“Good,” she chuckled appreciatively.
Marguerite felt suddenly nervous: she didn't want to be left alone with Joanna when she was in such a disturbing mood. All the same, though, being here gave her an opportunity to ask the thing she wanted. Almost as if Joanna had known what it was she wanted to do.
“Lady Joanna?” she said when Rubina had gone.
“Yes?” the woman asked, raising a brow. Marguerite had the distinct impression that she knew exactly what she was wanting to ask, but was going to make her say it anyway, just to be harsh. It was disconcerting. She took a slow breath and began.
“I heard you were going to check on Sir Sean again tomorrow and...”
“Of course you can come with me, my dear,” the woman smiled. “I could do with an extra pair of hands.”
Marguerite stared at her. “How..?”
She grinned, disconcertingly. “Don't look at me like that,” she said. “It doesn't take much to see there's care between you and that young man. Remember what I said.”
“About the storm?”
“Yes. And the other – what I said yesterday. We'll meet at half an hour past eight.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The next morning, Marguerite waited in the hallway, drawing a shawl around her shoulders. She shifted from foot to foot, blowing on her cold fingers to warm them in the early springtime chill. Her stomach was churning with nerves and impatience.
When it felt as if she'd waited an age, she tiptoed up and peered around the edge of the door. She couldn't see anyone and hesitated to enter. Under the circumstances, it wasn't really an impropriety. She eventually heard the floor creak.
“Ah, there you are,” Lady Joanna said mildly, as if Marguerite hadn't been standing there frantically for what felt like ages. “Ready? Let's go.”
Marguerite swallowed hard, trying to flush out the lump that closed up her throat. “Yes.”
She let the older woman enter first, and then followed her in.
“Oh.” Joanna spoke succinctly.
“What?” Marguerite called, feeling sudden fear thrill through her. Inside, she stared in alarm. “What the...”
Sean had gone. The bed was empty. No one was there.
Joanna gripped her wrist. “Don't worry,” she said. “He's not dead. You'll see him again and sooner than you think. Now, let's go.”
“No!” Marguerite whispered. “No. Lady Joanna? Where...how?”
She looked into those dark eyes. They were level, firm and there was compassion in them, for someone who chose to see it. “Hush, lass. It's all good. He's safe where he is. You're where you should be. We just need to tell my daughter. And trust. You think you can do that?”
Marguerite bit her lip. “I can try,” she whispered.
Lady Joanna patted her arm. “Good lass. Let's go downstairs then. See?”
Marguerite followed her. In the hallway, she was surprised to see Blaire, the maid of Lady Amabel. She was walking briskly toward them both. “My lady. Oh, Lady Joanna.” She curtseyed deeply.
“What is it?” the older lady asked tersely. “What news have you?”
Marguerite frowned at the angry tone of her voice. Why did she sound so impatient?
“My lady...” The maid licked dry lips. “Um...Lady Marguerite is being sought in the solar. If you can come now, milady?”
Marguerite frowned. “Who would call on me here?” she asked. She looked at Joanna, who shrugged.
“Best go and see, lass. I'm going up to find my daughter, and then to my still-room. I'll be there the day.”
“Thank you,” Marguerite whispered.
In the solar, she was surprised to see a man dressed in light mail, suitable for riding. A messenger? Her breath quickened with nerves.
“Lady Marguerite.” he bowed extravagantly low. “My lady. A letter for you.”
“Oh?” Marguerite reached forward, glancing sideways at Blaire, who curtseyed and then hurried away. The man passed her a folded square parchment. She stared at the seal.
“Father?” The seal on the red wax bore the impression of a water-bird, flying over wavy lines suggestive of a lake. It was her father's seal.
“Yes, milady.” The messenger bowed low. “The Baron of Eghill sent me out to find you. I headed to Buccleigh. At Buccleigh, I was sent here. I went fast as I could. The letter's not a week old.”
“I thank you,” Marguerite said absently. “Please go to the kitchen to take some repast. You'll be rewarded for your pains.” He must have ridden like a madman to get it here so fast!
