Courage Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  She couldn't boast anymore that her betrothed could bring down any foe, whoever he be. He had felt like an utter failure. In addition, she had compounded that impression. He sighed. Marguerite had at least shown him that she was not shallow. She cared more about him than she did about how publicly he wore her favors, how much she could boast about him, how much wealth his father had – or didn't have.

  “I should sing praises to the lass,” he sighed. Marguerite was everything: kind, friendly and attentive. Irmengard, for all that she was stunningly lovely, was never that. Nevertheless, he didn't trust it. Irmengard had days when she seemed perfect, too.

  Though even on those days, he recalled, he'd been tense and dry-lipped, waiting for the change. When she didn't rebuke him, get impatient or rage at him – he had felt such a giddy delight. It added to his fascinations. A bit like a snake that says it isn't going to bite you…not today. You end up so grateful to the creature that you forget it threatened you in the first place.

  “Sean?”

  “Whist, Camden!” he said, spinning around in shock. “Don't do that! Or, if you do, then retire as a duke and become a scout anytime. I never heard anyone walk so lightly in my life.”

  Camden chuckled. “Well, if you could hear me walking lightly, it can't be that light, can it..?”

  Sean frowned, and then made a face at him. “Stop trying to be clever. My head aches.”

  Camden jostled him playfully, and then as he winced, apologized hastily. “Sorry, Sean. I should ask how you're feeling?”

  “Well, better than I look,” Sean grimaced, catching sight of himself reflected in the basin. The wavering image showed him a chalk-white face, gaunt cheeked and sunken eyed. His hair stood out around his head, flattened by the pillow, and tiredness had printed dark rings round his eyes.

  “That's a relief,” Camden grinned. “If you felt worse, I'd call the physician.”

  Sean glared at him. “Thanks,” he said.

  Camden laughed. “Don't mention it.” Without asking, he seated himself on Sean's clothes-chest. His tall, angular body looked at rest there. “You coming out for a walk?”

  “Mm.” Sean nodded down at him, reaching again for his clean shirt. “You look remarkably unscathed,” he said dryly. “How'd the joust end?”

  “Well, I went against Sir Angus. He did get unhorsed, mind you. Fellow called Sir Evan.”

  “Oh?” Sean rinsed his face in the water, grunting.

  “Yes. Happy fellow, he was. Won the purse of silver.” Camden leaned against the wall, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.

  “Oh.” Sean nodded. Camden had set aside a purse of fifteen silver coins as the prize. It was a huge prize – enough for a man to buy some land and settle down. “You lost a rare lot, then.”

  Camden chuckled. “Well, thought I might try and win my own cash. Didn't work.”

  They both laughed. Sean found that the easy company took his mind off his pain. “Lady Rubina must be pleased you're safe,” he ventured, hoping it would lead naturally to the subject of Marguerite. So far, that didn't seem to be working.

  “Yes.”

  Sean hesitated, not sure what to ask to bring the conversation logically round to Marguerite.

  “My wife said Marguerite seems sad recently,” Camden said, guessing, it seemed, what was on his mind. “She's been walking in the hallways late, not sleeping properly. Know anything about it?”

  Sean shot him a dark stare. “What're you saying, Camden?”

  “Just suggesting she finds your aloofness difficult,” Camden said.

  “I am not aloof!” Sean said angrily. When Camden raised a brow, he laughed. “Fine. Fine. Yes, I am.” He grinned. “You know why.”

  “Sean, that was years ago...” Camden began, stretching languidly.

  “Yes, it was,” Sean countered hotly. “And if you gave me a silver piece every time I heard you say it, I'd be living well from now till Candlemas.”

  “Sorry, friend.”

  “I know it was a long time ago, Camden,” Sean said tiredly. “And I know I should have grown away from it, but...when you've faced something like that, it makes you nervous.”

  “Like when you're thrown off a destrier for the first time?”

  Sean made a face. “I know what you're saying. When you fall off a horse, it's best to remount before you spend the rest of your life terrified of the creatures. But this isn't like that.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I know,” Sean continued. “Falling off my horse was probably my own fault. Horses don't throw you on purpose – or not usually. But women can be cruel.”

