by Amanda Scott
“I must go now to talk to Captain Maxwell,” he said then, explaining that although Maxwell had been Fife’s captain of the Serpent, he had agreed to remain with them and to share his knowledge of both the ship and the coastal waters.
“Do you trust him?” she asked as he began to pull the door to behind him.
Pausing, he said, “I think so. He seems to care more for the ship than for any loyalty he has toward Fife. He may prove disloyal to me, too, in the end, but I need his knowledge of this boat and these waters, and I doubt he’ll risk the lad’s safety.”
She nodded, understanding that it would do neither the captain nor his son any good to fall into Fife’s clutches after losing the ship to Giff. She understood Giff’s need, too, and also that expediency ruled such men more often than compassion did.
However, stealing Fife’s captain as well as his ship was sure to infuriate the earl even more, and increase his thirst for revenge. She suspected that such certainty would delight and exhilarate the man who had achieved the feat. But she wondered if such emotions might not cloud his judgment of Captain Maxwell’s reliability. With these thoughts for company, she returned to the task of tidying herself.
Despite Fife’s fury at the loss of his ship, a more primitive instinct and bitter memory stirred when de Gredin blandly declared that he had two ships in the harbor.
“What do you mean two longships?” Fife demanded. “You first promised me a flotilla of well-armed papal ships. Then you promised six or more, not two!”
“They are merely the first two,” de Gredin replied calmly. “Their speed is the very reason they are already here. I expect the others will be along shortly, but it is as well that the two are here now, is it not, because we can follow the Serpent at once. Mayhap, if we act swiftly, we can even get ahead of them and lie in wait.”
“Do you expect me to climb into a coble this minute and just sail off with you?” Fife asked, wishing he had a navy of his own. “In troth, I do not trust you enough to do any such thing, no matter how badly I want to catch MacLennan.”
“Nor would I expect you to, my lord. You will want your own well-trusted men to attend you. We have sufficient time for you to collect them and any personal gear, as well, whilst I give orders to prepare the ships for sailing and arrange to leave word for those others to follow.”
“Take care you do not say too much,” Fife warned. “The men aboard those ships need know nothing about our purpose. They must simply follow orders.”
“They’ll obey us,” de Gredin said. “In any case, we don’t know exactly what MacLennan is transporting. But whatever it is, they’ve had no time since Isabella traveled to Edinburgh to move it from Roslin, so they must have done that earlier.”
“Aye, sure they did,” Fife said. “We ought to have examined every wool cart in Scotland, although I haven’t a notion how we could have managed such a feat at this time of year. And we did examine every cart or wagon that left Roslin Castle.”
“We thought we did,” de Gredin said.
“Faugh,” Fife said rudely. “You seek a vast treasure, sir, one you yourself have said filled any number of ships. If, as we believe, the Sinclairs concealed it in Roslin Castle or the gorge, it would take time and many journeys to move it all.”
“That only means that whatever they’re moving now is but a portion of it. We’ve no notion when, or even if, they moved the rest. Waldron was sure they had moved some of it, though, and ’tis clear that they are moving something now. If we can follow them, we may learn much more from where they lead us.”
“We know they hid something last year, and we came close to learning where,” Fife said, glowering to remind him whose fault it was that they had failed.
“That is true,” de Gredin admitted without remorse. “But we had only your own belief then, as we do now, that what they guarded was part of the treasure.”
Certain, thanks to his own informants, that as far as Scotland was concerned what he sought was the most valuable, most significant item the Templars held, but unwilling to say so to de Gredin, Fife said with a shrug, “If it was not part of the treasure, why keep it so close to home till now or act as they have been acting?”
“As to that, my lord, we’ll ask them when we catch them. Might one suggest that a royal banner for our ship may prove useful at some time or other?”
Fife nodded, resenting de Gredin’s assumption that he’d go but deciding he’d have to risk it or let him go after MacLennan alone, a quite unacceptable alternative. He preferred taking time to think carefully, to plot the possibilities and risks, before making decisions. But he had no time, and for that matter, he had little choice if he wanted either to lay hands on the Stone of Destiny or recover his splendid Serpent.
