The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  “I could hardly help that, now could I? And at first I believed the same as you about what they were up to in the kitchen.” From the discomfort in Niall’s voice, she could tell he’d rather be rubbed with stinging nettles than discussing this with her. “But ye see, Dina is the sort of woman to drop her clothes without a man even asking.”

  Sìleas sat up in the bed and glared down at the dark shape on the floor. “And how would ye know this, Niall MacDonald?”

  “Well… Dina did it for me,” he said.

  Sìleas’s mouth fell open. How dare Dina work her wiles on Niall? He was a boy still—despite being over six feet tall.

  And Dina’s tendency to shed her clothes did not explain how the MacDonald Crystal ended up around her neck.

  “Are ye expecting me to believe nothing happened in that kitchen?” she snapped. “Is that what happened when Dina took her clothes off for you, Niall? Nothing?”

  Niall’s silence confirmed his guilt.

  “Your mother would be ashamed of ye.” Sìleas lay back down and punched her pillow a few times to fluff it.

  “I am not a married man,” Niall said. “And what I do with a willing woman is no concern of my mother’s.”

  “Hmmph. I’m disgusted with the lot of ye,” she said, turning her back on him and pulling the blanket up to her ears.

  The noise from the tavern below was all that interrupted the long silence between them, until, finally, Niall spoke again.

  “If I had a wife like you, Sìl, I wouldn’t have taken what Dina offered.” Niall paused. “That’s why I keep thinking that maybe Ian didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have. Maybe ye ought to give him a chance to tell ye what happened.”

  Sìleas tossed and turned on the narrow cot half the night, slapping at the bugs in the straw mattress and thinking of what Niall had said. She had such an abiding weakness for Ian MacDonald that she could almost believe anything that would absolve him.

  When she felt her resolve begin to fade, she made herself remember seeing Ian in all his naked glory, his cock standing at the ready, and Dina right behind him without a stitch on—except for the pouch with Sìleas’s crystal hanging between her breasts.

  Every time she managed to set aside her thoughts about Ian and Dina, she tossed and turned, worrying about meeting the queen. Was she on a fool’s errand, bringing her problem to the queen? Ach, but she was tired of men deciding what to do with her. A woman was bound to be more concerned with her than with her castle.

  Even if the queen chose not to help her, what harm could there be in asking?

  When Sìleas got tired of slapping at the bugs and chasing her thoughts in endless circles, she got up and lay on the hard floor a little ways from Niall. She was grateful to him for staying with her and respecting her decision, even if what she did seemed foolish to him.

  By annulling her marriage to Ian, she would also sever her formal tie with Niall. That was one more loss, and a hard one. She lay listening to him breathing, knowing Niall would always be the brother of her heart. She hoped he felt the same and that she would not lose him as well.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sìleas paced the tiny room above the tavern, regretting with every turn that she had let Niall talk her into waiting here while he delivered her letter to the castle. At the sound of a knock, she picked up her dirk from the bed and put her ear to the door.

  “Sìleas, let me in.”

  It was Niall, so she slid the bolt back. “I was worried half to death. What took ye so long?”

  “Don’t ye look fine, now,” Niall said, taking in her gown.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said. “Will the queen see me?”

  “The guards laughed at me when I told them I would wait for the queen’s answer,” Niall said, as he dropped onto the cot. “But an hour later, they gave me the message that the queen will see us this morning.”

  Sìleas’s stomach suddenly felt as if she had eaten a pound of lead instead of watery porridge for breakfast. She was actually going to see the queen.

  “I’ve no mirror,” she said. “Can ye help me with my hair?”

  Niall’s eyes went wide, but he dutifully took the pins from her hand. After she twisted her wild waves into a coil at the back of her head, he stood behind her and attempted to pin it in place. Niall could shoot a straight arrow, but he turned out to be all thumbs when it came to hair.

  “I’ll just tie it back with my ribbon,” she said when it kept falling loose after three attempts. After she finished, she turned in a circle. “Do ye think this will do for court?”

