by Darci Hannah
With Sir George warmed and fed by the hopeful prospect of a wealthy and willing bride upon his successful return, Sir Matthew was driven by quite a different emotion. It was no less powerful, I believed, for during our brief interview he informed me that instead of returning to Edinburgh with his men, as the king expected him to do, he would employ them on a task of state and scour the distance from Blythemuir to Berwick in order to apprehend and punish my irreverent, outlawed brother. The events of the previoius night were still fresh in his mind, and he was visibly possessed by a determination to recover his stolen swords. I did ask if I might impose on him to recover my pilfered silver—but only if he had the chance. For this I was awarded a self-chastising smile.
It was Sir Matthew’s great misfortune, however, that he never asked me if I had any notion of where Julius and his men might be hiding. If he had, I might have felt obliged to offer the fact that I had seen him quite recently, and therefore he must be close by. I also might have revealed, if pressed, that Julius was, in fact, blackmailing me. But dear Sir Matthew wasn’t thinking very clearly. There was a matter of pride, I believed, and a pressing need to repair what had so recently been wounded. He informed me that he would use a combination of instinct and logic to catch Julius, for he was a professional soldier, and this lethal combination had never failed him.
As I watched the King’s Guard gallop somberly out the gate, fresh on the heels of the Kilwylie men and bent on retribution, I felt strangely relieved. It wasn’t because of any false hope that they would catch Julius; it was because I knew for a fact that they wouldn’t. It pleased me to know that, reprobate that he was, my brother defied all logic, and as for instincts, no mortal man could possibly compete with the devil.
With both small armies out the gates, joining our own men already on the Hot Trodd, and Julius gone to ground until God only knew when, I, thankfully, was finally able to let out my breath and turn my mind fully to the task I had undertaken: the managing of Blythe Hall.
Managing a castle was a bit more complicated than I had assumed. After having a word with Hendrick about the chapel, I in turn learned that the staff was already employed in putting the household to rights after yesterday’s explosion of activity. There was an extensive list compiled of all our missing silver. Mutton Johnny, the head cook, came to complain about our near-empty larders and the state of the buttery. And I was treated to a particularly troubling account when three young women near my own age, Maggie Scott, eighteen, her sister Gwyneth, who was sixteen, and Kate Lindsey, seventeen (all three employed in the castle dairy), claimed that they were visited in the night by a very affectionate soldier, and might, in fact, be pregnant, although it was far too early to tell. There were other problems too, most of these concerning poaching, the wool trade, and the new-sown fields.
My mind was aswirl after leaving Hendrick’s office, and I headed to my own chambers wondering every step of the way what I had gotten myself into. It was there, in the solar, that I found Marion sitting with Mme. Seraphina at the table under the window. Marion had not yet dressed. She was lounging in a dressing gown of pale pink, her auburn hair tumbling down her back as she daintily plucked figs from a platter. Even in this state of undress she looked entirely more composed and better suited to the title of Lady of the Manor than me. The hem of my russet gown was caked in mud, my nerves were frayed, and I was seriously considering marrying a Douglas. Oh, how I envied her spoiled, self-centered nature.
“Isa!” she cried upon seeing me, the fig poised before her smiling mouth. “Oh, isn’t it exciting? All the men have gone, my cousin after your sheep and Sir Matthew back to Edinburgh, and here we are, all alone on the edge of the world.”
“Actually, Sir Matthew and his men have not yet gone back to Edinburgh. They’re taking a little detour. And we are hardly alone; the English reside just over there,” I said, gesturing to the window and the sweeping land beyond the Tweed. “But let us not dwell on that. How are you this morning?” I asked, and pulled over a chair to join them. “Did you sleep well? I hope so. You look positively glowing.” This I remarked because she did, and it caused me to direct a quizzical grin at Seraphina. “Truthfully, I was afraid that all the commotion of last night, especially the shameful robbery, might have put you off, and that you’d be demanding to return to Edinburgh—you’re not going to demand you return, are you?”
“Oh, of course not,” she said with a barely concealed twinkle in her eye. Her hand, holding the half-eaten fig daintily aloft, made a sweeping gesture of the room. “And miss all this? I’d rather lounge about the halls of your drafty old castle—as your guest—than live at the palace and have to serve a middle-aged princess.”
“Why, that’s truthfully spoken, my dear,” Seraphina commended her with a nod. Tolerant, although not entirely approving of Marion, Seraphina was quite used to her by now. Her round, jovial head tilted slightly as she added, “May I make another observation? I believe the last time Mistress Boyd looked this radiant was her birthday last when she danced with the king.”
“Oh, I remember!” I said, picking up a warm saffron bun. It smelled wonderful, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I stuffed quite a bit more into my mouth than was proper and, still chewing, remarked: “You wore that crimson gown with the cream bodice and gold embroidery. I teased you about it, stating that you looked like one of the pope’s cardinals, or a seasoned courtesan, rather than a proper lady-in-waiting. You certainly caught his eye that night, though. He may be painfully shy around women, but our dear Jamie was quite smitten.”
