There was a moment of tense silence following this confession.
“Secrets?” Benedicta echoed.
“What does it say?” the cook asked.
“I do not know,” Radegunde lied. “I cannot read, but my lady was most enthralled. She remained awake all that first night, reading every line and then again. She has insisted that I secure it in her most doughty trunk that she not lose it.”
Radegunde knew she did not imagine the glance that passed around the kitchen.
“I should have thought it would have been her husband who would keep her awake all the night,” Benedicta jested, but her expression was sly. “Though I hear they argue overmuch in their chambers this pair, and that he only comes to her to deliver the marital debt that he might have a son with all haste.”
Radegunde did not have to feign her blush. “I fear the discord between them is due to my choice. I pledged a handfast to a warrior in the service of my Lord Gaston’s companion and Lord Gaston believes it unfitting.”
“A handfast?” echoed the cook.
“A pledge of loyalty that endures for a year and a day,” Benedicta supplied tartly. “I cannot blame Lord Gaston for finding fault with this pagan ritual. Why do you not exchange vows before a priest?”
“It is the way of Duncan’s people.”
Benedicta snorted. “And your lady takes your side in this?”
Radegunde straightened. “My lady Ysmaine defends my right to choose. She has been most good to me and would see me happy.”
Benedicta’s brows rose. “If you sow dissent between herself and her wealthy husband, you might be the next to die in her company.”
“That is unseemly,” the cook charged. “You cannot speak thus of the lady of the keep!”
Benedicta rose to her feet. “I will not be the sole one to speak thus if there is an untimely death in this hall, upon that you can rely.”
As much as Radegunde disliked that notion, she feared there was truth in it. She excused herself and hastened back to the stables with the meal for herself and Duncan.
She had planted the seed and must keep a vigilant eye upon Lady Eudaline’s book.
It was all too easy to recall Lord Gaston’s conviction that an old lock, like the one upon the door to the solar, could have any number of keys—which meant that no matter how many he and Bartholomew gathered, there might be yet another.
* * *
Duncan had fetched several pails of water as well as a lantern by the time Radegunde had returned. He was thinking of the future and the influence of this day’s events upon it. That he was hunted had to change his plans, though he did not know how to begin to explain to Radegunde. He had thought his family so irrelevant to his life for so long that it was a shock to learn otherwise.
His own father. Would she believe him?
She entered the chamber and fixed him with a look. “You are thoughtful.”
“Aye.”
“Because you mean to leave me here and fear to tell me so.” She spoke with such confidence that he blinked in surprise.
“We knew all along that I should return home with Fergus while you remained with your lady.”
“I had considered leaving my lady’s service to accompany you, now that we have a handfast.”
“Nay, Radegunde. You cannot do this.”
“Whyever not?” Radegunde propped her hands upon her hips, and Duncan knew that look of resolve. “We are bound together by your own tradition…”
“You will be safe here. I cannot guarantee that will be the case if you accompany us to Killairic.”
“Safe,” Radegunde scoffed. “My mother would laugh that you believe a keep perched on the Breton March to be a safe haven.”
Duncan returned to her side, taking her hand in his. “Yet it is safer than where I travel.”
“Surely the home of Fergus and his father is well defended.”
He saw, though, that she knew that was not his destination. “I mean only to accompany Fergus home, then ask his father to release me from his service. This man’s presence was no accident. I am hunted and I must see the matter resolved.”
“But you felled your attacker. The matter is resolved!”
Duncan shook his head, to her obvious dismay. “He was only the first. Unless I silence the one who sent him, he will not be the last.” He frowned even as he caressed her hand. “There will be another to take his place, and another and another, until this matter is laid to rest. It is the way of it.”
“What has that matter to do with you?” She gestured to the saddlebag but Duncan shook his head.
“Nay, it is my own past that haunts my footsteps.” He eased down to the pallet beside her, holding her close against his side. “Let us eat while I tell you about my family.” He frowned. “It is not a noble tale, but it is true. It has that merit, at least.”
Radegunde studied him for a moment, then served the soup into a bowl and offered him a piece of bread.
“You first,” he said and she smiled at his gallantry as she began to eat. She insisted he take a piece of the bread, which was yet warm, but Duncan had little appetite. “In the realms of England and France, the succession of the throne is preferred to fall to the oldest son of the king, born by his legitimate wife,” he began. “But this is only one way of defining the succession. In other corners of the world, the blood is of import, whether a man carries it by dint of his mother or his father. The oldest son may not be the one most fit to rule.”
“And marriages may not be made the same way,” Radegunde contributed. “I should think that in Scotland, a man could have many children by many women.”
“So a man can in many places, but you are right. It is the Gaelic way to give greater consideration to the line of the mother than is commonly done in England and France. We also cannot indulge in the luxury of weak kings or boy kings. When the borders are beset by Vikings and others come to pillage, when chieftains battle against each other, each insisting he should be king of all, the leader of any group of people must be a warrior and a proven one. So it is amongst the Gaels that the best man should be king, not simply the oldest son of the current king.”