  “You’re sure to be the loveliest lass there,” Niall said, giving her a wide smile.

  As they walked up the steep hill through the town to the castle, unease crept up Sìleas’s spine and slowed her steps. No wonder Payton said the baby king would be safe in Stirling Castle. The gatehouse, which projected out from the curtain wall to form the castle’s fortified entrance, was enormous. Sìleas’s gaze traveled from the gatehouse’s four round towers to the equally massive square towers at the corners of the wall that faced the town.

  “We can go home,” Niall said. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “We’ve come this far,” she said. “It would be discourteous to refuse the queen’s invitation—especially after I asked for it.”

  They crossed the drawbridge and showed their summons to the men standing guard at the entrance between the first two round towers. After checking the seal on the letter, the guards waved them through.

  Sìleas felt as if she couldn’t breathe inside the gatehouse with tons of stone above and on either side of her. As they passed through it, she saw that there was yet another set of massive round towers facing the interior of the castle. The pressure on her chest eased as they emerged into the light on the other side.

  “This is where I waited yesterday,” Niall said. “It’s called the Outer Close.”

  In front of them was a building made of shining pink stone that was so beautiful it took Sìleas’s breath away. The building was immense, yet graceful, with high windows and slender towers that appeared to be decorative rather than defensive. Carved figures of lions with crowns and a horned mythical creature she didn’t know were perched at intervals along the center line of its peaked roof.

  A guard who had followed them pointed to an arched gate next to the building. “Go through there.”

  Sìleas and Niall passed under the arch and entered the castle’s inner courtyard. The building with the decorative towers was to their right. A second large building made of the same shining stone stood opposite. Bordering the far side of the courtyard was a smaller building with stained-glass windows that must be a chapel. Servants, soldiers, and well-dressed courtiers hurried across the courtyard looking as though they knew where they were going.

  “Which building do ye suppose the queen is in?” she whispered to Niall.

  He shrugged and nodded toward the building with the decorative towers. “This one’s the biggest.”

  When they approached the guards, the men looked Sìleas up and down as if she might be hiding a dirk beneath her skirts—which of course she was. Still, she was relieved to see that they were Highlanders.

  “We’re looking for the queen,” Niall said.

  “This is the Great Hall, which is only used for grand occasions.” The guard who spoke was a man of about forty, with muscular legs the size of tree trunks and laughter in his eyes. “But since the lass has such a lovely smile, I’ll let the two of ye have a wee peek.”

  After glancing left and right, he opened the door and motioned them inside.

  Sìleas found herself in a room that was perhaps three stories high, with five fireplaces, and a roof with heavy wooden beams that crossed to form angled arches.

  “The babe James V was crowned in here not long ago,” the guard said. “ ’Tis the largest hall in all of Scotland—even larger than the one in Edinburgh Castle.”

  The guard spoke with as much pride as if he
’d built the hall himself.

  “ ’Tis a grand sight, and I thank ye kindly for letting us see it,” Sìleas said. “But the queen is expecting us. Can ye tell us where we may find her?”

  The guard opened the door and pointed across the courtyard. “She’s keeping court across the way, in what is called the King’s House.”

  When Sìleas started to follow Niall out, the guard stopped her with a touch on her arm.

  “Let me give ye a wee bit of advice, lass,” he said, leaning close enough for her to smell the onions on his breath. “Don’t go in there with just the lad. Wait and come back with your father and a few other men of your clan.”

  “He’s my brother, and he’ll look out for me,” she said, managing a smile.

  The King’s House was an impressive building, though it lacked the soaring elegance of the Great Hall. Well-dressed men and women moved along its covered wooden galleries, which served as outside corridors to the upper floors.

  “We must keep our wits about us,” Niall said in her ear, as they crossed the courtyard. “If the queen is at all like her godforsaken brother, she’ll be crafty and willful.”

  “That describes most of the men I know,” Sìleas said, “so I should be well prepared.”