“Thank you, milady.” He bowed and headed out.
When he'd left, Marguerite scanned the letter. Not a good reader – she knew her numbers and some letters – she headed off to find someone to help. Upstairs in the still-room, she wordlessly passed the message over the counter to Lady Joanna.
The older woman read it, brows lifting. “Courage, dear,” she said to her. “It's not your parents – they're alive and well. Not any of your kin, in fact.”
“What, then?”
“It’s you. You're to be married.”
That was when the world went dark.
“Married?” Marguerite whispered. She couldn't believe it! Not now. Not when she had just met Sean and her world was full, for the first time, of the promise of love.
CHAPTER SIX
CHANGE OF DIRECTION
CHANGE OF DIRECTION
Sean narrowed his eyes. He watched the rider who rode to intercept them. “Whoa, Camden,” he called. “Looks like he's following us.”
“Indeed,” Camden called back. They were in the coach, on their way to Argyle. Why would this man be looking for them? Camden knocked on the side of the coach sharply.
“McLeary?”
“Aye, sir?”
“Slow down. A fellow over there's following.”
“Yes, milord,” McLeary called down and reined in, slowing down. Together they all surveyed the approaching horse.
Sean watched with growing concern. The rider was flat to his horse's neck, the horse's mane and tail flaring out in the cool spring breeze. They were going at a crazy pace for such furrowed, treacherous ground as the uneven forest-track was.
“He's hurrying along,” Sean observed dryly.
“Why?” Camden questioned.
Sean raised a brow. “Shall we ask?”
Camden's grin was fizzling with tension. “Let's. McLeary?”
“Aye, sir?”
“Let's double back.”
“Yes, Lord Camden.”
Sean nodded to Camden. “Good plan.”
“Let's hope it works.”
Sean nodded and then watched as they sent the coach onward, circling round to where the horseman rode. When they neared, he leaned out of the door. “Hello!”
The horseman reined in sharply, hearing him, his face a picture of alarm. He glanced at Sean and then caught sight of Camden, who opened his door as they slowed. He was boxed in here, with the coach blocking him from the road, trees behind hemming him in.
Sean frowned as he saw the man's eyes widen and then narrow in fear. If he had no ill intent, why did he seem afraid now? Camden seemed to think the same, for he just alighted and stayed where he was, his sword-arm in easy reach of the man's throat.
“Good morning,” he said amiably. The man gulped.
“Uh, sir! I...I'm lost. You might know the way to Aberleigh?”
“I might,” Camden shrugged easily. Sean bit his cheeks, not wanting to smile at the easy danger Camden laced into those words.
“Well, then,” the rider said, shifting. “Mayhap you can tell me the way? Or you, sir?” he asked, lifting a white-touched gaze to Sean.
Sean alighted from the coach and raised a brow. “I could,” he said. “If I knew who wants to know.”
“I'm a messenger, good sir,” he said, licking white, dry lips. “I need to reach Aberleigh with a message. An important one. For Lord Camden. And for his companion, Sir Sean.”
“
Oh?” Sean raised a brow. “You do?”
Camden nodded. “What is this message, fellow?” he said. “Tell me.”
“No,” the messenger said firmly. “It's not in my orders, sir. Only Lord Camden or his friend. Now, if you'll excuse me...” He tried to inch past, clearly nervous.
Sean saw Camden's expression darken. “I am Lord Camden, fellow. Tell me.”
“Not without proof.”
Sean whistled at the man's boldness, but Camden seemed unconcerned. He wordlessly held up his hand, showing him the seal-ring he wore. The man's eyes widened and then narrowed.
“Lord Camden!” he said, alarmed. “I...begging your pardon, sir – I didn't know. I...”
“No matter,” Camden said loftily. “I am listening.”
Sean wanted to smile. His friend had already taken on the airy tones and dignified manner of a duke.
The messenger bowed. “My lord, Sir Sean. The duke summons you back to Buccleigh. He needs your assistance.”
Camden stared at him. “He gave you a sign by which we'd know you speak truly?”
