Meghan pounded her fists against her legs. The man was infuriating! Did he not realize she’d just shown herself to be the better man–-er, traveler?
She fiercely pulled the tangles from her long hair, until it crackled and bounced around her head. She then plaited it and wrapped it round her head to keep it out of her face. By the time William returned from the bushes, Hamish was up, grumbling about sleeping on the hard ground, waking before the sun, the poor breakfast he would face, and anything else that crossed his mind. Meghan comforted herself by noticing that while she may have looked like a badger slept in her hair, Hamish actually resembled that creature. His reddish brown hair stuck out at angles all over his head and his thick beard and mustache bristled at attention.
“Hey, Will,” he whined as William efficiently saddled the horses. “Aren’t ye going to let a man break his fast before forcing him to ride? I’m faint with hunger!”
William jutted his chin in Meghan’s direction. “The Innes heir wishes to make good time today. Talk to her.”
Hamish glanced apprehensively at Meghan who took pity on the rumpled man. “I’ll fetch us something to eat while we ride. I hate traveling on an empty stomach as well.”
Hamish grinned in appreciation as Meghan fetched food from her saddlebag and shared it with him. She did not offer any to William who seemed to be trying to suppress a smile.
Meghan mounted her horse without assistance and urged it into a tightly controlled spin. “Let’s go, shall we?” she taunted William.
***
As the sun dipped lazily toward the western horizon, Meghan cursed the overweening pride that had forced her into riding past her limits. She was exhausted and her legs had long since lost the strength to hold her on her horse. By the grace of God, her horse was equally tired and plodded along gently, enabling her to keep her seat instead of plummeting to the ground.
“I suppose we’ve traveled enough,” William finally allowed. “We will make camp in that clearing up ahead.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather gain a few more miles? We’ve at least another hour of light.” Meghan forced herself to pretend as if she had the stamina to ride all night if needs be. William stared at her appraisingly and she refused to look away.
“No!” croaked Hamish. Meghan and William turned to see the burly man nearly fall off his horse. He shook a kink out of his leg and flushed deeply. “That is, the horses. They need to rest. Wouldna want to lame them.”
“I agree,” William said and Meghan silently thanked Hamish.
When they reached the small clearing, she gingerly slid from her horse. Long after she felt her feet touch ground, she continued sinking to the earth and realized her knees were collapsing under her. With the last bit of her strength, she caught the saddle and held herself upright.
“Everything alright?” William asked.
“Fine. Fine.” Meghan did not look at him. Instead she pretended to be studying the construction of her saddle.
“Do ye need help?”
Meghan shook her head. “No, I...I was afraid the saddle was rubbing a raw spot on his hide,” she said, patting the sweaty girth of her horse.
“Let me see.” William stepped forward to inspect the spot but Meghan pushed his hands away. As she did so, she let go of the saddle and fell into him. He caught her easily and gently set her back on her feet.
“Why did you trip me?”
“Trip ye? Ye fell like a babe! I didna trip ye!”
“Hmmph!” Meghan dragged her horse after her as she made her painful way to the small stream that bisected the clearing. She collapsed on the bank and splashed the cold water on her burning cheeks. Her hands trembled, both from embarrassment and from the resonant feeling of being in his arms. Against her will, she remembered how safe and cherished she had felt in his embrace. Her lips tingled with the suppressed memory of how those embraces led to passionate, soul-touching kisses.
Meghan slapped her hand against the burbling surface of the water. Her horse shied away and her palm tingled with pain. “Damn the man,” she said under her breath, and forced herself to stand and prepare camp.
Chapter 12
The smell of London reached them before they topped the last hill approaching the city. The odors of wood smoke, cooking food, manure, and raw sewage blended together and wafted delicately on the breeze to reach the travelers nostrils in pungent welcome.
William breathed in the smells and thanked God his journey was nearly through. The past days had been altogether difficult. Meghan—in the solitude of his thoughts he allowed himself to think of her as something other than the Innes heir—fought him tooth and nail over every decision; Hamish complained, albeit good-naturedly, about the food, the hard riding, and the even harder sleeping accommodations. Worst of all, his own body had begun to betray him. A fortnight before, just the thought of Meghan Innes would have been enough to sour his mouth and turn his stomach. Now, his pulse quickened when he heard her voice as she teased Hamish or crooned to her horse. His mouth went dry when she emerged from her small tent each morning, her hair delightfully rumpled and her skin flushed from sleep. The lower portions of his anatomy absolutely refused to recall how she had spurned him. Indeed, he thought, considering the way her body slid down his on the few occasions he had helped her dismount, she might have been a skilled courtesan, trained to arouse a man to a fevered pitch.
William shifted uncomfortably in the saddle and forced himself to study the horizon, the lay of the road, and the stench rising from the drainage ditches of the Hospital of St. Mary just outside the city’s wall.
After several moments, he turned to study Meghan—merely as a detached observer. The evening sun made her hair gleam with fiery lights. He watched—still detached—as she pulled the loose plait free and combed her fingers through the errant curls. He granted that her hair was becoming, even if it did tend to frizz in the damp.