  “You don't think women are bad, Sean,” Camden said gently. “You know Rubina's kind.”

  Sean frowned. “I can see that other people find kindly, good ladies. But me?” He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Never worked. I seem to find only horrid ones. Before her, I fell in love with Barra. And look how that worked out.”

  His friend smiled. “You know Barra was pledged to the carpenter. If you had married her, it would have been a sin.”

  Sean sighed in exasperation. “I was seventeen, brother. Of course I didn't think.”

  Camden laughed. Though not actually his brother, the two had been friends since they were small boys, raised side-by-side at Invering Castle, Camden's home. The incident in question had happened five years ago, when they were seventeen. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  “I know you were young then. And that's what I mean. It was a long time ago and now you have to trust.”

  Sean closed his eyes. Trust. That was the one thing he was never planning to do again. He had trusted Irmengard. Look where that had gotten him!

  “I don't know, brother,” he said sadly.

  They were quiet a while as Sean tried to comb his hair left-handed. After a minute or two, he felt like he was managing the task. He smiled at himself in the mirror, feeling his mood improve along with his looks. With neater hair, he looked almost presentable.

  “You know,” Camden said, turning to face him, seeming thoughtful.

  “Mm?” Sean reached for his dagger, considered shaving left-handed, and, given how hard combing his hair had been, decided against it. “What're you thinking?” he asked, laying the dagger aside carefully, blade down.

  “Well, I was thinking mayhap we could visit Irmengard. If you saw her...”

  “No!” Sean was surprised by how vehement he felt against that idea.

  “Very well then, let's not,” Camden said, leaning back peaceably. “And mayhap better not, since I don't reckon either of us should be traveling currently.”

  “The war?” Sean asked.

  “Mm.”

  They both sat in silence a while. News from the south was not good. The English forces had marched on the town of Berwick, sacking it utterly. As he marched inland, fears for the country grew. The king – John Baliol – was openly defied by most of the nobles and his days, it was said, were numbered. War with England was no longer a rumor, but a fact.

  “You're right,” Sean said.

  “We're best-placed up here in the north,” Camden nodded. “Close enough to Dunkeld, and Father's land. Safe,” he added.

  “Mm.” Sean nodded. Talk of the war brought another thought to his mind. It could be mere days before he and other men like him were called to the battlefield. While keeping his friend’s family safe was a noble aim, Sean knew that duty could take him elsewhere.

  And if it did, and he was pledged to wed, what then?

  I will not betray someone as Irmengard betrayed me.

  He had to admit that dying while pledged wasn't an intentional act, but he still wasn't about to commit to someone and then renege on that.

  I should just forget Marguerite. In addition, try and help her to forget me. It should be easy – I'm very forgettable, after all. “Camden?”

  “Yes?”

  “As soon as this wrist stops hurting, I will ride.”

  “Ride?” Camden's brow went up. “My friend, ar
e you quite well? If I didn't know better, I'd say you had such a fever you were raving! You're not riding anywhere with those ribs.”

  Sean shook his head. “I have to leave.”

  “Not until you're better.”

  Sean grimaced. “Whist, Camden. Don't fight me now.”

  Camden sighed. “You want to get yourself out of the way, don't you?”

  The look in his eyes – resigned and understanding – touched Sean where nothing else had. “Yes.” It felt better to admit that to someone. “I have to.”

  “Well, then,” he agreed. “I've a mind to take the carriage to Argyle. Want to come?”

  “What?” Sean raised a brow. “Now? You mean it?”

  “No,” Camden grinned. “I regularly make up things like that. Of course I do. We can leave tomorrow, if you have a mind to.”

  “Camden, you do think that it's a good idea, yes?”

  “You mean, do I think it's a good idea for you to leave now before you and Marguerite become too attached for you to leave her? Possibly.”

  Sean sighed. “Thanks, Camden. I knew you'd understand.”

  “Well, then,” Camden nodded.

