“Eoin, my love, I know you mean well. You are hungry, that is all that is up with you this morn. You must break your fast early. There are apples and oatcakes aplenty in the kitchen. Go eat some. Tis not long now till the noon day meal is served.”
She placed her pup back down on the ground and tried to entice the dog into a game of fetch. The stick landed at Eoin’s feet. He carefully side-stepped the branch.
“My patience is growing thin, Sybilla. I’m told that you have befriended a squirrel now. Is that correct? What next? A squirrel is naught but vermin. Will you make pets of the castle rats too?”
She shrugged. “Mayhap.” She really needed to stop teasing him. “The children love the squirrel. Do you think they might warm to a rat also?”
She really must shut up. Right now!
Twalhoures was dawning ever closer. More and more folk were leaving their dwellings with howling bellies and hungry faces. Eoin released his grip on her arm, and as he did so, Sybilla seized the chance to slip away. She fell in behind a group of laundry girls heading for the dining hall.
“No need to vex so, Eoin,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll find someone to clean the solar and launder your tunic. I’ll sort things for you, you’ll see.”
“Indeed, you will.” He plucked her painting from the stool and held it up in the air by its edges. Horror was etched on his face. Sybilla had seen that look before. Once, long ago, her nanny had pulled a similar face after she plucked a tape worm from her own throat.
Eoin’s lips curled. “This piece of cesspit sludge is fit for naught but the furnace.”
Then, with livid steps, he bolted towards the smithy’s door and walloped on the wood. “Smithy, open up. It is your young laird speaking. Open, I say. Right away, you cad. No dallying.”
Sybilla closed her eyes and sighed. Her betrothed’s temper was hot enough to seer meat. Oft his wrathful nature got the better of him. But, once they were wed, and she was officially the young laird’s lady, she would set about taming and improving her husband. Given a vast amount of time and an immense amount of effort, she was sure that Eoin would finally conquer his temper. Perhaps she’d better enlist the Almighty’s help too. Such a task would require everyone’s assistance.
The smithy’s wooden door creaked open.
Feverish with impatience, Eoin kicked it till it swung wider. “Took your sweet time to answer, did you not, man! Tis Lucky for you, Smithy, that your skills are in such demand. Otherwise, my father would hear about your insolence.”
He flung Sybilla’s painting right into the man’s aproned girth.
“Here, take this. Tis fuel for your furnace.”
MacKay, the elderly blacksmith, glanced at Eoin, his gaze lingering a moment longer than was polite. Then he met Sybilla’s eye. This time there was a hint of a smile on his upturned lips and an ocean of sympathy in his eyes.
“Are you deaf, man? Take it, I say.” Eoin shoved the painting harder into the smithy’s belly. “And hurry your movements. At this rate, we shall still be standing here come Candlemas.”
Mackay accepted the painting, and at the same time, he arranged the features of his face into a kindly form.
“That piece of muck is to be burnt,” Eoin said, “and I want it done before you eat your twalhoures meal. Do you hear me?”
Smithy said nothing.
Eoin rubbed his paint-coated fingers down his new tunic. “And you, Sybilla, my flighty soon-to-be shackle, have a task to perform. Before you set forth on another of your mad jaunts, you will go back to my solar and tidy up. You shall do the task yourself and not palm it off on some wench. Those pigments of yours must be tidied away by your own troublesome hand.”
“But surely Isa can clean on my behalf? I have much to achieve this day, Eoin.”
His eyes narrowed into black poisonous berries. “Such as?”
Sybilla saw her mistake. She must not tell him what she had planned because, in this caustic mood of his, he would take pleasure in destroying her day.
So instead she said, “I have embroidery waiting to be done and music to practice.” It was rubbish of course—all lies. She hated nearly all the domestic duties that women of her position were meant to excel in, and most other female pastimes bored her rigid, too.
“What else do you have planned for this day?” he probed.
Sybilla held her tongue.
