Amanda Scott (11 page)

Even to converse with people she knew well took effort now. She suddenly recalled that she had told Sorcha about the strange fear of madness she had recently experienced. If Sorcha recalled their discussion, and recalled that Lady Clendenen and the chevalier had interrupted them, she might come in search of her.

Entering her bedchamber, she stirred up the fire and added fuel from the hearth basket to warm hands grown chilly again in the stone stairwell. The water in the basin was cold, too, and Kenna would not bring hot until she came to help her prepare for bed. Pulling a stool close to the hearth, Adela sat and held her hands out to the warmth as she gazed into the fire and tried to think.

The flames danced and flickered. Although they did little to move her thoughts in any sensible direction, they were both comforting and mesmerizing. She was still staring into them, her mind nearly blank, when the click of the latch startled her so much that she nearly tumbled off the stool.

Turning, expecting to see Sorcha, she beheld Kenna instead.

“Faith, is it time to go to bed already?”

“Nay, m’lady,” Kenna said, shutting the door carefully behind her, then moving toward Adela with one hand extended. “I’ve brought ye a message.”

“A message? From whom?”

“Me brother Tam said to ask nae questions, so I brought it straight up to ye.”

“Prithee, do not mention this to any of my sisters, then. Mayhap it is from Einar Logan, if you were able to get my message to him.”

“Nay, mistress, for I doubt he can read or write, nae more than me brothers, or I m’self. When I asked them what it said, Tam said I should swallow me curiosity and remember me place.”

Adela shook her head at herself, realizing it ought to have occurred to her that a man in Einar’s position would be unlikely to read or write. A moment later, as she read the message, she was grateful that Kenna could not read either.

I’m told you need a friend. Go to the chapel when it is empty midway between Compline and Nocturne. Leave a candle lit near the archway if you are alone. Then kneel at the altar and wait. You’ll be quite safe.

The message bore no signature, but Adela needed none. He had said to let him know if she needed a friend, and she remembered saying something of the sort to Kenna, who must have repeated it to her brothers. Clearly, people at Roslin discussed each other just as people in the Highlands did. And word had reached him just as he had said it would.

Recalling the chevalier’s offer of friendship, she wondered if he might have meant to reassure her that he had received her message. But it was still hard to merge thought of him with her memory of the voice on the ramparts.

Even if they were the same, and despite his having realized she might be reluctant to visit the chapel alone after dark and taken pains to tell her she would be safe, she hesitated to go. It was one thing to visit the ramparts once on a night black with dense fog, and with fair certainty that Hugo would leave no guards there. It was quite another to cross the open courtyard an hour and a half before midnight to visit the chapel. She was not even sure it would be open.

That it would be highly improper for her to meet him there did not trouble her. Had he intended to betray her trust, he might easily have done so the previous night. She had trusted him instinctively and would continue to do so unless he gave her cause to change her mind. Nothing dreadful could happen in the chapel. The courtyard would not be deserted. She need only shout.

It occurred to her then that she might meet Hugo, Michael, or her father. Not one of them would view her solitary presence outside with approval.

She looked at Kenna and said matter-of-factly, “I want to go to the chapel later. I have neglected my evening prayers of late, and although I do not want to attend Compline with the family, I do want to make my peace with God privately after they have returned from the service. Will you accompany me as far as the courtyard and await my return, so that I need not go alone?”

“Aye, sure, m’lady. And I’ll no say nowt about it, neither.”

“Thank you,” Adela said, grimacing as she realized that she might as well have asked Kenna to help her sneak out to the chapel to meet the person who had sent the message. Clearly, she ought to have warned her “friend” that she was not wise in the ways of subterfuge.

“I’m thinking I should go lay out Lady Isobel’s night things first, whilst I can,” Kenna said thoughtfully. “She willna mind an I tell her ye want me later, especially if Sir Michael comes upstairs wi’ her as he often does. But I should tell her I’ll be wi’ ye, and I dinna want to shirk me regular duties unless I must.”

