“I believe we are near to Kirkcudbright, where the laird’s family lives. We should come to it before the River Dee.”
“Have you decided what you shall say when we arrive?” Robbie asked. “You don’t sound very Scottish, and I certainly don’t.”
“I have. Anyone who knows my story will know the English took me as a child. I was angry for most of my childhood and most of the time I spent as a squire. Becoming a knight forced me to let it go or I wouldn’t have survived the first fight along the border. But that anger is still within me. I’ll tell them King Edward released me from his service once my tenure came to an end, and I’ve come home. I’ll tell them the truth: I never wanted to be there. I’ll let a little of that anger show, and it shouldn’t take much to convince them I’m telling the truth.”
“And you brought an English squire?”
“You’re in my service until I deem you ready to earn your spurs, at which time you must return to serve the king if you don’t wish to remain with me. That’s true enough.”
What the two men would leave out was that Robbie was the son of the Earl of Northumberland and second in line to inherit the title. There was little chance that Robbie would remain with Ric once he was knighted.
Another hour passed as they plodded along, in no hurry to reach their destination. Ric knew that for his squire, the willingness to trot rather than canter or gallop was apprehension, but Ric wanted to enjoy this sense of peace before diving into the lies that would consume him for the foreseeable future.
The sun was inching toward the western horizon when they reined in and looked at the MacLellan keep. The stone structure was impressive and sat on a rise near the shore of the River Dee. The well-fortified bailey wall stood higher than any needed in England. It was proof that the ongoing strife required a castle built for battle. The village that lay beyond the keep was larger than most, and there was activity as people moved about and smoke rose from rooftops.
“I’m sure they’ve seen us, so we would do well to arrive on our own, rather than with an escort,” Ric nodded toward the men that were small blurs along the battlements. They spurred their horses and approached the village, then the keep.
“Who goes?” came the demand once they were within earshot.
“Dedric Hage, son of Christian Hage and Emelote MacLellan Hage, second cousin to the laird.”
Ric sat as he heard voices, but the words were unintelligible. He tried to keep his nervousness from transferring to his horse. He would not give away his mood with a horse that danced about. It was not long before the portcullis opened wide enough for five men to stand beneath it. The man in the center was the laird, and his guard did not look welcoming.
“There is no Dedric Hage in the MacLellan clan,” the laird announced.
Dedric heard the man speak, but he was struck with a vivid memory as he peered into the bailey. He raised his arm and pointed just to the right of the laird.
“There. To your left once stood the armory. It was too close to the gate, and when the English raided, they stormed the armory and gathered the weapons before the laird’s men could arm themselves. It was the reason they were able to kill so many, including my mother.” Ric looked up and remembered a woman who stood in the window of a third-story chamber, waving at him as he played. “The second window from the far end was my mother’s chamber growing up, and it became my parents’ until my father died. I had a trundle bed with a horse carved into the head.”
Memories flooded back as Ric swept his eyes over the castle and the surrounding buildings. He had not seen the place since he was seven, but it was as though he was a little boy again, playing in the corner near the kitchens.
“Aline was the cook, and she would slip me apricot tarts while I played with the other children. She made me share with my cousin.” Ric looked at the man more closely. “You.”
The final word came out closer to a whisper. Both men sized one another up before the laird nodded. “Some of that you could have learned from anyone who heard of the raid twenty years ago, but you couldn’t have known about the trundle bed my own son sleeps in, nor would you have known about the pies.” Even with the acknowledgment that they were family, there was no invitation to enter the castle. “Why are you here? It’s been a long time, and we heard that you served the English bastard.”
“I did.” Ric would get that admission out of the way from the beginning. “He had me stolen. He believed my father owed him my service after choosing my mother over him. They raised me at court before I earned my way to being a knight. My service is now through, and I do not wish to remain fighting for the man who killed both of my parents.”
Ric knew there would never be a confession from the king that he arranged the two battles that killed first his father, then his mother. But he was certain Edward knew and condoned it; after all, it was the Longshanks’ order to fight along the border.
The laird continued to assess Ric before he stepped aside and turned his back to Ric and Robbie, but not before he gave the signal for the guards to raise the portcullis all the way. Ric nudged his horse, and Robbie followed. They entered the bailey, and Ric felt awash with more memories. Memories raced before his eyes, memories of his early childhood that he had not thought about since he became a squire and forced himself to only look forward. Ric and Robbie handed their reins over to a stable boy and dismounted. As they did, a woman came to stand at the top of the steps, and it was clear she was the laird’s mother. The sun shone in Ric’s eyes, but as he approached the laird who now stood below his mother, Ric’s step faltered. He felt the blood leech from his face, and he was sure he was looking at a ghost. He shook his head before taking a step back.
“We could have been twins,” came the woman’s soft voice. She moved down the steps until she could pass her son, who put his arm up to block her advance. She gently pushed it away. “As much as I looked like your mother, you are the image of your father.”
The woman stopped in front of Ric and took his large, rough hands in her tiny smooth ones. “I’m your mother’s cousin, Emelyn.”
