“Then, will ye tell me what did happen, so I can tell folks the truth of it?”
“I’ll tell you only that a man I did not know put his hand on me and another man dissuaded him. But I forbid you to talk of this, Leah. If anyone asks you about it, you can honestly say that I was in no danger and that naught of import occurred.”
With a nod, but nonetheless persistently, Leah added, “They did say that the man what got knocked down were the Earl o’ Caithness and that he spoke your name.”
Suppressing a sigh, Fiona said, “I will not discuss this further, Leah. There was no fight, and I was not in danger. Prithee, say no more and do not encourage others to discuss it. If I hear that you have behaved otherwise, I shall be most dis—”
“Nae, then, m’lady, I won’t,” Leah assured her hastily.
Leah had served her for years, and Fiona had enough faith in her to believe she would obey her. However, if Leah had heard about the incident, little hope remained that Lady Sutherland had not.
Dressing carefully, Fiona went downstairs and learned straightaway that Lady Sutherland wanted to see her and would send for her when she had broken her fast.
Finding Malvina and Sarah Douglas, one of the other two maids of honor, alone at the refectory table reserved for them, Fiona greeted them as she took her place and reached for a manchet loaf in one basket and then an apple from another.
As she did, Sarah quietly excused herself.
Using her eating knife, Fiona began to slice the apple into quarters, but Sarah’s skirts had barely cleared the nearest doorway when Malvina leaned closer and said breathlessly, “Is it true, Fiona? Did a giant Highlander really knock the Earl of Caithness on his backside last night because Caithness accosted you after you left me? Oh, prithee, tell me everything, for I saw none of it.”
Sighing, Fiona repeated what she had told Leah, but she had lost her appetite. Her father would be furious when he heard what had happened, which he surely would now, and heaven knew what consequences would follow. Malvina continued to plead for details, so Fiona nearly thanked the lay brother who entered then and told her that the mistress of robes would speak with her now.
Rapping on Lady Sutherland’s sitting-room door a few minutes later and hearing her ladyship bid her enter, Fiona obeyed, shutting the door behind her.
Lady Sutherland sat on a back-stool near the small, sparely furnished room’s window embrasure. She gestured to her stool’s twin a short distance away.
“Sit ye doon, Fiona-lass,” she said. “A matter has come tae me attention that requires explanation. I thought we should discuss it afore ye attend tae your duties.”
“Aye, sure, madam,” Fiona said, sitting obediently and folding her hands in her lap. She hoped her ladyship would thus fail to see that her nerves were on edge.
Knowing only what Leah and Malvina had told her, she was uncertain of how harmful the incident between Caithness and Sir Àdham might be to her.
Lady Sutherland smiled warmly. “I dinna think ye did wrong. But I did hear wild tales of summat occurring yestereve whilst ye were returning tae our table.”
“An incident did occur, madam, but naught that endangered anyone or that I would be unwilling to explain.”
“Good, then simply tell me what happened.”
Simply? Fiona wondered. Could a knight of the realm striking a noble member of the royal family ever be considered a simple occurrence?
Keeping that thought to herself, she explained briefly what had happened and why. She took care to include the apology that Caithness had so promptly and sincerely offered her and her willing acceptance of it.
When she finished, Lady Sutherland smiled as warmly as she had before.
Fiona felt her tension ease.
Then her ladyship said cheerfully, “I see exactly how it was, me dearling. We must hope now that I shall describe it just as plainly tae her grace.”
That same morning, after breaking his fast, Àdham walked with his squire to the Ormiston House stable. As they turned into Curfew Row, MacNab said, “There be some grand houses in this town, aye, sir?”
“It is a royal burgh and the capital of the country,” Àdham reminded him, although he did agree that few, if any, houses in Inverness—also a royal burgh—would compare to those along Curfew Row. None was palatial, but all were built of stone, and many possessed glazed windows.
St. John’s Town itself was no larger than Inverness or Nairn, although neither—nor any other Highland town—boasted a wall. St. John’s Town even smelled much the same as the others, since all three towns sat near the sea.