“He did, milord.” The messenger produced a seal-ring. Camden reached for it and went pale.
Sean frowned. “It's the seal?”
Camden nodded and handed it over. It had the spear of Buccleigh on it, the same device as Sean had on his own seal-ring, only surmounted by a crown of leaves from his own family crest.
“Well,” Sean said. “Looks like we're in for a long journey.”
Camden let out a long sigh. “So it would seem.”
“It's good that he found us, but...” A half-dozen questions ran quickly through his mind. If he had to go, how would anyone at the castle know? And if they went now, what if the news from Buccleigh was dire? What if something ailed the duke? How would they get word back?
Camden was clearly wondering as well. He cleared his throat.
“Go you on to Aberleigh,” he said quickly to the messenger. “McLeary?” he added, when the man frowned.
“Yes, sir?” the coachman called.
“Will you show this man the way to Aberleigh? We'll wait here for your return.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the coach rumbled away, taking the messenger with it, Sean and Camden looked at each other.
“It's the war, isn't it?” Sean asked tightly.
Camden didn't so much as blink, but Sean noticed a new tension in his face. “I believe so.”
Sean felt his stomach clench and his heart started to pound faster. He wasn't afraid of war. He wasn't afraid of death. Nevertheless, he was absolutely miserable at the thought that he might die without having spoken the words that were in his heart. He might never get to tell Marguerite that he loved her.
He heard a shuddering breath from beside him and knew that Camden was not the person to discuss this with. Camden had his own demons to face. He might never see his family again!
Camden cleared his throat. “We'll go straight there. It takes two days to get to Buccleigh from here. We'll pass the night at the Inverwray inn. Then travel from the first hour of day.”
“Yes,” Sean nodded. “We need to get there quickly.”
“The sooner we reach them,” Camden agreed, “the sooner we return.”
“Exactly.”
It was on both their minds, clearly – the thought of being caught in war and conflict without the chance to say farewell.
The journey took just over two days. They had to take a different route down toward the capital, needing to avoid the blockades of soldiers. When they reached Buccleigh, Sean was almost asleep. It was gray early morning.
The castle loomed slowly out of the mist, its gray brick turrets eerie in the half-light of the morning. A brooding presence, it seemed to tell them to leave. Better not to enter here and risk the wrath of those within those walls.
Sean shivered. “Ready?”
Camden nodded. “Let's go and find my father-in-law.”
The carriage-yard was silent. The whole place seemed to radiate neglect and silence. Vast and brooding, Buccleigh was not a place that took kindly, it seemed, to being empty. Sean stood in the silent courtyard and fancied that he could hear ghosts whisper on the tendrils of clinging mist. He shivered. “Let's go.”
Camden nodded and they went inside.
“Lord Camden!”
The doorman, at least, recognized them instantly, Sam noted with some faint warmth. From the anteroom they were ushered into the warm, close space of an office.
“Camden! Sean.” Lord Rufus, duke of Buccleigh, was a vast man. Sean winced as a big, firm hand pumped his and then withdrew. A fighter still in his prime, Lord Rufus had been lethal in his youth, a knight first, like he and Camden, before becoming duke. Sean both respected him and felt intimidated.
“Father,” Camden said gravely. “We received your summons. You suggested there was some urgency in our arrival here?”
Sean thought Camden seemed remarkably calm for a man who had spent two nights barely sleeping in cold, drafty inn bedchambers.
Lord Rufus nodded. “I need you here to oversee defenses, lads,” he said. “I am summoned to court.”
“Oh.” Camden spoke slowly. “Of course, we'll be delighted to,” he demurred. “But sir? Should we not have word sent to Aberleigh? Your wife would wish to know of this change of place. As, I think, would mine.”
Rufus grinned. “Quite so, lad. Quite so. Never vex the ladies, eh?” He spoke lightly, but Sean could see in his eyes how taut with concern he was. “Well, I have an idea.”
“Oh?” Sean frowned.
“Yes! It's rather a good one, if I say so. As it happens our guard captain here at Buccleigh – no, it's not Stanner anymore, he's with the cavalry – needs to go North. He'll take the message.”
