by Ruth Langan
He was taken aback by that. “I—would suppose that is true.”
“Some murders of Borderers may even have been committed by Borderers?”
Where was the queen leading him? “I do not know, Majesty.”
“Come now, my lord MacKenzie. Have you no idea who might have gone about murdering innocent lads?”
“Nay. I know not.”
“But I know.” She got to her feet and stood facing him, small, elegant, regal. Her voice rang with authority. “Your queen must care about all the people in her realm. Even an insignificant Border lad who dares not walk about a darkened lane lest he be put upon by those bent upon destruction.”
Gareth shivered. She knew about Duncan’s grandson. His mind raced. “Young MacAlpin was murdered by the Highland Barbarian. I myself witnessed it.”
“What an amazing man this barbarian is,” Meredith said, her voice like ice. “He can be in two places at once.”
Gareth began to protest, but her next words stopped him.
“When you were witnessing this murder, Brice Campbell was entertaining your queen at his Highland castle.”
A loud murmur rippled through the crowd.
Gareth’s mouth opened but no words could come out.
“Do you still wish to state that you were there when the lad was murdered?”
“Perhaps I was mistaken.” Gareth, feeling a sheen of moisture on his forehead, stumbled about for some explanation to smooth over his awkward situation. “Perhaps I came upon him moments after.”
“And you did not actually witness his murder?”
“I…” He stared at a spot on the floor. “Nay, Majesty.”
“But it was your knife that was found bloodied. A knife you said was taken from you and plunged into the lad’s heart. You told all who would listen that the blame lay with the Highland Barbarian.”
Gareth was stung by her harshness. The woman was publicly humiliating him.
“I—did not recognize the men who murdered the lad, Majesty. But I thought one of them to be the Highland Barbarian.”
“As you thought many times, my lord MacKenzie. Have you not accused Brice Campbell of every Border incident for the past two years?”
There was a long pause, and Gareth felt the monarch’s gaze leveled on him. He chose not to respond to her attack.
“Now about this matter of Meredith MacAlpin.”
Gareth stiffened at the dark mood of the queen. “I request that your Majesty declare her dead.”
Meredith pointed a bejeweled finger at the man who stood trembling before her. “I declare that Meredith MacAlpin is alive.”
The crowd leaned forward, their murmured words nearly drowning out her voice.
In the back of the gallery, Brice tensed, wishing he could inch his way through the crowd and get closer to Meredith. MacKenzie had many men here with him. Backed into a corner, he would be like a vicious dog.
“Why would you declare her alive, Majesty?” Gareth’s voice rose in anger.
“Your queen has seen her.”
“That—that is splendid news,” Gareth said in halting tones, trying vainly to salvage his image.
“Aye. Splendid.” Meredith was beginning to enjoy herself. “In fact, the lass visited your queen here in Holyroodhouse this very day.”
“She is here?” Gareth’s eyes narrowed. Without realizing it, his hand went to the sword at his waist.
“She had me spellbound with her stories.” Meredith paused for dramatic effect, then said in a voice that carried through the hall, “Meredith MacAlpin overheard you plotting her murder.”
For a moment the crowd fell silent, then many stood and began craning their necks for a better view of this unexpected confrontation.
“The woman lies, Majesty.”
“Why would she lie about this, my lord?”
“Perhaps she took a blow to the head during her abduction by the Barbarian.” Gareth was now sweating profusely, and he wiped a hand across his brow. “I would ask to be allowed to confront the woman who spreads such lies about me.”
“You are confronting the woman…” Meredith began, then caught herself. How could she have forgotten who she was supposed to be? “Who speaks for her.” She prayed her attempt at a regal tone would cover her lapse. “This day I declare that all lands now held by you, Gareth MacKenzie, shall be equally divided among those clans who have suffered the loss of loved ones by your hands. You will be stripped of all titles. And you shall be banished forever from Scotland. If you return, you will face imprisonment in Tolbooth.”
