Norwyck's Lady

by Margo Maguire

  Mairi felt a pang of disappointment at the thought that he would be away from her all day as well as the night. Though it shamed her, she could not deny that she had hoped he would come to her tonight. She hugged the bairn to her breast and suppressed her wicked desires.

  “When are you coming back?” Kathryn asked.

  Mairi felt his eyes upon her as he hesitated a moment before replying to his sister. “Mayhap tomorrow,” he finally said. “Sir Walter will remain at the keep tonight, if you should need aught…. I’ll send word of our location and when we’ll return.”

  “Will you battle the Armstrongs?”

  “I would not mind meeting up with Lachann or Dùghlas today,” he said, “but no…I doubt there will be any battles tonight.”

  His dark eyes lit upon Mairi again and she felt the heat in her cheeks at his subtle meaning.

  “Then why must you go?” Kathryn asked.

  “Only to keep the Armstrongs off balance,” he said. “And to prevent them feeling comfortable enough to make camp in our hills. We patrol every few days to protect our land, our village.”

  Mairi could not imagine her father and brother engaging Bartholomew and his men in battle. Though it had been many years since she’d seen her family, she did not remember them being particularly powerful, nor did she believe her father’s fighters were especially numerous or skilled.

  Something must have changed in these last ten years, or Bartholomew would not be building a wall to keep his village in safety. He would not be taking knights on patrol.

  Carmag MacEwen had to be the reason. ’Twas the Armstrong alliance with MacEwen that gave her father the confidence he needed to attack Norwyck. Something Carmag had said months ago came back to her. The braggart had spoken of camps, or…what? Mairi could not recall exactly what he’d said.

  ’Twas frightening to think of her father becoming a powerful man. He had been a nasty, uncaring parent, and a cruel husband. Mairi remembered her mother, Teàrlag, pale and meek as a mouse, whose best act of defiance had been to get her only daughter out of Scotland and away from Lachann. Mairi had been no older than Kathryn at the time. She had been more than glad to leave Scotland, and had hoped never to see Lachann Armstrong again, though she’d missed her mother sorely for the first year or so.

  She looked up to find Bartholomew’s eyes upon her.

  “You will look after my sisters while I am gone?” he asked quietly. His eyes spoke of more, but the words were best left unsaid for now.

  “Aye, my lord,” she said, her heart swelling with an emotion that promised only future pain. “Of course.”

  Bartholomew dallied no longer, but mounted Peg, kicked his heels into his horse’s sides and rode off.

  Mairi and Kathryn watched him as he disappeared beyond the wall and down the hillside. Mairi hoped the heat in her cheeks would be interpreted as a rosy blush from the chilly air, and not due to her exchange with Bartholomew.

  They arrived at the wall and saw Symon’s sons, who, along with several other boys and men, were knocking off mortar and stacking the rocks in a pile. “Do you think they’ll be able to finish the wall?” Kathryn asked.

  “I’m sure they will,” Mairi replied. “I see no reason why they would not. And besides, ’tis a good idea. The village will be much better protected against the Scottish raids this way.”

  “Aye, that’s what Bartholomew says,” Kathryn said. “Though the animals will be left out to graze in—”

  Mairi laughed. “You sound just like your sister,” she said. “Eleanor recently told me of her concerns for the livestock.”

  “Well, ’tis true,” Kathryn countered. “There must be a way to protect the sheep, or Norwyck will lose its wealth. When I am a wife, I must think of such things.”

  “Aye,” Mairi said, touching Kate’s cheek. “You are right. Your husband will rely upon you for good, sound advice. The man whom your brother chooses for you will be a lucky one.”

  They walked a bit farther, and Kathryn said, “Will Bart find you a husband if you do not remember who you are, Lady Marguerite?”

  Mairi stumbled, but quickly recovered herself. She had not thought of much beyond keeping her presence at Norwyck from her father. The consequences of her intimacy with Bartholomew had not occurred to her.

  And she preferred not to think of them now.