  “Well!” Sean said, trying to sound cheerful. “I'll go down to the courtyard for a brisk walk then. We leave tomorrow, so I may as well stretch my legs. Argyle's a good few hours away.”

  As Camden stood and left, Sean felt his joviality evaporating. He hurried down the darkened hallway and wondered why the thought of leaving the castle and everyone in it made his heart ache. He thought his heart long sealed. The last thing he needed was the wretched thing waking up now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A DISCOVERY AND A CALL

  A DISCOVERY AND A CALL

  Marguerite sat in the turret room, looking out on a stormy spring sky. She glanced across at Rubina, who was busy working on her tapestry. She seemed calm. Little Joanna slept in a cradle across the room, Mara half-asleep beside it.

  I should be so peaceful here.

  Marguerite felt restless. She couldn't stop thinking about the news from the southern towns, the news of battles. The war was barbaric and cruel in a way that the Scots had at once expected and feared. It was, it seemed, only a matter of time before it reached them, flooding everything. It was a terrifying prospect.

  “Rubina?”

  “What, dear?” Her friend's eyes, usually so at peace, were also tense, shadows underlining their radiant softness.

  “You have heard the news?”

  “Mm.” Rubina nodded, bending over her sewing. “Baliol won't last long on the throne.”

  Marguerite nodded. The new king, John Baliol, was not well-thought of by the nobles. Not, Marguerite thought sadly, that it was his fault. To him had fallen the impossible task of satisfying two masters: Scotland and the English king. No one could do that.

  “Poor man,” was all she said.

  “Indeed.”

  They sat quietly awhile, the only sound the small, homely crackle of the fire in the hearth. Up here, all was still and quiet. Nothing could have been less warlike than this cozy, snug space. They could hear the rise and fall of the child's breathing and of Mara as they slumbered by the fire. Somewhere, out above the courtyard, a blackbird sang. Its liquid song floated through the window, sweet and clear.

  Rubina lifted the tapestry closer, squinting at it. “Little Joanna is sleeping through the night, at least,” she smiled, changing the subject.

  “That's good,” Marguerite agreed.

  The silence stretched between them. There was no use in dwelling on the news of conflict.

  At least Camden and Sean are spared from harm.

  “I welcome the rest,” Rubina smiled. “Mara is so good with her, but she still brings her to me when she's restless. It's good now that she's finally sleeping better.”

  “Mm,” Marguerite nodded. “I would we all slept peacefully.”

  “True,” Rubina nodded. “I have slept poorly of late.”

  “Me, too,” Marguerite agreed.

  She had lain awake, the news of the war wreathing through the uncertainty in her mind, both of them keeping her restless. She knew it was the same reason Rubina couldn't rest. “Rubina?”

  “Yes?”

  “Has your grandmother said anything further about our patient?”

  “Sean? Why, no. I think she means to check on him tomorrow though,” Rubina replied.

  “Oh.” Marguerite nodded. A pleasant idea occurred to her. Mayhap Lady Joanna could use an extra pair of hands. It was so naughty that she hesitated to volunteer, even though she wanted to. She cleared her throat. “When?”

  “Two hours after sunup,” Rubina said succinctly. “She always says it's a good time to wake.”

  “Oh.” Marguerite smiled at that gentle confession of humanity from the older woman. “I am inclined to think she's right.”

  “Me, too. Or I used to. Now when the wee babe wakes me, I'm inclined to just be pleased I was ever asleep to waken.”

  They both laughed. Marguerite bent over her stitching again, doing her best to concentrate. All the same, her mind kept hopping to thoughts of Sean. At the first moment she could, she stood and headed out.

  “Off to find some luncheon?” Rubina asked. She set down her embroidery on the settle, stretching out long, elegant arms before her.

  “Indeed,” Marguerite said tightly. She felt restless and excited and couldn't wait any longer to put her plan into operation. She couldn't forget her last visit to the sickroom and wanted to have another chance to talk to Lady Joanna.

  “Good idea,” Rubina nodded. “I'll come down. Mara?” she called.

