“Enough!” Lachann said harshly. “She’ll go to her mother for the night and be ready to wed come the morn. Take her to Teàrlag, Father Murray, and cease your womanish prattle.”
Mairi, glad to be spared any sort of welcome by her father, placed her hand upon the priest’s shabbily clad arm and walked on shaky legs toward the keep. She said naught, but considered the possibility that the priest might be able to help her.
He’d had a hand in getting her a night’s reprieve, as well as the opportunity to see her mother.
The keep was dingy and dank. ’Twas dark, as well, and Mairi nearly tripped over a pair of dogs lolling by the wooden steps. When her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Mairi saw a large, scarred wooden table in the center of the hall, with the remnants of a meal upon it.
A few servants loitered about, eyeing her distrustfully as she walked through the hall.
“Did ye ride all night, then?” Father Murray asked.
“Nay, Father,” Mairi replied self-consciously. Her voice was just above a whisper. “I slept a few hours before we set out this morn.”
“Hmm,” Father Murray said noncommittally. He led her to a rickety staircase and they began to climb. “Yer mother has a chamber at the back of the keep where the sunlight is good and she can sew.”
“Is she…well?”
“Nay, lass,” Father Murray said, starting up the next flight, “though seein’ ye will do her heart good.”
“What ails her?”
“Besides bein’ heartsick over her heathen husband and son?” Murray said. “She’s got pains in her joints…keeps her from movin’ much. And a cough that weakens her.”
In silence, they climbed to the third floor, where they stopped before a scuffed oaken door. Father Murray spoke before pushing it open. “I can protect ye for a time, lass,” he said. “But once yer wed to the man, I canna help ye.”
“I thank you for all you’ve done, Father,” Mairi said, her mind rushing through possibilities. There must be a way to escape this place. All she had to do was get away from the keep after dark, then head east, and she’d come to the sea. Once there, she would follow the coast until she came to Norwyck….
“The Armstrong and I have been lockin’ horns for many a year, and I canna say that either of us has made much headway against the other. The laird gets his own way as often as Mother Church gets hers,” Father Murray said.
Mairi nodded absently as the priest pushed open the door to Teàrlag’s solar. Dull light streamed in from two long, narrow windows on one wall, showing up the layer of dust covering every surface of the room. There was a sense of neglect about the solar, except for a small area around the fireplace.
Mairi’s mother sat in a chair pulled close to the fire. Her hair was partially covered by a white veil, which was all Mairi could see of the woman until she looked up. Teàrlag smiled. Her eyes moistened and tears began to fall as she set her needle and the raw cloth on her lap and held her arms out to her daughter. She was thin and frail, and one of her eyes was opaque with blindness. Her skin seemed almost transparent. “Mairi,” she said. Her voice was a bit wobbly, but Mairi remembered it as if she had heard it only yesterday.
“Mother!” she whispered as she flew to Teàrlag’s side. She knelt before her and took her hands, unable to speak for the emotion that clogged her throat.
“I never thought to see you again, Daughter,” Teàrlag said. “Your cousin’s husband told us you drowned.”
“My cousin’s—Alain? Alain was here?”
“Aye,” Teàrlag said. “Washed ashore in a storm. MacEwen’s people found him and eventually brought him here. But he returned to France after staying only a few days. When he left, we still thought you had perished.”
“Nay, Mother,” Mairi said breathlessly. “I washed ashore, too, but farther south.”
“Aye, your father learned of this only recently. One of Lord Norwyck’s men—a fellow called Darcet—came to Lachann with tales of Norwyck.”
Mairi did not know of any Darcet, but found it difficult to believe that anyone from Norwyck would come to Braemar with the intention of betraying Norwyck. Mayhap Lachann had sent the man to Bartholomew to begin with, to learn what he could. She certainly believed her father canny enough to do such a thing.
“I’ve missed you all these years, Mairi,” her mother said wistfully. “A lass should have her mother as she grows up….”
“I missed you, too,” Mairi said, realizing that tears streamed down her own face. She’d had a perfectly fine life in France with Caitir, but naught could take the place of her own mother’s love.
