by Terry Spear
Instead, he offered the facts in the situation his cousin knew very well. “Her da would no’ agree to my taking her to wife. I have beseeched him incessantly. He will no’ change his mind. He is the one who will keep her safe, no’ me.” Marcus gave a disgruntled exhale of breath and frowned even more at his cousin as he sat at the head table. “Wait, she hasna run away, has she?”
“Marcus,” Rob said, barely getting the words out. “Word comes that his lordship is already dead.”
Marcus stared at his cousin in disbelief, and then abruptly rose from his chair, the legs scraping the stone floor.
Before he could speak, Rob said, “Whoever has murdered him will blame the Highlanders for his death and whoever has done this dastardly deed will spirit Pembroke’s daughter away before—”
“Where has Lord Pembroke died? When? Have you evidence that any of this is true?” His thoughts were swirling, stumbling over one another…Isobel, the earl, who had done such a thing?
If someone pretended to be her friend now in her time of grief…
Marcus cursed under his breath. “The lady could be in grave danger.”
“Aye, that is what I have been trying to say. ‘Tis rumor of the most reliable source. One of James MacNeill’s brothers, Angus, was passing through our lands on some business and had news that his cousin, Niall, has wed a French countess and learned of Lord Pembroke’s death. He knew you would be concerned for her safety. He had to return to Rondover Castle, but said if you need his and our cousins, the Chattan brothers’ help, they would be at your disposal.”
Marcus couldn’t believe the news about Isobel’s da. “Where did the killing take place?”
“Near the hillside village of Chirnside in one of the scattered hamlets. ‘Tis what Angus related. For fear of King Henry’s hearing of the news that someone from the area has murdered one of his devoted lords, the body has been taken further south. Hopefully, to hide the fact he died up there and not nearer his own castle or on English soil.”
“And Lady Isobel?” Marcus clenched and unclenched his fists, fearing for her safety. If he did secure her and bring her to the Highlands to stay safely under his roof, would King Henry believe Marcus had her da murdered and then secreted her away?
God’s wounds, Marcus had wanted the lass since she had bloodied Lord Fenton’s nose when the baron had made some degrading comment about her Highland heritage.
“You still want her, I know it,” Rob said, despite the fact Marcus was already stalking toward the keep’s entryway. “We are leaving right away then?”
Marcus cast a reproachful look over his shoulder, indicating that his cousin had to be daft not to realize it. When he saw the grin on Rob’s face, Marcus shook his head and reached for the door to the inner bailey.
Before he could grasp the handle, the door swung wide and one of his clansmen, who had recently joined their ranks, stood before him dressed for the journey, his blond hair looking as wild as Rob’s, his blue eyes narrowed, mouth pinched, grim as if he was going into battle. And ready for it.
Leith gave Marcus a nod in greeting. “We are going, aye?”
“With or without me, it appears,” Marcus said, seeing several of his men throwing packs onto their horses’ backs, already saddled as dark clouds gathered overhead.
The fury of the storm would soon break loose.
Lasses were scurrying out of the keep, bringing food for the expedition, prepared in a rush, their faces flushed and anxious. Brief kisses and hugs were exchanged with their men. No telling when the men would return to the keep. If ever.
Even Marcus’s own horse was ready and his bags packed, and he gave a dark laugh. Sometimes, he thought his men knew him too well.
***
Isobel had been on edge for the last two months, worried her father would change his mind and decide she had to see the men who wished to court her again. But he hadn’t discovered who was behind Marcus’s attack and for now, her father was still having his men look into it. She had learned through a servant that Marcus had been regularly corresponding with her father, trying to convince him to allow her marriage to him. She prayed he’d be successful one of these times.
She’d also learned her father had read every one of the missives and kept them, which was good news. He was not tossing them in the fire, unopened. Even so, he was keeping her well-guarded after she had left the keep, escorted by Marcus’s kin, to see him. She knew the captain of the guard had to have told her father, though he had not spoken to her of the incident. She wondered if the fact his kin had taken her to see Marcus, then returned her safe and sound had made a positive impression on her father.
