The Laird's Vow

by Heather Grothaus

  Tavish remembered the feeling of being watched after he’d hidden his coin chest below the cliff. “Think you he was trying for the cave?”

  Dubhán’s normally generous mouth was pressed into a thin line. “It is possible. With all the rain, the path has been nearly washed away.”

  “Stupid bastard got caught in the vines,” Tavish muttered.

  “An accident?” Glenna asked. “But what about Audrey? And the blood I saw at the doocot?”

  Before Tavish could answer, the monk thrust a bandaged arm from his voluminous sleeve. “’Twas my accident, Lady Glenna,” he said with a serene smile. “I was careless with my own blade in making cuttings of branches for the doves, nothing more. I regret to have caused you distress.”

  Tavish tucked the pale Glenna beneath his arm and turned her toward the cliff path. “If anyone from the village should come, Dubhán, let’s keep this incident quiet lest we cause a panic among the guests.”

  “Aye, laird,” Dubhán called after him. “Not to worry. The lord will keep us all, of that I am certain.”

  Chapter 18

  Glenna followed Tavish down the path away from the cemetery, her hand clasped tightly in his much larger palm. She was grateful for his insistent urging, his deliberate silence; her knees felt too fragile to support her should she come to a halt. Her face tingled with the shock of what she’d seen, her ears buzzed with snippets of conversation from moments ago, days, weeks, even years into the past. The words, the circumstances all whirled together as if in a cyclone until no voice was clear, no meaning evident.

  Look closely at the portrait in the hall and you’ll see it. You’ve been lied to you all your life.

  Frang Roy was dead. Audrey Keane had vanished. And the king of Scotland was at their very threshold.

  The pouch of poison still hidden behind her wardrobe… It’ll take longer that way, mayhap a pair of days.

  Even though the gentle cliff path was just as real and solid beneath her feet as the wide and commanding presence of Tavish Cameron before her eyes, in her mind she still stood in the graveyard staring at the farmer’s rough-clothed body, swaying in the brisk wind of the Forth.

  I’ll already have all the coin I could ever want.

  Tavish led her around the village, although if it was an attempt to circumnavigate the residents, his effort was in vain. Glenna heard the loud chatter of the crowd even as they came up the path toward the Tower, and when they at last were in view of the Tower road, Glenna could see that the village side of the moat was lined with onlookers. She kept her head down as Tavish pulled her through the crowd and barely heard Tavish’s responses to the calls of those gathered. The abrupt, echoing blare of trumpets seemed to fill the air, causing Glenna to flinch, and in the next moment they were nearly running over the span of the moat.

  The darkness of the entry corridor swallowed them up, and Glenna let out a sigh, unaware that she had been holding her breath. Tavish released her and charged toward the courtyard, calling out orders to a handful of men loitering about the portcullis. Glenna herself looked around at the clusters of women servants with their heads ducked together, whispering. Glenna didn’t know if their gossip involved her or not, but it didn’t matter; they were retainers in her house—while it was still her house—and their king would arrive at any moment.

  “You there,” she said to the nearest group, marching toward them while she flung out an arm toward another clutch near the east stairwell. “You all, as well. If you wish to remain household servants, you’d do well to act as such. You, straighten your cap; retie that apron—you look as though you’ve just come from the privy. You—straightaway to the kitchen with the order to prepare refreshments.”

  “But, miss, I wish to see—”

  “Go,” Glenna insisted. She felt a lock of her hair being tugged, and she turned with a gasp to see a young maid with a small, plain wooden comb in her hand.

  “Beg pardon, miss. Your hair…”

  Glenna’s hand went immediately to her curls, rioting from her hastily attached veil. “Good lord,” she breathed, and her cheeks burned at the idea that she had been chastising the servants when she herself likely looked worse for her trip to the cliff.