“Oh?” Camden frowned. “I thought Stanner was still overseeing things here at Buccleigh?” Sean noticed that Camden looked concerned and he frowned too, sensing something wrong.
Sir Ivan Stanner was likeable and talented. It was saddening that he had left. Why replace him?
“I have a new fellow – Rodham. Good, solid type,” he explained. “And he's to be married in the North, so it's good that he should go up now. He'll take the message. Come! Let's find him.”
Camden frowned. “Now, Father?”
“Yes! We'll head up to the solar and you can just put your head in at the turret on the way. Let's go and find something to break your fast, eh? I'm starved. Already broke my fast, but could do with a bannock or two. Eat and sleep, son. The road to a long life.”
Camden nodded. “I couldn't agree more.”
Lord Rufus chuckled, clapped Camden on the shoulder with a muscled hand and headed upstairs. “Rodham?” Sir Rufus bellowed at the door of a small room.
“Yes, sir?”
“There you are. Come, meet my son. He's to be in charge when I'm away.”
“Oh,” the voice said. Then, “As my lord wishes.”
Sean craned forward, and then stopped. The man in the doorway had pale, bulbous blue eyes, a neat face, an almost-bald head and a thin, cruel-lipped mouth. He was sinewy-built and handsome in a sort of lean, detached way, he supposed. However, the coldness around him was repellant – dead and distant, like a dusty hall.
“Camden! Sean. This is Rodham McNeith. Sir Rodham, that is. Guard captain. Rodham?”
“Yes, milord Rufus?”
“Meet my son Lord Camden, and his companion, renowned knight Sir Sean.”
“Ah. Enchanted, my lord.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
Sean took the man's hand and flinched as he gripped it in a dry, cold palm that was corded and strong with muscle. The contact was minimal, but Sean had the peculiar sensation that his hand went numb. The eyes above the handshake were distant and slightly hostile.
Sean frowned, withdrawing his hand from the brief, impersonal shake. He could, he supposed, forgive the hostility – Lord Rufus introducing him as a “renowned knight” was exaggerated at best. Maybe the man
had taken offense.
“My lord, sir,” the man said smoothly, “as you are to be in charge of the defenses, I think we have much to discuss.”
“Later, Rodham,” Lord Rufus said with friendly impatience. “First, I need you to run an errand for me.”
“Oh?”
The man's frosty eyes frosted over and Sean was surprised. He does not like to be treated as an errand-boy. An arrogant fellow, this. An arrogant fellow who pretended humility, he added, seeing Lord Rodham bow.
“Of course, milord.”
“Yes, yes. I need you to take a message for me, to the North. Think you can do that in five days?”
The man raised a brow. “I believe so sir. And I would be pleased to get the opportunity to go north. As far as Bute?”
“Aye, well, and to Bute. You're to take the message to my daughter. And my wife. What say you to that?”
“I say thank you, sir,” the man said, and Sean was surprised to see some warmth flicker briefly in those so-cold eyes. “You know I have a reason to wish to go north.”
“I do, I do...you rascal! You're wedding well.”
“I am,” he said. “Your daughter is a lucky woman, to have my fair companion as her own.”
What? Sean frowned. Rubina's companion was Marguerite. Surely he couldn't mean...
“Yes,” Rufus chuckled happily. “What a fine thing that you have to take the message. A message up, a bride back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sean looked from the one man to the other, feeling a crawling sense of horror inside him. Rufus raised a brow, seeming to sense his mood and question it. Sir Rodham merely stood there, as if he had been stuck with lime.
“Sir,” Sean said tightly. “I must ask – this lady. Who is she?”
“Fair Marguerite,” Lord Rufus said.
Camden stepped forward, laying a reassuring hand on Sean's arm. Sean threw it off. He stared at Rodham. He felt as if something in his chest was igniting, inflamed, burning him from within. “Sir...you...”
Sir Rodham raised a brow. Those cold eyes didn't change. “What, sir? You seem bothered.”
Courage Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 25
