“Aye, perhaps, but Alexander is Lord of the Isles and equal to the King.”
“Other than his Islesmen, few agree with that,” Àdham said. “Alexander Stewart, Earl of Mar, who is also rightful Lord of the North, has declared that for Lords of the North and Lords of the Isles to claim equal status to the King ill-serves all Scots. Not only would three equal monarchs stir confusion throughout the land, but they are the King’s own cousins, after all, and should support the Stewart claim to the throne. My father made arguments like yours. But when he learned that the King might win, he decided that he should win. Other Camerons agreed with him.”
“Every man of them should hang,” Sir Robert said. “And soon, they will.”
Àdham said, gently, “Do you realize that you speak of the two largest clan confederations? Do you recall how many men Clan Chattan alone can raise? Would you really hang half of the Camerons and expect the other half to help you do it?”
Graham was silent, and movement near the monastery drew Àdham’s eye.
A line of ladies, two by two, emerged from the hedged garden through the open iron gate of the hedge-flanked archway and headed toward the monastery’s main gate. He wondered if they would all attend the night’s festivities.
“Did ye enjoy your visit to Blair Castle?” Sir Robert asked, abruptly reclaiming Àdham’s attention.
Although he managed to suppress his astonishment, he knew Sir Robert had meant to surprise him and likely knew he’d succeeded. Evenly, Àdham said, “Since you informed me over a decade ago that we are kinsmen by marriage to the Earl of Atholl, his younger son, Caithness, has become a friend and visits at Finlagh. But I did not know that you keep so keen an eye on Blair as to know all who stop there.”
Graham’s mouth quirked smugly. “Atholl’s people keep me apprised of such. So I ken fine that ye bided overnight and someone lent ye the horse ye rode here yestereve.”
“As Atholl’s countess, Elizabeth is as much my kinswoman as yours, so I did take the opportunity to pay my respects,” Àdham said, wondering how close his uncle was to Atholl and how he knew that messages had reached the Lord of the Isles at Tantallon.
Since Sir Robert supported Alexander and opposed James, Àdham suspected that Sir Ivor and Malcolm would recommend that he keep his distance from the man. As for Atholl, the King’s sole surviving Stewart uncle, everyone knew that he and James disagreed more often than not.
“We should turn back now,” Sir Robert said. “I expect ye mean to attend the entertainment tonight in Parliament Close.”
Àdham murmured acquiescence but made no further comment.
Fiona, strolling behind Joanna and Lady Sutherland in a fog of ambergris sweetness that even their stroll through the Gilten Herbar failed to dispel, looked longingly toward the river Tay. As her thoughts drifted to the previous night, she wondered if the moon would be as full when it rose again that night.
It ought to be, she decided, although it would likely rise long after they returned from the festivities and thus too late for her to enjoy.
She would definitely not venture outside again to watch for it.
Just then, she caught sight of two men standing near the ancient tower, one in what looked like a blue-green plaid and the other in a long red robe and cornet cap.
“Why do you sigh, Fiona?” plump, golden-haired Lady Malvina Geddes, walking beside her, asked. “Surely, you look forward to tonight’s festivities.”
“’Tis naught,” Fiona replied vaguely. She believed that the man in the plaid was Sir Àdham. Even at that distance, she recognized his long, unkempt hair and beard and the way he stood with his arms folded across his chest.
The other man resembled her father in height and breadth of shoulder but was definitely not Ormiston. She would recognize him or any of her three brothers with ease, just by the way each held himself and moved.
The man she believed was Sir Àdham glanced briefly toward her.
Immediately, she faced forward, glad that the two ladies ahead of her were setting a brisk pace. Had they not, with her thoughts dwelling on moons and men as they had, she might have walked right into her grace.
Aware that Malvina was likely feeling snubbed, Fiona apologized for her reverie and assured her that she was eager to enjoy the evening ahead.
Before adjourning to the assembly hall, the ladies attended Vespers in the monastery chapel and ate a light supper. Then, they returned to Parliament Close in the same manner as before but to a more festive chamber.