“’Twas for the best, though,” Teàrlag said, and Mairi detected for the first time the quiet strength and fortitude that had sustained her for all these years. “Your father is…I would not have him mold you into an Armstrong creature like your brother. If there was aught I could do for you, ’twas to get you away from here.”
“Aye, Mother,” Mairi said, wiping her eyes. She gently squeezed her cold, thin hands. “And I was happy with Caitir. I did not miss Armstrong at all, besides you.”
“Ah, you’re a bonny one to say so, but I know there was much more that I should have done for you.”
“Nay, there was naught.”
Teàrlag freed one hand from Mairi’s grasp and caressed her daughter’s head. They stayed quiet for several long minutes, and Mairi basked in her mother’s attention. She considered telling her of the child she carried, but decided to hold back for now. Their emotions were raw as it was, without adding Mairi’s bairn into it.
“I do not know if I can bear to see you wed to Carmag.”
“I do not intend to wed the man, Mother.”
Alarm sparked in Teàrlag’s eyes. “How…? Mairi, if you defy the laird, he—”
“Listen, Mother,” Mairi said quietly. She turned to look toward the door, to be sure ’twas closed and she would not be overheard. “I am leaving tonight. I know the way back to Norwyck, and Bartholomew Holton is a good and just lord. He will take us both in—”
“Nay, child,” Teàrlag interjected with a shake of her head. “My hips, my knees…I cannot travel. I can barely get down the stairs when I must. I would only hold you back.”
“I’ll steal a horse or a mule—”
“’Tis impossible—”
“And get a wagon to carry—”
Without warning, the door crashed open and Lachann strutted in. He said naught, but approached his wife and daughter, walking around the chair with his arms crossed over his belly. He made a quiet sound from deep within his chest, and Mairi followed her mother’s lead, waiting patiently for him to speak.
“So, ye’ve spent yer last months whorin’ for the Norwyck laird.”
His words were delivered like a slap, and Mairi felt color flood her face. But she did not reply.
“Carmag doesna’ mind,” Lachann said, moving to stand before the fire. “A virginal bride is a bane to her bridegroom.”
Mairi swallowed and held her tongue as Lachann barked out a harsh laugh. She would not give her father any reason to suspect she would not be compliant. And tonight, she would get herself and her mother out of Braemar Keep.
There was no reason why she should not take a walk through the village later and see where her father kept his horses, and where his knights were billeted. She would take blankets, water skins and a bit of food, too, if she could find them. If not, then she and Teàrlag would make do without. After all, ’twas not such a long ride to Norwyck.
If only Bartholomew did not hate her for her lies. Mairi hoped that Eleanor had made him understand that she had left Norwyck only to free her, and not to run away to Braemar Keep the moment the opportunity arose.
Bartholomew had to understand that she wanted naught to do with Laird Armstrong or her corrupt brother.
“The ceremony will be short,” Lachann said, striding toward the chamber door. “Carmag will wed ye, then bed ye, and ye’ll be off to Castle MacEwen before his seed has dried upon y
er thighs.”
And with those crude words, Lachann turned and left, slamming and barring the door behind him.
“Oh, Mairi,” Teàrlag cried. “He’s locked you in!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Norwyck men were deadly quiet in the grove at the base of the hill. They were deep in Armstrong territory, and their situation was perilous. To attack now would bring down a shower of arrows upon them.
Yet waiting gave Armstrong time enough to discover their location and begin his own attack.
Bartholomew knew that this strategy—lying in wait—was untraditional, mayhap even cowardly. Knights should meet openly in battle, and not hide from the enemy until the time was ripe.
But he had too much to lose.
Mairi’s life, her love, their bairn…He would not risk them for honor’s sake. He would come away the victor, and use whatever method was necessary.
“My lord,” Duncan said, “there is a good deal more activity in the village than we saw last eve.”
Bart looked up through the trees toward the keep, but did not notice anything significant, other than a few more fires. “What do you make of it?”