Emelyn and Emelote.
“I still have the scar on my knee you stitched when Malcolm and I jumped from the rocks into the river. You promised to fix it before we showed my mother.”
Ric swallowed several times as he watched his aunt’s smile broaden, and she pulled him into her embrace. It had been years since the queen had embraced him, and the motherly comfort was too much for him. When Emelyn pulled away, she cupped his cheek with one hand and placed the other over his heart.
“You will not have a warm welcome here, but anyone who is old enough to remember my son as a child will know who you are on sight,” she murmured for only Ric to hear.
She wound her arm through his and turned back to her son. When she stepped forward, Ric had no choice but to follow. Emelyn reached her other hand to her son. The three walked into the Great Hall and toward the dais. Ric felt the eyes staring at him, judging him, and finding him wanting. He swept his eyes around the large chamber, taking in the swords above the fireplace and the heraldic shield that sat over them. The tapestries swayed from the breeze of the main door opening and closing. Ric paused before one depicting a knight on horseback leaning over to grasp a woman’s arm in preparation to pull her onto the horse. They were in a meadow filled with bright flowers and a beaming sun. Ric looked closer and saw that a child rode in front of the man.
“Your mother made that in honor of your father’s life. She hadn’t finished before the raid, so my mother finished it and hung it in a place of honor.” Those were the first words the laird spoke to Ric after admitting that they were indeed family. “I was raised on stories of your parents’ great love. It rivaled that of my own parents.”
Ric could only nod as he took in the scene of his family memorialized upon the wall. He had never seen an image of his father before, and he understood why Emelyn said he resembled his father. It was like looking at himself on the wall. He knew he could not
remain gawking at the tapestry now that Emelyn and Malcolm sat at the dais, along with a woman noticeably with child. Malcolm rested a protective arm around the shoulders of a woman who leaned into him. Ric approached the dais and bowed to the woman, who was clearly the lady of the keep and Malcolm’s wife. He stepped onto the dais and took the seat to the laird’s right, between Malcolm and Emelyn. It surprised him that was the seat they showed him, but he supposed it was so Malcolm could drill him with questions.
“You must have traveled a long way to reach us. Unless you already had business along the border.” Malcolm’s tone did not hide his distaste, and his implication that Ric had been fighting along the border was near to the truth.
“I was with the royal court in Yorkshire when the day of my tenure ended. I departed that evening and rode here.”
“You are familiar with this land, but we have never seen you before.” Malcolm referred to the other English troops that had harried the MacLellan clan along with their other western border neighbors.
“I haven’t been this far west since I was seven.”
“So, you have been to the east,” Malcolm continued to press.
“Yes.” Ric offered nothing more. He looked Malcolm squarely in the eye before taking a long draw from the chalice placed before him. Even over the rim, Ric continued to meet his cousin’s gaze.
“Malcolm,” the woman who still went without a name whispered. The laird looked down at his wife’s pleading face. “Not in front of your mother.”
Malcolm nodded but looked back at Ric, and it was clear the conversation had only been paused. However, Emelyn was not so willing to wait.
“You fought along the eastern border. I take it you fought the Kerrs and Elliots.” Emelyn’s words were plain and without rancor, even though they made Ric uncomfortable.
“When the king ordered me there.”
Malcolm could not hold back. “Ordered to fight your own people?”
“I was sworn in fealty to the king. He may be the reason my parents are dead, but like it or not, he housed me, fed me, and clothed me, not to mention educated me, when I became an orphan. I had a duty to repay that and so I swore my oath. If I hadn’t followed the orders, what type of honor would I have had?” Ric’s voice was soft, but the iron was there. He would not have his cousin intimidate him or mock him. If his time among his mother’s people was short, then Ric would move on to Robert the Bruce’s court. But the mention of oaths given and honor placated Malcolm. It was something the man could understand.
The two warriors came to a truce of sorts and Emelyn drove the rest of the conversation, finally introducing Malcolm’s wife as Lady Rosalind. That afternoon, Emelyn took Ric on a tour of the castle and its grounds while Rosalind rested, and Malcolm handled clan affairs in his solar.
Ric was only too glad to escape to his chamber before the evening meal for a bath and fresh clothing.
“It seems your family welcomes you, if not with open arms, then at least not with a sword in your belly,” Robbie mused as he laid out Ric’s fresh surcoat and leggings. Once Ric shed his travel-stained clothes and stepped into the tub, Robbie sat with his back turned as he polished the knight’s boots.
“It was odd, to say the least, to walk about the place. I hadn’t thought of it in years. More faded memories came back to me. I could remember doing things better than I could people’s names and faces. There were many in the bailey who remembered my parents, and my resemblance to my father is uncanny, or so it seems. A few welcomed me in his memory, but most were standoffish knowing that I served their enemy and fought their people.”