The crowd came to its feet in a frenzy of excitement. How could they have known that an audience this day with the queen would offer such an adventure?
Gareth, standing in front of the queen’s throne, appeared stricken. Then, taking advantage of the confusion, he darted past the throne and disappeared through an open doorway.
“Seize him,” Meredith shouted to the guards who stood on either side of the throne.
Before the guards took a single step, Brice had vaulted over the railing that separated the gallery from the throne. Sword in hand he followed Gareth in hot pursuit.
Still wearing the queen’s gown, Meredith sat in the guest chambers with her two sisters and Mary Fleming.
The crowds of spectators had been disbursed. Soldiers were busy combing every inch of the palace. Angus had gone off in search of Brice.
“We are safe here,” Fleming said softly. “That horrid man will soon be found and punished.”
“I fear for Brice.” Meredith paced, unable to sit.
“Brice Campbell is the most dangerous warrior in all of Scotland. Why should you fear for his safety?”
“He is weary from his long journey. He may grow careless.”
“Aye. And he is drained, having suffered a wound at the hands of a Highland enemy, Holden Mackay.” Brenna’s soft voice trembled.
“Mackay?” Meredith whirled on her sister. “What are you saying?”
“Brice told us that he and his men attacked Mackay’s fortress searching for you. But you had already escaped in disguise.”
“God in heaven.” Meredith slumped into a chair. “And what of Mackay?”
“Mackay is dead. But in the battle, Brice was wounded.”
Meredith pressed her fingers to her temples to ease the terrible throbbing that had been building throughout the day.
“You should rest,” Fleming said softly.
“I will rest when this is over.”
They looked up expectantly at the sound of hurried footsteps. At the sight of the queen, Meredith could hardly hide her disappointment. She had hoped it would be Brice.
“Oh, my darlings, you must gather around me and hear about my wonderful day.” Mary gave Meredith a quick appraisal, and noting her obvious distress, murmured, “So now you have had a taste of what it is like to be ruler. Was she a good queen, Flem?”
“She was most fair, Majesty. And very quick of mind. You will be receiving congratulations on your wise decisions of today for many weeks to come.”
“Ah. That only adds to an already perfect adventure.”
“You were happy with your—abductor?”
The queen blushed. “The Earl of Bothwell is an exciting suitor. And a wicked rogue, much like your Brice Campbell,” she said to Meredith.
“Will you tell us everything?” Flem asked.
Mary laughed. “You know I will, Flem. Now let me begin with the very first moment my lover arrived at my chambers.”
Brenna glanced at Meredith’s pale face. With calm assurance, she surprised the queen and her Maries by taking Meredith by the hand. “Please excuse us, Majesty. Meredith must rest or she will make herself ill.”
Though she protested, Meredith allowed herself to be led to the sleeping chamber.
“I will help you change into something comfortable.” Brenna reached for the buttons of the scarlet gown.
“Nay.” Meredith stopped her. “Until the queen gives her permission, I mu
st continue the charade.”
“Aye.” Brenna removed the crown and unpinned Meredith’s hair. “But at least you can be comfortable.”
“I will not sleep. I will merely rest for a few minutes.”
“Rest then,” Brenna whispered, helping her into bed. “We will be just outside the door in the sitting chamber.”
Meredith’s weak smile revealed her exhaustion. “I am so glad you are here.”
“Then you do not mind that we disobeyed your orders?”
“Nay.” Meredith opened her arms and embraced her sister.
“Rest now. Soon enough we will be home.”
Home. Meredith watched as the door closed. It had been such a long time since she had enjoyed the simple pleasures of home.
Her lids fluttered. With a sigh she gave in to the overwhelming feelings that swamped her. Within minutes she was fast asleep.
The sun had made its arc to the western sky. Evening shadows drifted across the grounds of Holyroodhouse. Meredith heard the door to the outer chamber open, and heard, from the sitting chamber, the sounds of her sisters chatting with the queen. The servants had apparently brought an evening meal. From the peals of laughter that could be heard, it was obvious that the queen was still regaling them with tales of her adventure. What a delightful surprise to know that her sisters were here to share this.
