by Amanda Scott
The leader of the four, whose attention had focused on her as she waxed on about Ivor’s supposed previous wife, shifted his gaze again to Ivor. His expression carefully under control, the man said, “I would ken your name, sir.”
“His name?” Marsi’s eyebrows shot upward. “Good lack, do you not recognize him? By his air of importance and the way his previous lady carried on about his nobility, his gey powerful clan, and his vast skill with weaponry, I should think that every man-at-arms in Scotland would ken him by sight. He is—”
“Enough!” Ivor roared. “Get upstairs now before you feel my hand.”
“Nay, let her speak,” the spokesman said. “In troth—But who is this?”
Ivor and Marsi turned as one to see Hetty halfway down the second flight of stairs. Eminently respectable-looking, as always, she gazed from one person to the next with an air of mild astonishment.
Ivor glanced at Marsi, who turned back to Albany’s man and said, “Faith, sir, who do you suppose she is? I should think you might stretch your wits enough to do some thinking if you mean to be of service to your royal lords. She is my good-mother and his lady mother, of course, the one person I have seen—besides myself, I need hardly say—whom he treats with the greatest respect. You and your men would be wise to treat her so as well.”
The spokesman bowed to Hetty, saying, “I trust that we havena distressed ye, your ladyship. We seek only tae learn what guests be staying here now.”
Hetty gently raised her eyebrows as if such an explanation had naught to do with her, which, Ivor thought, was the one thing so far that was true.
Marsi said, “I have been telling these men about your son’s first wife, madam. I ken fine that you will agree he is much better off to be married to me than to her.”
“Och, aye, to be sure,” Hetty murmured. “By my troth, I cannot even bring myself to say that woman’s name aloud.”
“That is perfectly understandable, madam,” Ivor said, straight-faced, albeit with effort, since no one could expect Hetty to know the name of a nonexistent female. To the spokesman, he said, “To answer your question, however, we are the only guests here at present. Three other men stayed overnight, but they went on to Stirling this morning.”
“We did meet them, aye, so we’ll trouble ye nae further,” the man said. “We’ll be going on as soon as the innkeeper produces ale for us.”
Marsi opened her mouth as if she might try to add something to speed them on their way, but to Ivor’s relief, she closed it again and kept silent.
After the four men had quaffed their ale and departed, shutting the door behind them, she looked warily at him. But when he grinned and shook his head at her, still amused by what she had done, he saw her relax.
James said from the stairway above Ivor, “What were ye about, Marsi, tae say such things tae those men? Ye shouldna have told them such a string o’ lies.”
“It was just another pretense,” Marsi said. “Sithee, they are Albany’s men.”
“So Sir Ivor said tae me, but ye told them that Hetty is his lady mother. What if my uncle kens that lady by sight? What if those men describe Hetty so that he recognizes her, too, from their description? Sakes, he’ll capture us both in a trice if he does recognize her. And wherever did Will go in such a hurry?”
“Into the kitchen,” Marsi said. “But don’t fret. We did not tell them Sir Ivor’s name, although I had a fine one made up for him. And any description they give of Hetty must fit a hundred other women of her age, figure, and deportment.”
“I didna ken that ye were this Highlander’s wife, me lady,” the innkeeper said as he bustled in from the kitchen, startling them all. “Ye should ha’ told us as much yestereve, sir. We could ha’ put the two o’ ye together in one room.”
“Faith,” Marsi said, staring at him, “did you hear all that we were saying?”
“Not all, me lady. But when I saw them ride into me yard, I came in through the kitchen tae see did they mean mischief or no. Sithee, ye canna tell wi’ that lot, and we dinna want trouble. But me wife did hear when ye told them who ye be and who this lady be, as well. So, me wife did hasten tae tell me as soon as I came in. Then, I heard ye say summat about a hundred women—”
“You may be easy,” Ivor said to him. “Our chambers are just as I requested. The lad here suffers from nightmares, as many bairns do.” Shooting a minatory frown at the indignant James, who looked about to deny it, he added, “Therefore, I keep him with me when we travel. And although my men do fly my banner, I do not”—he shot Marsi a stern glance—“otherwise generally publicize my identity when I travel, for reasons that doubtless you can imagine.”