  “Watch out for the Earl of Angus, Archibald Douglas, as well.”

  “The Douglas chieftain?” she asked. “Of what concern is he to us?”

  “Last night while ye were washing up, I heard that the queen relies on him for advice.” Niall leaned closer. “In fact, they say she has taken the Douglas to her bed.”

  Sìleas turned to stare at him. “But the king is hardly cold in his grave.”

  “Aye, and she carries the dead king’s child,” Niall said in a low voice. “All the same, they say the queen is quite taken with the Douglas—and that the Douglas is quite taken with the notion of ruling Scotland.”

  They had reached the entrance to the King’s House, where they were met by another set of guards, who directed them to wait inside the hall until they were called.

  Sìleas was immediately glad she wore an English-style gown, which was high-waisted and closer fitting than her everyday gowns, since all the women wore them. Hers, however, was simpler and far more modest than the ones the other women were wearing. Although there was a sprinkling of Highlanders dressed in saffron linen shirts and plaids, most of the men in the hall also wore English clothes.

  Sìleas crossed the room, drawn by the spectacular view through the windows on the opposite side of the hall. When she reached the windows and looked down, it appeared that the King’s House had been built on the very edge of the sheer cliffs.

  “Ye can see for miles from here. Ach, that looks like Ben Lomond,” Niall said, pointing.

  “I believe it is.” They both turned at the sound of a light, feminine voice behind them.

  If the woman hadn’t spoken to them in English, Sìleas would have thought she was looking at a faerie queen. She had hair the color of moonbeams and sparkles in her headdress, which framed a face with lovely, delicate features. A rose-colored gown with a silvery sheen floated about her—except for the tight-fitting bodice, which had a square neck that revealed the tops of small, perfect breasts.

  Faerie or no, Niall was staring with his jaw hanging open, as if enchanted.

  “You are new to Court, or I would know you,” the woman said with a bright smile at Niall.

  Either Niall was too enthralled to speak or his English was failing him. Sìleas’s English was poorer than his, but she managed to say, “We have just arrived.”

  “Ah, you are Highlanders.” The woman let her eyes drift over Niall again. “In truth, I knew by your size—and that wild handsomeness—that you were a Highlander.”

  Niall swelled like a toad at the blatant flattery.

  “Welcome to Stirling,” the woman said. “My name is Lady Philippa Boynton.”

  Philippa. The name was like a knife in Sìleas’s heart. Philippa was the name of the young woman Ian had told her about that fateful night they slept in the woods.

  “Have ye been in Stirling long yourself?” Sìleas asked, wondering if she could truly be having the bad luck to be meeting the woman Ian had wished to marry.

  “Not long this time,” the woman said, turning her sparkling eyes on Sìleas. “These days, I spend more time in London, but I have been to Stirling many times.”

  “Were ye here at the castle five years ago?” Sìleas asked in a tight voice.

  The woman gave a laugh that made Sìleas think of tiny bells. “Why yes, I believe I was. I stayed here for several months about that time. How did you guess?”

  Ach, it was her—the woman Ian had wished to marry.

  The memory of that night came back sharply—the rough ground beneath her, the chill in the air, the night sky above her. But most of all, she remembered the wistfulness in Ian’s voice as he spoke about a lady with a tinkling laugh and the grace of a faerie—and a beauty so enchanting that a young man who was not ready to marry would decide he was.

  Ian had failed to mention that Philippa was English. If he had been willing to tell his father and chieftain he wished to wed an English lady, then Ian must have wanted her very badly indeed.

  The faerie woman was looking at Sìleas as if she were waiting for a response. Sìleas had no recollection of the question, so she shook her head and let Lady Philippa believe she had not understood her English.

  Sìleas was relieved when a young man in English livery interrupted them.

  “Her Highness the Queen will see you now,” he said, giving Sìleas a slight bow. “I’ll escort you to her private parlor.”

