by Speer, Flora
“Fionna.” It wasn’t Quentin who followed her, but Braedon. “Quentin is doing what he thinks is best for you and your sister.”
“He’ll leave me there. I’ll never see him again.”
“I’m sorry.” Braedon’s big hand rested on her shoulder for a moment.
“Why should I be surprised?” she muttered. “He’s enjoyed what he wanted from me. Now he’ll be rid of me under the guise of concern for my welfare.”
“You don’t really believe that, any more than I do,” Braedon said. “Did you know that I have no idea who my father is?”
“What?” She gaped at him, trying to follow the sudden shift in his thinking.
“That’s right,” Braedon said. “I’m a bastard. My entire life has been a matter of happenstance and coincidence. And yet, it has turned out well, so far. By pure good luck I became one of King Henry’s squires, and he offered me the chance of an interesting adventure with Quentin’s mission to King Alexander. I’ve met two kings. Not bad, for a bastard whose mother was a commoner.”
“Are you trying to tell me that my life will also turn out well?” she asked.
“Perhaps. You don’t lack courage.”
“I am a mere woman, with few choices,” she reminded him with considerable bitterness. Then she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Go and arm your master,” she said in a cold voice.
Braedon grinned at her, the wound over his left eye lending him a rakish appearance.
When he was gone Fionna looked around for Janet, only to find her sister engaged in a vigorous discussion with Cadwallon. Or, perhaps, they were arguing yet again.
It took them a day and a half to reach Edinburgh. Leaving the narrow road, they set their course directly northwestward across the hilly countryside, traveling as fast as they dared push their horses.
During the first day Fionna refused to speak to Quentin. She couldn’t bear to look at him, either, so she spent her time riding with Cadwallon and Janet.
“Do be sensible,” Janet advised her when evening came and they halted for the night. “You have to eat and Royce is expecting us in the dining tent. Really, Fionna, I had almost forgotten how stubborn you can be.”
“I am not being stubborn!” Fionna cried. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t,” said her implacable sister. “Royce and Quentin are going out of their way to make certain we are safe. Instead of sulking, you ought to be grateful to them. What, I ask you, is wrong with becoming a king’s ward? King Alexander will arrange good marriages for us, I’m sure. Almost any man would be a husband preferable to Colum,” she added with unaccustomed wistfulness.
“Wouldn’t you like to choose your own husband?” Fionna asked as she wondered, not for the first time, about the frequent conversations and arguments between Janet and Cadwallon.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Janet exclaimed. She shook her head as if to clear it of so unacceptable a thought. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”
“Who, indeed?” Fionna said with a sigh.
In the end Fionna washed her face and hands and braided her hair again before she and Janet presented themselves at Royce’s table. She was polite during the meal, but she spoke only when she was spoken to. She found it difficult to swallow any of the spit-roasted bird or the vegetable stew that Royce’s cook served up. In an attempt to loosen her tight throat she drank perhaps a bit too much of Royce’s excellent wine.
As soon as the meal was over she excused herself and departed from the tent, leaving Janet still at the table, where she was deep in an argument with Cadwallon.
“Fionna, wait.” Quentin had followed her into the night.
“You cannot possibly have anything important to say to me.” She tossed the words over her shoulder while she kept moving toward her own tent.
“I don’t want to part from you in anger,” he said.
“In that case, you should have spoken to me about what you intended before you and Royce decided my future.”
“You don’t seem to understand the danger you are in.”
“You think not? Who was tied up and tossed into the river by her closest kin?” she demanded.
“Who was it that kept you alive that night?” Quentin asked, thrusting his face close to hers. “When I lifted you from the riverbank I assumed responsibility for you. I’ll not let you be taken by your brothers. The moment you are in their hands again, they’ll kill you.”
“Thereby relieving you of an unwanted responsibility,” she snapped.
“I am trying to help you, as I vowed to do. If you think I don’t want you—”
“Yes, Quentin? Do you want me? Or was our lovemaking a meaningless little interval for you?”