  The girl smiled and with a quick flick of her wrist had whisked the veil away. Several hard tugs and twists from the maid’s deft grip brought tears to Glenna’s eyes, but she held perfectly still. The girl shook out the linen, creased the front with a sharp sound between thumb and forefinger nail, and then whipped it back over Glenna’s head, reaching up once to tent the peak.

  “There you are, miss,” the girl said and then gave a quick curtsey before she began to turn away.

  “Wait,” Glenna said, reaching out and taking hold of the girl’s arm. “What is your name?”

  “Anne, Miss.”

  “Thank you, Anne,” Glenna said. “Perhaps…perhaps you would consider work as a lady’s maid?”

  “I’ve not been a lady’s maid, miss.”

  “And I’ve not had one. So neither of us shall know when the other has a misstep.”

  The girl gave a sweet smile before bobbing in a curtsey, and Glenna released her.

  Tavish was back at her side in that moment, and Glenna noticed his flushed face, the grim set of his mouth. Even his normally bright eyes were flat and steely. The trumpets blared again, causing Glenna to jump at their nearness. The heavy clomping of horse hooves on the bridge seemed to rap at the door ahead of their riders’ arrival. She looked up at Tavish in the same moment that he turned his face toward hers.

  “And so the princess meets the king,” Tavish said. “Are you ready?”

  Glenna straightened her backbone even further and lifted her chin, commanded the trembling of her body to cease even as her heartbeat caused her vision to dance in time to the blood pounding in her ears. “Aye.”

  Tavish’s mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile and then winked. “May the best laird win.”

  Glenna raised an eyebrow as he reached for the door handle to swing the heavy slab of wood inward. “Forgive me, but I didn’t see a laird enter. Is he hiding behind you?”

  She saw the edge of his cheek rise in a genuine smile, but then the door was open, and her gaze was only for the somber-looking man commanding the large black horse toward them with apparent ease. The bridge behind James was queued with riders in a line extending onto the road—Glenna guessed at least a score, most of them soldiers by appearance.

  Tavish stepped onto the stones just beyond the door and took hold of the reins while the king dismounted. A squire appeared and led the horse through the corridor while Tavish sank to one knee with a bowed head.

  “My liege,” he said. “Welcome to Tower Roscraig.”

  “Cameron,” James said as Tavish stood. Glenna at last saw the much-rumored red stain covering half the king’s face, his long nose and protruding eyes and chin. “’Tis not often I have such leisure to view the Forth from its opposite bank. I’ve not been to Roscraig since I was very young. I forgot that you were situated on such a promontory—a great military advantage.”

  “Aye, my liege,” Tavish acquiesced. “As well as for commerce. The Forth is deep beyond our dock.”

  “Is that so?” James said musingly. “I would very much like a tour. Will you accompany me?”

  Tavish paused for only half a heartbeat before responding, and Glenna knew he was thinking about the search for Audrey Keane.

  “Of course, my liege.” Tavish gestured toward the entry.

  Glenna had felt her own frustration rising the longer the king ignored her and spoke of Roscraig as if it were already Tavish’s. But then James turned his face toward her and stepped through the doorway, and his somber countenance softened as his eyes found Glenna. Behind her, the chamber was filled with the rustling of servants sinking into their bows and curtsies, and Glenna too paid her homage.

&nb
sp; “Glenna Douglas,” James said. “We are well met. How fares your father?”

  “My liege,” Glenna replied, startled at his graciousness. “He has improved in great measure only this morn. You honor him with your kindness—I didn’t know His Majesty was aware of the laird’s illness.”

  “Cameron informed me of the dire state of your father’s health some weeks ago; I’ve been kept appraised of late by others visiting my court. Roscraig’s fate has suddenly become of keen interest to me.”

  At those words, the line of companions and courtiers traveling with the king began filing through the entry, and a brilliant flash of jewels caught her eye. She glanced up for only an instant to see Vaughn Hargrave leading his horse past, a well-dressed young woman following behind him on her own mount, who looked somehow familiar to Glenna.

