The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  “Then, likely that’ll be the truth, and she’s no our Bessie at all. She wouldna be the first misbegotten brat o’ that fiend Angus. Ye’ve got yourself in a lather over another wench, is all. When will ye learn, Claud?”

  “But Lucy be different, truly!”

  “They all be different, ye dobby.”

  “I havena seen ye since the meeting o’ the Circle, Mam,” he said, hoping to divert her. “Were they horrid tae ye after they sent me away?”

  She shrugged. “Some feared we had revealed more tae them in the mortal world than they ought tae ken,” she said. “Once I’d explained, though, most o’ them seemed satisfied, but they set me a task as a penance.”

  “What task?”

  “I’m tae keep out o’ trouble by reconciling differences betwixt two obstreperous factions o’ our clan, the Merry Folk and the Helping Hands.”

  Claud grimaced. “The Merry Folk be Catriona’s tribe.”

  “Aye, but I’m tae deal only wi’ their council. The problem be that the Merry Folk dislike having tae look after mortal clans that ha’ roots in the Borders. They say they should look after only them what be Highland bred.”

  “Still they asked ye,” Claud said. “They must ken ye can do it.”

  “Oh, aye, but it will take a deal o’ time and talk,” she said. “I’d no give the business wi’ the Circle another thought did I no suspect Jonah Bonewits be meaning tae make trouble. ’Twere his notion, me dealing wi’ the Merry Folk.”

  “Ye dinna like the man. I saw that straightaway.”

  “He’s one as likes tae make game out o’ others,” Maggie said.

  “If he be loyal tae Angus, why did ye no connect him tae Bessie afore now?”

  “Because Jonah’s loyalty tae Jonah be greater than Jonah’s loyalty tae anyone else,” Maggie said. “He may admit his duty tae serve Angus, but since he rarely spares a thought for anyone but Jonah Bonewits and his own amusement, it isna odd that I didna think o’ him when I first came tae see that our Bessie must still be alive. Now that I think on her disappearance as a mischief though…”

  Again she fell silent, lost in thought, and this time Claud had no desire to interrupt her. He kept his own counsel, hoping she would forget about Lucy.

  Elspeth arose from the table, intending to go to the bedchamber that Drusilla and Jelyan shared abovestairs, but she no sooner turned toward the stairway than a familiar voice spoke her name. Reluctantly, she turned to face the new falconer.

  “Good evening,” she said, trying to ignore the warning emotions that surged through her. “I am glad to see you were able to leave the birds long enough to eat.”

  “Oh, aye, I’m a handy lad at finding forage, lass. But, sithee, ye left afore showing me where I’m tae sleep, and I’ve nae notion where I’m tae lay me head.”

  Elspeth gave him a long look, then turned and gestured to one of the kitchen lads hurrying past. When he stopped, she said, “Show this man to the falconer’s chamber, if you please. He has taken the previous man’s place.”

  Turning abruptly, she walked away, but so conscious was she of his startled gaze that she paid no heed to where she was going and bumped into Drusilla before she realized that the older girl had stepped in front of her.

  “Clumsy drudge,” Drusilla snapped, slapping her. “Watch where you walk!”

  Clapping a hand to her cheek, Elspeth struggled to remain calm, embarrassed and aware that Patrick had likely seen the incident. She remembered what he had said about men striking her and hoped fervently that he would not try to intervene with Drusilla. He could accomplish no good thereby.

  Certain that he still watched even if the lad had tried to take him from the hall, she said hastily, “Forgive me, Drusilla. I did not see you. Did you want me to do something for you?”

  “I saw that new man talking to you,” Drusilla said, watching her narrowly. “Doubtless you think he is very handsome.”

  “Sir Hector asked me to show him to the mews this afternoon,” Elspeth said. “Thus, he took the liberty just now of asking me where he is to sleep. As you saw, I told one of the lads to show him the way.”

