Amanda Scott (37 page)

“So help me,” she muttered, “I’ll spit the slithersome coof on my dirk.”

De Gredin glanced at her. His face showed only relief when their eyes met, so she moved back to that end of the passageway to be near if she could help, and also to keep her eye on the untrustworthy chevalier.

The swordsmen were well matched, which was not reassuring. Fife, being the more treacherous, and dry, would surely hold the edge.

Rob feinted, and when Fife lunged at him, he leaped the other way. Fife’s lunge carried him toward the door, but having watched Rob easily avoid that dreadful hazard, Adela felt no surprise when Fife did also, too, pulling himself up well short of the opening.

De Gredin, however, on his feet now, surged forward. With both hands straight out, he slammed into Fife’s back.

Off balance, the earl stumbled straight toward the gaping doorway.

Adela cried out, and as she did, Rob leaped to shove the earl hard, spinning him so he staggered headfirst into the wall beside the doorway instead.

Fife’s head cracked against the iron ring that anchored the escape rope. He dropped his sword, collapsed without another sound, and lay still.

“Is he dead?” Adela demanded, rushing forward to see.

“Nay, just clouted himself good,” Rob said. Picking up Fife’s sword and flinging it through the open sally port, he dropped to a knee beside the earl and pointed to the pulse in Fife’s throat, saying, “Sithee, it still beats.” He looked up at de Gredin. “You might like to disappear before he wakes.”

“Aye, sure, I’d like that,” de Gredin said frankly. “But I doubt I’d meet with any success if I tried. He has too many men outside, and they all know me.”

“Then lie back down,” Adela suggested. “I don’t think he saw you get up.”

De Gredin shook his head. “I’ve behaved as a scoundrel toward you, my lady. I’ll not make it worse by letting so powerful a prince believe you were the one who tried to shove him into eternity.”

Adela felt sad for him. She was grateful that he would tell the truth but fearful, despite all he might have done to harm her, of what could happen to him if he did.

To her surprise, Rob said dryly, “Very noble, Chevalier, but I doubt your confession would do us as much good as you may by remaining unconscious. We may well turn
that
to good account. But first, tell me, did you have aught to do with Ardelve’s death or those of my father and brother?”

“Nay, I did not,” de Gredin said. “But I cannot prove that, and I do believe Ardelve did not die any more naturally than your kinsmen did. Sithee, Fife had taken strong interest in you, my lady, because I’d told him of Waldron’s purpose here. He decided my cousin must have confided in you about what he was seeking. He said if you could tell us nothing else, you could tell us where and how Waldron died.”

“You did nowt to harm Ardelve?” Rob’s tone remained skeptical.

“I did not, but many guests brought servants, and a horde of gillies were in constant bustle about the high table. I can tell you, too, that my lord Fife was determined to get his hands on Lady Adela before Ardelve took her back to his home. Fife could not seek her there without risking trouble with the Lord of the Isles.”

He paused, then said ruefully, “I told him about the solar, my lady, but I never suggested poison. Lord Fife did that and said I could testify to it if the chance arose. He also started those rumors later. I did exaggerate the time you and Ardelve spent in the solar in a regrettable attempt to advance my own cause with Fife. As doubtless you heard him say, the men who trained Waldron and sent him to find the treasure taken from Holy Kirk likewise sent me to discover all I could of what he’d learned. But I lack both Waldron’s training and his single-minded sense of purpose. Then, too, I admire you, my lady. Not only are you beautiful and kind but—”

“Enough,” Rob growled, his eyes turning flintlike. “Stop whilst you’re still alive, Chevalier, and mayhap we will keep you so. What of my father and brother?”

De Gredin grimaced and glanced nervously at Fife. “I know naught of them but what everyone heard,” he said. “I do know Fife talked to someone else before me, though. He said I was the second to mention secrets to him in as many weeks.”

He glanced again at Fife, who chose that moment to groan.

At hasty gestures from Rob, the chevalier returned swiftly to his erstwhile position on the floor near the stairs and Adela knelt beside the earl.

“Can you tell if you injured him badly, lass?” Rob asked mildly.

Startled, she looked up at him and saw him smile, but the smile was no pleasant one. He had a plan, so she said, “I did not mean to hurt him, sir. I swear it!”

“He will understand that you were only trying to deflect his aim, sweetheart. But mayhap you should run upstairs and fetch some of his men to his side. Just explain to them exactly what happened. We’ll face whatever conse—”

“Nay!”

The word came forcefully, although Fife winced as he said it and slowly brought a hand to his brow, already red and bidding fair to show a nasty bruise.

“Let me help you to your feet, my lord earl,” Rob said solicitously, placing a hand under Fife’s left elbow as the man struggled dizzily to sit up.

Fife shook it off. “I’ll help myself. Where’s my sword?”

“In the river, I’m afraid,” Rob said. “When you stumbled and fell against the wall, you cast it through the sally port. Doubtless we can find you another if you desire to finish our contest. Or we can wait until you feel fit again.”

Fife, sitting now, still visibly disoriented, frowned at the floor and muttered as much to himself as to them, “I did not stumble. Someone pushed me.”