They had not spoken of the lady Sidony, but there was little need. If she was aboard the Serpent, they could do nothing to keep MacLennan from finding her.
Fortunately, the only villain she could name was de Gredin.
Fife decided that such an accusation might well serve his own purpose later better than any more devious plan. He was growing tired of the chevalier.
Although Giff had been to the town of St. Andrews only twice before, he easily recognized the outline of its twin cathedral spires and bishop’s palace atop the jutting sea cliff that formed the south tip of the bay. As darkness fell, lights glowed in a wing of the palace and began to dot the shore of the harbor below.
The lass had just come back outside, clearly having slept or otherwise occupied herself in the tiny cabin for the past hours. Seeing her about to step onto the gangway, he strode to meet her and suggested she sit where they had before.
Her eyes widened, telling him that his tone had been brusquer than he had intended, but a recent conversation with Maxwell still disturbed him.
“I ken fine that ye told our Jake to keep his mouth shut about the lass and how ye found her, sir,” Maxwell had said, grimacing. “Sage advice, I thought, but he’s just told me some o’ the lads ha’ been talking amongst themselves.”
His temper stirred. “Have they, indeed?”
“Aye, but ye canna blame them,” Maxwell said. “Nae man amongst them could ha’ any notion she came out o’ a hole in the floor. Sithee, Jake said nowt when ye found her, because he said ye’d told him straightaway to keep mum.”
“That was a mistake,” Giff admitted. “But they must know I haven’t been with her. You and Jake slept in that cabin last night. Did the lad say aught of that?”
“He’d nae cause, knowing nowt o’ what they’d think, but he doesna like their talk, so I thought I’d tell ye afore he puts a foot wrong. Ye’ll be setting her ashore here, in any event, will ye no? The bishop will see her safe to her kinfolk.”
Although that had been his plan, and although he’d told Maxwell that it was, Giff had stiffened at hearing it on the other man’s lips. As he looked into her widened eyes now, he wondered why the plan had suddenly felt wrong. He had no reason to distrust Maxwell yet, certainly not where her welfare was concerned.
Fife was the one he distrusted, and although the town did lie within the earl’s domain, St. Andrews was the ecclesiastical capital of Scotland. Its good citizens looked more to the Kirk for governance than to Fife or the King of Scots. But even so, Fife’s known political skill made it likely that he’d cultivated strong allies there, perhaps even the bishop. If the bishop mentioned that she was in St. Andrews . . .
She had turned to walk silently beside him to the bench where they had sat earlier and he noted that she had nearly gained her sea legs. She still looked unsteady, but he made no attempt to touch her or to speak to her.
Her silence made him feel uncomfortable, though, and even a bit guilty.
When they reached the bench, he gently touched her arm and said quietly, “I did not mean to speak so sharply to you, lass. I hope you are not vexed.”
“No, sir. Is that St. Andrews yonder?” Her voice lacked its usual spirit.
“It is,” he said. “Those t
all spires are its famous cathedral.”
“Will you take me ashore yourself?”
“Of course, but not until I make sure the bishop is in residence and willing to undertake the responsibility for returning you safely to Edinburgh.”
“I am sure that is the best plan.”
Her still, lifeless voice told him what she really thought but likewise stiffened his resolve. He had a duty to keep her safe, and he could not be sure of doing so on any ship, certainly not one hunted by Fife and carrying such precious cargo.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Doubtless the bishop will feed me. Do you think Fife is following us yet?”
“Perhaps not yet,” he said. “But, sithee, he has no other ship of his own.”
“He is powerful, though,” she said. “He could make someone else bring him here, and he would soon discover that his ship had put into the harbor here.”
“Do you fear for the bishop’s safety if he aids you, or for your own if I leave you?” he asked, amused at the obvious tactic despite his own lingering concern.