  Bart rode to the head of the company and tried to shake thoughts of Marguerite out of his head. Images plagued him—of her with the infant cuddled to her breast, his head tucked under her chin, her lips caressing the fine down of his hair.

  Bartholomew had spent the night painfully regretting that she had seen fit to remain with Kathryn. Though he knew Kate had needed whatever comfort Marguerite had been able to give, he could not be certain his own need had not been greater. He could practically taste her, feel the smooth softness of her skin under his hands, his mouth.

  Somehow, he would get through another night without her, but when he returned to the castle, there would be no impediment to spending the night in sensual bliss with her in the tower room.

  “My lord,” said one of the knights, “is this where we split up?”

  Bart surveyed the land before him. ’Twas full of dangerous dells and dales where the Scottish enemy could easily lie in wait. “Aye,” he said. “Take twenty men and head west toward the dell. I’ll take another twenty and go north. Gilbert, take the rest and go toward the coast.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Even if you see no one, I want reports of anything unusual—fire rings, horses’ tracks….”

  The knights nodded and rode toward their men, each taking his own contingent and riding away. Bart continued northward, keeping his own eye out for any signs of Armstrong intruders.

  The day was long and passed uneventfully, so ’twas necessary to work at keeping his thoughts centered upon the task at hand, and not on Marguerite or the memory of her walking with the child. That recollection gave him a strange, unwelcome sensation that he refused to examine too closely.

  Instead, he found his thoughts turning to the single night they’d spent together, and his boundless passion for her. Her responses that night had exceeded any expectations he might have had, and he knew that the months ahead, in Marguerite’s bed, would be more satisfying than any he’d known in his life.

  He had been surprised to discover Marguerite and his sisters in the village, giving whatever comfort they could to Alrick’s widow and the families of the other injured men. Her actions were exactly what his own mother and stepmother would have done.

  Bart could not doubt that she was a lady of gentle birth, for such activity to come so naturally to her.

  Yet to whom did she belong? She was no man’s wife—of that he was certain. Was she a Frenchman’s daughter, as she thought? Or the sister of an English nobleman? Mayhap she belonged to a Scottish family, but until her memory returned, he would have no answer.

  He could enjoy her to the limits of his abilities. And he fully intended to do so.

  “Halt!” he called. Dismounting, he threw Peg’s reins to one of the men, then walked ahead, studying the ground. The tracks of horses’ hooves were evident. Bart did not believe there had been many, mayhap half a dozen. But there was evidence of a recent fire, too.

  He wondered what Armstrong’s men had been up to, for they were the only ones who would have encroached upon Norwyck land on horseback. Bart glanced around the hilly terrain. He and his men weren’t far from the Armstrong border, but there was a clear demarcation that had stood for centuries, separating the two estates. The horsemen who had come over to Norwyck land had to have known they were trespassing.

  But to what purpose? There had not been a raid in recent days. What had these men hoped to accomplish?

  Bart remounted Pegasus and led his men on patrol along the perimeter of his land. He had to consider whether this encroachment was cause enough to attack Armstrong’s village. Until now, he’d refrained from any action other than defending his o
wn demesne.

  His method was not from cowardice, but from a desire to avoid any further warfare. He’d seen so much of death and destruction that he did not care to engage his men in any more battles unless absolutely necessary.

  His defensive strategy was twofold. He would get the wall erected to deter Armstrong from attacking, and he would patrol his borders often enough to keep Lachann off balance.

  The Scotsman would never know when ’twas safe to attack.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Servants spent the afternoon making Kathryn’s new chamber ready for her, then Mairi and Eleanor helped to move her small items from the nursery. Dusk came, and they supped together with Henry, John and Sir Walter, but Bartholomew did not return.

  When ’twas time for bed, Kathryn was reluctant to go to her chamber alone. Henry began to mock her for moving out of the nursery too soon, and John worked to suppress a knowing smile. But Mairi would not allow either brother to tease her. Kathryn had taken the responsibility of the entire castle upon her small shoulders and would need help easing it off again.

  Giving the boys a quelling glance, Mairi said, “Why don’t Eleanor and I see you to your room, Kathryn?”