  Tavish was at her side then, his jaw squared and his eyes hard once more. “I’ve no wish to offend you, my liege, certainly not when you’ve just arrived, but I cannot abide the presence of that Englishman at the Tower.”

  James glanced over his shoulder. “Lord Hargrave, you mean?”

  Tavish nodded curtly. “He arrived uninvited in my hall and has made no secret of his intent to cause upset at Roscraig.”

  “Upset, aye. You would be a fool not to be unsettled by him,” the king acknowledged. “I admit the man is more cumbersome to drag along behind me than is his sizeable purse. But as it is he who has lent his support to Roscraig these many years, I cannot discount his testimony, nor will I bar him from the court. Besides, I rather prefer knowing his whereabouts.”

  “The woman who rides with him,” Glenna asked before she could think better of it. “Who is she?”

  The king gave her a little smile. “My dear, you would be better content to mind the health of your father this afternoon, and join Cameron and me at supper. I insist that you join us. Aye, that is a more pleasant thought.” Glenna’s throat tightened as she realized she was being dismissed, both literally and figuratively. The king turned his back to her. “I would see the hall, Cameron.”

  Tavish looked at Glenna and nodded. His expression asked her to trust him, and although she wished to demand the king’s acknowledgment, she sensed that this was neither the time nor the place.

  “This way, my liege,” Tavish said and walked with the king toward the east tower, leaving Glenna to follow until the men reached the entrance to the hall.

  Glenna continued up the stairs to her father’s chamber, where Harriet answered her quiet knock at once.

  “He’s sleeping,” she said quietly as she let Glenna pass. “I saw the procession…”

  “The king has arrived,” Glenna confirmed as she crossed the floor. Upon reaching the bed, she gathered her skirts and climbed upon the mattress and lay down on her side with her head near her father’s shoulder. She let her hand rest in the angular hollow of his elbow. “Miss Keane is missing, and Frang Roy has been found dead on the cliff.”

  Harriet gasped but did not press Glenna for details, and Glenna continued to stare toward the bright square of window without further comment. After several moments, Glenna heard the door close, and the silence in the room swelled around her father’s rasping breaths.

  “The king is here, Da,” she whispered. “And a bad man. And I don’t know what will happen to us.”

  There was no floor now. Glenna was falling, falling, through one disaster after the other, with no way to arrest her descent. The only champion who might have been able to save her lay at her side, now without voice, without strength of body. She didn’t think she’d ever felt so tired in all her life. She closed her eyes against the frustrated and fearful tears and escaped into sleep.

  * * * *

  Tavish walked through the hall at the king’s side, discussing with the man the improvements done to Roscraig and the future plans Tavish had for the hold. They spoke of roofs and fortifications and crops; once they arrived at the long windows flanking the hearth, the conversation turned to seafaring industries, ships, and defense of the shores. While the king held forth on the newest advances in artillery fortifications and powdered weaponry, Tavish watched the small, black figures moving up and down the beach in either direction away from the Tower.

  The men searching for Audrey.

  “—would allow one to fire on an enemy ship from the walls without equipping a ship, and potentially losing the weapon to the depths,” the king was saying. He looked left and right out the window. “Aye, the point there would be ideal for artillery fire. I am very much looking forward to viewing it.”

  “My liege,” Tavish began, “the woman with Hargrave, do you know her?”

  “She is his mistress, I presume,” James said, walking to the hearth in order to stare up at the portrait hung on the stones. “At least that is what I’ve distilled from the wild tales being told at court. Vile stuff, I assure you, although ’tis likely the stories are inflated because he’s English. I know of no men who actually crave such blood sport in their bed. This portrait is exquisite.” He turned his face toward Tavish. “The infamous Annesley?”

  Tavish nodded, unwilling to yet voice his suspicion that the stony-faced young woman riding behind Hargrave as if she were of the nobility had been posing as a servant at the Tower for an unknown length of time.

  What if she had been involved in Audrey’s disappearance?