Stiffly, clearly annoyed now, she said, “I doubt even Fife would dare to harm the Bishop of St. Andrews. But what will you tell the bishop about me?”
“Sakes, I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
“Would it not be better to plan first what to say? You can hardly tell him the truth, that after I was hidden aboard Fife’s boat you stole it and found me.”
“I shan’t mention the Earl of Fife or his boat,” he said coolly.
“The Serpent is a distinctive boat, sir. I’ve not seen its like before.”
“Your experience is limited, lass. It is different, to be sure, but it shares common traits of many Norse galleys and cargo ships that ply this coast.”
“Even so, surely Fife will know his own ship!”
“He might if he were to pursue us himself, although we did hang a new name board. We are now the Ormen Lange, so his recognizing her is not a certainty.”
Her words did stir him to think, though.
“Sit down now,” he said. “I want a word with Maxwell before we enter the harbor. And as we draw nearer, I want you to stay well out of sight, so I’m afraid it must be the wee cabin again then until our course here is clear.”
“What will you do when we arrive?”
“Seek an audience with the bishop,” he said. “I’ll explain that due to rougher seas than usual, this voyage has made you ill and that you therefore want to return to Edinburgh by land rather than travel any farther by sea. How does that sound?”
“You will have to explain my lack of a maidservant or chaperone.”
“I’ll think of something,” he promised. “Are you sure you don’t want food?”
When she shook her head, he got up to speak to Maxwell, a few feet away at the helm, saying, “You carry long sheets of canvas, do you not, to drape over the lowered mast for shelter, if needed, when we must remain at sea overnight?”
“Aye, sure, sir,” Maxwell said. “’Tis stowed in the forward hold.”
“Have some of the lads fetch out enough to conceal the lowest portions of the gunwales and make them look as high as the next level. They’ll have to manage without getting canvas in the way of the oars, too, or we’ll have to take her into the harbor against this wind under sail alone. I just want to disguise the ship’s lines, and it should soon be dark enough, I’m thinking, for canvas to do the job.”
“The oarports are low enough, but that can work only until it grows light.”
“I mean to be away again as soon my business here is done,” Giff said.
A short time later, Sidony watched through the open doorway of the aft cabin as men affixed canvas to make the lowest portion of the gunwale even with the next. Then, furling the sail, they rowed the ship to its anchorage below the town.
She watched as they lowered the coble, and saw Giff climb over the side to get into it. She lost sight of him then until the coble pulled away. Watching it vanish behind another ship moments later, she tried to imagine what he could say to the bishop that would not destroy what little reputation she had left after her ordeal.
“I got ye cheese and hard rolls, me lady,” Jake said, abruptly appearing in the doorway. “Will I bring it in to ye, or no’?”
“Bring it in, Jake,” Sidony said, deciding she was hungry after all. “Would you like some yourself?” she added when she saw how much he had brought.
“Aye, sure,” the boy said, squatting beside her and handing her a roll, then slicing hunks of the cheese for each of them with his eating knife.
Encouraging him to talk to her, she learned some of his history and found him most entertaining. He shifted easily from one topic to another, touching on his mother’s death with no more than a shadow flitting across his face at the memory before moving on to how much he enjoyed life aboard his father’s boats.
“How did he come to be captain for the Earl of Fife?”
Jake shrugged. “His lordship did tell his men to find the best, and that be me da’, o’ course. I think he looks like Auld Clootie, Fife does, all in black and that, but when I said that, me da’ skelped me good, so I dinna say it anymore.”
Suppressing a smile, Sidony said, “I agree that he looks like the devil, Jake, but mayhap you should not say so to anyone but me. He’s a gey dangerous man.”
“Aye, me da’ doesna love him neither,” Jake said, chewing around the words. “He says his lordship’s a bad example t’ set for a lad like me.”
“He is that,” she said, wondering if his da’ thought Giff any better for Jake.
