by Amanda Scott
Trees and shrubbery grew thick on the glen walls despite their increasing steepness, so guards could be anywhere. When they at last rounded a curve, Marsi looked back to see with relief that they were at least out of sight from the road.
Ivor and Marsi led with the boys behind them, then Hetty and Aodán.
The narrow path forbade riding in pairs, and the rushing of water deterred quiet conversation, but Marsi found herself wishing that Ivor would say something. Instead, he was scanning the steep slopes on both sides of the burn.
When the trail flattened out for a time and widened enough for her to move up beside him, she said, “Do you truly have so little trust in my kinsmen, sir, that you keep watch so cautiously as we go?”
“It is not your kinsmen I distrust, lass, just the one who has the honor to have been brother to her grace, the late Queen. Sithee, if Sir Malcolm is trustworthy and so certain to stand with her grace’s sons against Albany, then why did his grace send for me and not for Sir Malcolm and a Drummond army to protect Jamie?”
“I cannot answer that,” she said, wishing that she could.
“Nor can anyone else,” he replied, urging his mount forward when the trail narrowed again.
Ivor kept his eyes on the hillsides, but he knew that such a small party as theirs could do nowt to prevent mischief from anyone concealed there.
His instincts were alive and sending warnings through his body. He had his dirk in its sheath and his sword across his back. His quiver and bow were strapped to his saddle, but neither would be of use to him in a surprise attack.
They were well into the glen with no sign of guards, and turning back was not an option. Ivor reminded himself that Sir Malcolm was unlikely to let harm come to either James or Marsi, especially on Drummond land, so attack was unlikely.
The trail widened again, enough for two, and he glanced back at Marsi. She had been unusually silent, and he saw now that she was brooding about something.
“What is it, lass?” he asked, motioning her forward.
Urging her horse up near his again, she said, with a wry grimace, “It was my idea to come to Kincardine. Jamie and Will acted as they did because of that, and because of what I said about doing things yourself when others say no. They lied to Hetty, too. I did not think that Jamie would ever tell a lie, sir.”
Fighting off a sardonic smile as he recalled her previous insistence that she had not lied about being a nursery maid, he said gently, “If I understood them correctly, Will told the lie, not Jamie. You should appreciate that subtle difference.”
She gave him a look, then said, “Perhaps I should, but that only makes me feel worse. What if they had run into Albany’s men? What if whoever is coming from Blackford had arranged for others to approach from the Perth road? Jamie and Will would have run right into them. If harm had come to them because they’d decided that I was right about Kincardine, it would have been my fault, sir. I do see that.”
Gently, he said, “It is not your fault that the lads came this way. They may have chosen sides between us in the discussion we had on that subject, but they are the ones at fault, lass. I do believe that they were frightened, and trying to protect themselves and each other. I also think that Jamie wanted to take some control over what was happening to him.”
She looked at him then. “But you are gey angry with them.”
“Nay, this is mild, believe me, and they should have wakened us.”
“Aye, sure, but even if they had, with those men between us and Blackford, and your men not warning us, would we not still be where we are now?”
“ ’Tis likely we would be,” he admitted. “But—”
He got no further, for they rounded a curve just then to find armed riders blocking the trail ahead of them. Others swiftly surrounded them.
“Sir Malcolm Drummond sends his greetings, sir,” their leader said to Ivor. “If ye’ll follow us, we’ll take ye to him.”
Marsi recognized none of them, nor did any speak to her, but she reassured herself with the fact that had they meant anything other than to escort them to her uncle, they would have demanded Ivor’s weapons, and Aodán’s.
They traveled more swiftly after that and soon reached Kincardine Castle, a formidable quadrangle that crowned what in ancient days had been a promontory jutting into Ruthven Water, which had widened considerably in its journey down the glen. A nearly sheer cliff loomed above the castle.
In time, men had dug a ditch to separate the castle from the cliff and the path through the glen, so that the Ruthven Water forked around it to form a turbulent moat. From the path, Marsi could see that the drawbridge was down.