Long trestle tables covered in white cloths stretched much of the length of the chamber from below the dais and its high table toward the entryway. A clear central space remained for the entertainment and, perhaps, for dancing. When the Queen and her ladies entered, musicians began to play.
The four maids of honor took places at the front end of the trestle nearest the ladies’ end of the dais, while the Queen and her chief ladies ascended to their places at the high table and stood facing the lower hall. The King and his most trusted advisers entered without fanfare shortly afterward and went straight to the dais.
Ormiston was with them, and catching Fiona’s eye, he nodded toward the rear of the hall. Turning, she saw Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch with the lady Rosalie, who was stylishly attired in a vermilion silk gown embroidered with white flowers.
Easily comprehending that paternal nod, Fiona excused herself to the others at her table and crossed the hall toward Buccleuch and Lady Rosalie, only to stop when a stranger, foppishly garbed in particolored hose and a plumed cap, stepped into her path, swept her a bow, and said, “Lady Fiona Ormiston, aye?”
“Pray, sir, let me pass. I do not know you.”
“But I do ken who ye be, lassie, and I would ken ye better,” he said brashly. “A wee beauty like yerself shouldna walk about unattended if she doesna want appreciative gentlemen tae speak tae her.”
“One who speaks to me without proper introduction is no gentleman,” she retorted, raising her chin. “Moreover, my lord father is watching us from the dais. I assure you that if you do not step aside, I have only to glance at him . . .”
When she paused, letting him fill in the rest for himself, he said curtly, “Ye dinna ken who ye be snubbing, lass. Ye’d be wise tae take better heed.”
Making no effort to reply, she looked to the high table and saw Ormiston frowning as he watched them. The irritating fop evidently saw the frown, too, for he snapped, “Och, aye, then. But ye’ll likely meet wi’ yer sorrows anon.”
“Mercy, Fiona,” Lady Rosalie said when Fiona joined her and Buccleuch. “Who was that impertinent young man?”
“I do not know, madam. But he has churlish manners.”
Shaking her head so that the gauzy veil over her horned headdress fluttered, Lady Rosalie smiled as mischievously as if she were fifteen instead of fifty. “I thought you might walk right over him,” she said, her dark eyes dancing. “You looked as if you wanted to.”
Beside her, Buccleuch said quietly, “We must find seats at one of the tables, madam. His grace stands at his place, so the beef cart will soon enter through that doorway yonder. You are welcome to sit with us, Fiona.”
“Thank you, my lord, but I must return to our table. Her grace will not ask much of us this evening, for she told us to enjoy ourselves, but I must not tarry. I came only to welcome you and to make my greetings to Lady Rosalie.” Smiling, knowing that Ormiston would expect her to make her ladyship welcome, she added, “We do have room at our table, madam, if you would like to sit with us.”
“Is that allowed?” Rosalie asked her.
“Aye, sure, at such an informal event as this one is,” Fiona said. “Her grace encourages us to welcome guests. Sithee,” she added with a wry look, “some of the younger ladies’ families expect them to find husbands whilst they serve Joanna.”
“Is Ormiston amongst them?” Buccleuch asked
with a teasing grin.
She had known him all her life, so she grinned back and said lightly, “No, sir. He just likes to keep me near him.”
Lady Rosalie said, “Would you mind dreadfully, Wat, if I accept Fiona’s invitation? I have never conversed with a queen’s ladies before.”
“You must do as you please, madam,” he replied. “In any event, his grace is looking my way, and I do want a word with Douglas of Dalkeith, who sits near him. Just don’t let any ill-deeded hugger-mugger carry you off without shouting for me.”
“I’ll watch where you sit so I shout in the right direction,” she assured him. “But, despite the fop who accosted Fiona, this seems an unlikely place for huggery-muggery.” When Wat shook his head at her, she smiled. “Shall we go, Fiona?”
Fiona had just seen Sir Àdham enter with the man in the long red robe and realized that she had seen that man before. Even so, it took a moment to recognize him as the nobleman with the mellifluous voice who had spoken against the King earlier at Parliament House. Brief thought returned Sir Robert Graham’s name to her memory, and she wondered how Sir Àdham could know such a tedious person.