Maxwell appeared in the doorway then and said curtly, “Jake, stay wi’ her ladyship and dinna the pair o’ ye come out for nowt. Beg pardon for me curtness, m’lady, but there be ships a-coming in, two Frenchies as were in Leith Harbor.”
“Surely, we do not fear the French, sir,” Sidony said.
“Nay, m’lady, but now they both be flying the banner o’ the King o’ Scots.”
Chapter 15
Having beached their coble on the shingle, Giff and his two oarsmen disembarked, pulled it above the high-tide mark, and set out up the path to the town. Giff had never visited the bishop’s palace and knew it had been damaged some years before, but he hoped the lights he had seen meant the bishop still lived in it.
Dusk had turned to darkness, and thanks to the lingering overcast, they had little light beyond the ambient glow of a lantern on a post at the foot of the path.
They met only a solitary young priest out taking the air. He would doubtless return soon, as it was nearing the hour of Compline. Having no notion how many townspeople would be up and about, Giff took the liberty of stopping him.
“Forgive me for intruding on your solitude, Father, but can you tell me where I might find his eminence, the Bishop of St. Andrews, at this hour?”
“He’ll be at the cathedral, my son. At the top of this path, turn left along the roadway and follow it round the curve of the cliff. You will soon come to the cathedral close. Doubtless you saw the spires from the sea.”
Thanking him, Giff acknowledged that they had. Minutes later, they reached the top of the path and turned as the priest had directed. The shadowy, dark bulk of the bishop’s palace lay ahead of them, and Giff eyed it curiously as they passed by. Approaching the cathedral with the palace behind them, he had a clear view down to the sea and saw two shadowy longships nearing the bay from the south.
Memory of the two at Leith stirred a swift reaction.
“Back to the ship, lads, and quickly, but not so quickly as to stir comment.”
Their long strides took them swiftly to the harbor path and down it. As they neared the shingle, they met the priest again, coming up.
A notion stirred in Giff’s mind, and he intercepted the man again.
The priest showed immediate concern. “You cannot have got lost nor yet found his eminence, my son. Is aught amiss?”
“Aye, Father, and it did occur to m
e that you may serve our purpose more quickly and spare his eminence the trouble,” Giff said glibly. “Can I persuade you to accompany us to our ship for a time?”
“Is this an emergency, my son?”
“It certainly is,” Giff said, casting an eye toward the bay’s wide entrance, where he could just make out the prow of the lead longship coming into view. “I expect that you have the authority to perform all rites of the Holy Kirk,” he added.
“I do,” the priest said. He waited expectantly. “Is someone dying?”
“No, sir, but we’ve no time to spare. Our boat lies yonder.”
The priest gave him a look, which Giff met easily enough, albeit fervently hoping the man would not demand more details. He seemed poised on the brink of doing just that, but with a glance at the two tense oarsmen, he nodded instead.
Motioning him on ahead, Giff stopped one of the men. “Can you find your way to Sinclair House from here?” he murmured urgently, pulling out his purse.
“Aye, sure, sir,” the man said, taking the money Giff gave him. “But—”
“Go there, and tell Lady Isobel that her sister is safe with me,” Giff said.
“Aye, sir, I’ll see to that right enough.”
Moments later, Giff and the other two were in the coble. By taking one pair of oars himself and carefully keeping other vessels between the coble and the two longships, they returned to the Serpent without attracting attention.
By the time the two drew near, Giff’s boat had pulled in along the landward side of the Serpent, and lads aboard her had lowered the coble’s ropes.
Giff saw that the false canvas gunwale gave the ship a much less distinctive profile. Maxwell had also had the lads ship the oars and let down more canvas to mask the oarports. The canvas did not interfere with the ladder, either, because to avoid interference from the oars, it customarily hooked over the first step at the aft end of the gunwale. Even the priest climbed aboard with ease.
Giff, following, expressed his approval to Maxwell as soon as he saw him. “She looks less like a Norse knorr now and more like an ordinary merchantman.”