Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy Two 02]

by Border Lass

  “Sithee, I’ll help him with his horse,” Sym said with a gleam in his eyes.

  Garth nodded and held up a hand to silence Tam’s objection.

  Sym soon returned, flipped a coin with a cheeky grin, and said, “Sir Harald said he’d rid to Kelso for Sir Kenneth. Said Sir Kenneth did order new bridle straps and rings from a currier there.”

  “Did he, indeed?” Garth said.

  Tammy raised his eyebrows.

  “One must suppose he could think of nowt else,” Garth said to him.

  “I’d ha’ thought one o’ the gillies would ha’ gone for such, m’self,” Sym said. “Master Wat wouldna ask a belted knight to run his errands for him.”

  “You are wiser than one might think, my lad,” Garth said. “I trust you had sufficient wisdom not to mention that to Sir Harald.”

  “That grugous catwit? I’d no tell him the time o’ day,” Sym said, slipping his coin into his shoe. “Will we go now?”

  “Aye,” Garth said reluctantly as he cast one last glance at the house.

  Telling himself that he could do naught to aid the lass against the combined forces of her brother and Fife, he mounted his horse and led the way downhill from the stableyard to the track that would take them a bit beyond Dryburgh that evening and eleven miles farther in the morning to Hawick.

  Amalie would have liked to run out of the hall and upstairs to avoid both Simon and Fife, but Isabel forbade any of her ladies to leave.

  “Will the Governor not expect you to welcome him properly, madam?” Lady Averil asked rather austerely.

  “He comes without warning,” Isabel retorted. “Let him come to me.”

  He did so minutes later. When he and Simon entered the hall with a third man, alarmingly garbed in priestly habit, Amalie’s nerves stood on end.

  Gillies and maidservants hurriedly set more places at the princess’s right, where Garth, Sir Kenneth, and Sir Harald sat when all three were present.

  Sibylla, beside Amalie, reached to pat her hand, three fingers of which were rhythmically tapping the table. Sibylla’s touch stopped the tapping, whereupon she murmured, “Take a breath, my dear. Never provide any man the advantage of your agitation. ’Tis better to look your most serene at such times.”

  “Greetings, little sister,” Fife said, his voice carrying easily over the several yards yet between them. “I trust we are welcome, although we must wonder when you do not show us the courtesy of sending to tell us so, or come to us yourself.”

  “I do not believe I was expecting you, my lord,” Isabel said. “If you mean to make a long stay with us, you’d have been wiser to send word ahead.”

  The serene Sibylla got up abruptly, clapped one hand to her belly, the other to her mouth, and gasped, “Forgive me, madam!” Looking as if she would throw up on the spot, she added, “I would seek my chamber . . . with . . . with haste, madam!”

  Isabel nodded, and Sibylla hurried out.

  Amalie, although concerned for her well-being, was sorry to see her go. She had been certain the outspoken young woman would help Isabel protect her.

  “We stay only overnight,” Fife said, barely sparing a glance for Sibylla. “I trust so short a visit will not strain the resources of this place. It is smaller than I remember. Surely, you would find more comfort at Edmonstone, Isabel.”

  “I am content, sir. We were about to take our supper, but I have told my people to put it back a half hour, so that you and your companions may refresh yourselves. How many do you expect to eat and sleep here in the house?”

  “Just the three of us, and my man, of course. But he will sleep on his own pallet outside my door, as usual.”

  “I must warn you that we rarely receive gentleman visitors here,” Isabel told him. “So the north wing, where we house them, is not commodious.”

  “My men will camp on the hillside above Eden Water,” Fife said. “Providing for the three of us and my servant will not trouble you much.”

  “Doubtless my housekeeper is seeing to everything. Do you expect to celebrate mass here tonight, Father?” Isabel asked the priest.

  Amalie was watching Simon, who had not yet looked at her, let alone spoken. His attention remained fixed on Fife and the princess.

  Fife said, “Father Laurent is my priest, who often travels with me. And you know Simon Murray, now Laird of Elishaw, of course.”