“My uncle Archibald gave me that gown,” she offered complacently.
“Really?” I said, and swallowed the remains of my mouthful. I set down the roll. “Old Bell-the-Cat? Why ever would he give you a gown like that?”
“So that Mistress Boyd would get noticed,” Seraphina answered, smiling a little at Marion.
“But … that’s ridiculous. Who wouldn’t notice Marion?” I had a point, I believed, for in my opinion Marion Boyd was not a young woman to be overlooked—especially at the court of a young bachelor king who surrounded himself with men.
Seraphina patted my hand gently and with another kindly smile added, “With you in the room, dear, it’s often hard for anybody else to be noticed.”
With my face reddening, brow furrowing, and head shaking in open disagreement, I pulled my hand away and protested, “Oh, that’s not true, Seraphina, not by a long shot!”
Marion, nibbling unconcernedly on another fig, stopped long enough to add, “Actually, it is, dear.”
I don’t know why, but that statement depressed me slightly, especially coming from the two women who mattered to me most. Yet if it really was true, or at least their opinions had some validation, it might be the reason for all the unwanted attention of late—and that dreaded list in possession of the king. I took another unladylike bite of the bun before noting my governess’s quizzical gaze.
“I thought you already ate?”
“No,” I replied.
“Did Tam not bring you a fish this morning?”
I stopped in midchew, recalling the unpleasant way my morning had begun. “Ah, yes,” I uttered, “as a matter of fact he did.” I swallowed. “But it wasn’t cooked right. It was inedible, which reminds me, will you call for some cloves and cinnamon? A basin of water too, and some soap. My breath smells like a Sicilian cesspool, or so I’ve been told. And I could use a good wash.”
Marion sniffed in my direction. “I’ll have to agree with you. You do. My heavens, what on earth have you been up to?”
“You really don’t want to know.”
“Oh yes, I believe that I do.” Her eyes, those large, peaty pools of curiosity, were wide with anticipatory delight. It was a reminder that Marion lived for my misadventures, and recalling my morning, I knew she would not be disappointed.
I waited until Seraphina left the room, for although Marion had no idea what was really going on, being eternally self-absorbed as she was, Seraphina
was a good deal wiser. Her powers of observation were astute, but more important, she had another tool equally as effective: Tam. Obviously she knew about the fish, which meant she likely knew about Sir George’s desire to find the Chapel of Angels. However, I was pretty confident she did not know about Julius and his nocturnal visit, and I thought it best to keep it that way. “All right,” I said to Marion, “you are aware that your cousin wants to be the next Lord Blythe?”
“Very.” She leaned in closer. “As I’ve been telling you, Isabeau, ’tis no secret.”
“Yes, well, I believe I’ve convinced myself it would be in my best interest to marry him … if he successfully returns our sheep.”
Her dark, perfectly sculpted brow lifted. “And if he fails?”
“If he fails,” I repeated, looking levelly at her expectant face, “why, I’m not sure. Likely I’ll do the same.”
She swallowed and exclaimed, “My dear Isa …, that’s … wonderful!”
“Is it?” I asked in breathy dismay. “Because I don’t know if it is. I don’t know much of anything anymore. I’m not thinking straight. I believe I’m desperate, because all I can think of is getting my sheep back, returning Blythe Hall to its former glory, and getting Julius out of Scotland before he gets himself killed. And speaking of Julius; somehow he entered the castle last night and possibly got three dairymaids pregnant. Hendrick says it’s too early to tell yet. However, he’s spiteful, is Julius. You’d never know it to look at him—all charm and entirely self-composed on the outside. But on the inside, in his heart, it’s another matter. Since he can’t be Lord Blythe, I think he’s planning to overrun Blythemuir with an army of his own bastards—from the inside out—because he knows that I’ll be responsible for every one of his misbegotten brats. He’s bound and determined to ruin me yet!”
“That’s … impossible,” Marion said.
“Is it? He’s Julius, Marion. He escaped death, returned from a lifelong exile, broke into my castle, overthrew the King’s Guard, and stole my silver. To him nothing is impossible!”
“Ummm, actually, dear, I believe it is.” It was said quietly, seriously, accompanied by the nervous wringing of hands. Marion never wrung her hands. At the sight my heart began pounding in my ears.
“Marion … what is it?” I uttered, the cold fingers of fear creeping into my voice and down my spine. “What’s happened?”
“Julius. He was with me.”
“WHAT?” I cried. This news sent me reeling back on my chair, my arm narrowly missing the wine decanter that sat near Marion. “Oh God! He did not! Oh, no, no, no …” I lurched forward and leaned across the table. “Please tell me he did not do what I think he did.”
“Well,” she said, attempting, of all things, a smile. “I guess that depends on what you think he did?”
“You know very well what I think he did!” I was not amused. I did not wish to be toyed with.