  Sìleas nodded to Lady Philippa and took Niall’s arm. As they followed the servant across the room, Niall stared at Lady Philippa over his shoulder.

  The servant took them through an arched doorway, then stopped at the base of a circular stairs. “Only the lady is invited.”

  “She goes nowhere without me,” Niall said.

  “The audience will be in the queen’s private apartments,” the man said. “The queen and her ladies’ privacy must be respected.”

  Sìleas tugged Niall to the side. “It will be all women in the queen’s apartments, so there’s nothing for ye to fret about.”

  Niall didn’t look as though he liked it, but he didn’t argue when she gave him a bright smile and picked up her skirts to follow the servant up the stairs.

  A short time later, Sìleas found herself in the queen’s bedchamber. Several ladies lounged on couches or on silk and brocade pillows on the floor, while the queen herself sat in a high-backed chair with her surprisingly tiny feet propped up on a stool and a ratlike dog in her lap. She was a buxom woman with beady eyes that matched her dog’s and heavy, glittering rings on every plump finger.

  Standing next to her, with a hand resting on the back of her chair, was a darkly handsome man of about Ian’s age, with a well-groomed beard and hard eyes. Judging from his fine clothes and the way he held himself, Sìleas guessed this was the Earl of Angus, Archibald Douglas. She’d heard that his father had died at Flodden, making him the head of his clan—the Douglas, himself.

  Sìleas’s mouth was dry as she stepped forward and made her curtsy, hoping she was doing it correctly.

  “You are Sìleas MacDonald from the Isle of Skye?” the queen asked.

  Sìleas had not foreseen that the queen would have no Gaelic. Her husband, though a Lowlander, had won favor with Highlanders by learning to speak Gaelic. He had been a great lover of Highland music as well.

  “She may have no English,” the man Sìleas assumed was Archibald Douglas said.

  “I do speak a little English,” Sìleas said.

  The queen gave an impatient sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward.

  Sìleas took a deep breath to calm herself, then said. “Your Highness, I’ve come a long way to ask for your help in obtaining an annulment from the church.”

  While the queen scrunched her face up as if Sìleas were somet
hing her dog left behind, the Douglas looked her up and down as if she was standing in her chemise. What a rude pair these two were. As they say, Put silk on a goat and it is still a goat.

  “So, you’ve found another man you wish to wed?” The queen turned to her ladies and added, “ ’Tis the usual reason.”

  Sìleas felt herself color. “No, Your Highness, I have not.”

  “So there’s no urgency?” the queen asked, raising her plucked eyebrows. “You’re not carrying another man’s child?”

  Sìleas’s face felt burning hot. She shook her head violently this time.

  The Douglas asked her in Gaelic, “So, you are a virgin?”

  “That is an overly familiar question, sir,” she answered in Gaelic, meeting his gaze.

  The Douglas turned to the queen and graced her with a dazzling smile. “I know it’s tedious for you to speak with someone who has such difficulty with English.”

  The man made Sìleas angry enough to spit. Her English was not as bad as that.

  “It doesn’t help that the lass is flustered speaking to royalty for the first time.” The Douglas spoke to the queen in a voice as smooth and slippery as melting lard. “Shall I take care of this problem for you?”

  The queen flashed a sharp look at Sìleas, but she shifted her gaze away when the Douglas whispered something in her ear that made her neck flush. A moment later, he walked to the door that led outside to the gallery and flicked his hand at Sìleas, signaling for her to follow him.

  Apprehension prickled at her skin as she followed him, but she didn’t want to remain with the queen, either. Once they were on the gallery—and out of the queen’s view—he held her arm against his body in a firm grip that increased her unease. She reminded herself that she was in a palace surrounded by soldiers and guards. Surely she had nothing to fear.

  After passing three doors, he opened the fourth, which led into a small parlor. She was relieved to see two servants, who leapt to their feet and bowed as they entered. Sìleas glanced through the open door to her right—and her heart beat faster when she glimpsed an imposing bed with a dark wood frame and heavy crimson curtains.