“Fiona?”
Vaguely aware that it was the second time Lady Rosalie had spoken her name, she flushed and swiftly begged her pardon. “I fear that I let my thoughts run away with me, madam. But we had better make haste. His grace is gesturing now for the Bishop of St. Andrews to say the grace-before-meat.”
Despite a quizzical look suggesting that she might have more questions, Rosalie said, “Then let us go quickly.”
“I willna ask ye to sit with me, Àdham,” Sir Robert said as they crossed the assembly hall. “Others expect me. So, since ye’re no of a mind with us . . .”
Realizing that Graham expected him to fill the pause, Àdham said firmly, “I am to sit with Sir Ivor Mackintosh tonight, sir. I must bid you farewell now.”
“We will see more of each other anon,” Graham said as firmly.
Not here, not tonight, and never if I can avoid it, Àdham thought.
As he did, he saw the lady Fiona walking with an older, elegantly garbed noblewoman across the wide central opening between the trestle tables.
Then, as the two turned toward the ladies’ end of the dais, he saw a tall popinjay in blue-and-purple particolored hose and a dagged jacket that barely covered his buttocks hurry after them. The fop must have spoken, for both ladies paused and turned toward him. Another, slightly shorter, popinjay caught the first one by an arm, whereupon the first grimaced but turned obediently and moved toward the far side of the hall with the second. Àdham had seen neither man’s face.
Lady Fiona and her companion continued toward one of the trestles.
Now what was that about? Àdham wondered. Assuring himself that it was naught, that the larger man was just a clunch-witted lout and the other a kinsman of the older woman or of Fiona herself, he glanced toward the high table, where he had seen Ormiston eyeing him when he’d arrived with Sir Robert.
Not only was his lordship still there, but he was also watching Lady Fiona and her companion. And he was frowning.
Locating the two fops again by their clothing, Àdham noted the shorter one’s orange-red, smartly curled hair, clean-shaven cheek, and jutting nose and chin but still could not see his whole face. Both men’s attire looked costly. The taller one’s manners wanted mending.
The smaller man turned at last to scan the chamber, and Àdham recognized him as Gillichallum Roy Mackintosh, Malcolm’s youngest son.
“What an annoying man that was, dearling,” Lady Rosalie said. “He is the same one who accosted you earlier, is he not? I could not be sure.”
“He is,” Fiona said.
“He is gey persistent for someone you do not know. Art sure you do not?”
“I had never seen him, or the man who stopped him, before,” Fiona assured her, striving to keep her voice free of her irritation at being cross-questioned.
“I ken fine that I have no right to press you in such a way,” Rosalie said. “But your lord father also took note of him. I glanced that way just as that younger man stepped in, and Ormiston was staring right at us, frowning.”
“If you fear that he will be annoyed with us, madam, you need not be.”
“Oh, no,” Rosalie said. “He knows we would never encourage such a menseless creature. But he is likely to keep a more protective eye on us now.”
Knowing she was right, Fiona led her to the table assigned to the maids of honor, where they both enjoyed their supper and lively conversation with the others.
Ormiston stayed with the King.
The Queen also kept her seat, and—perhaps due to her delicate condition and his grace’s desire for a healthy son—did not dance. Thus, Fiona felt obliged to stay with Lady Rosalie and politely declined several invitations to join the dancers.
Other entertainment included tumblers and fools in their motley garb and tinkling bells. The jugglers were deft and the royal minstrels exceptionally skilled.
When the musicians began to play for a second round of dancing, Joanna stood with her chief ladies, signaling her intent to retire.
“Must you go with her, dearling?” Rosalie asked Fiona.
“Aye, madam,” Fiona said, suppressing a sigh of disappointment. “But I see that my lord father has excused himself and is coming this way. We should wait here for him. Some of these men have taken more drink than they should.”
Rosalie bristled. “Sakes, Fiona, if you imagine that I am not as skilled as you are at deterring such nuisances, you need have no further concern. I have looked after myself quite capably these many years past.”