A few of the servants had even hoped her father would relent after the unprovoked attack on Marcus and the way he had tried so valiantly to earn her hand in marriage in a civil way. But her father still hadn’t budged on the issue. Her cousin, John, was visiting soon and she hoped then her father would declare that he wanted him to take his place upon his death while Isobel could marry Marcus.
As far as she knew, her father had not told John this, so she didn’t know if it was something that was viable or just something she hoped with all her heart would happen. She suspected her father wanted to see how John managed the staff and the Scots at the border before deciding.
Before she retired to her bedchambers early that evening, Isobel sensed that something was dreadfully wrong as she slipped closer to the doorway of her father’s solar. She slowed her pace as a maid hurried past her, eyes lowered, and then Isobel stopped before she reached the open doorway.
To her knowledge her father had once more journeyed to Scotland at the request of King Henry to help quell the Scottish rebellions along the border. Which, while King Henry ruled, were still uncertain with the Anglo-Norman influence pushing northward to Cumberland. Though William of Normandy invaded in 1093 and incorporated it into England, the region had been dominated by many wars and border skirmishes between England and Scotland since then. Because Henry had married King David of Scotland’s daughter, relations were generally good, though the skirmishes did continue. Which was why King Henry had given Isobel’s father permission to build his castle near the border to quell such rebellions.
While her father was away, his advisor, Lord Wynfield, was left in charge of the castle. Her father was the greatest diplomat and often was able to settle the trouble brewing at the border with naught but a word. Rarely, if ever, did he have to resort to the use of a weapon, he was that good at negotiations.
She had learned that the last time, when Marcus had been injured by one of her own people, her father had finally convinced the Scots to quit fighting. But also that he had asked Marcus’s help in stopping the skirmishes. Marcus had offered only to help at the price of taking Isobel as his bride. She loved him for it. And she wished her father had agreed.
But her father had won the peace without giving her over to the Highlander. She was not disappointed that the hostilities had ended. Only disappointed that her father still would not allow her to wed Marcus.
The staff normally greeted her cheerily when they passed her by, but now they examined the rushes on the floor as they avoided looking directly at her while they hurried about their business. That concerned her. Several knights guarding from the wall walk that evening were dressed in chain mail, while double the guards were posted. Isobel had noticed the high state of alert, but she was unable to ascertain the reason for such concern.
Isobel peeked into the room where several of her father’s vassal lords and some of his knights were having a conference with Lord Wynfield, who was standing squarely in the center of the group. The short, stocky man’s puffy cheeks, usually punctuated by dimples, were plain ruddy this stormy night as he snapped at one of the servants and scowled at the knights. She had only seen Wynfield in such an aggravated state on one other occasion when her mother had died unexpectedly from a raging fever while her father had been away on business in Scotland two years earlier.
Again, she
was reminded why she did not wish to wed him.
Isobel attempted to discover what had upset the baron so as she leaned against the stone wall outside her father’s solar.
Lord Wynfield cleared his throat. “King Henry will have to be made aware of this as soon as possible.” From the dark tone of the baron’s voice, whatever the news was, it was not good.
More rampant fighting, she feared and maybe her father needed reinforcements.
For an instant, all remained silent. Afterward, the men spoke all at once in such a confusing deluge that she could not understand their words. “One at a time, gentlemen,” Lord Wynfield said.
Standing closest to the doorway, Sir Halloran said, “What of Lady Isobel?”
The mention of her name sent shivers cascading down her spine as she stood obscured by the wall leading to the doorway. One of the knights walked over to close the door and frowned to see her standing there. “Excuse me, my lady.” Sir Edward closed the door.
She leaned against it to listen, but unable to discern any more of the men’s conversation muffled by the massive oak, she headed down the corridor to her bedchamber, hating that she did not know any more about what was going on than before.
