by Olivia Rae
Carefully, he knelt in front of her and picked up the linen he had discarded earlier. He poured water over the cloth and gently wiped her face. “Audrey, you need to be honest with me. ’Tis the only way we will reach some agreement.”
She reached up and took the linen from his hand, dabbing at her neck. “That is the third time you have used my given name.”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
The lass was too smart to be wooed by intimacy. He sat back on his heels. “Perhaps if we were more friendly, we might understand each other better.”
She dropped the cloth to her lap. “Mmm. If you call me Audrey, then what shall I call you?”
“Whatever you want.” He grinned, hoping to gain her trust and then find out the true reason why she was here. And perhaps they could become much, much more. His gut kicked at the intimate idea.
But her thoughts were elsewhere. “Can I call you Armstrong?”
“Aye.”
“Or Warring?”
“That is fine too.”
“What about Gavin?”
He paused. Only his mother and his cousins called him by that name. Not even Edlyn had been so bold. But for some reason he felt obliged to give Audrey his consent. “If you wish.”
She dropped her lashes over her eyes. “I shall call you Warring.”
A wave of disappointment surged through him. What was this? The maid befuddled him.
“Are you good with the bow?” she asked, picking up one of the discarded arrows.
Gavin shook his head. “Nay, though I wish I were. It would give us a better chance at the feats. In these parts, Rory Maxwell is the master of the bow.”
“The man we saw on the meadow the other day?” She twirled the arrow over and over in her hand.
Thinking of her talent with the dagger, he wondered. “Do you hold any skill in archery?”
The arrow fell from her fingers. “Nay. I have never even held such a thing.”
He rose to his feet and picked up his bow. Bairn let out a long whine and then stopped when Gavin handed the bow to Audrey. “Then I think it is time for you to learn.”
A glowing smile spread across her face and tickled the edges of Gavin’s heart. She strode to the line, and he followed, marveling at the gentle sway of her hips.
He handed her an arrow and stepped behind her. “Raise the bow and I will show you how to fix your arrow.”
She hesitated, but then settled her warm body against his. He placed one hand over hers on the bow and the other on hers that held the string and arrow. A piece of her soft dark hair blew against his cheek. Briefly, he closed his eyes and inhaled the heather scent. Too bad she was a sneaky spy. Correction, a clumsy spy.
Her long lashes fluttered, and he felt the rapid beat of her heart against his ribcage. “Keep your eyes on the cloth,” he whispered in her delicate ear. Slowly he helped her pull the string back. “When you are ready, release the arrow.”
The arrow rolled up and down and landed in the bottom of the target. She cried out in delight. “I did it.”
Bairn circled her, letting out a series of barks and ending with a long howl. The lass reached down and scratched the animal’s head. Her face lit up, and then suddenly, she hugged him. Gavin went cold as his heart fell out of his chest like a poorly thrown dagger.
Releasing him, she grabbed another arrow and lifted the bow. “Again. Let us try again.”
His arms hung like dead vines. He dared not aid her for he feared he would steal that kiss he thought about earlier. Getting tangled up with an English spy did not fit his plan.
“Well, are you going to help me or not?” She held the bow high in her hand, a look of determination on her face as she eyed the butt.
He rubbed his sweaty palms on his breeks and again stood behind her. Her heather scent tempted his nose. He ground his teeth against the onslaught. Her fingers twitched against his, and he almost let out a moan.
The arrow flew again, this time landing on the top of the target. She danced away, and Bairn barked, enjoying the gaiety. “Again,” she shouted.
Nay, he had no more endurance. It had been a while since he had been with a woman. “I have work to attend to.”
“Please,” she bemoaned.
So, he obliged her. Over and over he put himself through the torture. Arrows flew above the mark, below the mark, in the bench where there was no mark. One even landed near a yonder cow. Finally, he brought an end to the torment.
“Audrey, enough, I have other tasks to see to today.”
A playful frown rested on her lips. “Ah, so be it. I had such fun, Warring.”