“This makes good sense.”
“More than a hundred years ago, in Scotland, there was a king,” Duncan continued. “His name was Mael Coluim, or Malcolm, and he was heralded Malcolm II, King of Scotland, for his lineage drew from Kenneth Alpin, of the oldest line of kings. Though he was a clever man and a good king, he had no sons, but three daughters.”
“Now there is a conundrum,” Radegunde jested.
“Perhaps not in some times and places, but Malcolm was known for his wits as well as his abilities in battle. He knew that he could not pass the suzerainty of his kingdom to a daughter, or even to the husband of a daughter, not if he wished the kings of England to consider his heir to be fitting. Malcolm saw that the ways of the south would come north, and he was determined to be at the fore of change, the better to be King of all Scotland.”
“Then the daughters were a bane to him.”
“They might have been to another man, but Malcolm was not one to lose any advantage. He married his daughters to other kings to see his borders more secure. The oldest was wed to the Thane of the Isles, the son and heir of a king to Malcolm’s west. The youngest was wed to the Earl of Orkney, a king in the distant north. And the middle daughter was wed to the King of Mormaerdom, a king upon his very borders to the north.”
“It seems a sound strategy.”
“And because he wished for the son of one of his daughters to ultimately claim his own throne, he gave each daughter a golden pin. These were round in the Roman style, and the cloth was caught with a matching pin shaped like a dagger. Each pin was set with gemstones. The one with garnets was given to the daughter who married into the royal family of the Isles. The one with amber was bestowed upon the daughter who married into the family at Orkney. The one with amethysts was surrendered to the daughter who married into the house of the Mormaer.
His notion was that they should pass the token through their family, and that it would signify the king born of their line.”
“I expect there were battles over such gems.”
“Aye, there were. When Malcolm died, the throne passed to his grandson Duncan, son of the oldest daughter, who was crowned wearing the pin of gold and garnet on his cloak. That was when the dispute began. The first man to challenge Duncan was of the line of Mormaer. His name was Mac Bethad and he killed within his own family to make the gem of amethyst and gold his own. Once it was pinned upon his cloak, he turned his gaze to the throne Malcolm had called his own and his cousin who sat upon it.”
Radegunde shuddered.
“He killed his cousin and claimed the throne that he insisted was rightly his own.”
“He had two of the pins, then.”
“Nay, he did not, for his cousin’s wife was a woman of much cunning. She fled to safety in other realms with her sons, taking the garnet and gold pin with her. She placed one son in Orkney and one in the court of the western Isles.”
“They must have had kin in those two courts, born of Malcolm’s other two daughters,” Radegunde said.
“Exactly. In 1057, Duncan’s sons were of age. One donned the pin of gold and garnets and killed Mac Bethad, taking vengeance for the murder of his father. Mac Bethad’s son, Lulach, donned his pin and took the rulership, but the returned son killed him as well. He was crowned as Malcolm III in his time, the gold and garnet pin upon his cloak.”
“It is not only the Bretons who need more names,” she teased and Duncan smiled.
“Evidently not.”
“The amethyst pin was lost?”
“It was feared to be so, but in truth, it was taken back to Mormaer, where plans were made to make a challenge for the throne again.”
“The king with the gold and garnet pin must have suspected this.”
“He did. They all did, father and son, one after the other. It was a shadow upon their reign, the possibility that another contender for the throne might appear.”
“Or conquer them.”
“Aye. The succession from Malcolm II continued through this line to David I, who sought to end the strife and ensure his seat upon the throne. He saw much of merit in the ways of the south and brought more of them to Scotland. In 1130, he faced a challenge from Angus of Mormaer, the bearer of the gold and amethyst pin and defeated him soundly. Angus was killed and the lands of Mormaer were brought under the command of the throne and renamed Moray. The pin, however, evaded capture.”
“And what of the amber and gold one?”
“In 1151, King Eystein II of Norway captured the earl appointed by David and demanded he pay fealty to Norway. The pin was surrendered to him, and later when David treated with Eystein, it was given to David as a guarantee of good faith.”
“And so only the amethyst and gold pin remained outstanding?” Radegunde asked.
Duncan nodded. “I had thought it would be lost by now, due to my father’s folly, but it seems I have been the fool. I underestimated his lust for power.”
Radegunde sat up with a frown. “I do not understand.”
Duncan produced the pin he had taken from Murdoch and held it on the flat of his hand. It was round, of the same shape as Malcolm’s gift, but without gems.
“That is not gold.” Radegunde recoiled from it a bit. “It does not even look like silver.”
“It is not. It is merely tin, a replica of the pin itself. It is a taunt, wrought to glimmer and draw my eye so that I might be taken unawares.”
Radegunde gasped in outrage. “Who would do such a thing?”
“He who hunts me. I recognized it immediately for what it was and braced myself, which is why I was not killed this night.”
“You know this villain well enough to guess his intent,” Radegunde whispered.
Duncan nodded and locked his gaze with hers. “My father holds the amethyst and gold pin.”