When she entered her room, Mary rushed to greet her. Her green eyes were narrowed and her red brows pinched in a frown. She appeared just as shook up about something as everyone else was. “Are you retiring to your bedchambers for the evening already, my lady?”
“Aye, Mary. Lord Wynfield’s mood is too stormy for me. He has everyone upset to no end. Whatever is the matter, do you know?”
“I would not know, my lady.”
Yet the way her maid refused to look her in the eye, Isobel knew differently. She also knew if the baron didn’t want anyone to enlighten Isobel as to the matter, the staff would hold their tongues.
Already, rain was pelting the stone walls, the winds howling through the arrow-sized windows, and lightning streaked across the black sky, highlighting mountains of clouds. Thunder boomed in its wake, warning the storm had only just begun.
She didn’t think the night and all its secrets would ever end.
She was mistaken.
Chapter 7
The stormy journey had taken Marcus and his five men five days to reach Torrent Castle near the village of Ancroft and learn Lady Isobel was no longer there.
Lord Wynfield stonily greeted him. “I warn you not to interfere with my decision to send Lady Isobel south to stay with someone safe.”
“When did she leave?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Marcus didn’t believe it. Only ten days had passed between the time the word had reached him of her da’s death and he and his men had traveled there. “Before her da was murdered?”
Lord Wynfield led him into the great hall to sup with him and Pembroke’s staff. The baron didn’t say anything in response. Afraid he’d be caught up in the lie?
Marcus had overheard servants talking and they had said Isobel would be staying with King Henry and his wife, Matilda. Isobel would serve as a companion to Matilda in Westminster where the queen preferred to remain.
Marcus was not happy about that at all. Isobel would have too far to travel and anything could happen before she reached Westminster. Beyond that, King Henry had enjoyed a number of sexual partners resulting in numerous illegitimate children. Though he supported many of them, Marcus didn’t want Isobel to be subjected to Henry’s prowess if he found her as lovely as Marcus did.
At least, Lord Wynfield had Cook prepare a meal for Marcus and his men while stable hands took care of their mounts. In the meantime, Marcus tried to determine which route Lady Isobel had taken with her escort. He wondered though, why Lord Wynfield had even told him that much.
Although Pembroke’s staff often looked at the Scots as savages with their noses stuck high in the air, and many kept their eyes averted as if they couldn’t be bothered to even look disdainfully their way, this time the atmosphere was different. Darker. Gloomier. As if the raging storm outside had managed to slip inside the keep’s walls. And yet, several nodded to Marcus with the slightest of greetings as if they were glad to see him, but didn’t want to get caught showing their respect.
Marcus hurried to eat before they took their leave to determine if they could even catch up to Lady Isobel’s escort. If she had left a few days ago, they might not be able to. Especially if Marcus and his clansmen ran into trouble with the English.
“I will say again, Laird McEwan, I am doing what the earl would have wished.” Lord Wynfield’s face was flushed with annoyance. He was a well-fed man, from all appearances, and had probably not raised a sword in many a year. He was usually fairly agreeable, from what Marcus had observed of the man during his infrequent visits, except when it came to Marcus’s interest in Isobel.
Marcus was certain Wynfield was a good man as far as Norman lords went, but he was not at all happy with the idea that a Highlander entertained notions of marrying the lass. Especially when the seneschal contemplated wedding the lady himself.
“Do you ken who murdered Lord Pembroke?” Marcus queried, lifting a chunk of bread, white, unlike the way his brethren prepared the much heartier brown bread, before he took a bite.
“You had motive. You wanted to claim the earl’s daughter as your wife.”
Marcus glowered at the baron, surprised to hear the man say such. “I had naught but respect for Lord Pembroke. I deeply admire his daughter…”
Revealing his own belief that Marcus much more than admired the lass, Rob snorted.