He didn’t answer the accusation; he just grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her hard against him. His mouth came down on hers with all the force of a mountain avalanche. Fionna was swept away by his passion. She couldn’t fight him, not when he was doing exactly what she wanted. She clung to him, kissing him back, accepting the hot invasion of his tongue into her mouth. Within a heartbeat or two she was all afire, longing to join with him in passionate completion. Pressed close to him as she was, she could feel his masculine eagerness. Surely, he would carry her off to his tent....
Quentin ended the kiss abruptly by forcing her away and holding her at arm’s length.
“You must go to Edinburgh and stay there.” He spoke with a barely leashed intensity that jolted Fionna out of the blissful dream his kiss had evoked. “It’s the best way to keep you safe.”
“And Janet calls me stubborn.” Out of her tear-clogged throat she produced a mocking laugh. “Very well, Quentin. I will do as you command. As you reminded me a few moments ago, I do owe you a debt of gratitude. I promise, I’ll cause no trouble for the rest of the journey.”
She didn’t add that she would cause trouble once they were in Edinburgh. If Quentin was determined to employ ruthless measures to keep her safe, she could do the same for him. She wasn’t fool enough to imagine her brother had discarded his clever scheme to murder Quentin. Then, there were the other things she knew about Murdoch’s plans.
Fionna thought King Alexander would be interested in the information she could provide. But she intended to drive a hard bargain before she divulged even a snippet of what she knew. In return for her knowledge of Murdoch’s plans, King Alexander was going to have to provide heavy protection for Quentin and all of his companions.
“Do you really imagine you can just deposit Fionna in Edinburgh and never see her again?” Royce’s quiet voice sounded at Quentin’s shoulder, coming out of the darkness at the edge of the camp.
“I must.” Quentin bit out the words.
“It will be amusing to watch you try,” Royce murmured, “considering how you can’t stay away from her.”
“I intend to let King Alexander relieve me of my torment.” The king of the Scots would never be able to relieve Quentin of the guilt he felt over what he had done to Fionna, but at least Quentin could rid himself of the burden of looking at her lovely face every day while knowing he had betrayed his honorable intentions toward her.
“Coward.”
The single word, spoken softly, hung in the air between the two men. The sound of it temporarily jolted Quentin out of his aching desire to hold Fionna in his arms one more time before leaving her behind in Edinburgh.
“Were you any other man, you’d die for saying that,” Quentin told his old friend.
“How strange,” Royce responded with dry humor. “Cadwallon said the same thing.”
“You called him a coward, too?” Quentin allowed the faintest tinge of amusement to color his voice. “It’s a miracle you’re still standing.”
“This mad journey is easily the finest diversion I have witnessed in years,” Royce said.
“I am delighted to know you find my misery diverting.” As Quentin made for his tent, Royce’s low laugh followed him through the darkness.
* *
* * *
When the king of the Scots was in residence at Edinburgh he lived in a simple stone building atop a high, granite crag. At some point in the distant past, while the Pictish tribes still held the spot, the uppermost section of the rock had been leveled. Later, during the reign of King Edwin, a thick stone wall was built around the upper edges of the crag. The fortress, or burgh, thus created was so secure, so high above the surrounding landscape, that no enemy had ever succeeded in conquering it.
From the moment Royce’s party reached the forbidding stone entrance that stood halfway up the crag, Quentin took command. The guard on duty at the gatehouse recognized him from his previous visit. Though the guard expressed surprise to see the Norman emissary returning so soon, he made no serious objection to Quentin’s request that he and his companions be allowed to enter for the purpose of seeking an urgent audience with the king. However, the guard informed them, the servants and the carts filled with tents and other supplies must remain where they presently were, in an open field at the bottom of the crag.
The path from the gatehouse to the heart of the fortress wound completely around the crag, slanting gradually upward to the flat area at the top. The party was stopped at several guard houses along the way and at each halt Quentin repeated his explanation that he needed to speak with King Alexander.