“I am sure you have, madam, and I meant no offense. Her grace has seen that you are with me and has paused to wait for me. Moreover, Father is nearly upon us now. So I shall bid you good night and will doubtless see you again tomorrow.”
By then, Ormiston was with them, so she bade him good night, too, and returned to the monastery with the Queen and the other ladies. As they walked, she noted with wistful delight that the still-full moon was rising.
The mild regret she felt then had naught to do with lost opportunity for a stroll or a swim but with the fact that she had not seen Sir Àdham since he had entered the hall. He had not even bidden her a courteous good evening.
Àdham, having pleased Sir Ivor by presenting him to Ormiston at the assembly, spent much of the next day avoiding Sir Robert Graham.
While Ivor and Malcolm attended the sessions, Àdham and other clansmen practiced combat skills on the North Inch or explored the surrounding territory.
As Àdham cultivated new acquaintances and kept his ears aprick for news, he noticed that Malcolm’s son, Gillichallum Roy, had grown unusually restive.
Reluctant to reveal his acquaintance with the lady Fiona, Àdham had said nothing yet to Gilli Roy about the stranger’s attempt to accost her at the festivities the previous night. However, since Gilli shared his bedchamber, Àdham knew the lad’s sleep had been restless and fraught with dreams, so that night, he asked Gilli what was wrong.
Avoiding his gaze, Gilli said plaintively, “I dinna like it here. This alehouse and the street outside be too noisy. In troth, I dinna sleep well unless I lie in mine own bed.”
“You seemed to enjoy the festivities last night in the assembly hall,” Àdham said. When Gilli shrugged, he added bluntly, “The chap you were with, the one who seemed to be a friend of yours, accosted a young lady in a most uncivil way.”
Gilli stiffened. “I ken fine what ye must have seen, Àdham. But he is nae more than an acquaintance who has been friendly to me. As tae the lass—”
“That lady,” Àdham said grimly, “is a maid of honor to the Queen.”
“I didna ken that. But if ye saw what he did, ye also saw me stop him.”
“Who is he?”
“His friend
s call him Hew,” Gilli Roy said. “All I can tell ye is that he speaks the Gaelic like a Highlander. Leave me be now. I want tae sleep.”
Whether he slept or not, Àdham insisted that Gilli Roy accompany him and the others both the next day and Friday for training. The lad’s sulky attitude irked him, but he felt obliged to keep an eye on him. For the Mackintosh’s son to fall into bad company or create a scandal in St. John’s Town would not be good.
The responsibility distracted him, but even so, he noticed that the Queen had stopped attending the festivities. Her ladies had also vanished from sight.
Not that Àdham shirked his duties to think about the ladies—one in particular—for duty did come first. Nevertheless, by Friday afternoon, he knew that during every respite the men took on the North Inch, he looked more often toward the monastery than in any other direction.
Only then did it occur to him that with more than a score of men practicing warrior’s skills on the Inch, any likelihood of the young ladies’ superiors letting them walk nearby was nonexistent.
Surely, even the intrepid lady Fiona, despite her moonlight adventure, would hesitate to expose herself so at such a time. However, she had not attended the evening festivities for the past two days, either.
Perhaps she was sick.
If not, perhaps she would be there tonight.
The Queen, tiring now more easily than expected, had decided to attend only such sessions of Parliament as the King asked her to attend. For that respite, Fiona felt only relief at not having to endure the tedious speeches.
However, Joanna had next declared the evening festivities too much for her, making her younger ladies and maids of honor fear that she would forbid them to attend. But when Lady Sutherland and Lady Huntly offered to accompany any of the young ladies that her grace might spare from evening duties, Joanna agreed.
As the youngest two, the ladies Fiona and Malvina were the last spared, so Fiona had not clapped eyes on Sir Àdham for days. She had tried to catch sight of him among the men honing their skills on the Inch, unsuccessfully, through the garden gate. At last, though, Friday night after Vespers, she and Lady Malvina accompanied Ladies Sutherland and Huntly to the assembly hall, to take supper.
The Reluctant Highlander Page 9