“None of us can see so far, my lord,” the knight replied. “I’ve sent men up as far as we dare, to try and spy.”
“’Tis all we can do now,” Bart said, moving to the edge of the wood, “without giving our position away.”
He gazed up at the hill. There was no doubt that a great deal of activity was going on. Archers still patrolled, but the rest of the men were at work doing other things. Building a siege machine?
A cloud of smoke hovered over Braemar’s hill, and Bart had no doubt that the villagers’ fires were larger and more numerous than usual. What were they doing? Was one the smithy’s fire, and mayhap the armorer’s?
Women were out and about, too, and Bart wondered if Armstrong had figured some way to use them in battle. Then a new thought occurred to him.
“Is there any chance Lady Mairi was brought here without our knowing, Duncan?”
“’Tis possible, my lord,” he replied. “The fog was quite dense this morn before the rain began. We might very well have missed her.”
Bart cursed under his breath. If Mairi was already here…
“What of Laird MacEwen?” Bart asked. “Is he still at Braemar?”
“Aye, my lord,” Duncan replied. “As far as we know.”
Bart turned away and paced the ground. If Armstrong had managed to get Mairi to Braemar, and if Carmag were already here, there would be naught to stop their marriage from taking place. Naught but Bartholomew Holton and all the forces he could muster.
He turned back and gazed up at the village and at Armstrong’s pitiful keep. Cookfires, women out and about, light emanating from the church…’Twas a wedding that was planned, Bart thought. Though his eyes were good, he wished they were better, so that he might see exactly what was going on up there.
“As soon as your men return, have them report to me,” he ordered.
“Aye, my lord.”
Mairi sat quietly with her mother in her solar. Teàrlag was nervous, jumping at every sound, repeatedly glancing at the heavy oaken door. Mairi tried to distract her by speaking of her years with Caitir, and of the odd happenstance that had caused Alain to wash up on MacEwen’s shore.
“I thought he drowned,” Mairi said.
“Aye, he thought the same of you,” Teàrlag repeated as tears welled in her eyes. “’Twas a terrible storm that brought down your ship.”
“What is it, Mother?” Mairi asked. She thought all the emotion they had in them had been wrung out in the past few hours.
Teàrlag covered her mouth with one hand and shook her head. “I was almost glad…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I could rest easy knowing you’d never be compelled to wed the MacEwen…”
Gently, Mairi took her mother’s cold, thin hands in her own. She knew she would feel the same if her own daughter were forced to wed such a man as Carmag. “’Twill be all right,” she whispered. “’Twill be all right.”
The door opened and a handsome young man swaggered into the solar, letting the door slam behind him. Mairi knew at once that this was Dùghlas, her brother. She stood.
He clucked his tongue and walked ’round her. “Ye’ve grown into a comely wench,” he said, looking her over. “Never would ha’ thought it when ye left Braemar.”
Mairi remained silent. She would not be goaded into an unpleasant discussion with this worm of a man, this seducer of another man’s wife.
Keeping his hands clasped behind him, he prowled the room. “Where’s yer English lover?” he asked, sneering. “Not come t’ rescue ye?”
“Why should he?” Mairi replied carefully. “He has no use of a Scots mistress. Now that he knows who I am…” She shrugged, as if Lord Norwyck’s whereabouts meant naught to her.
“Clever of ye to tell him the tale of yer lost memory,” Dùghlas said. “Ye had it right nice fer all those weeks, did ye?”
Mairi bit the inside of her mouth to keep from responding. As comely as Dùghlas was, Mairi sensed that he was rotten to the core. He cast about, with the hope of getting a rise out of her, for the sheer pleasure of knowing he could do it.
But Mairi refused to play.
“Let your sister be, Dùghlas,” Teàrlag said in a low, tense voice.
Dùghlas let out a laugh that chilled Mairi’s bones. ’Twas clear that her brother had no respect or regard for their mother. Mairi could not expect him to hold any for her, either.