“Och, aye, sir,” the innkeeper said with a sincerity that nearly belied Ivor’s certainty that the man had no idea what those reasons might be. “I willna be a-boasting o’ your presence tae anyone. And I’ll see that me good wife says nowt either. But ’tis as well that ye didna tell them rascals any lies. Now, as ye’ll be fain tae eat your dinner, I’ll ha’ them fetch in the rest o’ your food for ye straightaway.”
When the man had retreated to the kitchen, Hetty said to Ivor, “Do you know, sir, I doubt that our greatest concern is that Albany may recognize my description.”
“He might, though,” James said. “He is gey clever.”
“I do not think we need worry about that,” Ivor said, pulling out the stool that Hetty had occupied the previous evening and gesturing for her to sit down.
As she obeyed him, taking her place next to Marsi, Hetty said, “My concern is that Marsi declared herself married. To you, sir, and before more witnesses than she knew. Not that the four were insufficient, knowing of your banner as they did.”
Marsi said, “But, Hetty, I—”
Ivor cut her off without compunction, saying, “Take care now, lass. Say what you need to say, but be circumspect. I hear our host returning.”
Biting her lip, she glanced at the empty kitchen doorway, then said, “I don’t see why anyone need make a song about it. That tale persuaded them to leave us be.”
Ivor, understanding Hetty’s concern as Marsi clearly did not, waited until the innkeeper and a maidservant had hurried in, the one stirring up the fire and the other lighting candles on the table. Both returned to the kitchen before he said, “I doubt that her words matter under these circumstances, mistress. Surely, your presence—”
“My presence had naught to do with her declaration, sir, and its result…” She stopped when the maidservant hurried back in to set two jugs on the table.
Will entered quietly in her wake and slipped into his seat beside James.
“What are the two of you talking about?” Marsi demanded as soon as the maid had departed again.
“Aye, I want to ken that, myself,” James said, looking from one to another.
To Marsi, Ivor said, “We are talking about your declaration of marriage. You may not realize that, in Scotland, such a declaration from one party without immediate denial from the other can mean that the two are legally married.”
Marsi’s jaw dropped, but it took her a moment to realize that it had.
“You must be jesting,” she said then. “I have heard of such marriages, but surely noblemen do not marry in such a way. Moreover, it is the man who has to declare, is it not? And the maiden who has to agree to his declaration?”
“That is not exactly how the law applies,” Ivor said. “Sithee, Bishop Traill warned us about it at St. Andrews. He said attempts have been made to trick men into marrying who had no wish to do so.”
Marsi looked at Hetty, whose expression was somber.
Jamie’s eyes lit. “But I think this is excellent!” he exclaimed.
Marsi heard noises of incipient arrival from the kitchen as Jamie turned to Ivor and added, “You will make her a gey fine hus—”
Her hand on the boy’s knee was enough to silence him just as the innkeeper, his wife, and the maidservant entered and began setting platters of food on the table, along with a fresh
basket of bannocks.
“We will postpone the rest of this conversation,” Ivor said firmly.
Marsi nodded, but her imagination busied itself with thoughts of what it all could mean. The idea of marrying Ivor certainly did not outrage her, as Albany’s command to marry Redmyre had.
She had never met Redmyre but had heard enough about him from Annabella and her ladies to develop an aversion to him that nothing would alter. By contrast, she had known Ivor for just days. Yet she viewed the possibility of marrying him as intriguing, even stimulating… although he would be most unlikely to agree.
Why she should feel about him as she did, as dogmatic as he could be, was another matter. Just then, the memory of him stroking her in his bed that first night sent heat flashing through her body, as such memories had ever since then.
It occurred to her that if she should find herself in that position again, she might readily succumb. She certainly would not clout him again.