  Kate was clearly pleased by the suggestion, but her pride would not allow her to agree to it too readily.

  “Please, Kate!” Eleanor said. “I want to see you in your new bed, and try out your new mattress.”

  “Mayhap I can be persuaded to tell you a tale while you make yourself ready for sleep.”

  “Oh yes!” Eleanor cried, and Kathryn agreed to Mairi’s proposal in a much more demure manner.

  They went first to the nursery and got Eleanor out of her clothes. Wrapping a blanket around the shift-clad girl against the chill in the corridor, Mairi walked with the two sisters to Kathryn’s new chamber, wondering where Bartholomew’s room might be. Surely ’twas nearby.

  The fire in Kathryn’s room burned low, so Mairi stoked it, making it flare while the girls climbed into the bed together. Mairi smiled and covered them with thick blankets, then sat on the edge of the bed.

  “This is a tale that I—” Mairi realized that she could not mention that her mother had told this story to her when she was a child, so she began again. “Once there was a great gray seal that lived in the North Sea….” And as the Holton girls settled down for the night, Mairi told them a story she had told Caitir’s children many times.

  “…and so the lonely fisherman on the Isle of May found his true love, even though she was a Selky of the sea.”

  Eleanor’s eyes were closed by the time Mairi said the final words of the story. Kate’s eyelids were heavy, too, but she resisted closing them. “Eleanor is asleep,” she whispered.

  “So she is,” Mairi replied. “Do you mind if she stays here with you?”

  Kathryn shook her head. “We’re accustomed to sharing a bed.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  Kathryn yawned. “’Twill be all right. For tonight.”

  Mairi smiled, stroked Kathryn’s cheek and stood. “Good night to you, then.”

  “Good night,” Kathryn said. She turned to her side and pulled the blanket over her shoulder.

  Mairi left the chamber and discovered Sir Walter waiting outside. “My lady,” he said. “I’ve come looking for you.”

  “Oh?” she said with a sinking heart. Now he would tell her that he’d discovered her lie, and intended to tell Bartholomew she was an Armstrong. His enemy.

  Walter took her elbow and led her to the solar at the end of the gallery. When they stepped inside, he lit a candelabra that sat upon a table near the fireplace.

  “Lord Norwyck sent word that he would not be returning to the castle this eve,” the knight said. “He gave specific instructions that you were to be informed.”

  Mairi blushed, realizing how Bartholomew’s message must seem to him, even though she felt relieved that her secret still seemed safe.

  “Th-thank you, Sir Walter,” she said. “I might have worried had I not heard.”

  “Aye,” Walter replied absently, walking toward the fireplace. He took a piece of straw, lit it with the candle and put it to the wood on the hearth. In a moment, a fire blazed. He stood up and turned to face Mairi. “My lady…” he said. A deep crease formed between his brows. “The tale you told the children, the Selky on the Isle of May…Is that not a Scottish lay?”

  Mairi swallowed, but her breath would not come. She was so entrenched in her lies that they threatened to choke her.

  “Easy, lass,” Sir Walter said, his expression easing. “’Tis not something I’ll hold against you. But I’d appreciate it if you’d be frank with me.”

  Mairi dropped into a chair near the fire. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My memory returned, Sir Walter,” she said. “Who I am, from whence I came…”

  “And?”

  “France,” Mairi said. “I’ve lived with my cousin in France these past ten years. I was returning home to be wed when the storm came up and sank our ship…along with Alain,” she said with a quavering voice, “my cousin’s husband.”

  Sir Walter shook his head somberly. “’Tis a terrible thing. No wonder you’ve seemed so aggrieved. Why did you not tell us?”

  Mairi hesitated. “I only just remembered yesterday morn. Everything. The storm, the drowning…”

  “Who is your family, then?”

  She looked up at Sir Walter with watery eyes and wondered what would happen if she told him. Would he send her away? Tell Bartholomew?

  Or would he understand her abhorrence of Carmag MacEwen and the Armstrongs, and allow her to stay?