She blinked but said naught.
“I left my home in Moray twenty years ago, Radegunde, because I sickened of the fighting. There was no honor in it and no end in sight. In a hundred and fifty years, claimants to the throne have been bred far and wide. It would take a slaughter to eliminate them all, and I chose instead to walk away, to be merely a man.”
“To love your wife,” she said gently.
Duncan averted his gaze. “It was too late for that,” he admitted quietly.
“Who was this man who stalked you? I thought you did not recognize the man in the woods.”
“I did not. He is a man in the service of my father. He told me his name. I did not know it or him. It is of little import. He was sent to kill me, to perpetuate this madness, at my father’s behest.”
“Why would he need to see you dead if he already holds the pin?”
“I have two brothers,” Duncan told her then realized his error. “Nay, that is no longer true. I had two brothers, one older, one younger. This scoundrel told me that Adam, the older, is dead.” He paused for a moment.
“I am sorry.”
“There was no great love between us, Radegunde, for he sipped of the cup of my father’s ambition. I do not doubt that he died in some incident of his own making. I regret his death, but truly, the sole surprise is that it took so long for him to find his end.”
“And the younger?”
“My father’s favored son. Guthred is more than ten years my junior, and this pin tells me that he is my father’s choice.” He snapped it in half within his hand, then heard his voice harden. “I will not suffer it, Radegunde. I will not live the rest of my life hunted, by one assailant after another.”
She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, clearly unconvinced that she had no role in his quest. “So you will ride for Scotland and put yourself in peril?”
“I have no choice but to do as much.” He took her hand in his. “Understand that I leave you behind for your own protection.”
She exhaled mightily and he knew this battle was not yet won. “Understand that I am not so convinced that my presence is of such little merit. You might well have need of one to guard your back.”
“Not you. I will not risk your welfare.” He tried to cajole her, knowing it would not be readily done. “Your lady has need of you. Stay with her until Fergus celebrates his nuptials and they ride north to share his joy.”
“They may not ride north, not if he is wedded before May,” she said stubbornly. She was disappointed and he knew it. He was disappointed as well, but he could not be responsible for her demise.
He would not be able to bear the guilt and the loss.
“Then I will return for you, but I will not take you into peril, Radegunde.” He held her gaze, certain his resolve was clear. “You will not change my thinking on this.”
“Wretchedly stubborn man,” she said, but he could not take insult when he saw the twinkle light her dark eyes. “When will you leave?” She ladled him a bowl of soup, her expression filled with challenge.
“Not soon, I hope. Bartholomew means to journey north with us, so we cannot depart before he is dubbed and gains his spurs.”
“Such an event requires preparation.”
“Indeed, it does.”
Radegunde sat back, her expression triumphant. “Then it appears, sir, that I have time to try to change your mind.”
Duncan could not help but smile. “Indeed.”
“Or failing that, to conceive your son.”
He sputtered on his soup.
Radegunde was watching him, her eyes shining. “That should bring you back to me with all haste.”
“Do you doubt that I will return?”
She did not reply but pursed her lips. “Perhaps it is you who must take advantage of the time allotted to us to convince me of your ardor,” she teased, her manner so provocative that Duncan could not resist her. He drained the bowl of soup, for it was cool, and set it aside, then caught the ends of her girdle in his hands and tugged her toward
him.
“Come here, Radegunde,” he murmured, his lips close to hers. “You have need of a bath and a lesson you will not soon forget.”
Monday, September 14, 1187
Feast Day of the martyrs Saint Cornelius and Saint Cyprianus
Chapter Seventeen
The next two days passed in uproar. There was so much to be done, and Radegunde caught herself yawning more than once. Indeed, she and Duncan loved late every night and oft again in the morning. There was no doubting his ardor.
There was also no doubting his resolve.
Radegunde did not like the notion of Duncan riding out while his father’s men yet hunted him, but she had time to argue the matter. Lord Gaston had resolved upon December the sixth for Bartholomew’s knighting, which was months away yet.
Who knew what might transpire in that time?
Her more immediate concern was that Lady Ysmaine was now ill in the mornings. She made a habit of rising early to tend her lady, taking her goat’s milk from the kitchens before many were awake. If the cook understood why she did as much, he had the discretion to say naught about it.
On this day, Radegunde saw her lady dressed and escorted her down to the board. She did not trust the lady to herself on the stairs in her condition, and Lord Gaston was in the bailey. Indeed, the hall itself seemed to be empty. She hastened back up the stairs to straighten the bed covers before returning to her lady’s side—for Lady Ysmaine might need to take a nap—and unlocked the portal to smell a snuffed candle.
They had burned no candles this morn.
She had locked the door behind them. She had been gone only moments.
But Radegunde already knew what she would discover. She locked the door again then crossed the solar, seeing immediately that the clasp on the largest and finest trunk was not exactly as it had been. She opened the lid, bracing herself for the truth.
She was not truly surprised that the book from Lady Eudaline was gone.
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