“Mercy, no,” Adela said. “I don’t want you to either, and it must be all of two hours and more before the chapel will be empty. Attend to all your chores, Kenna, and return when you can. I’ll wait for you.”

It was considerably more than two hours, but Adela did not complain. The chamber was peaceful, the fire cheerful, and when Kenna returned, she said, “I went to the kitchen, m’lady, and watched from the postern door until everyone left the chapel. If we wait a bit longer, we can be sure it will be empty o’ the priest and all. I’m thinking ye’ll be less likely to meet anyone an we return the same way.”

Since it would not have occurred to Adela to go by way of the kitchen, she was grateful for the suggestion. It would considerably diminish the likelihood of meeting anyone who would instantly send her back to her bedchamber.

Twenty minutes later, she and Kenna slipped through the kitchen unseen by anyone except a woman kneading dough for the morrow’s manchet loaves and a lad tending the fire for her. Outside, torches lit the yard, but the chapel lay only a short distance from the postern door. She saw that she could reach the east-facing entrance without showing herself longer than a minute or two.

“Shall I wait here, m’lady?”

“Aye,” Adela said, deciding that even if Kenna chanced to see him enter the chapel, he would have taken good care to render himself unrecognizable to her.

Doing her best to look as if what she was doing were ordinary, she strode to the chapel door. Half expecting to find it locked, she felt mixed relief and unease when the latch lifted easily and the door swung inward.

Shutting it after herself in the small entryway, she noted a dim orange glow emanating from the chapel proper through its arched entrance. On a shelf inside the archway, she found a candle already alight. A tinderbox sat beside it, making her wonder if he had somehow arranged to spare her the necessity of lighting one herself, or if it was normal practice at Roslin to leave a candle burning there.

Whatever the cause, thanks to the lighted candle, the place seemed to welcome her. She walked to the altar with assurance, realizing that if she knelt on a prayer stool there, she would have her back to the entrance.

That he trusted her to wait for him so made her think again about Sorcha and Isobel, neither of whom would merit such trust. Their curiosity was too powerful. But his trust was sufficient for her. She would await him as he had requested.

She did not wait long. Without a sound to warn her, the candle went out, and blackness enveloped her again. She remembered from her wedding that the chapel boasted no windows. Wax candles and cressets had lighted it even then, at midday.

His voice was as deep, firm, and comforting as it had been the night before. “Have no fear,” he said. “It is only I.”

Chapter 6

A
fter extinguishing the lone candle, Rob still felt her presence like a warm breeze in the chapel. He heard the faint rustle of movement as she turned his way.

“What happened to your French accent?” she asked a bit stiffly.

He hesitated, uncertain how to reply.

“As you see, I … I have guessed who you are,” she added.

“Have you?”

“Aye, but you need not fear me, either. And although I do
not
approve of secrets or clandestine behavior, I did want to seek your advice. Therefore, for the present, I shall acquit you of any ill intent in concealing your identity.”

“Will you?” Still feeling his way, he added, “Forgive me, but I am not certain I understand what you are saying, Lady Adela.”

“Will you deny that you have affected a French accent, sir?”

Although tempted to deny it categorically, he did not want to lie to her unless it became necessary. So he said, “I will admit that from time to time I have found it useful to affect such an accent, and others, for that matter.”

“I knew it!” Her tone was lighter, less strained than before.

“What did you know?” he asked.

“Your identity, of course. I am not a fool, sir. You did give yourself away to me, you know—straightaway.”

“Did I?”

“You must know that you did. I own that had you not stared at me so conspicuously in the chapel and after-ward, I’d never have guessed. And then, flirting as you did tonight … You sounded completely different, that’s all.”

Realizing that his hands had clenched at the thought that someone had been staring at her, had even dared to flirt with her, he forced himself to relax and let the irritating thought go. Evenly, he said, “You expressed need of a friend today, my lady. And, too, you expressed concern for another man.”

“I did,” she admitted, surprising him. He’d half expected a coy demand to know if he were jealous, but as quickly as the thought formed, he berated himself.