At the muted sound of footsteps Meredith sat up, a bright expectant smile on her face. “Brice…”
The man who appeared beside her bed was not Brice. His golden hair and evil, dangerous smile made her heart stop.
“So, my lady. At last I find you.”
As she opened her mouth to scream, he covered her mouth with his hand. In his other hand was a small, deadly knife. “If you summon the others, they will die as well. The choice is yours.”
Meredith thought about the two sisters she adored. She would rather die at the hands of this monster than give him the chance to harm Brenna or Megan. She nodded her agreement. When he removed his hand she sucked in several deep breaths and fought to control her terror.
Roughly he threw back the bed covers and dragged her to her feet. The moment the bed linens fell away, he stared in openmouthed surprise.
“That gown…You…” His eyes narrowed. “You! It was not the queen who publicly humiliated me this day. It was you.”
“Aye. And it was nearly as satisfying as seeing you dead.” She tossed her head, striving for courage she did not really feel. “You cannot hope to kill me and escape this palace. There are guards everywhere.”
“I have evaded them for hours,” he scoffed. “When darkness covers the land I will join my men who wait for me beyond the city.”
“But where can you go? You cannot hide forever. You have been banished from Scotland.”
“By you. Not by the queen.”
“I speak for the queen.” With her hands at her hips she met his level look. “The words I spoke this day are already law.”
“There are ways around the law.” He spoke quickly, as though he had already given this some thought. “There are many countries that would welcome a man who can command armies.”
“You would ask your men to leave their homes and follow you?”
“They will go where I lead them.” He moved closer. “The French queen hates Mary Stuart. She would pay me handsomely to fight for her cause.”
“That would make you a traitor as well as a murderer.”
“You are a fool.” He studied the firm young body beneath the elegant gown. “Together we could have owned all of the Borderland.”
“Then you are the bigger fool. I would have rather died than permitted you to touch me.”
His hand snaked out, catching her roughly by the shoulder. “Then you shall have your wish.” His gaze pinned her. “From the beginning you were the problem. But you will be a problem no more.”
“What do you intend to do with me?”
His breath was hot against her temple as he dragged her toward the door. “I had hoped to kill you. But now you will be my assurance that I leave this prison. If any of the queen’s guards stop us, you will be as convincing as you were this day. You, little witch, will help me reach my men safely. And,” he added with a cruel laugh, “if you prove useful enough, I may even take you all the way to France with me.”
As he dragged her toward the outer door, the inner door between the sitting chamber and sleeping chamber was suddenly thrown open. Brice stood framed in the doorway. Beyond him stood the queen, her face aglow, her Maries surrounding her like fluttering birds.
At the sight of Meredith being held at knife point, Brice’s blood froze.
Gareth found himself staring at a ghost.
“You are dead. I killed you.”
“And I have come back to haunt you,” Brice said through gritted teeth.
“Nay. It cannot be. I plunged my sword through your heart. I watched the lifeblood spill from you. As my father did before me with your father.”
At his words everyone went deathly quiet.
It was Brice who broke the silence. “Was it also your father who spread lies about my father?”
Gareth gave an evil smile. “Aye. He coveted his wealth and titles. And he taught his sons well. Once a man’s name is muddied, it is never clean again.”
“And the lies spread about me in the French Court?”
Meredith suddenly realized what heartache Brice must have suffered in a foreign land, with enemies such as the MacKenzies.
“Aye.” Gareth laughed. “The queen mother felt that you were exerting too much influence on the young queen. It was my task to see that you were—encouraged to leave.”
“Release the woman.” Brice’s words were deadly soft. “This fight is between the two of us.”
Gareth tightened his grip on Meredith’s throat. “You will drop your weapon or my dirk will find the woman’s heart.”