  “As he was a guest here just a fortnight ago, I do. How do you fare, sir?”

  “Very well, madam,” Simon said, bowing. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “You need not thank me, sir. We did expect your arrival earlier, because your brother Thomas told us you would collect Amalie today to take her home. As it is too late now to reach even Jedburgh, let alone Elishaw, before darkness falls, and as it is likely to be another moonless night, you must certainly stay.”

  “Excellent,” Fife said, rubbing his hands together. “We will refresh ourselves at once. I note that your serving knights are absent, Isabel, although I suppose they must sup with you. I do not believe you have presented them to me as yet.”

  “Surely, you do not mean to say that you know none of them, sir,” Isabel said, raising her eyebrows.

  Blandly, he replied, “Sir Duncan Forrest I know to be Archie Douglas’s man, and I believe I may have seen Sir Kenneth Maclean at one time or another in a tiltyard or tourney. I knighted the third of them myself, although I have not seen him now for months. My point was that you have not formally presented any of them to me or, I believe, to your husband.”

  “Indeed, sir?” Isabel said. “But I was told at Scone by Sir John himself that he was sending Sir Harald to me.”

  “Oh, indeed,” Fife said without a blink. “I do recall now that Boyd applied to him, doubtless in a foolish belief that my reference would not be sufficient for you.”

  Knowing better than to rise to that fly, Isabel said, “Sir Duncan has returned to Galloway. But if you like, I shall present Sir Harald and Sir Kenneth to you when you return here to eat. They are both a trifle late, but with so many men arriving unexpectedly, they are doubtless very busy.”

  “Are you reduced to merely two, then?” A hint of sarcasm touched his voice.

  “There is a third,” she said. “But he left earlier for Melrose Abbey.”

  Amalie looked down, fearing that her surprise at the lie would give it away.

  “To what purpose?” Fife asked.

  “I believe that is my affair,” Isabel said coolly.

  He shook his head. “So you are still mourning the loss of James Douglas, I expect. It is unhealthy to extend any bereavement so, madam. You would do better to be living dutifully with your new husband.”

  “I did not choose my present husband, sir, as you know well. Nor did I ever promise to live with him.”

  “Still, if Edmonstone ordered you home, you would be bound to obey him.”

  “Would I? The Douglases made the arrangement. Perhaps you should discuss your concern with Archie the Grim.”

  “Perhaps I will, but I did not come here to quarrel with you.”

  “Did you not, sir? Then why have you come?”

  “We will discuss that after we sup, I believe,” he said. “If you will have someone show us where to refresh ourselves we will soon rejoin you.”

  “He is up to something horrid,” Isabel said with a grimace when the men had gone. “I don’t like this.”

  “Doubtless, his lordship is merely accompanying the lady Amalie and her brother—who has served him for many years now, after all—to honor them with his presence at their unfortunate father’s burial,” Lady Averil said soothingly.

  “Fife never does honor to others unless he can gain something worthwhile for himself,” Isabel muttered.

  Amalie, nearly overwrought with tension, had deduced exactly what Fife intended from the simple fact of his arrival at Sweethope with Simon and a priest.

  “He means to marry me to Sir Harald,” she said into the silence that fell then.

&nb
sp; Her declaration floated into the air and hovered there as the others stared at her. The surprising thing from her viewpoint was that she had sounded perfectly calm, as if the notion had not utterly terrified her.

  Moreover, she felt calm, even limp. Not only had all her tension gone but every other feeling and emotion had vanished with it, as if something deep inside her had torn open and let every feeling spill right out of her. Nay, though, that was untrue. She felt cold clear through.

  “You are as white as a sheet, Amalie,” Susan said from her seat just the other side of the space Sibylla had left.

  In a voice that did not sound at all like her own, Amalie said, “I was marveling at how calm I feel. I was so tense I could hardly breathe before I said what I was thinking, but now . . .” She paused, thinking that now it was as if she were no longer herself but watching some other hopeless person seek words to continue.