She had given him no cause to expect such a reaction from her. Indeed, she had revealed little of herself other than her simple trust that he meant her no harm and a confidence or two. He was tempted to warn her that such innocent trust could be dangerous, but aware of her history, he feared such a warning might frighten her.

It was more important to discover how much she had overheard, so he said instead, “What happened, exactly, to make you feel so concerned for him?”

“I … I heard two others talking. They said it was time to put an end to him. He did me a particular service, so I don’t want harm to come to him, but I cannot imagine what you could do to help him. You do not even know him, do you?”

“I know who he is,” he said, realizing as he did that he was sinking deeper into the pit of his deceit. But he had to know what he was dealing with and what she meant to do about Einar Logan. “Who were the men you overheard talking?”

“I don’t know,” she said hastily. “I just heard voices in a stairwell.”

He could hear the lie in her voice and would have discerned it even had he not known the truth. Still, it was good to know that, although she disapproved of secrets, she would protect those for whom she cared. She had not recognized his voice, but surely she had recognized Hugo’s.

With nothing to gain by letting her know he had detected the lie, he said, “What else did the men say?”

“One said someone had died. Nay, that two had died. That is …” She hesitated, evidently trying to recall all that she had heard. At last, with an audible sigh, she said, “Truly, I am not certain. He did say someone had died— Sir Ian, I think—but the only name I knew was Einar Logan.”

“What else did they say about him?”

“That was all. I heard a thud, as of a door shutting, then nothing more.”

“So you saw no one.”

“Nay, and I did not try to go nearer, either.”

So she wanted him to believe she did not know exactly where the two men had been. Well, he would not press her on that, either. He had no need.

“You were wise to keep your distance,” he said. “Was that the reason you let it be known you needed a friend, or was there some other cause?”

She was silent for so long that he thought he would have to coax any further information from her. But at last she said, “I should not bring my trials to you.”

“A friend is always willing to listen.”

When still she hesitated, he wondered what had happened to put her off. She had trusted him the night before. That she had, had laid an unexpected burden on him, a burden that grew heavier now. Exerting patience, he waited.

“It is nothing to make a song about,” she said as if she spoke to herself. Drawing another audible breath, she said, “I know they care about me, but everyone still plagues me so with advice that I cannot think. I’d hoped that discussing the matter with you might help, but I have no right—”

“Don’t trouble yourself about rights. I am wholly at your service. I will not claim to offer good advice, but I am an excellent listener if you want to talk.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “I’ve found it easy to talk with you. Only I cannot stay long. Lady Isobel’s maidservant, Kenna, accompanied me to the postern door and waits there for my return. I don’t want her to have to explain herself to anyone.”

“Doubtless the lass can think of something to say that won’t give you away.”

“Then I’ll tell you. I’d expected I’d have to go home with Ardelve’s body, you see, but Lady Clendenen said that would be unwise. My sisters agree, as does my father. Still, I fear people will think it is my duty to go, even to assert my right to stay there with his son. I don’t want to live with a man I don’t know. He may be my son by marriage, but he is only a year or two older than I am.”

“Did Ardelve provide otherwise for you?”

“Aye, and generously if what Lady Clendenen told me is true. I’ll have money enough to support myself and the lifetime use of a house in Stirling.”

“Lady Clendenen has been busy,” he said dryly.

“I am not surprised that
you
should think so. I warrant you know her much better than I do.”

He let that pass, saying only, “I wonder why she is sticking her oar so deeply into your water.”

“She has said she will not marry my father until he has got rid of his last daughter. She would not be pleased if I were to return to Chalamine.”

“Mayhap she only wants to see you happy.”

“That is possible, but she has been …” She stopped, then said, “I should not say this to
you
, of course, but it is just so easy to tell you things that I will anyway. She has given me cause to believe she has already selected one whom she believes would make me a good husband. I’m certain that must be why she invited me to stay with her at her house in Edinburgh.”