And he had never endured such pain, and for what? He had learned nothing. He took his bow from her fingers. “You did well for your first time.”
“You are too kind.” The joy fled from her face, and small lines etched her forehead.
Now what was wrong?
She began to twist her hands in her gown again. She pursed those lush lips. She cleared her throat. “I have something to say. I have not always been honest with you.”
Finally. The truth?
“Tell me something I dinnae know.”
Chapter Fifteen
The words hung heavy in Audrey’s mouth. She should just be honest and tell him about the communication with the queen. But what would he do then? Making her leave probably was the best scenario. Then she wouldn’t have to betray his trust. More than likely he would throw her in chains until he came up with some other vile punishment. A shiver skidded down her spine. She could very well wind up like Edlyn.
The thaw she had seen in his clear blue eyes frosted over. “Well, mistress, what is it?”
He was back to calling her mistress, not her given name. The winter chill blew again. Her given name flowed so naturally from his lips and seeped into every sore spot of her body. Just what would he call her once she told him the truth? The wisdom to be honest shriveled. She desired to hear him speak her name again.
Another idea crept into her mind. She stepped closer but didn’t meet his gaze. “I have heard some very troublesome rumors and…”
He took his familiar stance, crossing his arms over his chest, his jaw tight. Bairn stood sentinel next to him. “They were about me.”
“Um…” She rolled her hands into her gown.
“Out with it,” he snapped.
Her words were held fast in her throat, and her heart pounded in her ears. Her breath came short and rapid. Her words broke their bonds. “Some say you did not love your wife and that—”
“I killed her.” His voice dropped heavy, and his face resembled a cold stone slab.
“Aye,” she said weakly. “But I am sure that is not true.” The tone of her voice spoke just the opposite. She glanced up at him.
He did not budge, nor did he even blink, nor did he disagree with her conclusion. A strong warm breath expelled from his lungs and rushed over her face. The dog licked his chops. “I should tell you nothing. I know what I say will go elsewhere.”
Prickles of fear swept down her back. He knows why I am here. He gently unwrapped her fingers from her gown and held her hand. His tenderness confounded her. Why was he not shouting and stamping about?
“Please sit.” Like a dutiful servant, he guided her to the bench and sat next to her. Bairn plopped in front of the pair, his smelly breath filling the air around them.
She did not know what to make of Gavin’s swinging moods. Was this a ruse to win her confidence, or was he insincere? Truthfully, she was not made to live a life of intrigue.
“I was not the respectful son. I ignored my father’s advice, scoffed at his stories, laughed at his backward attitudes. We never saw eye to eye. I cannot tell you why, but he always seemed to look at me like I belonged somewhere else.” Gavin leaned over and put his elbows on his knees. “I was exceedingly rowdy. Fraser and I tore up the countryside like none other. But then my father died.”
Why was he telling her all of this? Had he not just said he kn
ew his words would go elsewhere? She wanted him to stop talking, and she wanted him to speak on. God have mercy on them both for she knew not what to do.
Pain and devastation rippled across his face, and Audrey’s heart tore open. She tenderly placed her hand on his shoulder. “You should not blame yourself. I am sure he knew you loved him.”
“Nay, that was the problem. I dinnae think I cared for him at all.”
His confession startled her. She was closer to her father than her mother, but all the same, she loved them both.
“I began to drink more, gamble more, all because I felt nothing. I watched my mother weep, and still I remained cold and uncaring.” His voice cracked. “I was a despicable, disgusting human being.”
The desire to embrace him grew deep within her, but she dared not. She stroked her hand gently over his back. “You were plagued by guilt.”
He glanced up before looking down at his feet, giving Bairn a scratch on the ear. “I suppose.”
“Then worry no more on this, God forgives all.”
“Ah, there it is again. God.” Gavin moved the sole of his boot back and forth across the earth. “I dinnae seek God’s forgiveness. Save your tales of salvation for others.”