Marion, finally showing mercy, demurred. “Of course, I do. I’m sorry.” And then she averted her splendid dark eyes; the proud tilt of her head slipped downward, and a troubled hand began massaging the area just above her left brow. It was a moment before she had the courage to look at me again, admitting, “And he did exactly what you think he did.”
“Holy merciful Mother of Christ!” I swore, unable to control the rage and anger that took me. Horrified, I brought my hand directly over my mouth, then removed it to utter: “Peter and all the saints in heaven, I am so sorry … so very sorry.” I looked at her, attempting to make sense of what she was telling me as tears of remorse welled in my eyes. “My dearest friend,” I said at last. “And under my own roof! It is unconscionable! Whatever have I done? What evil have I unleashed? I never should have brought you here.…” I held her wide, vacuous gaze with my own, vowing: “I will kill him myself for this vile insult. I will hunt him down like the indiscriminate hare he is—rutting in my warrens, breeding in my hills—and I will bring him to heel and crush him like no man has ever had the courage to do before.”
“Perhaps …” It was Marion’s voice that brought me back from my fantasy of violence. Her tone held no outrage, no remorse, but something more along the lines of gently reproving guilt. I looked up and saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “Perhaps ye missed the part where I told you that I invited him?”
I stared at her then, unmoving, watching closely to see if it was her pride that made the wild claim, or truth. By God, it was truth! “You … invited him?” I said, incredulity thick in my voice. I had known Marion a long time; she was a terrible flirt, but she was only a flirt. She was a noblewoman, after all, and, whether she liked it or not, her virginity carried great value. That she should so carelessly throw it away—and on my undeserving, profligate brother—was too great a tragedy to comprehend. And an even greater tragedy was that he had allowed it. Damn him to hell!
Marion’s eyes narrowed. “Do not look at me like that, Isabeau!” she said firmly. “This is not the convent, my dear friend, and we’re no longer little girls. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done.”
“Not ashamed? But you should be!”
“Why?” she challenged heatedly. “Because I fancy him—or because he’s your brother?”
I stared at her impassioned face, noting the firm set of her jaw and the flashing eyes. Hers was not a look of a woman who’d been misused. And then I recalled how she had looked when I entered the room—she had been perfectly radiating happiness. I exhaled, feeling as if I had just been punched in the stomach. “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “But I believe your family has certain expectations of you. And I’m sorry; I wasn’t even aware that you knew Julius.”
“Well, I didn’t know him. I mean, I met him—years ago when we were at the convent. Mostly I just knew of him … from my older sisters. He had quite a reputation, you know.”
“I know.”
“And now I know him too.”
I closed my eyes, because looking at her glowing face was just too painful. Like myself, Marion was at an age where she should be married, but she wasn’t. It certainly wasn’t for a lack of suitors but because her family was a bit too ambitious, and Marion was a bit too beautiful. A dangerous combination any way one looked at it. She had been paraded in front of the young king for over a year now—they were cousins of a sort—and she had flirted with him shamelessly. Yet James had been too much the gentleman to take advantage of what the Boyds were offering, or perhaps he had just been too politically savvy. Julius was neither a gentleman nor politically savvy. He was an opportunist with the morals of a feral cat—another dangerous combination. And he had pounced on my flirtatious friend like the animal he was. The thought disgusted me. And then, struck with another thought—a more wistfully hopeful thought—I suggested, “Are you certain that it really happened? Could you have just been fantasizing that it happened because of all the excitement of the robbery? It’s perfectly all right. You’ve a lively imagination,” I added, trying not to think of myself and my own lively nocturnal visions. “What if you thought he was with you when he was really with the dairymaids?”
I’d never seen a brow arch with so much venom, or lips purse with so much disdain. “Are you quite finished?” she snarled. “I should be highly offended you even suggested such a thing! Unlike you, I know how to grab and hold a man’s attention, Isabeau, and I did. I’m sorry you feel violated by the notion, but you’re just going to have to accept it. I enjoy men. And I enjoyed your brother—several times as a matter of fact, if you’re curious to know.”
“I’m not,” I said, closing my eyes while willing my anger to abate. “And I believe you. You’ve done a marvelous job of convincing me.” I looked at her. “So, if Julius spent the night with you, then who molested the poor dairymaids?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t your brother. He stayed until well after dawn.”
“After the sun was up? Are you certain?”
“I think I know very well what the term dawn means! I may not see a sunrise often, bu
t I do know it happens every day—and quite early too.” She lowered her voice and looked levelly at me. “For such a kind, gentle, forgiving soul, you’ve got an awfully negative opinion of your own brother.”
“If you had a brother like mine, you would too,” I replied, and stood to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“Hopefully to have a word with your lover.”
She appeared amused by this. “And where do ye intend to find him? I’ve already searched, but a man like that comes and goes like a ghost.” Marion, with a languid smile, shrugged and plucked a piece of cheese from the tray. “However, if ye do find him,” she began, popping it into her mouth, “give him a wee kiss from me.”