Fionna couldn’t see much of the fortress, or of the town that clustered below it. Drizzling rain and fog obscured the view, and by the time they finally reached the king’s house the fog was so thick that it was easy to imagine they were inside a very wet cloud.
Quentin and Royce dismounted to speak to the middle-aged man, apparently an officer of the household guard, who hurried out of the stone house to meet them.
Fionna got off her horse unaided, leaving Janet to Cadwallon’s care. She hurried forward, unwilling to allow Quentin to turn her and her sister over to the king until after she had made her bargain with Alexander.
“Quentin? Is it really you, me lad?” said the grey-haired officer, his gaze moving on to the rest of the group before returning to the man he knew. “What the divil are ye doin’ back here so soon? I thought ye’d be far awa’ in England by now.”
“Ewan, I’m glad you are on duty,” Quentin responded. “My friend, Lord Royce, and I need to see King Alexander as quickly as possible.”
“Do ye, now? I dinna ken if he’ll see ye. He’s verra busy, for he’s preparin’ to leave Edinburgh early tomorrow mornin’.”
“Then I am glad I arrived today.” Though Quentin smiled and used a deceptively mild tone when speaking to Ewan, an undercurrent of urgency that no intelligent man could have missed lay beneath his polite manners. “I have vital news for King Alexander. Ewan, will you kindly ask him if he will receive me and my friends at once?”
“The women, too?” asked Ewan, regarding Fionna and Janet as if they ought not to be there. “Ladies are usually received by Queen Sybilla.”
“I must speak with the king,” Fionna said. “I have something important to tell him.”
Quentin turned on her, his eyes blazing. She met his ferocious glare with a deceptively innocent smile.
“Wait here,” Ewan said, and vanished into the depths of the main entrance.
“What do you think you are doing?” Quentin demanded of Fionna.
“I am only trying to help,” she answered in a voice dripping with sweetness.
Quentin’s eyes narrowed, as if he distrusted her statement. She told herself she couldn’t worry what Quentin thought. Securing King Alexander’s protection for him was far more important than his good opinion of her.
Behind Quentin’s shoulder, Royce grinned and winked at her, as if to let her know she could count on him.
Ewan reappeared much more quickly than Fionna expected.
“Ye’ll understand, ye canna all come into th’ house,” Ewan said. “‘Tis a busy place today, and a wee bit confusin’, too. Laird Quentin, Laird Royce, and the ladies may enter. Ah, weel, now, Cadwallon, me old friend, ye may as well come indoors wi’ the ithers. Yes, and ye, too, Squire Braedon. But the rest o’ yer men must remain outside.”
“In the rain?” asked Royce, raising his eyebrows as he glanced around the mist-shrouded courtyard, where there appeared to be no shelter from the damp weather.
“A wee bit o’ mist niver harmed a true fightin’ man,” said Ewan.
Fionna was sure Royce’s sharp eyes had noticed what she saw. A line of armed warriors had appeared, possibly from a nearby barracks that was partly concealed from view by the fog. The men were spreading out into a single line that surrounded Royce’s troop. No threat was offered by the Scots, and Royce’s well-trained men-at-arms sat stolidly on their horses, awaiting an order from their lord before making a move. Royce gestured to Sir William with one hand and the captain of his men-at-arms calmly nodded his understanding of the signal.
Ewan ushered Quentin and his friends through a dark entry, then led them into the great hall. As Ewan had warned, the hall was in a state of bustling untidiness. Many of the tapestries that usually lined the stone walls had been taken down, and servants on ladders were removing the rest. Half a dozen additional servants were shaking the dust from the tapestries before folding them into large wooden chests. A group of maidservants was packing silver trays, basins, and ewers into sturdy baskets in preparation for the king’s departure, leaving only the vessels that would be required for the evening meal.