  Isabel said, “Remember, they cannot force you. Even Fife must obey the law.”

  “Simon is Murray of Elishaw now,” Amalie said, struggling to collect her wits. “He will make me obey him. Would the Governor accept less?”

  “A woman must obey the head of her family, madam,” Lady Averil said.

  “Not if he tries to force a marriage on her against her will,” Isabel insisted. “Even a priest must honor her refusal in such a case.”

  Amalie hoped she was right, but any confidence she still had was ebbing fast.

  The men returned in less time than she had hoped. Sir Harald was with them and took the seat at Simon’s right. Fife sat at the center next to Isabel, and Amalie wished Garth were there, although she could not imagine what he could do to help.

  It was a solemn meal. The men did not converse with the women, chatting quietly among themselves instead. Sir Kenneth did not come in to supper.

  When Isabel gestured for servants to clear the table, draw the curtains, and light the candles as they did each evening after supper, Amalie thought it had been both the longest and shortest one of her life.

  For one wanting to know the worst, it took far too long. For one expecting the worst, it was far too short. She doubted the meal had taken an hour from the time the men had sat down until she realized Isabel had finished.

  Shortly thereafter, the princess turned to Fife, clearly expecting him to speak.

  When he did not, she said, “Well, my lord, what now?”

  “A wedding, madam,” he replied without hesitation.

  “Faith, sir, this is no time for a wedding,” she said curtly. “Especially if you are expecting to see the lady Amalie marry when she has just lost her father.”

  “I understand your reluctance,” he said smoothly. “But consider, if you will, that she will be traveling twenty-five miles or more with a large force of men-at-arms, to attend her father’s funeral and see him buried afterward. Surely, her reputation will be better guarded if she travels as a married lady with her husband.”

  “Hardly cause enough for a forced marriage,” Isabel protested. “If it is so dangerous for her to go under your protection and Simon’s, she need not go at all.”

  Looking from one person to another, Amalie saw doubt everywhere except on Isabel’s face. She knew the princess meant well and doubtless believed all she said, but Amalie could not make herself believe Isabel could prevail against Fife.

  “This discussion is unsuitable for us to have before such an audience, Isabel,” Fife said, his tone no longer conciliatory. “Dismiss your servants.”

  “I will not allow you to force Amalie to marry a man she dislikes.”

  “She will do as she is bid,” Fife said. “Tell her, Simon.”

  Simon said, “In troth, Princess, it was the wish of my lord father that she marry Sir Harald, and I mean to see that wish carried out. Amalie will do as I command, and I believe it is wisest for her to marry straightaway.”

  “I should think you would want to avoid even appearing to act with such unseemly haste,” Isabel said. “Amalie, do you want to marry Sir Harald?”

  “You know I do not, madam,” Amalie said.

  “If you are going to be obstructive, Isabel, you must leave,” Fife said.

  “I would remind you that Scottish law is on my side, sir, and that this is my house,” Isabel said indignantly.

  “And I would remind you that this is my realm,” he said coldly. “I will allow you to leave with dignity and retire quietly to your chamber. If you refuse, I warn you, I have men in the entry hall awaiting my command. They will remove you and anyone else who tries to interfere with this wedding. Which shall it be?”

  White-faced with fury, Isabel did not reply but stood up, turned to Amalie, and said, “I am abjectly sorry for this, my dear. I had no idea he had come to believe that he, instead of God Almighty, orders the entire universe.”

  Fife’s tone did not change as he said, “Take your other women and the servants with you, Isabel. The lady Amalie will stay here.”

  Isabel said nothing, but the other ladies got hastily to their feet and followed as she swept from the chamber. Most of the servants had already slipped out. Those who had not, fled with the ladies.

  The door shut behind them all with a thump, leaving Amalie alone on the dais with a priest and three men determined to have their way with her.

  Never in his life had Garth been so reluctant to leave a place. He perfectly understood his duty to the Earl of Douglas, and he knew that Archie would have no sympathy for a young woman forced to marry against her will. He’d have even less for a man who tried to interfere with that wedding, especially as Archie was friendly with the most powerful of the men seeking to see it accomplished.