The bruise on his cheek was nearly gone, but as her gaze fell on the yellowing mark that remained, she felt a twinge of guilt and something else. She had got away with it once, but she thought that Ivor might well retaliate in kind if she ever dared try such a thing again. The thought made her smile. It also made her wonder at herself for seeing anything in such a thought to stir her sense of humor.
She certainly did not want him to punish her, ever, so why the notion that he might was nearly as stimulating as the thought of being in his bed, she could not explain. Surely, there was something amiss in even having such strange thoughts.
However, a brief command from him earlier that day had steadied her as nothing else could have. And there could be nothing wrong in thinking about that.
Glancing at him, she saw that he was watching her and wondered if he might somehow discern her thoughts. Feeling suddenly hot all over, she told herself that the sensible thing was to look away.
Just then, to her surprise, she noted increased color in his face.
Jamie spoke, for she heard his voice. But she had no idea what he had said.
Ivor looked away to reach for the platter of sliced roast beef, holding it out to Jamie, who helped himself to more meat. Offering it next to Will, Ivor returned his attention to his own trencher.
Marsi fixed her attention on her food, too. But her mind continued to occupy itself with Sir Ivor, presenting her with fresh images to consider.
First, there was Ivor as he had looked when he’d entered the royal nursery.
He had not wanted her to go with them. She had seen as much for herself, although she had looked at him then only in brief glances. She had feared that if she stared, he would guess that she had been the lass in his bed.
Remembering how irritated she had felt when he had not recognized her, she nearly smiled but managed to stop at the first twitch of her lips. She did not want anyone to ask what she found to be so amusing.
Ivor wondered what had amused her. She had scarcely looked away from her food since they had all stopped talking. A glance at Hetty showed him that she was also eyeing Marsi. Just then, Hetty shifted her gaze to him, speculatively.
He knew that she had to be wondering what would happen next. She clearly knew as well as he did what the consequences of Marsi’s declaration could be:
Albany would certainly raise a dust. Having planned to marry Marsi to one of his minions, the duke clearly believed that he had the right to do so. There was the fact, too, that Marsi had returned to Turnberry after Annabella’s death, instead of to her own home or that of a family member, and had likely done so at the King’s command or by his wish, which indicated that his grace felt responsible for her.
Then, she had said that she hoped Sir Malcolm Drummond, the most powerful member of her clan, would speak for her to the King rather than simply forbid her marriage to Redmyre. Having suspected then that Marsi might be a royal ward, Ivor remained uncertain of what role Sir Malcolm might yet play. But he was certain that his grace must be her guardian. She had not admitted that he was, but it would explain Albany’s belief that he could not only control whom she married but also award her estates to the man. His influence over the King was long established.
Surely, with his grace and Albany doubtless objecting to it, Marsi’s impulsive declaration would come to nowt. But Ivor needed to be sure about that.
Noting that Marsi was staring at her trencher and no longer eating, he glanced at James and Will. Both boys had also finished their meals.
“We’ll talk more anon,” Ivor said. “For now, I think that James and Marsi should go upstairs with you, mistress. Aodán can use Will’s help in the stables this afternoon, and I must go out for a while.”
“Where will you go?” James asked.
“I thought that I might take a closer look at yon cathedral.”
“May I go with you? Now that those men are gone, it must be safe enough.”
Ivor shot a look at Hetty, who nodded and said briskly, “You and Marsi can cast dice or some such thing upstairs, James. Recall that others likely heard Sir”—she glanced at Will—“Sir Hawk order you to keep to your room today.”
“Only those men heard him. And even so—”
“Come along, Jamie,” Marsi said. “He has had enough of us for one day. We’ll see if your luck is still in or if the dice decide to be kind to me.”
He continued to look at Ivor until Ivor gestured toward the stairway. Then, with a sigh, James followed the women.
With Will at his heels, Ivor went into the yard, grateful to see that the snow had nearly stopped. “Did you recognize those men earlier, Will?” he asked as they approached the stable.