On the dais at the far end of the hall an area of calm surrounded the king, who stood alone beside the high table, awaiting his unexpected guests. Alexander I, king of the Scots, was tall and well-formed, with reddish hair and beard and a piercing gaze.
“My lord.” Quentin came to a halt at the edge of the dais. He bowed low, and so did the three men with him. Fionna noticed that none of them went to one knee, as they would have done before the king to whom they owed their fealty. Fionna and Janet sank into the deep curtsies that were expected of noblewomen everywhere.
“Delighted as I am to see you again, Lord Quentin,” said King Alexander, “I feel certain you have not returned to Edinburgh so quickly out of love for me. Why are you here?”
“I’ll speak bluntly, and not waste your time when you are so busy,” Quentin said. “My lord, I have with me two noble ladies whose brothers are determined to kill one of them and to force the other into an unwanted marriage to a brutal fellow. I beg you to take them under your protection. Allow me to present to you Lady Fionna of Dungalash, and her younger sister, Janet.”
“Dungalash, you say?” King Alexander rubbed his chin as if thinking seriously.
Fionna guessed he was playing for time, while he decided what response to make to Quentin’s request. And while he decided, she would make her move.
“My lord,” she said, stepping forward a little, “I have knowledge of my brothers’ activities along the border that may be of use to you.”
“Have you?” King Alexander looked at her with aroused interest.
“Fionna, be quiet!” Quentin ordered.
“No, no,” said the king. “Let her speak. Murdoch of Dungalash has caused me trouble in the recent past. Before I take myself off to the northern highlands to settle an uprising there, I’d like to be sure I leave no festering problems in the lowlands. Tell me, Lady Fionna, what have your brothers been doing lately?”
“My lord, they have been hatching a treasonous plot,” Fionna said. “When they realized I had overheard them discussing their plans, they tied me up and threw me into Liddel Water to silence me. If they knew how much I had overheard over several days, I’m sure they’d have strangled me first, or stabbed me, to make certain I was dead.”
“Are you claiming their scheme is serious enough to warrant murdering their closest female kin?” the king asked, looking surprised.
“It is,” Fionna answered.
“All of you – out!” the king called to his servants. “Leave the hall until I tell you to return. Ewan, you stay; I expect I’ll have nee
d of you later, to carry out my orders, and if you hear what Lady Fionna has to say, we can save time on explanations.”
They waited until the menservants had climbed down from the ladders and the maidservants had left off packing the silver, and all of them were gone. Ewan shut the hall doors after them.
“Now,” King Alexander said to Fionna, “tell me everything you know of this plot.”
“Before I speak, my lord,” Fionna said, “I will have your solemn promise to keep Quentin and his companions secure from any harm my brothers may try to inflict on them.”
“Fionna, stop this at once!” Quentin demanded. “I can protect myself and my friends.”
“Nevertheless,” said the king, “I owe protection to any emissary who comes to me from another ruler. You have my word, Lady Fionna.”
“Thank you, my lord. Also, I want your word that you will not hold my sister at fault in the matter I am going to reveal. Janet has spent the past ten years at Abercorn. Until the last few days, she has lived in total ignorance of what our brothers are planning.” By Janet’s own declaration that wasn’t entirely true, but Fionna was hoping her sister would have the good sense to keep quiet and not argue the point.
“In that case, Janet is absolved of blame,” King Alexander declared. “What of you, Lady Fionna? I gather you have known of this plot for some time. Why do you come forward now?”
“I was waiting,” Fionna answered, “until I discovered one final piece of the puzzle, so I could make sense of the whole scheme before I fled Dungalash to try to reach Edinburgh and warn you of it. But on that last afternoon, Gillemore caught me listening outside the door. That’s when they decided to kill me.”
“Which shall I hear first?” the king asked. “The details of the plot, or the story of how Lord Quentin and these other men became involved?”
“My lord,” Fionna said, “let me begin where the treason starts. I am sure you know there are Scotsmen who resent the way you have invited Normans into this country, and have made them welcome and given them lands.”