When they reached Ormiston House, they went straight into the stable, where two of its occupants greeted Àdham with near delirium. He dissuaded the dog from propping its dirty forepaws against his thighs only by catching the paws.
“Down, sir,” Àdham said in a tone that received instant obedience. “As for you,” he said to young Rory, who was fairly dancing in his eagerness to impart news of evident import, “Stand properly before you speak to me.”
“Aye, sure,” the boy said as he planted his feet together on the ground and stood rigidly straight. “But I’ve taught Sirius a trick, and I did think ye’d want tae see it. I fetched this old cap o’ yours, tae teach him.”
“Show me, then.”
“First, ye ha’ tae go out and hide. I’ll keep Sirius here till ye’re hid.”
Looking at Duff, who grinned and nodded, Àdham said, “Very well.” He went quietly to the garden where he had walked with Fiona, shut the picket gate after himself, and crouched behind one of the hedges. Through its branches, the next thing he saw was Sirius leaping over the gate. The dog ran straight to him.
Rory followed, shouting, “The lad is grand, is he no? I taught him tae seek ye oot, but I wasna sure he’d fetch ye as easy as he fetched yer old cap.”
“Very clever,” Àdham said. “Are you behaving yourself?”
“I think so, aye,” he said, shooting an anxious look over a shoulder at Duff.
The equerry said, “I’m pleased enough, sir. He’s made hisself useful to Lord Ormiston’s people, too.”
“MacNab and I are going onto the Inch for target practice. If anyone comes looking for us, that is where we’ll be.”
They left at once, and as they crossed the red bridge on their way to the archery butts at the far end of the Inch, Sir Robert Graham’s image rose in Àdham’s mind. Aware, as he was now, of where his uncle’s sympathies lay, Àdham wondered if the man had taken any part in the parliamentary ructions.
Meantime, Sir Robert’s evident belief that he could command his nephew’s behavior had irked him. Furthering their kinship, he decided, would be unwise.
In any event, he and MacNab could pass a few hours honing their skills with their weapons. Afterward, they might wander along the riverbank to explore more of the nearby landscape than either had yet seen.
For a time, they alternated rounds of a friendly archery contest with fierce, albeit ever-heedful, swordplay. Then, shortly after midday, as MacNab was returning with the arrows they had just shot, he shouted, “Yonder, sir! I think that’s our laddie a-coming!”
Turning, Àdham saw Rory running full pelt the length of the Inch toward them. Accepting his own arrows from MacNab and slipping them into his quiver, he unstrung his bow as he strode to meet the boy.
“What is it, lad?” he asked.
“His lordship,” the boy gasped out before pausing to snatch a breath.
“Ormiston?”
“Aye, he sent me tae tell ye he would speak wi’ ye straightaway.”
Suspecting that the boy might have committed a mischief, Àdham said, “Do you know why he wants to speak with me?”
Shaking his head fiercely, Rory said, “Nae, and ye needna look at me so, neither. I’ve done nowt save what Duff or them others tell me tae do.”
/> “Then I beg your pardon if I looked as if I suspected you’d been up to mischief. I cannot think how such a notion entered my head.”
Grinning, the boy said, “Me neither. But his lordship does want ye. Mayhap ye’re the one what’s been up tae mischief, aye?”
“Mind your tongue, lad,” Àdham said. As he said it, he grimaced, realizing that Ormiston had likely heard about the incident with Caithness.
Rory’s eyebrows flew upward. “Sakes, what did ye do then?”
Giving him a stern look, Àdham said, “I did naught that could shame me. Moreover, if I had, it would be nae concern of yours, would it?”
Rory gazed thoughtfully, even skeptically, at him until Àdham said softly, “Do you want to debate the point until you irk me?”
“I do not,” the boy said firmly. “But ye shouldna look so if ye havena been up tae summat, ’less ye want folks tae think ye have.”
“Enough,” Àdham said firmly.
Rory nodded. “Should I go wi’ ye or stay here wi’ MacNab?”