He moved closer, so his face was almost pressed into hers. “You have not included poetry reading on your list of activities. Tonight, the bard will entertain us till the wee hours of the morrow. You can’t have forgotten such a rare treat, surely?”
Sybilla had forgotten, or at least she had tried to. She’d cast it from her mind because the last thing she wanted to do was listen to that long-winded bard bleat on and on and on. She nodded and, for Eoin’s sake, tried to look enthusiastic.
“Don’t think you are weaselling your way out of tonight, Sybilla. I won’t let you. Dear Adeliza has organised this treat especially for us—for you and me. You must turn up and show your gratitude. You don’t want to wound sweet Adeliza, do you? I cannot bear the thought of my dear cousin being heartsore.”
Sybilla raised her chin. “I think Adeliza will be glad if I stay away, and she will not be heartsore in the slightest. If I am not there, she gets her favourite cousin all to herself. Adeliza would love it if I sailed away in the breeze and fell off the side of the earth. She is far more likely to feel heartsore if I do make an appearance tonight.”
Eoin gritted his teeth. “You must stop picking on Adeliza. It is most unbecoming of you. The dear sweet girl has organised the bard’s visit as an early wedding gift for us. You will be in the great hall tonight, and I refuse to listen to any of your silly excuses.”
He spun her around so that she faced the open door in the keep wall. He placed his delicate hands on the middle of her back and shoved, pushing her reluctant feet all the way to the castle wall, till she reached the opening to the keep. He kept on shoving until they were both through to the back stairwell.
“Go tidy away your mess. When you are done, you must freshen yourself up before eating your noonday meal. After you have eaten, I want you to rest for the afternoon. You must be agreeable tonight, Sybilla. Tonight, you will pretend to be a lady. After we are wed, you must alter your personality to be more befitting of a Laird’s wife.”
He spun on his heels and rushed away.
She watched Eoin storm towards the hall, towards the sweet smells of roasted pigeon and smoked herring.
He is a good man, she repeated over and over, chanting the words, as if saying them would make them true. My wise and wonderful mother would not have harried me towards this marriage otherwise. When we wed, we will grow together and see eye-to-eye. Eoin will learn to love me as much, or mayhap even more than he loves his sneaky rat of a cousin, Adeliza.
Again, she wondered what she was doing wrong. Perhaps it would be best to swallow her pride and ask Adeliza herself how one went about pleasing Eoin. After all, the girl certainly had the knack of him. Eoin would attend a feast in the castle privy if Adeliza organised it. Yes, Sybilla acknowledged, she was doing something horribly wrong, and as soon as she corrected her mistakes, she and Eoin would become a happy couple.
Lost in her thoughts, she collided with her maid. “Oh Isa, there you are. The young lord is angry with me, again.”
Isa smiled. “He be a difficult man to please and that be for certes.”
“Quite. Anyway, I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, m’lady.”
“I’ve left my painting things out in the solar. Would you tidy them away, please? I simply do not have the time.”
She nodded, gave a quick “m’lady,” and rushed on.
Sybilla turned to leave and then stopped. “Oh Isa,” she called
after her. “I think I have ruined his new tunic, again. If you could see to its laundering, as best you can, I would be most grateful.”
“Aye, provided the master doesnae throw the garment away first.”
“Surely not. What a waste of good cloth that would be.”
“Yea. But he has done just that plenty of times a’fore. Many a beautiful piece of clothing I’ve saved from the furnace.”
Sybilla scurried back across the bailey, retracing her steps and heading straight for the blacksmith’s stall.
She rapped on his door and quickly poked her head through. “Only me, McKay. Please tell me that you have not cast my picture into the furnace?”
“Nay, I have not.” He handed her a package covered in damp cloth. “But m’lady, please be careful. The young laird mustn’t catch on, oust I’ll be booted out of the castle, quick-smart.”
“As if I’d let that happen to you, McKay.”
“I’m mighty glad you’re to wed him soon, m’lady. Hopin’ you’ll make a difference around here. That young Laird is naught but trouble. I fear to think what life would be like in Scrabbly without you.”