“I just meant—”
His hand paused on the dog’s head. “There is more, which might change your consideration of forgiveness. Soon after his death, I left and things became worse. The drinking, the gambling, the…anything you can conjure up, I am sure I have done it.”
’Twas exactly as his mother had said. Audrey wanted him to pause, but he did not.
“Once, I was so drunk I could barely stand. Rory Maxwell coaxed me into a game of chance.” Gavin sat back and shook his head. “I lost everything, more than everything. I lost Warring Tower.”
She gasped. His mother had said none of this. “But—”
“I’m not finished,” he said more forcefully. “You asked to hear my defense of murder, and now you will hear all of it.”
His shoulders tightened under her touch. Her hand slid from his back.
“Not only did I lose my favorite Galloway pony and my personal possessions, but I lost my family home and lands. I begged Rory. I even offered to fight under the Maxwell name if he would release my debt, but he just laughed and laughed.” Gavin stared out into the fields. “He threw a coin at my feet and told me to leave Scotland. From now on he would take care of my mother and all those at Warring.”
“But you are master of Warring Tower. I don’t understand.”
A past weariness hunched his shoulders. “Another long tale.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak more, then suddenly stopped. Over the hill came three riders. Bairn and Gavin rose, standing straight. “Listen. I want you to go to your chamber and wait there until they have left.”
“Nay, I won’t leave—”
“Hush. Take Bairn with you,” he ordered. “I will probably go with them. If I do, find Thomas and keep him in your sight until I have returned.”
Audrey stood. “You told me never—”
“Go now,” he shouted as the threesome fast approached.
His murderous scowl stifled any protest. Her heart banged in her chest as she fled to the tower. Bairn and she had barely cleared the gate when she heard Gavin call out.
“Rory Maxwell and your sow of a son. What brings you here?”
Audrey made the sign of the cross over her chest and prayed the scoundrel would not strike Gavin dead.
* * *
The sly cunning fox. Maxwell’s bold visit just put Gavin’s loyalties in question. Everyone knew the Maxwells followed the Catholic faith and wanted to crush those of the Reformed Kirk. What would the English Crown make of this? Why did he even care? Obviously, Rory Maxwell wanted to make sure Gavin would hold his end of the bargain and help the Catholics keep control of Scotland. But what would the Reformers think? Reformers like John Knox wanted to see no queen sit on the Scottish throne, be she raised by the French or living down in London.
All Gavin wanted was peace. And here he was stirring the pot of rebellion. For Thomas’s sake, he hoped it would all be worth it.
The three Maxwells brought their horses to a halt. Rory leaned forward. “Time for ye to come with us, Warrin’.”
Gavin held his stance. “Good day to you too, Maxwell. Just where are we planning on going?”
“I believed ye wanted this meetin’,” Maxwell roared in a voice that would reach all in the tower.
What a smart fellow. Making it look as if this was Gavin’s wish would ensure his neck would stretch along with the Maxwells if they ever got caught in their schemes. All in all, it was a small price to pay to meet with Hetta. Now that the time was upon him, Gavin hesitated. Was he doing the right thing? What he was about to do would change Thomas’s life forever. A twinge twisted his heart. Could he live without Thomas? The lad’s beautiful face clouded his vision. Would the child ever forgive him?
Gavin pushed the troubling thought away. He would deal with the consequences later. “All right. Let me get my horse.”
“Not so fast. Ewart and me cousin Ualan have been ridin’ all morn on the marches and would prefer to wait here until we return.”
The crafty swine. If anything went wrong this day, his mother and sons would suffer, but to back out now would be futile. Gavin held his anger in check and motioned to the gate. “By all means. It would be a pleasure.” He swiftly followed the horses into the courtyard.
To his surprise, his mother was already standing near the tower with Bairn at her side. Gavin scanned the courtyard. Thankfully, Mistress Audrey was nowhere in sight.
His mother cleared her throat. The dog growled. Gavin wanted to assure her things would be fine, but her gaze was firm on Maxwell as his was on her.