They crossed it, their horses’ hoofbeats muffled by the noisy water, and passed through an arched tunnel into the castle courtyard.
When Ivor helped her dismount, she slid her hand into his and followed the man who had greeted them to the entrance. Jamie and Hetty followed, leaving Aodán and Will to deal with their horses. Marsi did recognize the elderly porter.
“Follow me, if ye please, m’lady,” he said, leading them up the narrow, spiral, stone stairway. “Sir Malcolm awaits ye in the great chamber. He told me t’ say he be gey pleased t’ receive ye”—he cast a swift glance over Sir Ivor, Hetty, and James, who scowled at him—“and your escorts, as weel.”
Exchanging a look with Ivor, Marsi followed the old man, only to stop short when he stood aside to let her cross the threshold into the great chamber alone.
Her uncle sat in a two-armed chair near the huge fireplace halfway along the wall to her right. Sir Malcolm was a slender man in his fiftieth year and of average height. His brown hair had grayed at the temples, thinned at the crown, and was longer than fashion decreed. He did not rise when she entered.
The only other man in the room stood by Sir Malcolm’s chair. He was solid looking with dark, curly hair, of similar age to that of his host, and richly garbed in a crimson doublet and silk hose. He did not speak, nor did Sir Malcolm present him. But something in the bold way that the stranger gazed at Marsi gave her pause.
Recovering her wits, she curtsied, saying politely, “Good morrow, Uncle. I hope we have not disturbed your peace by coming here unannounced.”
“You are welcome here as always, my dear. But I will say I could not credit my ears when I learned of your arrival in such small company. How do you come to be traveling all the way from Turnberry so, my dear, at this season or any other?”
“With good reason, sir,” Marsi said, hurrying lightly toward him, smiling in the way that had so often won favor from men in her life… before Ivor. “Sithee, sir,” she added, “we act to fulfill a promise that his grace made to Aunt Annabella on her deathbed, and we are traveling so by his grace’s own command.”
“I do not know what you can be talking about,” Sir Malcolm said. “Sakes, but that is James with you, is it not, and Henrietta Childs?”
“Jamie is with us by Aunt Annabella’s wish and his grace’s command,” Marsi said. Aware that Ivor had moved to stand beside her, she added, “His grace asked this man to take Jamie to a place of safety, and we require shelter along the way. I assured him that Kincardine is just such a safe place, because I know that, as Aunt Annabella’s brother, you will do all that you can to protect her young son.”
“Aye, sure, I will,” Sir Malcolm said, standing at last. “Indeed, I am glad that I came here, although I did so only because his grace summoned Parliament to meet as soon as possible. I suspect, however, that you’ve not heard that he means to see if its lords are willing to extend Davy Stewart’s provisional term as Governor. The three years that they granted him to prove his ability ended two months ago.”
“But Davy remains Governor of the Realm until they unseat him,” Marsi said. “And they may not. Forbye, should it not be Davy who summons them?”
“His grace is still King, Marsaili. Davy has been ruling in his stead, to be sure. But Davy refuses to summon Parliament. He fears that its lords will return the Governorship to Albany u
ntil he—Davy, that is—inherits the throne. But there, lass, I should not be boring you with politics.” Glancing at the man beside him, he added with a smile, “I am thinking that you do not recognize my guest, Marsaili.”
A note in his voice made her focus keenly on his companion as she said, “I do not believe that we have met before, sir.”
“Then I have the honor, my dear, to present to you your intended husband. This is Martin Lindsay, Lord of Redmyre.”
Tension swept through her, but fighting to conceal her dismay, Marsi nodded to Redmyre as regally as ever Annabella had to anyone. But she did not curtsy.
Redmyre made her a slight bow, saying, “The honor, m’lady, is mine own.”
She swallowed hard. Since anything that she had thought about him would be improper to say aloud, she held her tongue.
Ivor stepped nearer, gently touching her back as he said, “You are misinformed, Sir Malcolm. No betrothal exists between Lord Redmyre and her ladyship, nor can one ever exist. The lady Marsaili is my wife.”