“Aye, sure, laird. The first one o’ them in the door serves Lord Fife at Doune Castle and might ken me. When I saw him, I hied m’s self tae the kitchen.”
“That was wise of you,” Ivor said.
“Aye, laird, I thought so,” Will said, looking up at him with a grin.
When Aodán greeted them in the stable, Ivor said, “We’ll spend at least one more night here, so I thought Will might help you in the stables this afternoon.”
Aodán smiled at the lad and said, “Tell Sean Dubh that I said ye should show him what ye can do.”
Nodding, Will ran toward Ivor’s squire.
As they watched him go, Ivor said in the Gaelic, “I’ve not decided yet whether we’ll go straight to St. Andrews or take a more circumspect route.”
“I heard those four men earlier, talking,” Aodán replied. “According to them, Albany has men on every road in Fife. One of them mentioned that they seek a young woman with red hair.”
Recalling with relief that Marsi’s hair had remained well covered so that the men had seen only her dark eyebrows, Ivor said, “Did they mention the Perth road?”
“They did not. I heard their leader say that those they seek cannot have got this far so fast. However, he also said that the duke reached Stirling yesterday.”
“Aye, well, Albany is ever the spider at the center of its web, sending others out to do its stinging. But I don’t want to rush off in the wrong direction to evade him or them. I mean to walk a bit now,” he added. “I want to think about all this.”
“Mayhap I should go with ye, sir.”
“Do you think I cannot look after myself?”
Aodán grimaced but did not back down. “Ye ken fine that I think only that two men be safer than one, Sir Ivor. I’d warrant that your lord father and Himself would agree with me. They’d say that ye should take a horse, come to that.”
“But you answer to me, do you not?” Ivor said softly.
“I do.”
“Then ask our lads which of them is yearning for exercise and will not mind a trudge through the snow. I want a look at yon cathedral. I take your meaning, Aodán, but I want you to take charge here.”
Nodding, Aodán returned to the stables. Moments later, the youngest of the four men-at-arms, Gib Maclean, strode toward Ivor. He wore his plaid over his breeks and tunic, his sword slung ac
ross his back, and his dirk on his belt.
Ivor, although dressed much the same, wore only his dirk.
They made short work of the steep path to the cathedral. When they reached it, Ivor told Gib to look for someone to show him about.
“I’m going to find the sacristan,” he said. “I won’t need protection here. The Bishop of Dunblane is an ally.”
Marsi’s mind was not on casting dice. Her thoughts had followed Ivor up the hill to the cathedral. She understood why he had not taken Jamie. Not only would a bishop of the Kirk be likely to recognize the King’s younger son but also, Ivor could not have a frank talk with the bishop if Jamie or she were nearby.
And Ivor would not want to let the boy out of his sight in town, no matter how much he might trust the Bishop of Dunblane.
Were the two men talking yet? What would the bishop say about what she had done? Would he recognize her name? He might. Dunblane could not be more than ten or fifteen miles from Kincardine and was doubtless even closer to other Drummond holdings with which she was less familiar. It would be natural for the bishop to know many Drummonds by name, including any who had served the King or Queen. Heaven knew whom else he might tell if he did know her.
Grimacing, she tried to attend to Jamie’s cast of the dice, but he scooped them up, saying, “This game is tiresome. I don’t care who wins, and neither do—”
Breaking off at a light double rap on the door, he watched as Hetty moved to answer it and Will came in.
“Aodán said I could come up,” Will said. “But if ye dinna want me—”
“Aye, we do though,” Jamie said. “I was getting bored, playing games.”
“Ye should ha’ come out wi’ me,” Will said. “I like helping Aodán.”
“I want to go out now.” Jamie looked at Hetty, adding, “If I just go to the stable with Will, Sir Ivor won’t mind, because Aodán is there, and Sean Dubh, too, since he has not come upstairs yet to see to his duties before supper.”