  “That was wise,” Drusilla said. “My mother would be displeased to hear that you had been flirting with him and would doubtless order harsh punishment for such sluttish behavior. Mayhap she would forbid you to accompany us to Stirling when we go to celebrate the birth of the King’s new son.”

  “Are you so certain that the babe will be a boy?” Elspeth asked, hoping to divert her thoughts. Drusilla was entirely capable of reporting to Lady Farnsworth that she had been flirting even when she had not.

  “Kings require sons,” Drusilla said with a shrug. “I would not want anyone to think I had encouraged the fates to present him with a daughter.”

  The temptation was great to point out that God or any other power great enough to affect the royal birth was unlikely to heed Drusilla, but Elspeth resisted, knowing she would gain nothing and would likely suffer for her insolence. Instead, she asked patiently if Drusilla required anything of her.

  “I mean to sit with my mother and Jelyan in the solar for an hour,” Drusilla said casually, as if this were not her practice nearly every evening. “Go and prepare my bed, and mind that you do not burn the linen when you warm it if you do not want more of what I just gave you.”

  “I’ll attend to it straightaway,” Elspeth said, bobbing a curtsy.

  “Perhaps you had better practice your curtsies if you are to attend us at Stirling,” Drusilla said. “That one was too hasty. I shall ask my mother to see that you do not disgrace us with your slipshod ways. You may go now, Elspeth.”

  Her voice had risen, and Elspeth felt her cheeks flush when she saw that others were watching them. Nevertheless, she knew she could not win a debate with Drusilla, so she nodded and walked away, taking comfort in the fact that Drusilla had neither forced her to repeat her curtsy nor to lose her temper. It was a small victory, but since she never won large ones, she savored the small ones.

  Crossing the hall, she entered the spiral stairway. As she turned to go up, a strong hand shot out and grabbed her arm, turning her sharply.

  Patrick’s eyes glittered with anger. “I collect from that wench’s attire that she is a daughter of the house,” he said. “From her manner and voice, I collect also that she is the screecher who disturbed the peace of the woods before the searchers came. What I do not know is why she slapped you. Did you give her cause?”

  “Apparently, I did,” Elspeth said evenly, trying to ignore her pounding heart. “You startled me half to death. I thought you had gone to your bedchamber.”

  “I apologize if I frightened you, but I want to know why she slapped you.”

  “I cannot imagine how that concerns you,” she retorted.

  His gaze held hers, and she knew the anger she saw in his eyes was aimed as much at her as at Drusilla. He was too close, still holding her arm in a firm grip. As the silence between them lengthened, she became aware of the noises in the hall.

  “Someone will come,” she muttered. “Release me.”

  “What did you do to deserve slapping?”

  “I did nothing,” she said more sharply than she had intended.

  “Then why—”

  “Because you spoke to me! Now, let me go before someone comes. Recall what Sir Hector said. You cannot afford to lose your position the very first day.”

  With chagrin, he said, “I did not know she would… She should not have—”

  “Are you daft? She can do as she likes. She is Sir Hector’s elder daughter. I am just a maidservant, dependent on her goodwill and his. Now, go!”

  She had intended to pull away from him, but he released her just as she did, with the result that she lost her balance on the stone step and slipped. He caught her quickly, so that she stumbled against him, and she pulled hastily away.

  To her surprise, he chuckled. “Lassie, you are going to be the death of us both. I apologize for my part in what happened. I’
ll not put you in such a position again, but mind that you don’t stir that termagant to violence again.”

  Indignant that he would give her such a command, she opened her mouth to read him a description of his character that would astonish him, but a burst of laughter from the hall reminded her of where she was and what peril she risked if she lingered. Therefore, without another word, she turned and hurried up the steps, knowing that he watched until she went around the first turn and out of his sight.

  Patrick watched her go, still fighting the rage that had swept through him when the screecher slapped her. His opinion of Sir Hector had altered considerably in the past few minutes, for what manner of gentleman permitted his daughters and doubtless his wife, as well, to mistreat the maidservants in his household? Certainly Patrick would not allow such goings-on in his. If he saw his sister slap a servant, she would earn at least a sharp scolding. Bab would never behave so, however. Flighty and impulsive as she could be, she would never be unkind.