“Norwyck’s wife said her husband returned from Scotland with no stomach for war,” Dùghlas said, warming his hands in front of the fire. An ugly gleam of hate shone in his beautiful eyes. “She told me he vowed never to take up arms against a Scot again.”
Mairi did not know if what Dùghlas said was true. Certainly, Bartholomew had been reluctant to do battle with clan Armstrong, but she thought he’d only been prudently waiting for the opportune moment. She had seen him on his practice field, day after day, with Norwyck’s knights. Surely there had been good reason for all that training.
And surely the man who’d told Lachann about her existence at Norwyck would have mentioned the vast number of knights at Norwyck’s disposal.
“Aye,” Mairi finally said. “He is loath to go to battle. He and his men train daily, but I know he hopes never to have to use that training.”
Dùghlas nodded. “Lachann has been testing him….”
Mairi knew this must be true. Her father had done all he could to provoke Bartholomew, but had not succeeded. Mayhap she could strengthen their belief in Bartholomew’s cowardice and Norwyck’s lack of preparedness with a few more well-placed words. Though she had no reason to think Bartholomew would attempt to take her from Braemar Keep, she would give Lachann and Dùghlas no information that would further their cause.
On the contrary, she would do what she could to confound them.
“Lord Norwyck remains distraught over the loss of his brother and his wife.”
Dùghlas smiled evilly. “Aye. ’Twas some of m’best work. Felicia was a slut, even years ago, when I knew her in France. ’Twas no great feat to seduce her while Norwyck was away….”
Mairi bristled while Dùghlas continued his tale of treachery and deception. She was disgusted.
“Lady Mairi.”
As startled by the deep voice as Teàrlag was, Mairi turned to see Father Murray at the door. She felt her mother’s alarm subside when she saw that ’twas only the priest.
“If ye care to make yer confession before yer nuptials, lass…”
“Aye, Father.”
“Out with ye, Murray!” Dùghlas shouted. “I’ve no’ finished with ’er yet.”
“Yer pardon, Dùghlas,” Murray said, though his tone was defiant.
Teàrlag remained quiet, though Mairi noted the set of her jaw and her pinched lips. ’Twas obvious to Mairi that her mother was no happier with the situation than she was. But what could they
do? Dùghlas would be certain to lock Mairi in overnight, to guarantee that there would be a bride here for MacEwen upon the morrow.
She wondered if she could rely upon the priest for any assistance. He had already told her he could not help her once she was wed, but what about before?
“Will ye send fer me when yer ready?”
“Aye, Father,” Mairi said quietly. Mayhap when she spoke to him outside her brother’s presence, she would be able to convince him to help her get herself and Teàrlag away from Braemar.
Father Murray left the solar, and Mairi and her mother were left, once again, with Dùghlas.
“How many men has Norwyck under his command?”
“I do not know,” Mairi said, which was true.
“Does he train archers? Swordsmen?”
Mairi shook her head. “I cannot say that I ever saw any archers,” she replied, with a silent prayer that her lie would be forgiven.
Dùghlas paced back and forth before the fire. “Tell me of th’ wall he builds.”
Mairi could see no harm in discussing this very obvious defense, and decided to embellish the facts. “’Tis nearly finished,” she said. “There was an accident awhile back…part of the wall fell, but they’ve repaired it and are near to finishing.”
“Does Norwyck think he can keep us out?”
“They’ll have two wells within, Dùghlas,” she said, “and stores such as you’ve never seen. ’Tis entirely possible to withstand a long siege with such provisions.”
Dùghlas frowned and considered Mairi’s words.
“And since Lord Norwyck wishes to avoid battle at all costs—”
The chamber door opened again, admitting Lachann Armstrong. He seemed different, more angry now, more volatile than before, and Mairi knew she would have to take great care as she dealt with him.
He approached her slowly, ominously, just as a predator would advance on its prey. Mairi heard Teàrlag’s quick intake of breath, just before the back of Lachann’s hand crashed across Mairi’s jaw. The blow knocked her to the straw-covered floor and she remained there, with her head reeling, her split lip bleeding.
Norwyck's Lady Page 22