The other women stood in stunned silence in the doorway. Their faces mirrored their shock as they watched and listened.
For a long moment Brice’s gaze held Meredith’s. He thought of all the battles he had fought, the victories he had savored. How simple life had been when he’d had nothing to lose except his own life. But it was Meredith’s life that hung in the balance. And he would gladly pay any price, even death, to save her.
He made a move to toss aside his sword.
As his hand moved to his scabbard Meredith gave a cry. “No, Brice. I cannot let him kill you.”
In a panic Gareth pressed the blade tightly to Meredith’s throat. She gave a sudden cry of pain. Blood spilled down her bodice.
At the sight of her blood Brice lost all reason. Like a man possessed he lunged, catching Meredith by the arm and yanking her free of Gareth’s grasp. With one fluid movement he plunged his sword through Gareth’s heart.
For a moment Gareth stared at his assailant, his eyes round and unblinking. Then, with a cry bubbling in his throat, he dropped to the floor.
As Meredith slumped to her knees Brice caught her and lifted her in his strong arms. With blood streaming from her wound she clung to him and whispered, “Oh, Brice, hold me.”
Before he could respond she sank into a sea of darkness.
Meredith drifted in and out of consciousness.
Through a blur of voices she heard Brice’s voice, low and troubled. “She should have responded to your physician’s potion by now.”
She thought she heard Brenna calmly stating, “It is exhaustion. She has been through too much these past months. She must be returned to MacAlpin Castle. There she will rest and grow strong.”
There was another voice, regal, haughty. “You will take my carriage and a company of my soldiers. She can be home by morning light.”
And Megan’s voice, high-pitched in agitation. “If anything will give her the will to live it is home.”
“Home.” Though Meredith’s mouth formed the word, no sound came out.
She felt Brice’s arms around her, cradling her agains
t his chest. She breathed in the familiar scent of him and sighed as sleep once more overtook her.
Meredith lay very still, listening to the sound of birds on the sloping lawns of MacAlpin Castle. She snuggled deeper into the furs surrounding her and breathed in the fragrance of roses that wafted from the cultivated gardens below her window.
Opening her eyes she saw the figure in the chair beside her bed. Brice, his chin rough and unshaven, his eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep, sat watching her.
“At last you are awake.” He sat forward and caught her hand.
“Have I slept long?” Her words were wrenched from a throat that felt raw.
He nodded. “I feared you would never wake.” He smiled, causing her heart to tumble wildly. “I remembered that other world that once held me in its spell, and thought it had claimed you instead.”
“How long have I been home?”
Home. The word caused a terrible pain around his heart. How long had he denied her the comfort of her home?
“For three days now you have slept in your own bed. But you were not here. You were somewhere else. I could not reach you. No one could.”
Meredith remembered the way she had suffered when Brice had lingered near death’s door. Seeking to comfort him she placed her hand over his. “You need worry no longer, my lord. I am home now. And I am here to stay.”
A look of pain crossed his handsome features and she longed to draw him close and ease his suffering. Instead she asked, “Why is my throat so constricted?”
“You do not remember?”
At her arched brow he said softly, “Gareth MacKenzie cut your throat.”
She touched a hand to the dressing that covered the wound. “And Gareth?”
“Dead.”
She seemed to take a long time to let that fact sink in. She remembered the horrified look on Brice’s face as he yanked her free of Gareth’s grasp. But nothing more. Neither the pain nor the panic. In a voice still softened by sleep she whispered, “Leave me, Brice, and take your rest. ’Tis over at last. Now we can all live in peace.”
Peace. He watched, tormented, as her lids fluttered, then closed. How could he have forgotten her position as leader of her clan? He had foolishly nurtured the dream of making her his bride and uniting their clans. But she was a Borderer, whose gentle, rolling countryside was a battleground that divided Scotland and England. And he was a Highlander, whose people depended upon his leadership for their very survival in a harsh environment. His father had been brutally taken from them. It would not be fair to leave them without a leader again.
