by Amanda Scott
“Why have you not told me his name?”
“Because it was unnecessary at first, and we were on the stairway last night,” he replied honestly. “Moreover, lass, I was so tired then that I could scarcely think. Sithee, I’d liefer the villain not learn that I’m searching for him, and he has many allies on this side of the line who would warn him.”
“I am certainly not one of them,” she said, cocking her head quizzically. “So, now that you have thought, do you mean to tell me who he is?”
“I decided this morning that I must,” he admitted. “His name is Gilbert Rutherford. Have you ever heard your brothers speak of him?”
She shook her head. “I ken fine that Will and Ned do go a-reiving, but I know few of their friends. I don’t know who goes with them on raids.”
“Thomas never does?”
“Nay, I told you, Thomas is a man of peace. Moreover, he has been away for two months, helping a man near Peebles build a new house on his estate.”
Wat said, “Geordie, the captain of my tail, heard something at Henderland that makes us suspect that your brothers might ride with Rutherford. Will’s repute is so much like his that I’d be surprised if they don’t at least know each other.”
“Will and Ned can be violent,” Molly said stiffly. “But they don’t kill people. And if the King wants this Rutherford caught, I expect that he does kill.”
“He and his men have murdered many, aye, and I doubt that your brothers tell you all that they do. Art sure you’ve never heard them speak of Rutherford?”
“I am certain,” she said tersely. “I may not like Will or Ned much, my lord, but they are still my brothers. I know they’re angry with me, and I expect I’ve given them cause to be. But I won’t help you hunt them down. No one who is kin to me could be as brutal or as ruthless as you tell me this Rutherford person is.”
“Have you heard of someone called Wee Gilly?” he asked.
“No, and I don’t want to continue this conversation. Moreover, it is unfair of you to say that because they go a-reiving they must be so wicked. After all, you have also led raids into England. Doubtless, they call you a reiver. Is that not so?”
His temper stirring, Wat nearly denied it. After all, he had done only what was necessary to follow orders the Douglas had given him. The earl’s commands were often simply, “Take care of it,” or “Look into that. See it doesna happen again.”
Knowing he would be wiser to be honest with her, he said, “I’ve led raids into England at my liege lord’s command, aye. We were usually retaliating for English raids on our people here, to dissuade the English from doing it again.”
“How does that differ from what this Rutherford does?”
Deciding it was unnecessary to carry honesty so far as to admit that in his youth he had ridden with Clan Scott reivers until his father put a stop to it, he said grimly, “Rutherford has burned innocent people, even children, in their homes, or cut them down with Jedburgh axes. We have done our share of burning, lass. But we empty the places of innocents first.”
He knew that many Scots were as ruthless as the English and Rutherford were. Nevertheless, she had accused him personally, and his men had orders against such doings. They knew that he would hang any man who purposely killed a child, a woman, or any other innocent person, regardless of where the killing occurred.
“Try to understand,” he said quietly. “To serve his grace, I must bring this villain to justice. And, if your brothers are in league with him…”
“But I tell you they are not,” she said, standing again and fisting her hands. “I won’t listen to more of this. If you deem me disrespectful for that, so be it.”
“I don’t want to fratch with you, Molly,” Wat said, also standing and stepping away from the back-stool. “But you must see that men who treat you as your father and brothers have are more likely than not to ill-treat other women and bairns.”
“I don’t see that at all,” she said more heatedly. “How would you like it if I accused Janet or Bella, or the lady Rosalie and her steward, of such things?”
“We will leave my family out of this discussion,” he said, irked again.
“Aye, sure, because they are your family,” she retorted. “Even you once suggested that your aunt’s steward might be a spy for England. Yet you instantly defend them all. I am doing no more than that, my lord. Even so, I will not speak again of your family. In fact, I will speak no more to you today.”
So saying, she moved toward the door, but he reached out when she would have passed him and caught her by an arm.
“Wait,” he said, striving for calm and finding it more elusive than expected.