Ric submerged his entire body and held his breath as the hot water washed over him. For a moment he felt like he would float away, but the tub was far too small for that. When he surfaced, he drew a bar of soap over a linen cloth and scrubbed his body before attending to his hair. He signaled for Robbie to pour the pitcher of clean water over his head and wiped the suds from his eyes. He was in his parents’ chamber, and little had changed in the years that passed since he was last there. The only thing missing was the trundle bed he slept in, now in use by the laird’s children. When he could no longer stand sitting in the filthy water, he rose and dried off. A knock on the door startled both Robbie and Ric. Robbie drew a knife as Ric wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed his sword. Most attackers would not knock before entering, but they were not precisely honored guests. Ric gestured for Robbie to open the door; both were unprepared for Bella to waltz in.
“My timing is impeccable,” she purred. She waved her hand in Robbie’s direction as if to shoo him from the chamber.
“What’re you doing here? And how did you make your way above stairs?” Ric demanded.
“Why wouldn’t they allow your companion to join you?” Bella’s skirts swished around her as she walked about the room.
“You told them you’re my mistress?” While it was a question, it was more of a hissed recrimination. “No. Absolutely not. You will leave here, and you will not make a peep about it, Bella. I am not having my family believe I brought my English mistress to live amongst them.”
Ric did not realize he was pointing his sword toward her until she brushed it aside and came to stand in front of him. She reached out her hand just as she had done in the passageway before Ric departed the royal household, but this time, Ric was faster.
“It’s too late. They already believe I’m your lover.”
“Then they will un-believe it.”
“And just how will you do that?”
“Do you intend to test me? I think you would rather depart on your own terms with dignity.”
“But I’m not going anywhere. The king expects me to serve as a liaison of sorts between you and his messengers, so you have no choice but to allow me to stay.”
“If the king wanted you to be present for whatever I see and hear, then he would have made you the spy and not the liaison.”
“As I said, I’m here now. Where would I go as an unaccompanied English woman in Scotland?”
“You should have thought of that before you crossed the border, Bella. I am not having my family believe I am romantically engaged with you. Do you believe they will think me anything but a spy with an English mistress and an English squire? Why would I bring half my life with me from England if that’s what I’m trying to leave behind to become a Scot? You have overstepped, and you will bring this whole mission down about our ears because you are far too entitled for one of your station.”
Ric bit his tongue before he said anything else. He was a landless orphan. He was in no place to put the illegitimate daughter of a favorite courtier in her place, even if what he said was true. He knew he would regret his words, but he would not regret his decision. When Bella swung at him, he grabbed her wrist and marched to the door. He swung it open so hard and so wide that it slammed against the wall, and they were barely through it before it bounced back closed.
“You are in a drying linen and nothing else,” Bella hissed. “You will humiliate us both.”
“I have naught to hide that others haven’t seen before.” Ric dragged her to the stairs and only slowed to keep her from falling. He wanted her away from him, not dead. They reached the Great Hall to gasps as people sprang out of their way. They watched in a mixture of horror and curiosity as Ric continued to lead Bella through the large double doors, down the steps, and across the bailey. One hand clung to her as the other held the linen in place. He did not notice the rocks and pebbles that bit into his feet or the chill air that whispered about his legs. He continued their march to the gate.
“Open it,” he demanded as they approached. The men in the gatehouse stared at him, but the air of fury that radiated from him told the guardsmen to comply. Once the gate was open, he swung Bella around and pushed her through. “Close it.”
“You bastard.”
“That’s where you are wrong. My father made his home here with his wife, my mother. You will not disgrace me or their memory with your l
ies. Find somewhere else, anywhere else, beyond this village. I will not see you again until I arrive at court, and even there, you do not know me. You would do well to find somewhere in Stirling to stay. Do not approach the castle,” he spat.
The gate slammed shut before Bella could squeeze in another word. Ric spun on his heels and faced most of the clan staring at him. He stomped back to the steps, throwing over his shoulder, “I left England for a reason. You just saw it.”
He would allow the people who stood agog to interpret the scene however they wanted.
Chapter Three
The evening progressed without incident. No one asked about Bella’s abrupt arrival or departure, but Ric could tell he had done the right thing by making her leave. He was under scrutiny by most of the clan. Emelyn kept a steady stream of conversation going, and it was clear that at his wife’s behest, Malcolm was making more of an effort.
“How long have you been a knight?” Rosalind looked past her husband and smiled shyly at Ric.
“Eight years, my lady.” Ric answered around a mouth full of lamb stew.
“What do you think you’ll do now that you don’t have to fight?” Rosalind’s questions sounded innocent, but she was sure Malcolm had prompted her to ask, as it would seem unassuming from her.
“Find a parcel of land and live on it, if possible.”
“You don’t intend to stay with us?” Emelyn’s question conveyed her shock and hurt. “You’ve only just arrived.”
“I cannot impose, Cousin.” The word felt strange on his tongue, but he was willing to try it.
“It’s not an imposition when it is family.”
Ric smiled and nodded, but he did not back down. “I think it might be the worst imposition when it’s family. I’ve shown up on your doorstep, and I can see many of the clan are not as quick to have me here as you are. I won’t be the source of trouble for Malcolm or your family.”
A Spy at the Highland Court Page 2