Redmyre bristled angrily. “What is this? Albany promised me—”
Sir Malcolm put a quelling hand on his shoulder and said to Ivor, “You are the one in error, sir. But my niece neglects her duty. She has not presented you to me.”
“I am Ivor Mackintosh,” Ivor said. “I am a knight of the realm in service to the Lord of the North. My mother’s father is Captain of Clan Chattan. My father is Shaw MacGillivray Mackintosh, war leader of our confederation.”
“So your grandfather is the Mackintosh himself,” Sir Malcolm said, nodding. “Welcome to Kincardine, Sir Ivor. I do not know why you pretend to be Marsaili’s husband, though. It sits ill on your knightly honor to act in such a dishonorable way.”
“By my troth as a knight, sir, we are man and wife in every way.”
“Not so, I fear. See you, Marsaili is a ward of the Crown, and I know that she did not secure his grace’s permission to wed, so we can easily see to its annulment.”
“You may try,” Ivor replied. “However, by law, every Scotswoman reaches the age of consent on her twelfth birthday and can marry the man of her choosing. And she can do that without the consent of her parents or guardian.”
“Aye, sure, but my niece is a considerable heiress. Doubtless, that is why you continue this charade. But when the lords of Parliament make Albany Governor again, he will arrange her marriage settlements. In troth, he wields power enough even now to overturn your marriage.”
“Perhaps so. But, even he cannot force her ladyship to marry against her will. Scottish law plainly forbids that.”
“Her ladyship will do as Albany bids,” Redmyre said gruffly. “And if the Kirk be so misguided as to deny an annulment, he’ll not let you gain a groat from the Cargill estates. If you think otherwise, you’re right daft.”
“Her inheritance means nowt to me,” Ivor said. “However, it does mean much to her ladyship, so we’ll do what we can to settle it suitably. Meantime, we will trouble you no further, Sir Malcolm. You make it plain that we are unwelcome here.”
“Nay, now,” Sir Malcolm said tranquilly. “I’ve said nowt about leaving, nor would I have you think me inhospitable. Marsaili is my niece, and my sister loved her like a daughter. Also, James is my own nephew and a prince of this realm.”
“Even so, sir—”
“I am no enemy of yours, Sir Ivor. If I have mistaken your character, I will apologize. In troth, my family has had cause more than once to thank Clan Chattan, so I would be loath to make enemies there. I doubt that Redmyre wants that, either.”
Redmyre grimaced, and Marsi muttered to Ivor, “We should not stay.”
Sir Malcolm, evidently overhearing her, said, “My people have already told yours where to put your things, my dear.” Then, to James, he said, I hope you do not mean to run away, lad. It has been too long since last I saw you.”
James did not reply, nor did his uncle press him to speak. Instead, to Ivor, he said, “We won’t sup for an hour yet, but mayhap you will honor me by coming down a quarter-hour before the others to take a dram of peace with me.”
“I’d willingly take a dram with you, sir,” Ivor replied.
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Chapter 18
Having changed to his breeks and plaid for riding, Ivor met his first obstacle when he revealed his plan to Hetty, saying, “Tell me where I can take you, mistress. It should be near here but where you can be with friends.”
“With respect, sir,” she said, “I could not be easy in my conscience if I were to abandon my lady or our Jamie now. I will go with you.”
“In troth, mistress, Aodán and I will ride faster without you and be better able to cope with any difficulty we may meet.”
“I will keep up, sir,” Hetty said. “I will also try to keep out of your way if we meet trouble. But I will go unless you mean to leave me with Sir Malcolm, who is more likely to hand me over to Albany than protect me.”
“I won’t abandon you to Sir Malcolm,” he said tersely. “Someone ought to have drowned that particular Drummond pup at birth.”
“He is a great disappointment to me,” Hetty said. “Malcolm and I are much the same age, and cousins. So, until he began training for his knighthood, I saw him often. He was an ordinary boy, but gaining power changed him.”