“We’ll all go,” Àdham said, waving for his squire to join them.
When they reached Ormiston House, Àdham sent the other two to the stable. “I’ll send for you, MacNab, when I’m ready to return to the alehouse,” he added.
“Best slick your hair doon afore ye go in,” Rory said. “It be all a-tangle.”
When MacNab hid a grin, Àdham said curtly, “The pair of you would do well to seek shelter in yon stable now.”
Watching them walk away, Àdham tugged off the string he used to tie back his hair and ran his fingers through the tangles, wondering bleakly if everyone in St. John’s Town considered himself, or herself, an authority on men’s hair.
Hoping that, if Ormiston had heard about his striking Caithness, he’d heard at least a semblance of the truth, Àdham drew a breath to restore his calm and retied his string as he approached the house. The door opened just as he reached it.
A man he’d not seen before said, “Sir Àdham, I am his lordship’s steward. His lordship awaits you in the rear chamber. He said you know your way.”
“I do, aye,” Àdham replied, whereupon the man stood aside to let him pass.
Pausing at the closed door of Ormiston’s room, Àdham heard his host’s invitation to enter before his knuckles touched wood to rap.
Inside, he found his lordship coming to his feet.
“We need no ceremony, sir,” Àdham said. “You told my lad to hie himself, so just tell me how I may serve you.”
“The summons was not solely mine,” Ormiston said with a rueful smile. “His grace awaits us at Blackfriars. ’Tis he who would speak with you.”
“Is this about last night, sir? Because if it is . . .” He let the sentence die when Ormiston shook his head.
“You need explain naught, Àdham. I ken fine how it was.”
“But one does not go about knocking cousins of his grace on their backsides . . . not with impunity, at all events.”
“There may be consequences, aye,” Ormiston admitted. “But his grace awaits us. Shall we go?”
There being only one answer to that question, Àdham accompanied him to the monastery chapel.
Chapter 7
Fiona loved the Gilten Herbar, named for the arched and gilded arbors under which its paths wended past beds of aromatic herbs, flowers, shrubbery, and fruit trees. Wherever sunbeams broke through the canopy of vines, they danced on those golden frames and many other gilded decorations. The only sounds were birdsongs and the crunch of gravel under their feet. Any Blackfriars currently residing there, rather than traveling as mendicants, were at their prayers or reciting their rosaries.
The Herbar served as the monastery’s kitchen garden, but Fiona loved the flowers, their scents and colors, the noisy birds, the squirrels’ chatter, and the changing light on the gilded arches and ornaments. As she and Malvina wandered along a path, her imagination danced with the sunbeams and peopled the flowerbeds with fairies and other wee folk. Realizing that Holy Kirk would likely frown on thoughts of fairies capering through a monastery garden, she smiled.
“I just wondered, that’s all,” Malvina said rather abruptly.
“Wondered what?” Fiona asked, glancing at her.
“Faith, were you not listening to me?” Malvina demanded indignantly.
Guiltily, Fiona said, “I fear I was lost in thought, comparing our gardens at home with this one.” Her mind raced, seeking a way to sound sensible without encouraging discussion of imaginary wee folk. “So, prithee, forgive me and I shall listen most intently to you. What did you wonder?”
With an injured little sigh, Malvina said, “Art sure you want to know?”
“You have been my best friend since I joined her grace’s court,” Fiona assured her. “Aye, sure, I want to know.”
“Very well, then,” Malvina said, brightening. “Do you recall meeting my two cousins last night, before the incident with Caithness? You left so hastily after that that I could not be sure you would.”
“I do, though. I talked to the one you deemed handsome.”
“A tedious prattler, I thought, and not wealthy,” Malvina said with a dismissive wave. “In troth, I was irked when he talked to you instead of to me, because I had to talk to Hamish, whom I have often thought rude and disagreeable. But now, I think I might marry him, Fiona. What do you think of that?”
Fiona gaped at her. “Why would you want to marry a rudesby you dislike?”