“Nonsense,” she laughed. “He’s a decent man deep down. We just need to dig far and wide to unearth his better nature.” She waved and raced away with a smile, her damp package nestled safely under her arm. The miller’s lad wouldn’t mind a few smudges.
It took naught but a few moments to reach the castle stable. Sybilla stopped just inside the door, pausing to let her eyes grow accustomed to the dark. Whilst she waited, she breathed in the rich odour of the place, a scent that spoke of fields and freedom.
The stable was her favourite place to be in all of Scrabbly. She took another deep breath, and this time she fancied she could smell the sun on her face and the joy that she always felt when she rode over the hill and cantered towards her father’s manor. Stop this nonsense, Sybilla!
Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she went in search of the stable lad. Tis lucky she found him, rather than Eoin. The wee imp was hard asleep, tucked under a blanket in the hay. Eoin had no patience with tired, growing lads. Sybilla crept into the stall and disturbed the huge dog Hercules, lying curled at the boy’s feet. She rolled the giant mastiff’s neck in her hands and kissed his ear. He’d been hers briefly, when she first arrived, but he quickly took a liking to the stables and young Jamie. If Hercules approved of stable-boy Jamie, then she did too.
The monster dog bounded about the stalls, almost knocking her off her feet. She rubbed his jowly slobbering face and laughed. “Steady on, pup. You belong here, that’s for certes. And how you’ve grown! You’re the size of a wee pony now. Soon we shall have to house you in a stall all of your own.”
Jamie stirred and pried his eyes apart. Seeing her, he bolted upright.
“Mistress, I just dozed for naught but a minute. I didnae hear you come in.”
“Obviously, Jamie, but you must be more careful. Not everyone in this castle is so forgiving. If I was Master Eoin . . .”
Hercules growled at the sound of his name.
“Hush and behave.” Sybilla petted the hunting dog some more. He quieted with her touch and dribbled anew, staring up with huge, adoring eyes. Hercules’ dislike of Eoin was the chief reason she’d given him to the stables.
“Jamie, please saddle my palfrey. Make haste because I have much to do this morrow. Also, the noonday meal is about to be served, and you mustn’t miss out.”
She left the stable boy to his job while she rushed into the bakehouse and selected two bannocks and a skin of ale. She would miss her midday supper, but no matter. Instead, she’d have a picnic out in the fresh air. Bundling her supplies into a sack, she scooted back to the stable. The palfrey was almost ready. He turned his regal head and whinnied as she approached.
“Beautiful boy.” Coming up to the horse, she smiled, rubbing him between the ears.
“Nice day for a ride, m’lady.”
“Tis for certes.”
Jamie looked around, his back stiff. “Will Master Eoin be wanting me to saddle a horse for him also?”
“Not today. Thank you, Jamie.”
Sybilla grabbed the bridle with one hand and wrapped her skirts around her legs with the other
Jamie helped her to mount, but he held on to the reins. “Surely, you’re not meaning to head out of the castle alone, m’lady?”
Sybilla tossed the sack onto the saddle. “I am, and I trust you to keep my secret. If anyone asks, I’m meeting up with others. You have no idea who and didn’t dare ask.”
Jamie scratched his scalp. “Aye, very good. But be careful, m’lady. Tis dangerous out there, especially with all the raiders about these days.” He nodded towards the hills.
Then Jamie had no alternative but to guide her horse forward. She was about to gallop off when she remembered something else.
“Jamie, you’ve met the McKenzie lass, haven’t you? She’s from your own small village.” Sybilla settled her skirts over her legs, getting comfortable for it was a lengthy ride ahead.
The stable lad nodded. “I know her, m’lady. She’s a fine hawker—the finest around these parts. She trained a Sparrowhawk and did a masterful job of the bird too. That bird was the best, bar none.”
Sybilla gave him a generous smile, happy with his measure of the young hawker lass. “She’s training a Lady Merlin at the moment, or so I’ve heard. Now that’s the falcon I’d like to purchase.”