  Turning, he headed downstairs and found the lad he had left below standing just beyond the first turn. With a stern look, Patrick said, “Were ye listening?”

  “Nay, master, I come up tae see what were a-keeping ye.”

  “It be just as well if ye didna hear, for if ye did and I should come tae learn that ye’d been speaking out o’ turn, I’d ha’ summat tae say tae ye.”

  “I heard nowt! Did ye want tae see where ye’re tae sleep or no? ’Cause if ye dinna ha’ need o’ a bedchamber, I’ve me chores tae do.”

  “Lead on, lad. I’ll no get much sleep, though, for I’ve a hawk tae catch tomorrow and preparations tae make afore then.” As he followed his small guide, he decided that Elspeth was right and that he had better keep his mind on his duties. To risk his life for a kiss and a cuddle would be stupid. Still, sweet Elspeth would make quite an armful. Just thinking about her stirred his body to express its regret.

  Cumberland, England

  Midgeholme Castle’s great hall was impressive, particularly at suppertime, with its myriad candles and both great fireplaces burning merrily. Their magnificent carved chimneypieces were the talk of Cumberland, but Nell felt only gratitude for their heat. At this time of year, the hall would be icy without it.

  She ate her supper quietly at the high table, eyes fixed on her food, hoping that the men there would assume she was paying them no heed when in fact she was listening intently to all she could hear. The company was smaller than it had been the previous night, but the hall still contained noisy retainers, and every seat at the high table was occupied. Nell and her tirewoman, Jane Geddes, were the only females, however, because their hostess, Lady Renwick, had begged off at the last moment, saying she had had her fill of male company for the day. It was sadly unhostesslike behavior, but Nell did not mind. Lady Renwick was too high in the instep to count as a friend and flaunted her disapproval with snide barbs and irritating discourtesies.

  To Nell’s right, Angus talked with their host, Sir Ralph Renwick, and Lord Dacre, who had ridden the five miles from Naworth Castle that morning to discuss important matters. Their early discussion having been interrupted by the search for the spy they had nearly trapped in their midst, they had apparently decided to continue their conversation through supper.

  Their murmuring was hard to hear above the cacophony of conversation from the lower hall, but Nell had already heard enough to know they discussed Henry of England’s threatened invasion of Scotland. Not that Henry intended to lead the invasion, of course. With fifty hard-drinking and carousing years behind him, far too many pounds on his flabby body, and a fifth wife in his bed, the King of England had no desire to ride into battle. He had agreed to travel as far as York to meet with his nephew James, High King of Scots, but thus far Jamie had shown the good sense to refuse to meet so many miles inside his wily uncle’s country.

  “You should go up to bed, Nell.”

  Startled from her thoughts, she forced herself to wait a beat before turning to her brother and saying calmly, “I have not finished my meal, sir.”

  “With so few women present, Lady Renwick showed proper discretion by deciding to sup in her solar. You should have joined her there.”

  “Lady Renwick did not invite me to join her, Archie, nor did I know she had decided to sup elsewhere until I had been at table for some time. I will retire to my chamber when Jane and I have finished eating.”

  To her relief, he merely grunted and turned back to his conversation. She did not want to anger him, because to do so always cost her dearly, but neither would she simply bow to his capricious commands. In any case, she did not want to leave, because the men were discussing matters that might prove useful to her.

  Lord Dacre, a man in his thirties whom Archie had called a dolthead not worthy to fill the previous Lord Dacre’s shoes, said disapprovingly, “Far too many people in the north of England remain true to the Popish church, resisting the wishes of his majesty the King.”

  Hearing fat Harry called “majesty” never failed to amuse Nell, and she suppressed a smile now. In her opinion, Scotland’s form of addressing its ruler was more tasteful, for the Scots called their king “his grace,” a term in keeping with the behavior they expected of him, for they looked upon the High King of Scots as merely the chief of all clan chiefs.