Grinning, Malvina said, “Because, although he teases me in a most uncivil way, he is no longer so horrid. Sithee, I learned last night that he is to inherit his grandfather’s estates. Hamish will be wealthy, Fiona. I shall have a household steward and more servants than my mother has. We will even have a house in Edinburgh’s Canongate. I shall command every elegancy of life!”
Dryly, Fiona said, “Only if he asks you to marry him.”
“But he has . . . that is, my father and his have talked for some time of such a match and have settled the arrangements. Hamish told me as much last night. I said then that I was not certain that I wanted to marry him, but of course, I will.”
“Then, I think Hamish is a lucky man and you will be very happy,” Fiona said sincerely. She had been aware for some time that Ormiston was seeking an acceptable match for her. She knew, too, that he would not simply present someone and tell her that he and the young man’s father had already made the arrangements.
What he had told her was that, in Scotland, a woman could refuse any man.
Inside the towering, empty monastery chapel, James, King of Scots, stood at the center of the transept in front of the high altar.
“I recall ye well, Sir Àdham,” the King said. “Sakes, I recall every man I have knighted. I even recall your clan war leader, Sir Ivor Mackintosh, although I was but a bairn when he won his knighthood.”
Gazing in awe at a kirk more magnificent than any other he had seen, Àdham said, “Sir Ivor is Shaw Mòr Mackintosh’s son, your grace. He is also my foster mother’s brother. So Ivor is as an uncle to me.” Collecting his wits and facing James directly, he added, “Mayhap you also know my paternal uncle and foster father. Men call him ‘Fin of the Battles.’”
The King smiled reminiscently. “I do remember Sir Fin, aye, for that is what I called him. Nearly three decades have passed since last I saw him, but I owe my thanks to him and to Sir Ivor. As I do to ye, lad. However, whilst I ken fine that the Mackintosh is a good friend to me, yon Clan Chattan Confederation has got so big that I do wonder if all of its members remain as loyal to me as your captain does.”
Àdham was silent. It was no business of his to speak for other members of the confederation.
James added gently, “I have heard rumors of ructions within your own confederation. Likewise do I hear tales of fractious factions within Clan Cameron. If I recall correctly, yo
ur father is Ewan MacGillony Cameron, aye?”
“Aye, your grace,” Àdham said.
“Yet ye call yourself MacFinlagh,” James said.
“I fostered with Uncle Fin. So I have associated myself for years now with Fin and Castle Finlagh.”
“Yet Ewan MacGillony Cameron—if what I hear be true—has at times spoken against my policies.”
Àdham met the King’s quizzical gaze and said, “I speak for no man save myself, my liege, not even for Ewan MacGillony. I am your man and will remain so. But I would remind you, with deep respect, that Ewan did lead the MacGillony Camerons at Lochaber against Alexander of the Isles. He has not taken up arms against your grace since that day. Nor, to my knowledge, has he spoken against you since then.”
“Aye, he fought for me, and I ken that other Cameron factions followed his lead. But others under Lochiel, the Cameron Captain, fought for Alexander, aye?”
“I was in the thick of battle, my liege, so I cannot answer your question of mine own knowledge. But I did hear that Lochiel supported Alexander.”
“There is also the matter of mine own uncle, Atholl,” James said softly.
A ripple of unease stirred in Àdham. If James knew that Atholl’s second wife, the lady Elizabeth Graham, was Àdham’s grandaunt, would he assume . . . ?
Accepting Àdham’s silence with the same ease he had the first time, James said, “Ye must ken fine that I dinna trust my uncle Atholl or some of his kinsmen, including your uncle, the so-eloquent scoundrel of Kinpont. He and Atholl make plain their antipathy for my belief in a rule of law for all, and Blair Castle overlooks the main route from here into the Highlands. If Atholl decides to keep the next royal army from passing that way, he could make a damned nuisance of himself.”
“So I have heard,” Àdham said. “But I have met Sir Robert only a few times and have never spoken to the Earl of Atholl. Nor do I ken aught to Atholl’s discredit unless it is discreditable now merely to speak against potential royal policies.”
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