Her smooth cheeks were pink with sunburn and her nose boasted a few more light freckles. Well, some people surely found freckles attractive; he, however, preferred an unblemished complexion. Delicate brows arched over laughing eyes—William stopped himself mid-thought. Eyes did not laugh. Where had that ridiculous notion come from? He nodded to the guards at London’s Bishopsgate and guided his horse though the crowds along Bishopsgate Street.
As they finally turned east onto Candlewick Street, he allowed his gaze to stray back to Meghan. She looked about at the buildings crammed cheek-by-jowl in East Cheap as if she had never seen their like. William looked around as well. He had only been to London once before and he too had been amazed at the sheer size of the city as well as the scores of people inhabiting it.
He saw her eyes widen and her sunburned cheeks pale as they came within site of the Tower of London and he could not stifle the protective streak which urged him to assure her that he would keep her safe.
“Edward will not harm us. We are diplomats of Robert the Bruce. We’ll free your father. Ye’ve nothing to fear.”
She looked at him in the waning light of early evening and William swore he saw trust and relief in the clear grey of her eyes. Trust and relief and...something more? Without conscious thought, he nudged his horse closer to hers. He was about to lean over and rest his hand on hers when the trick of the light which had made him see acceptance in her eyes flickered and wariness and anger hardened her gaze to cold silver. He abruptly straightened and spurred his horse ahead, caring not if she followed him or stayed behind.
Even as he cursed himself for his moment of weakness, he recalled his mission and straightened in the saddle as they neared the massive walls surrounding Edward’s bastion. Edward had further fortified the Tower grounds with a new outer wall and the pale grey of the sheer stone exuded strength. They rode along the polluted moat and approached the Tower’s first drawbridge where a guard strode forward to demand their business.
Before leaving, Robert had instructed William not to refer to him as the King of Scotland. “Let him think I am
merely his vassal. With you on a mission of mercy in my name, it will further convince Edward that he need not trouble himself with us.”
William displayed Robert’s letter with its seal and said, “We are emissaries of Robert, Earl of Bruce. We seek an audience with His Grace, Edward.”
The guard snickered beneath his breath at mention of the Scots earl and William quickly drew his sword, pinioning it beneath the astonished guard’s chin.
“I am sure your king would be...disappointed to hear that one of his guards treated an emissary of Earl Robert with anything other than complete respect. Would you not agree?”
The guard nodded tightly and as soon as William lowered his sword, the man ran back into the guardhouse. A moment later, the man’s captain returned and offered to accompany them over another drawbridge and into the fortress through yet another tower. William glanced quickly at Meghan and saw the fear on her face. Edward’s additions and modifications to William the Conqueror’s fortification made it a massive fortress, impossible to attack, impossible to escape. If Edward did not agree to release his Scot’s prisoners, there would be no one to help them save God himself.
Another drawbridge led them through the Byward Tower and then they were in the outer ward, a long, stone-paved passage bustling with supplies, horses, servants, men-at-arms and merchants. Meghan’s horse shied away from the clang of the blacksmith and William grabbed the animal’s bridle to steady it. Meghan licked her lips nervously and whispered her thanks.
They came to a stop in front of still another tower and the captain instructed them to wait for him. He disappeared into the round structure. William dismounted and helped Meghan down. To distract her from her fears, he nodded at the tower and said, “That’s the Bell Tower.”
Meghan frowned. “What?”
William pointed. “The Bell Tower. See?” He pointed to the awkward structure on the tower’s roof. “That’s where they ring the evening’s curfew before the gates are closed for the night. The constable will be in there.”
His ploy to distract her from her fears seemed to work for her brow cleared and the haunted look left her eyes, replaced by interest.
“How do you know so much about this place?” she asked.
“I came here as a lad with my uncle.”
“Your uncle?”
“Robert’s father, Robert the Elder they called him. He came here to vow fealty to Edward. I was allowed to come, but of course I was too young to be included in any of the treaty talks. So instead my cousin and I passed the time exploring. ‘Twas a grand sport for boys accustomed only to the moors of Scotland, no?”
Meghan nodded and looked about with more interest. “Where do you think they have my father?”
William chewed on his lower lip and finally shrugged. “I’ve no idea. There must be a dozen towers, mayhap more.”
Meghan nodded again, clearly trying not to worry. “And where does the mighty Edward reside?” she said, not bothering to hide her animosity.
“Shh!” William said. “Have ye no notion that you could be cut down where ye stand for uttering a word against him?” Meghan looked duly chastened so he answered her question. Pointing to the next tower down the lane, he said, “There. ‘Tis called St. Thomas’s Tower. Below it is a watergate from which Edward enters his castle.”
“And where—“ Meghan was interrupted by the arrival of the captain and an austere thin man whose carefully coifed grey hair and tunic of rich brocade bespoke him as a man of great import.