  Henry, however, seemed to regard himself as some sort of god. Had he not already put himself in place of the Pope, insisting that he, not the Holy Father, was head of the Church in England? Perhaps he was mad. Many had suggested as much, even Angus, yet still they called him “majesty.”

  It occurred to Nell then that it was just as well the Scots did not expect majestic behavior from Jamie, for he was barely capable of grace. Nonetheless, he was a much better man than his unpredictable uncle.

  Although her thoughts had drifted, she continued to listen as the men discussed the local troubles, and she winced at hearing Renwick say testily, “People will learn. At least ten thousand have already paid for their treachery.”

  Nell hated the savagery of so many dying for the simple crime of disagreeing with their king’s decision to shrug off a church that did not approve of his relentless search for a wife who could give him numerous, healthy sons. And Jamie’s wife was expecting again, for that was his latest excuse for delaying his meeting with Henry. If Marie of Scotland produced a second son, Henry would not rejoice.

  Dacre said, “Many who refuse to give up the old faith for Henry Tudor’s new one are seeking refuge in Scotland, where Davy Beaton insists on keeping faith with Rome and punishes reformers as severely as Henry punishes the papists.”

  “Aye,” Angus growled. “Whole families are leaving England in droves, so the roads to Longtown, Canonbie, and Kershopefoot are littered with papists.”

  Kershopefoot. Nell knew the town. Indeed, she had heard that it was the easiest place to enter Scotland and had crossed the line there once herself.

  She cared little about politics, but over time she had learned to pay heed to them, and occasionally bits of information she gathered proved useful, as now, discovering that Midgeholme lay only twenty miles from the line. She had not been this close to home in months, because Angus had kept her confined in the house Henry provided for him near York. Her brother hoped to use her again to further his aims, but perhaps she could put an end to those plans for good.

  At one time, Angus had been the most powerful lord in Scotland. Married to Jamie’s mother, who was Henry’s sister, Margaret Tudor, Angus had served as both stepfather and regent to Jamie before the lad had come of age and seized control of Scotland’s Crown for himself. Angus had fled the country then to seek sanctuary in England. Those events, thirteen years ago, had strongly affected Nell, not least because he had forced her to accompany him into exile.

  Widowed before Angus’s downfall and subsequent exile, she had found herself at his mercy late one night at Dunsithe, her first husband’s castle in the Scottish Borders. Angus, still at the height of his power, abducted her two tiny daugh
ters that night, determined to control both, but particularly the elder, Molly, Maid of Dunsithe, who was Scotland’s greatest heiress.

  Although Angus had not then known that his star would soon fall, he, like Henry, dealt his cards to protect himself, and he had arranged another marriage for Nell with an elderly knight in the powerful English Percy family. Sir Barnabas Percy had not cared that she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. That she was daughter to one Earl of Angus and sister to another had been enough. As for Archie, he had cared only about establishing powerful allies in England.

  Nell had suffered the loveless marriage for years before the baron died and left her a comfortable fortune, despite the fact that she had given him no children.

  Only thirty-four and still beautiful, she had wanted so badly to return to Scotland that she agreed to carry messages there for Angus when he demanded her aid, because she could travel in relative safety and he could not. Unfortunately, she had failed to achieve his objective, and as punishment, he clapped her up again, hoping to arrange yet another marriage for her that would benefit him.

  She knew that he had dragged her to Midgeholme because he hoped to arrange a marriage for her with Dacre’s son, but his lordship was plainly not interested. And since the son had barely entered puberty, Nell was glad, because that little detail would not deter Angus.

  Now that she had found one daughter, she yearned to find the other. Angus still insisted that Bessie had died soon after leaving Dunsithe, but Nell was sure he lied. When she had returned to confront him and he said again that Bessie was dead, she had seen the lie in his eyes.

  Kershopefoot was just twenty miles away, so all she had to do was slip away from Angus. The problem was more daunting than mere words made it sound, but she was determined, and thanks to that evening’s conversation, an idea began to stir.