  I want revenge…and I shall begin my recompense with you.

  “Cunning man. I am not of the habit of blaming the son for the crimes of the father,” James said carefully. “And I admit that there is a part of me who is secretly hoping you are victorious over the challenges you face. However, I have already collected much information about your past that is forcing me to question the wisdom of allowing you a lairdship, Cameron. Hargrave is not the only man who has spoken out against you.”

  “My liege?” Tavish asked, startled by both the king’s candor and the nature of the warning.

  “Master Keane complains that you have yet to formally accept the betrothal agreement put forth after your arrival at Roscraig. He claims his daughter has been humiliated by your relationship with Glenna Douglas.” The king cocked his head. “Are you sleeping with her?”

  Tavish ground his teeth together. “We have…become close, my liege. But there is no betrothal agreement. Miss Keane and I have been acquainted for some years, and her father sent her in anticipation of my acceptance.”

  “I see,” James said with a knowing nod. “Far be it for me to shame a man for the company he keeps—especially when that company is as beautiful as Glenna Douglas. I couldn’t help but notice that Miss Keane was conspicuously absent at my arrival. And now perhaps you can understand why I discouraged Miss Douglas from accompanying us. You already know that Master Keane is held in high regard by the burgess.” The king paused. “Who is now prepared to swear an oath that you caused the death of your stepfather. He claims Dolan Cameron discovered you were not his true son, and before he could disavow you, you killed him.”

  Tavish swallowed. “That’s not true.”

  “And that it was you who caused the fire that took not only the shop on Market Street, but several of the adjoining dwellings, so that the burgess had nothing to assume for the tolls he says you still owe.”

  “No, my liege. I was already at Roscraig when my captain brought word of the fire. The Stygian was current on her tolls when we left the city.”

  The king sighed. “We will not argue it here, of course. But you should know that the burgess has asked that your license be revoked on suspicion of smuggling. He’s requested the Stygian in payment for the tolls and as compensation for the buildings consumed in the blaze he claims you set.”

  Tavish was speechless for several moments. “I can only hope that I will sufficiently disprove those accusations when I am called upon to do so, my liege.”

  “As do I, Cameron,” the king said. “Were I
you, I would command your captain to give Leith a wide berth until this is settled.”

  “I will certainly do that, my liege.”

  “Good. Now, I think I’ll rest a bit before this evening’s festivities.”

  Tavish’s head was spinning so that it took all his control to speak calmly, move with steady purpose, as he accompanied the king’s leisurely progress down the stairs and to the west tower, while the king admired Roscraig’s thick masonry work. By the time they reached the quarters reserved for the monarch, Tavish was ready to jump out of his own skin. Two of the king’s soldiers already stood guard, and they straightened to attention at James’s approach.

  “Roscraig is at your disposal if you should be in want of anything, my liege,” Tavish said at last, feeling the relief of his imminent escape.

  “My thanks, Cameron.” He seized the handle but then paused. “One more thing—perhaps I should not mention it to you now, but I do not think Hargrave is yet aware, and my instincts tell me that you should be first to have this knowledge. It shall likely mean little to you any matter, never having known him. Thomas Annesley was never hanged in London. He somehow managed to escape before the trial, and the only signs found of him indicate that he chose to take his own life rather than be executed.” James opened the door. “Until tonight, then.”

  Tavish bowed woodenly. “My liege.”

  He turned and walked down the steps, pausing at Audrey’s closed door. He leaned his forehead against the wood and knocked softly before engaging the handle and pushing the door open, praying that he would open his eyes and see her sitting on the little stool, reading one of her books of poetry. The door creaked, and Tavish looked inside.

  Nothing had changed since that morning; her slippers still languished near the bedside, the curtains hung haphazardly where he’d thrown them open, the stool still surrendered to the rug.

  “Audrey, where are you?” he whispered. Then he scrubbed his hands over his face with a sigh and quit the room, closing the door softly behind him.