The captain introduced himself as Lord Betrand, Edward’s steward. The man demanded the letter of introduction William bore and inspected it suspiciously. After several moments, during which the captain kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, the steward declared that the letter was legitimate and smiling tightly, welcomed them to London.
“We were not expecting your arrival,” explained. “You must forgive our hesitancy in welcoming you, but one is never sure if credentials have been forged. Many a spy has been executed with the seal of Scotland in his grasp.”
William said nothing. He knew that any Scot not in Scotland was suspect to the English. He also knew that Robert’s bond of fealty with the English king was tentative at best. William felt a spurt of adrenaline fire his veins as he wondered if they would be welcomed into Edward’s presence or quietly murdered in their sleep.
As they passed the great building that William knew housed Edward’s audience hall, he felt his muscles tighten in wary anticipation, as if he were preparing for a sword fight.
Lord Betrand escorted them to a small set of rooms in one of the easternmost towers. “We have housed many a Scots guest in the Salt Tower,” he said with a sour smile. William clenched his teeth and forced himself not to grip his sword. John Baliol, one-time king of Scotland had been imprisoned in this very tower. William thought quickly, trying to determine if the steward meant anything by his choice of lodgings. Upon reaching the lavishly decorated rooms, however, he decided that they were as safe as three Scots could be in the mighty English fortress.
“I will inform His Grace of your arrival and ask for an audience at his earliest convenience,” the steward informed them before withdrawing.
“How long is Edward’s ‘earliest convenience’?” Meghan asked as the door latched shut.
William waited to hear if the outer bolt would be locked. When it was not, he shrugged. “A few hours? A day?” He prayed it would be no longer. Before he left Scotland, Robert had informed him that his plans to attack the border were set for a fortnight hence. That left precious little time for their mission to wait on the king’s convenience.
“William?” Meghan repeated, and William realized he had been lost in thought for some moments.
“Aye?”
“Which chamber is mine? I’d like to rest before we must confront the king.”
William studied her face and realized she was exhausted. And no wonder, considering how she’d pushed herself to prove that she could meet his fastest pace. Come to think of it, he was a bit saddle sore himself from the grueling pace and they’d nearly killed poor Hamish who preferred to ride a bench next to the fire. William felt a spurt of admiration for her stamina. It was matched by a recurrence of the novel feeling of protectiveness that caused him to hurry to open one of the two doors that opened off the small solar in which they stood.
“Do ye have need of anything?” he asked.
She walked past him and sat on the bed. “I have a need to be left alone,” she answered wearily.
Embarrassed and angry that she had rebuffed his kind words, he snapped, “That will be the easiest service I’ve been required to provide ye!” With that he slammed the door.
The nerve of the chit! he thought as he went in search of his own pallet in the adjoining chamber. You would think she was doing him the favor by coming to London and begging for the worthless life of her father.
William kicked off his boots and flopped onto the bed. Vowing he’d not offer her such courtesy again, he willed himself to sleep.
***
They passed the next day in terse silence, waiting for a messenger to announce their audience with the king, avoiding conversation with each other. At first Hamish tried to breach the uncomfortable silence by telling ribald stories, but he soon lapsed into abashed silence like a dog that’s been kicked after wagging its tail.
By mid-afternoon, he announced his intention to check on their horses. “No tellin’ what these English will do to a sturdy Scots horse.”
William nodded his assent and watched Meghan smile sweetly at the rough burly man. “Hmmph,” he said under his breath.
After Hamish’s flight, they continued in silence, Meghan fixed at the window as if searching for sight of her father, and William seated at the hearth, polishing his sword with obsessive attention.
The only sound in the room was the crackle of the small fire in the hearth and the rhythmic grinding of sword against stone. Suddenly Meghan shrieked. “Father!” She pounded her fists
against the thick glass. “Father!” she called again.
William quickly rose and came to stand behind her. He looked out the window trying to determine which of the wavering figures was Oengus Innes. “Where is he?” he asked.
“Gone—they just led him into that building there.”
He frowned. “Are ye sure? That’s the White Tower. I doubt Edward would imprison your father there.”
“I tell you it was him!” Meghan cried. “I must see him!” She turned to leave and William caught her shoulders. “Let me go!” she cried, pounding his chest with her fists.
“Meghan. Meghan!” he repeated, giving her a shake to gain her hysterical attention. When she finally looked at him, he said, “Ye canna be sure at this distance that the man was your father—“
”I can!” she whispered fiercely.
“Nay, not at this distance and not through those windows. The glass is no the best at Edward’s disposal and ye could scarce recognize your father if he stood with his face pressed against it.”
A renegade tear escaped her control and raced down her cheek. William caught it with his thumb and rubbed it into the softness of her cheek. “Your father is here. Somewhere. We’ll earn his release. I swear it.”
As she nodded, another tear slipped free and he caught it with his other hand so that he stood, cradling her face. She did not pull away and he heard her breathing, soft and quick. Her grey eyes shimmered with unshed tears and there was nothing cold or hard about them. As if drawn by a force he could not fight, William slowly lowered his head.
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