  Garth also was sure that even if he were to ride back to Sweethope Hill, he could do nothing to stop whatever was happening there. For one man to stand alone against the Governor of the Realm and a large force of his men, not to mention the lass’s own brother—now head of her family—would be utter folly.

  The farther he rode, the stronger his reluctance grew. He had no idea how long Archie would want him to stay with him, or even if Archie would keep him. The summons might mean only that he wanted a report of all Garth had learned since their meeting at Scone. But Garth really did not care what Archie wanted.

  The plain truth was that he had grown fond of the lady Amalie. The thought that men who ought to be protecting her were doubtless at that very moment forcing her to marry a man like Boyd grated on his very soul.

  He had never before felt so helpless. What, he asked himself, was the use of his skill with a sword, lance, or dirk if he could do naught to help someone he cared about as much as he was coming to care about her?

  As these and other such thoughts streamed through his head, Tam and Sym had been talking amiably. Garth had lent about half an ear to their discussion, mostly out of appreciation for Tam’s patience with the cheeky Sym, who asked endless questions about their route and location.

  The lad had just demanded that Tam tell him what villages the river Tweed flowed through. Earlier, he had wanted to know the southernmost destination of the drove road they’d followed before turning off it to ride along the river’s north bank.

  When Tam protested the apparently unending pelter of questions, Sym said, “And what happens to me if ye fall off your pony and die afore we get where we’re a-going, then, eh? I should ken every road and river, should I no? I ken them all fine for miles round Rankilburn Glen, after all.”

  “Ye ken them all because ye followed Himself and the rest of us to places ye ought never to have gone,” Tam retorted indignantly.

  “Aye, well, ye’ll no say it never did anyone any good, me having that ken. Now, will ye?”

  Tam sighed, evidently in agreement. And for a few blessed moments there was silence but for the quick, steady clip-clop of the trotting horses.

  The sun was touching the horizon, and Garth knew that after it set, they would have little more than another hour’s fading light, if that. He was about to suggest that they urge their mounts
to a faster pace when Sym said, “Coo, who would that be now, a-riding after us like Auld Clootie’s own?”

  Looking back, Garth saw the rider in the deep shadows of overhanging trees, and saw skirts and long hair flying as she rode. Reining his mount in, he narrowed his eyes. The woman was riding recklessly, taking a grave chance that she and her horse would meet disaster at any moment.

  She was hatless, and her flying dark hair made him fear for a startling moment that it was Amalie. But when she emerged from the deepest shadows and dying rays of the sun glinted on her hair, they touched off coppery highlights.

  In sudden dread, his mind making the sort of unreasoned leap he had once scolded Amalie for making, he wrenched his horse’s head around and kicked it hard to a gallop, meeting the lady Sibylla minutes later.

  “What is it, my lady?” he demanded. “What has brought you here all alone like this, and at such reckless speed?”

  “I dared take no time to persuade anyone else of the need, sir,” she said. “Nor could I dawdle, for the princess needs your help.”

  “Isabel sent you?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Sibylla said. “I saw you in the yard before they came, so you know that Fife came with Simon of Elishaw. They mean to force her to marry Sir Harald Boyd. You must stop them, sir.”

  “I’d be happy to stop them if I had any notion how I might do so.”

  “I’ve been puzzling over that as I rode,” she said, surprising him. “The only thing I can think of is that Fife cannot perform the marriage ceremony himself. The priest must do it. So, if you can but think of a way to stop a priest . . .”

  “If he is Fife’s priest, he will do as Fife commands,” he replied.

  “Even so,” she said. “You must think of a way. Fife has men in the entry hall, which can only mean that he is prepared to eject Isabel from the proceedings if she protests them.”

  “How did you manage to slip past them?”

  “I ran out of the great hall, holding one hand over my mouth and the other clapped to my stomach. They did not try to stop me. In any event, I went straight upstairs, so they had no cause to try.”