing Will scream with pain all night, as he has these past two? We’d have to take his nurse, too, and she does not look on riding as exercise but as penance for one’s sins,” she added as a clincher.
An impulse stirred to apologize again and do whatever Isobel asked of her, but Sidony looked at her own hands, clasped in her lap, and said nothing.
“Now I’m the one being beastly,” Isobel said. “I should not press you to do more than you like, and I do do that—often. I know you’d rather be home in the Highlands, and I know I should not depend on you as much as I do to look after Will. Sakes, you should be enjoying your time here, not playing nurse to my son.”
Sidony bit her lip hard to stop herself from saying she hadn’t meant a word of it. Never before had she ignored a plea from any of her sisters, and if anyone had asked where she found strength to do so now, or demanded to know what demon had possessed her, she could not have explained.
“You won’t want to go to Hawthornden alone,” Isobel went on. “But you may take the two lads and ride to Lestalric to visit Adela and Rob. I warrant you do need time away from here, so spend the day if you like. Will may be much better by then, and if he is not, Nurse will do all she can to help me. After all, many mothers look after their children without the aid of nurses or sisters, do they not?”
Again, Sidony nearly yielded to her better self. But she knew that if she did, she would not find the strength—not for a long time—to try again to do something just for herself. Nevertheless, she said, “Art sure, Isobel? Truly?”
“Aye, dearest, I’m sure,” Isobel said with her usual warm smile.
If Will cried that night, Sidony did not hear him, and all was still quiet the next morning when she put on her moss-green riding dress, took a roll from the kitchen to break her fast, and went to the stable to order her favorite horse saddled.
The two gillies, trained by the imperious countess, her daughters-in-law, and her generally amiable sons not to question any unusual doings of the Sinclair House ladies, saddled hors
es for themselves when she asked them to and followed her.
She hesitated only for a moment at the entrance to the Canongate. After a glance to the east, and with thanks that Isobel’s bedchamber did not overlook the road, she turned toward St. Giles and was soon on her way out of town. After all, Isobel had not forbidden her to go south but had only assumed that she would not.
She maintained a good pace as they crossed the river plain and rode toward the hills beyond it. Enough wool carts, sheep, and ordinary travelers were on the road to ease any fear she might have had that her escort was too small. That was a point Hugo would certainly raise if she were so unfortunate as to meet him. It was an unlikely prospect, though, if he was at Roslin preparing for Isabella’s journey.
It occurred to her only then that Sorcha was as unlikely to be at Hawthornden as Hugo was. Since the castle lay just a mile from Roslin, Isabella would doubtless expect Sorcha’s help as well as his. Nevertheless, Sidony rode on.
She felt delightfully free, if still a little guilt ridden. The sisters who had gone before her had all put their own wishes above anyone else’s at times, but she had rarely done so. Surely, she told herself, it could not be such a sin, just this once, for her to do exactly what she wanted to do without counting the cost.
Half an hour later, they came to the road following the east bank of the river North Esk and began the uphill climb to the eastern rim of Roslin Gorge. Not long afterward, they met a small party of Hugo’s men-at-arms. But, recognizing her as a member of the family, they made no objection to her riding on.
Giff had spent a portion of each of the previous three days humoring Rob’s resolve to outfit him for an appearance at the royal court. He suspected Rob thought they would attend often until they moved the Lia Fail—if their Stone was truly the real one, an assumption that Giff remained unwilling to make before seeing it.