“It’ll be a prized hawk for sure. Mind you don’t pay too much, m’lady.”
Sybilla cantered out of the stable door. She called over her shoulder, “I have a mind to get that falcon, no matter the cost.”
Jamie called after her, “The young Laird can afford it, I s’pose. So why not?”
She laughed. “Quite.”
Before she rode away, she looked back, and her smile faded. “Remember, Jamie, if anyone asks, you have no notion of my whereabouts. None at all.”
“You have my word, m’lady.” Then he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, “Besides, I wouldn’t know what to say to the young master. I’d cop a licking just for opening my mouth.”
Eoin had certainly earned his reputation, Sybilla thought as she trotted through the portcullis and over the drawbridge. It didn’t take her long to get away from the castle and out into the open fields. First stop: the Miller’s granary.
She hugged the tree line, tucking herself into the shadows in case anyone from the castle was out and about. The last thing she wanted was for others to tag along. She longed to ride fast and free and feel the wind dancing in her hair. She wanted to fill her ears with birdsong and the rhythmic pounding of horse hooves racing over the earth.
It did not take her long to reach the grain mill. Soon enough, the old stone mill with its tall grain store came into view. She bolted forward and was soon standing outside the miller’s little slumping door. The shutters were fastened tight, as if the miller was still fast asleep or worse, away for a time. The place was far too peaceable for a miller, his wife, and eight children to be home, especially on such a beautiful noon. She entered his barn knowing already that the family was gone. The miller was one of the few merchants fortunate enough to own a horse, even if the beast was an old mare that did naught more than trot the miller’s children around.
Yes, the horse was gone, and the house was utterly empty. She placed her painting safely inside the barn door and wandered off to find a spot to eat her picnic meal.
Not much point in dawdling. The village that trained hawks was another good hour’s ride away. If she was going to meet with the McKenzie girl, or more precisely, buy the Lady Merlin, then she needed to get there and back before dark. Eoin might not want any more animals, but who could resist owning such a magnificent bird of prey?
Sybilla finished her supper
and set off again. As the height of the afternoon approached, the sun outdid itself and warmed the air. This unseasonably fine weather was a rare treat for leaf-fall north of the border.
Riding past the grove of walnut trees, she recalled the loch. It was her favourite spot, at least in this part of the world. She had time to squeeze in a quick rest stop. Her palfrey needed a deep drink, and a break would sooth them both. Wasting no more time, she galloped the short distance towards the lake’s clearing.
Ahh, it was indeed beautiful here. The air teased the willow grasses tossing their heads. This place was a patch of paradise, and yet, no one from the castle ventured this far. Wasn’t her father always saying that those north of the border afeared the water?
Giving her horse a long lead, she dismounted and wandered to the far bank. The wild flowers were remarkable here: yellows, reds, purples, and blues all perfuming the air. And berries were still ripe too: blackberries, mulberries, and even wild strawberries. Perhaps she could pick some and take them back to the castle. Would a pie of rich berries please Eoin? Not likely, but never mind. They would marry soon, and that was what mattered. Their union would bring peace and stability to many and honour her family’s commitment. Better she marry a Border Reiver herself than let the task fall to Juliette or Vienna. Juliette was in love with someone else, and Vienna was delicate. Neither would cope at all well with a Border Reiver.
Sybilla leaned over the glass-like pool, trying to catch her reflection. She should tidy herself before heading off again. Pushing loose tendrils of hair back into place, she was about to swipe at the dust on her cheeks when a shadow rose up from behind. It was a giant of a thing and terrifying in form.
Her heart pummelled. She tried to spin around, but the creature grabbed her arms, pinning them behind. Then something, a cloth of sorts, was shoved hard under her nose and held there. She struggled for breath, fighting to get free and clawing at the shape behind her. She was desperate and panicked. An odorous smell stung her throat and lungs. She struck out anew, and all the while, she struggled to pull breath into her lungs.
Hemlock and Honey: Highlander Romance Page 3