  “I am Mairi Armstrong,” she said. “Daughter of Lachann, sister of Dùghlas, betrothed of Carmag MacEwen.”

  Mairi’s revelation left the old man speechless for a moment, red-faced and stunned. “Armstrong,” he muttered then. “MacEwen!” he rasped, looking directly at her. “That onion-eyed maggot? You are to wed him?”

  “Aye,” she replied with a quavering voice. “My father decided he wanted an alliance with the MacEwen, and so he…offered…me for—”

  “The man is a pestilence in and of himself,” Walter said. “’Tis no wonder the Armstrong has become so bold. With an ally like MacEwen, he’ll have no shortage of men or weaponry.”

  Mairi kept silent, for she had no knowledge of warfare. She only knew that she would say or do anything to convince Sir Walter to keep her secret.

  “You are truly to wed the MacEwen?” Walter said as he took a chair across from her.

  She nodded, blinking back tears.

  “’Tis no wonder you wished to keep your secret, lass. I cannot blame you for it. What will you do now?”

  “I…I planned to do naught,” she said, looking up at Walter with pleading eyes. “Only to remain here at Norwyck as Lady Marguerite…”

  “And what of Lord Norwyck?” Walter asked. “Will you tell him?”

  Mairi shook her head. “He can never know,” she answered quietly, “for his hatred of all Armstrongs runs deep. He doesn’t trust me now, and if he ever learned who I really am, he would think the worst—that I—I intentionally set out to deceive him….”

  Walter made a low sound of frustration and rubbed one hand across his mouth and chin. He stood up and paced to the other side of the solar while Mairi sat quietly, watching. Everything depended upon the old knight’s decision here and now. Her whole future.

  “I will never wed Carmag MacEwen,” she said quietly, but vehemently. “I will die before I ever become his wife.”

  Walter nodded, and turned toward the window. “You’ve put me in an awkward position,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I should never have told you,” Mairi murmured.

  He gave a quick shake of his head and gazed outside for a few moments, deep in thought, then he paced back to the fireplace.

  “There is much that you have done since your arrival here, my lady,” he finally said, standing before the fire. “You’ve taken Eleanor in hand, off
ered Kathryn some true comfort, given John confidence—aye, the lad was sorely lacking until you gave him the attention he needed.”

  The knight turned and looked at her. “And Bartholomew?” he said. “You’ve turned the despair in his eyes into something altogether new and different.”

  In a puff of disbelief, Mairi let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “Aye, ’tis true,” Walter assured her. “Of late, I’ve seen a glimmer of hope there.”

  “He’d as soon give me to the MacEwen as look at me, once he knows who I am, Sir Walter,” she said without bitterness as she arose from her chair. She stepped away, wringing her hands.

  “I would not be so sure, lass,” the white-haired man said quietly.

  “Oh, but I am, Sir Walter,” she said. “If Lord Norwyck ever discovered that I’d deceived him, he would cast me out. And be justified in so doing.”

  “My la—”

  “I am no less a liar than Felicia was.”

  “There’s a world of difference between the two of you,” Walter said, “and do not let me hear you compare yourself to Felicia again.”

  Mairi bowed her head in capitulation.

  “Your father will not break the betrothal upon your request?”

  “Nay, I’ve tried that,” she replied. “’Tis MacEwen…or death. If not by my father’s hand, then my own.”

  Sir Walter let out a long breath. “I’ll keep your confidence, Mairi Armstrong, for you have done much good here, and ’twould serve no purpose to expose you now. But be warned, there is naught that I wouldn’t do for this family. And if it ever happens that you—”

  “Sir Walter…” Mairi said. She held back tears of gratitude as she spoke. “You know that I’ve come to…to care deeply for the Holtons, don’t you?”

  “Aye,” he said firmly. “Your feelings for Bart are in your eyes.”

  Mairi cast her gaze toward the floor in embarrassment. “Sir Walter, if I thought my presence endangered anyone here, I would leave Norwyck upon the morrow.”

  “Aye, lass,” Walter said, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. “I know you would.”