“I thought I smelled a foul odor. What brings you here again, Rory Maxwell?” she said, her voice echoing off the courtyard walls.
What had gotten into her, provoking the man like that? The horrific scar on Maxwell’s face whitened. How he had come by the scar no one seemed to know. For as long as Gavin could remember, the man possessed the mark.
Maxwell pushed his horse toward Gavin’s mother and nodded. According to Clyde, Rory had spent many an hour here when he had control of Warring Tower. Gavin’s stomach rolled. A rancid taste grew in his mouth. Only a monster would leave her with such a devil.
Gavin’s hands curled into fists. And now he was leaving her with the devil’s son. “Mother, Laird Maxwell and I have some affairs to attend to. His son Ewart and his cousin Ualan would like to stay until I return.” He tried to put enough censure in his tone to quell her tongue.
“But of course, we must always do what the Maxwells want,” she said sarcastically. Bairn let out another fierce growl, showing his teeth.
Maxwell rubbed the scar on his face. “Willnae be long,” he said almost apologetically. “And they will behave.” He shot a threatening glance to his son and cousin, who immediately cowered under his glare.
Gavin’s mother rolled her eyes and gave them her back, returning to the tower.
“Get yer horse, Warrin’. I have other things that need attendin’ this day.”
The horse was brought forth, and Gavin quickly mounted. Again, a niggle of doubt bothered him. Was he doing the right thing?
Rory grabbed his reins and circled his son and cousin as they dismounted. “I mean it,” Maxwell voice rumbled. “No playin’ with the wummin and keep yer wits about ye. Dinnae give Lady Francis a mite of trouble.”
Gavin surveyed the courtyard once more for Audrey and Thomas. Hopefully, they were safely tucked away. He watched Ewart and Ualan enter the lower level of the tower. Even with Maxwell’s warning, the pair should not be trusted. By the way his mother glared at Rory, she would be just fine with the pair. His mother was stronger than he imagined to take on a grizzly old laird. Or maybe Bairn had frightened Maxwell, but that seemed unlikely. What reiver would be afraid of a dog?
“Ye commin’?” Maxwel
l called. “I dinnae have all day.” He rode out of the gate without a look back.
They rode to a small village surrounded by lush green fields located on the western side of Maxwell’s land. All the way there, dread filled Gavin’s soul. Once he set this plan in motion, there was no turning back. Oh, Thomas, can I let you go? But the survival of Warring depends on this. Hopefully someday you will understand.
Slowly they meandered through the village where dwellers were poorly dressed in worn tunics and rough breeks. Dirty faces with dull eyes stared as Laird Maxwell trotted the muddy paths. In every pathetic face he saw Thomas. Gavin resisted the urge to turn his horse around and return home. You wanted this, now see it through.
The foul smell of unwashed bodies and animal dung slammed into Gavin’s senses and hindered his resolve. What if Thomas’s future was nothing more than this? The lad deserved a better destiny. They stopped outside a rickety cottage on the edge of the village. Smoke swirled out through several holes in the roof.
“In there.” Maxwell pointed, keeping his seat on his horse. “Be quick about it.”
Gavin adjusted his blade and searched his surroundings before he dismounted. He tied his horse to a nearby tree. Ducking his head, he entered the cottage. The smell of roasted fowl filled his nostrils and tripped his memory. Hetta would help Cook prepare the same dish at Warring Tower. He could still hear her barking out orders. Don’t roast the bird too long.
His eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. There in a dark corner sat Hetta with her familiar scowl on her wrinkled face. Her gnarled fingers held a shawl tight to her sagging breasts. Two dark eyes stared out of sunken sockets.
“Hetta,” Gavin whispered.
Her jaw clicked when she opened her mouth. “What ye want, whelp?”
As respectful as ever. He made his way to a wobbly chair near the shabby table and sat across from her. “I have come to talk about the lad.”
The old woman curled her lips inward but said nothing.
Gavin put his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “He cannae stay at Warring Tower any longer.” His words sounded foreign to his own ears.