She stiffened and glowered at his hand on her arm. “Release me, sir. If you do not, I shall know that you are just like my brothers and my father.”
“You know that I am not.”
“Just when I’d begun to think you might be different, too,” she added, as if he had kept silent. “It pains me to admit that I had even begun to hope, to imagine, that if I am truly free of Tuedy, our friendship—which is to say yours and mine—might grow much stronger, even w-warmer.”
Furious with herself for the slight stutter and hoping that Wat had not heard it, Molly scowled at him. His lips had parted slightly, but he had not said a word.
Nor did he release her.
She knew he was angry. So was she. “Did you not hear me, sir? Let me go.”
“I heard you,” he said with unnatural calm. He released her.
Angrier with herself for spouting her most intimate feelings at him than she was with him for expecting her to disown her family, Molly strode toward the door. Certain that he would stop her again before she reached it, she increased her pace, only to feel a surge of disappointment when he did not even try.
She hesitated, hoping he would at least say something to keep her there. When he did not, she opened the door, walked out, and slammed it behind her.
Having no other sensible place to go, since it was doubtless as cold out as he had said it was, she went to her chamber. Standing inside, by the door, she listened for his footsteps and, when she heard none, called herself a fool for doing so.
Muttering imprecations to himself, grateful that he had managed not to say such things to Molly, Wat strode to the solar’s window embrasure to make sure its shutters were firmly fastened against the worsening weather.
Such loyalty to kinsmen who had betrayed her and opposed their rightful King, as well, seemed irrational to him. He had expected her to be grateful for his protection and his friendship. Instead, she had turned on him like a spitting wee cat.
His first impulse was to go after her and shake some sense into her. His next one was to appeal to his grandmother to support and advise him. Somehow, though, as he pictured himself telling Lady Meg that Molly ought to be grateful…
He was a fool. He didn’t want her damn gratitude. He wanted to understand her. He wanted her to see that her kinsmen were dangerous to her and to others. He also wanted her to stay and fight with him when she believed she was right.
It was the second time she’d stormed away from him, and she had promis—
Stormed?
He strode back to open the shutters that he had just secured.
The sun hid behind a sullen dark cloud. Its cousins rushed to join it, and the air was icy enough to stiffen the hairs in his nostrils. Snow was coming. Moreover, the last time she’d fled, the fool lass had tried to lose herself again in the forest.
“God help me,” he muttered, “if she has run outside again…” Picturing her across his knee stirred visceral satisfaction, then other, more sensuous thoughts.
When those images abruptly gave way to one of her frozen to an ice statue, a noise erupted from his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.
He crossed the room again and wrenched the door open before he took a breath. What the devil, he asked himself, had stirred such unusual panic in him?
Molly was no dafty. Why
was he behaving as if she were?
Collecting his scattered wits, he went down to the great hall.
He found Sym there, alone with Lady Rosalie’s steward, Len Gray.
“Has either of you seen the lady Molly?” Wat asked.
“Nay, laird,” Sym said. “I thought she was with ye.”
“We did have a talk,” Wat said, striving to keep an even tone. “I have more that I’d like to say to her, but she seems to have vanished.”
“She may be wi’ Herself,” Sym said, eyeing him more shrewdly. “The ladies Rosalie and Janet, and your mam, be in the sitting room wi’ her now.”
The thought of trying to extricate Molly from that group daunted him. Nor did he want to ask all four women in concert if they knew where she was if she was not with them. Thanking Sym for the suggestion, he decided to ask people in the kitchen and outside in the yard before he sought her elsewhere.
Both courses proving futile, he found himself at a standstill. No one else had seen her. The remaining likelihood, therefore, was that she was with Lady Meg.
But if she wasn’t… Truly growling now, he decided the abbot was right. The lass needed a husband. No matter how many times he or anyone else called her marriage to Tuedy illegal, the only way Molly could permanently escape the brute was with a husband who had the power to protect her and to stifle Tuedy.