“Power changes most men.”
“Aye, but I fear that for him it has become essential. See you, the Drummonds gained most of their vast power through their daughters, not their sons. I think Malcolm resents that and hopes to increase his power through Albany.”
Ivor did not mean to discuss Drummonds other than Marsi any further, so he said, “You may come with me, mistress. But I want your word that when I give an order, you will obey it. If I tell you to hide in woodland or elsewhere, I’ll expect you to stay there until I return to fetch you.”
The sudden twinkle in her eyes told him that her thoughts, like his own, had flashed to Marsi’s likely reaction to such an order.
The twinkle faded, and Hetty said, “I am accustomed to following orders, sir. I will do all I can to help you rescue my bairns from those who took them. Men who would do such a thing must be ill-doers.”
Ruthlessly suppressing thoughts of what Marsi might suffer at the hands of such men, Ivor ordered a hovering gillie to carry Hetty’s bundles down for her.
Leading the way to the yard, he found Aodán alone with their horses and wondered if Albany had mistaken the captain of his fighting tail for a mere equerry or had just meant to belittle Aodán. Not that it mattered. He was glad to see him.
“The lady Marsi and James have gone from here, Aodán—taken by Albany’s men, I suspect,” Ivor said without preamble in Gaelic. “Did you see them go?”
“Nay,” Aodán said. “They could have slipped out another way, sir, but only to head north. Until I received the order to ready our horses, I’d watched the track to the south for our missing two lads to come. But I’d have seen anyone in the yard.”
“Those were Redmyre’s men that Will saw yestermorn,” Ivor said. “I fear that they must have ambushed our lads.”
Aodán grimaced but said naught as he threw Ivor’s bundles and Hetty’s on a sumpter pony and tied them down. The horses were ready, and he had Ivor’s sword, bow, and quiver. While Ivor arranged his weapons and prepared to ride, Aodán helped Hetty. Then, he gathered the sumpter leads and mounted his own horse.
As they left the yard, Ivor said, “What have you done with young Will?”
“Nowt,” Aodán replied. “He vanished overnight. In troth, sir, I had no more than a glimpse of him after he helped me unload our three sumpters and tend the other horses. He seemed gey fidgety then. I had to warn him to take himself in hand lest he pass his nerves on to the beasts.”
Ivor frowned. It seemed unlike Will to behave so. The boy had chosen, after all, to follow Aodán to the stables rather than accompany them into the castle.
And Jamie had seemed content with his choice.
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p; Ivor wondered if the boys had had a falling out. But he had neither the time nor reason to ponder that possibility for long. He was eager to get away before Albany changed his mind about letting them go.
They had clear sky above while they followed the track north through the steep-sided glen. But when they emerged from its depths to see the village of Aberuthven in the distance, gray clouds had gathered in the west. And scattered, puffy white ones drifted toward them from the north.
In the cool morning air the clouds suggested rain rather than snow but warned Ivor that they’d be wise to seek shelter by midafternoon. Still, until he knew which way Albany’s men had gone with their captives, he could make few decisions.
Marsi stared bleakly out the south-facing window of Redmyre Tower at the long range of wooded hills jutting behind the flatter area nearby. By daylight, the trees were visibly a mix of evergreens, newly leafing beeches, and other varieties.
She wore her cloak, for the room was chilly. Its three windows lacked glass, and she could not bear to keep them all shuttered. There was no other source of light.
She knew the track from Strathearn led over those hills to Redmyre’s estate, because they had followed it the night before. However, from where she stood, looking east or west, she saw no path, only densely growing trees.
Looking west from a second window at gathering storm clouds over an undulating but otherwise tedious landscape of cultivated plots and grassy, snowdrift-dotted pastures, she decided to close that set of shutters against the chilly breeze.
The door leading to the stair landing was in the windowless north wall.
Looking east, she could see where the river Earn flowed into the firth. The view was nice, but she felt as if the river cut her off from the world beyond it. She had seen no roads anywhere, only a few footpaths.