  The woman sighed and blinked, and then sat up, abruptly awake. “Yes, milady?”

  Rubina smiled. “Sorry I disturbed you. Just wanting to ask if you're going to take luncheon in the kitchens?” she whispered, endeavoring not to wake the child.

  “I asked Bronna to bring me something here,” she said. “So's I dinnae have to move the bairn.”

  “Good.” Rubina smiled at the nurse, and then smiled tenderly down at the crib where the infant lay. Marguerite joined her and together they looked down at the baby. She lay on her side, one fist clenched tight by her small, reposing face.

  “She's so beautiful,” Marguerite whispered.

  “She is,” Rubina agreed. “I am so lucky she's part of my family. Now, let's find luncheon.”

  “Agreed.”

  They walked, arm in arm, from the room. As they went, Marguerite sensed a tension in her friend's demeanor. “Is something troubling you?” she asked, concerned.

  “I can't deny Grandmother's words about Joanna worried me,” Rubina said softly. “I know Mother had a hard time with the Sight.”

  “Oh?” Marguerite frowned. The words Joanna had spoken about her returned to her mind, disturbing her anew. What had they been? Something about getting what she wanted, only when she got it, it would not be what she expected. “Mayhap we can ask her to explain more.”

  Rubina smiled tenderly. “Mayhap. If we can find her again. She tends to keep herself to the northern tower.”

  “Maybe we'll see her tomorrow,” Marguerite said hopefully.

  “Maybe.”

  They walked up to the high, pointed archway that led into the castle's small solar.

  “Grandma!” Rubina said as they entered.

  There, by herself at the table, dressed in the black velvet that made all her clothes, was Lady Joanna. Marguerite shivered.

  How strange was it that, even though they were late coming down to luncheon, the dowager duchess was still there, finishing her meal? Just when they needed to see her? Odd.

  “Ah! Lasses,” the older woman said, fixing them with her piercing gaze. She seemed completely unperturbed to see them. Her white hair was pulled back in a severe braid and she looked regal and elegant. Her big grin belied the dignified appearance somewhat. “There you are. I was just finishing off.”

  “What's for lunch, Grandma?” Rubina asked affectionat
ely. If she found it strange to see her there, she gave no sign.

  “Stew,” she said succinctly. As Rubina launched into some talk about the stew and how good it had been the day before, Marguerite sat down opposite, feeling deeply uncomfortable. She looked up to find Lady Joanna's piercing dark gaze on her. That made her shiver.

  “There's a storm coming,” Lady Joanna said softly.

  “There is?” Marguerite looked out of the window, heart fluttering with the first twinges of alarm. Though the sky was pale white-touched gray, there was no sign of anything except tranquil springtime rains.

  “Not out there,” the woman chuckled. “In here.” She tapped the finger of her left hand lightly against her temple.

  Marguerite shivered.

  “Grandma?” Rubina frowned at her. She had been talking to one of the footmen, sending him off to fetch more bannocks, and had missed the exchange. “Did you say a storm?”

  “I said a stew,” she chuckled. “Look. Right there.”

  Rubina rolled her eyes and sighed. “I heard that part.”

  “Good.”

  Marguerite frowned, noting the older woman's secrecy. Why hadn't she told her about it? Was the “storm” she foresaw for Marguerite's ears alone? The fact that she concealed the news from Rubina made her more worried.

  “I was just with Mara,” Rubina informed them as she ate, “and she said that Joanna is sleeping so well!”

  Marguerite let the talk wash round her and listened with half an ear to Rubina, who told them all about Joanna's sleeping habits. She found it hard when, every time she looked up, Joanna's eyes were on her.

  “Rubina, dear,” the older woman said as they ate, “do go and see if Joanna is awake. I wanted to check on that mark you mentioned on her back.”

  “Oh, it was just a little bruise...I'm sure it's gone now,” Rubina demurred. She looked at her grandmother's hard stare and evidently decided not to argue. “Yes, Grandmother.” She pushed back her chair and Marguerite could almost have been amused by how quickly she raced to follow what her grandmother requested. “I'll fetch her immediately.”