If he were ready to marry, he might easily choose worse than Molly for a wife. His father had considered her for him, and he did feel as if he’d known her all his life, not just for a fortnight. Surely, he could think of someone suitable for her.
He could talk to her, and she could talk to him—until her temper erupted. Aye, sure, they did sometimes disagree. But those conversations had all stimulated him to want more. The fact was they got on well together, except when they didn’t.
Smiling at the turn his thoughts had taken, he decided that he would find her, wherever she was, and do what he could to straighten things out between them.
He would discover then if she remained firmly opposed to marrying or might consider doing so if he could find a man who would protect her and persuade Tuedy that his misbegotten marriage was beyond recovery.
Chapter 14
Molly awoke from her nap to hear the click of her door latch followed by the hushing sounds of someone entering her room. Realizing that she had fallen asleep at the foot of her bed with its curtains half drawn, she sat up to see who it was.
Her first thought was that Wat had come in, but she banished it as most unlikely even before she saw Emma cross the dusky room to the washstand.
Emma turned with the ewer in her hand and gasped, nearly dropping it. “M’lady, I had nae ken that ye was here,” she said. “ ’Tis sorry I be if I woke ye.”
“Don’t apologize, Emma,” Molly said, swinging her feet to the floor. “And, prithee, do not tell the ladies Janet or Bella, or Lady Scott, that you found me asleep again.” When Emma shook her head, Molly added, “What is the hour?”
“It be nigh midday, m’lady. Be ye ailing, d’ye think? Mayhap ye should get under them covers. It be freezing cold out, and me da says if it doesna snow afore bedtime, he’ll be fair astounded. He’s always right about such, too, me da is.”
“I think your father is wise about many things, Emma. I’ve heard men say that he kens the Border roads and trails better than anyone else in Scotland.”
“Aye, he’s a canny mannie, is Da. Shall I brew ye a tisane, m’lady?”
“I’d liefer you pretend that I’ve just come up here to change this kirtle for the other one that Lady Janet lent me,” Molly said. “I expect that you should tidy my hair, too, though, and put it in a net for me.”
“I can do that, aye, but Lady Janet’s sent ye a new gown, too,” Emma said, gesturing toward a length of fabric draped over a stool. “She said she thought this bright green one that the lady Rosalie brought her would suit ye better than her.”
“Oh, but I cannot wear something that Lady Rosalie meant for Lady Janet,” Molly protested. “What would Lady Rosalie think?”
“Och, it willna trouble her,” Emma said, grinning. “Lady Janet said the lady Rosalie saw for herself that such a bright green willna suit a lass wi’ her light-blue eyes and straw-colored hair. Lady Rosalie even said it might be more suitable for you, because o’ the green flecks she saw in your eyes when first she met ye. And, too, your hair being darker, she said, the color willna overpower ye.”
Molly suspected that Janet had put those words in Lady Rosalie’s mouth, if Rosalie had spoken them, or in Emma’s if she hadn’t. Even so, it would be churlish to refuse such generosity. “You leave me nothing to say, Emma. I’ll try it on.”
Minutes later, Emma stood back, nodding and smiling with satisfaction. “ ’Tis a pity we’ve nae looking-glass in here, me lady, for ye should see yourself. It becomes ye mighty well, I think.”
Molly wondered if Wat would agree with Emma. Then she recalled that she had infuriated him to a point where he probably would not care what she wore.
Moreover, he was her host and the man who had protected her from her brothers’ anger and her father’s right to insist that he send her home.
In return, she had vented her anger on him and fled again. The last fact was the worst, since she had promised to try not to run away again.
Not that she had no right to defend her family, she reminded herself. She just ought to have been more civil to him.
Suddenly nervous about seeing him again, she prayed that he would not let others see his vexation when she went downstairs. To her relief, when she entered the hall, he stood on the dais, talking with the lady Rosalie and smiling.