Marcus cast him an annoyed look, then focused his wrath again on the baron. “You ken I didna have anything to do with it, aye?” He didn’t want anyone to believe he had murdered the earl.
Wynfield took a deep breath and shook his head. “You had motive. But unless you paid the murderers, I do not believe you were behind the killing. A Norman lord of some consequence, from the description of his dress, his saddle, and his weaponry, murdered him. But the witness did not recognize the men.”
“Men?”
“Aye. Four. All of them wore garments fashioned from the finest wool. The shepherd believed the men knew Lord Pembroke, and he recognized them, or he would have shouted a warning. Had they looked like common thugs and thieves, he would have avoided them. As it was, they called to him, and he went willingly to greet them. “
“Lord Pembroke was alone at the time?” Marcus asked in disbelief.
“The two knights with him were also murdered.”
Marcus absorbed that, then said, “They were dressed in their lordly Norman clothes so Lord Pembroke would believe he had nothing to fear from them. Did he know them?”
“That we do not know for certain.”
“The shepherd did not hear an exchange of names?”
“Nay,” Lord Wynfield said.
“Why did you not send for me so I could protect Lady Isobel?”
“You are a Highlander!” the baron said, slamming his fist on the table, his face red with fury.
Marcus glanced up to see two of the earl’s knights watching them at the entrance to the great hall. He said to the baron in a low voice, “Aye, and ‘twas no’ a Highlander who murdered Lord Pembroke, but a Norman.”
“You cannot go after her.”
Marcus would not listen to the baron, who could very well have sent the lady into danger. “Where is her escort headed?” He knew the destination, but not the route they would take.
Lord Wynfield stiffened his back and narrowed his eyes. “Listen to me. She will marry an English lord. Not a Highlander. I have done what I felt was my duty to the earl and to the lady herself.”
“Have you considered that the same lord who murdered her da might very well attempt to marry her? Mayhap Lord Pembroke wouldna allow him to marry her already. Mayhap the gentleman will force himself on the lady so she has no other choice. What if after he has her title, he has no other use for her? Have you considered this?”
Wynfield’s face drained o
f color.
“Where. Is. The. Lady?” Marcus asked, gritting out the words.
“She is gone and will soon be safe in another’s care. If you wish to rest here the eve and continue on your journey home, I will make the arrangements.”
If she had left so long ago, she would have already reached her destination. Marcus knew the baron had been lying.
With barely controlled animosity, Marcus said, “For your generosity, my lord, I must thank you for the food, but we must be on our way.”
He glimpsed Isobel’s maid, Mary, who was stretching her neck, trying to see around the two knights standing in the entryway. The maid had served Isobel’s mother as her companion from her Highland clan, and when Isobel had been born, she’d devoted herself to the lass. He was surprised she had not gone with Lady Isobel since she’d often accompanied her when he had visited the castle in the past. That doubly concerned him.
Marcus frowned at Lord Wynfield. “Mayhap we should stay here the night.”
Rob interjected, “He doesna like that we are Highland—”
Marcus motioned for his silence, his gaze still locked onto the baron’s as if they were fighting in a battle. The man sat like stone, his expression giving naught away now. What was going on? Was the lady still here within the castle walls? Marcus would learn the truth if he stayed here. Trying to get back into the castle without permission if he learned afterwards that the lass was here, he would find nigh to impossible.
On the other hand, if Isobel had already left, he didn’t want to lose any more precious time in tracking her down.
Mary motioned around the knights for Marcus to come with her. Sir Travon glanced back at her, and she quickly dropped her hand to her side. She smiled brightly at the knight.
Marcus said to the baron, “Should we stay?” He glanced at Mary to see if she would warn him one way or another as to what he should do.
Sir Travon was again watching Marcus, and Mary quickly shook her head, saying no.
“We will go.” Marcus immediately rose from his bench, his men following suit. “Again, I thank you for your hospitality.”