When his gaze shifted to Molly, he stopped talking to watch her approach.
His face revealed none of his thoughts. And, although his gaze seemed to encompass her without meeting her eyes, she could not look away from him. Something about his demeanor—or perhaps it was no more than her own pride—stirred her to thrust back her shoulders and raise her chin.
“I knew it!” Lady Rosalie exclaimed, clapping her hands. “God might have created that color just for you, Molly. I am delighted that it suits you so splendidly. Sithee, I’d forgotten that our Janet is so delicately pale.”
“Janet said the dress would suit you, Molly,” Bella said. “She was right, too.”
Rosalie’s comment had diverted Molly’s attention from Wat to her ladyship. Now, she saw that the other ladies stood at their places near the table. As she turned to go join them, Wat stepped off the dais and blocked her path.
Perforce, she stopped. Looking up at him, hoping that the lower-hall noise of men and women finding their places there would keep her words from anyone else’s ears, she said quietly, “I’m sorry I angered you.”
“Nay, lass,” he replied, matching her tone. “ ’Tis I who must apologize. I’ve no evidence to support my suspicion that Will knows Rutherford. I must remember, too, that no matter how your family treats you, they are still your family.”
Molly glanced toward the other ladies. “I should take my place now, sir.”
“Aye, you should.” As she turned away, he added softly, “I like that dress.”
“I, too,” she said, touching the soft fabric with one hand. With the other, she raised her skirt high enough to be sure she’d step onto the dais without tripping.
He looked down. “You need shoes, Molly. It’s too cold now to go unshod.”
Giving him a look, she said, “I’m usually unshod, and my skirts are long enough to keep my feet warm. Are you ordering me to wear shoes, my lord?”
He met her gaze with a rueful smile. “I won’t order you, but you do need shoes, and netherstocks, too. Talk to Janet, or I can talk to Gram. I’ll want to talk more with you later, too, if you will consent to further discussion with me.”
“Perhaps,” she said airily. As she moved toward the ladies’ end of the high table, she assured herself that she was not daring him to order her to talk with him.
&nb
sp; The green fabric made her eyes look deep green instead of green-flecked golden hazel, and the regal way she carried herself made Wat suspect that an age had passed since she’d had a new gown.
A notion stirred to provide her with the clothing due to her rank. Again, he pondered over who, among the men he knew, might make her a suitable husband.
For one reason or another, he eliminated each name that came to mind.
Despite her contrary attitude, he would speak to her after the meal. For one thing, he probably ought to ask her if she knew any man she might like to marry. But, then, he recalled how fiercely she’d denied wanting to marry anyone.
Undaunted, he took his place at the table and signaled for his carver to begin.
He wished he had thought to discuss Molly’s predicament with Westruther. Garth was a sensible man, a fine warrior, the head of his own family, and not a man inclined to tease his grandnephew. But he had known Molly only as their guest.
Accustomed as Wat had been to seeking advice from his father, he felt the late lord’s loss more acutely than ever. He could think of no other man in whom he might so easily confide his concerns and his feelings.
The fact was that he was beset by women, only one of whom had earned his confidence as an advisor. Talking to any woman about this, even one as sensible as Lady Meg, would hardly aid him as much as talking to his father might.
Seeing Sym cross the hall from the main stairway and pause to speak to Brigid, Lady Meg’s woman, Wat got impulsively to his feet, excused himself to his mother, and headed toward him.
“Sym,” he said as he drew near, “have you eaten?”
“Aye, sure, laird,” Sym said. “Be summat amiss?”
“I want advice, and I’m hoping that you might provide it.”
Sym’s curly, still red eyebrows arched upward. “Ye want advice from me?”
“I do,” Wat said. “I think you ken much about Lady Molly’s situation, aye?”
“As much as Herself does, I warrant,” Sym said warily. “I ken fine that ye went to see auld Cockburn and did nae more than let the man and his gallous sons ken where her ladyship be staying.”