Glancing at Rob, who gazed steadily back, Adela said in a small voice, “I’m afraid it was I, sir. I thought you were going to kill poor Rob, and … and I threw myself at you to save him. He is my husband, after all, and I care deeply for him.” She looked again at Rob, letting him see the truth of those words in her eyes.

Fife, still rubbing his aching head with one hand as he steadied himself with the other, said grimly as he looked up, “Very commendable, I’m sure, madam.”

“I agree,” Rob said lightly. “You looked ripe for murder, my lord, and considering what effort it took for me to climb that damned rope, I’d expected more respect from you for the effort. Still, my lady wife has explained that you have been laboring under a false belief in some of the worst accusations laid against her. So I can well understand that you might be displeased with us both.”

“I suppose you mean to tell me those accusations are all false.”

“Aye, sure, for they are. We are certainly married, for which we must both thank you. Had you not terrified the poor lass by making her fear instant arrest, she would never have accepted an offer from such a scapegrace as myself.”

“So you are truly married?”

“For nearly a sennight now,” Rob said. “The Abbot of Holyrood married us himself, as he will tell you if you ask him. As for murdering Ardelve, I have never even spoken to the man. Nor did I meet her ladyship until after his death.”

“You expect me to believe that, when I know you served Sir Hugo Robison at Roslin before you decided to step forth and claim Lestalric.”

“If you know that, you understand why I am most unlikely to have conspired with her ladyship to murder her husband. Not only was Ardelve unknown to me, but surely you know Sir Hugo well enough to be sure he would not introduce a minion like Einar Logan to his sister-by-marriage. Nor would Prince Henry—forgive me, Orkney— or his formidable mother allow such a thing.”

Fife grimaced. “Those are excellent arguments which you are fully entitled to make when—”

“My lord Fife, are you still below?”

“Help me up, damn you,” Fife growled, reaching for Rob before raising his voice to shout, “Aye, what is it?”

“An army, my lord, approaching under the Douglas banner.”

“Rally our men,” Fife shouted.

“Sakes, sir, most of them are outside the gates, prey to any Douglas arrow! Aye, and the Roslin banner flies wi’ the Douglas, sir. There be dunamany o’ them.”

“Tell your men to stand down, Fife,” Rob said. “You know that the Douglas will follow no order of your giving.”

“What the devil is he doing here?”

“He is gathering an army, of course, to keep the damned English in England, something you might aid him with if you want any country left to rule. Or would you prefer to fight his forces and those of Sinclair instead, here and now?”

Giving him a hard, resentful look, Fife shouted at the man above to have his fighting tail prepare to depart as soon as he could join them. Then, with grim intent, he said to Rob, “The Douglas and a few others want bringing to heel.”

“Mayhap you can do that,” Rob said amiably. “Do you need help up the stairs?”

Curtly declining assistance, Fife turned toward the stairway only to stop when he saw de Gredin still lying there. Without warning, he kicked the man hard.

De Gredin groaned, making what Adela thought was a credible showing of just coming to, but Fife snarled, “Get to your feet, man. We’re leaving.”

Adela stepped forward, saying urgently, “Surely, you don’t want to encumber yourself so, my lord. You can see he’s not fit to ride. He is welcome to stay with us until he has recovered from his injury. He suffered a dreadful fall.”

Fife had winced after kicking de Gredin, revealing his own painful aftereffects, and he did not argue with her.

As they followed him up the stairs, Rob gave Adela’s arm an affectionate squeeze, but she did not respond. She was glad to be safe but still angry with him about the locked door, and she strongly doubted that their troubles were over.

When they reached the courtyard, the scene was frantic. But Fife, despite visible pain and weakness, soon restored order and discipline to his men.

Then, his dignity still apparently intact, he managed to mount his horse with no more assistance than he might normally accept from a gillie, and without looking back, rode out through the gateway to take his place at the head of his fighting tail.

Following him with Rob as far as the gateway, Adela held her breath until she saw the formidable array of horsemen waiting at the edge of the woods to the south.

Eight abreast, rows of them formed the vanguard of a barely visible, much greater host in the woodland behind them, all waving lances, swords, and banners at the departing royal party.

Douglas and Sinclair banners flanked the leaders.

Only when the last of Fife’s men had disappeared over the first hill did several of those leaders spur their mounts forward.

Adela recognized Sir Michael and scanned the rest for familiar faces, trying to remember what the Douglas looked like from her brief glimpse of him at court.

Her jaw dropped when she came to the first face she recognized. “The countess! And I see Isobel and Sidony now, riding up behind them!”

Isobel was grinning. Even the quiet Sidony looked pleased with herself.

Michael explained as he jumped from his horse and hurried to assist the countess, hampered by the shirt of mail and leather breeks that she wore. “I think we’ve got every horse and every man, woman, and child who can sit one for miles around,” he said. “And everyone without one who could carry something to wave came along, too. ’Tis a damned good thing, though, that Fife didn’t stay to fight.”

“Henry ought to be here soon,” Rob said. “He’ll be delighted to see this.”

“How did you get inside the castle?” Michael asked him.

“We saw the rope hanging from the sally port, so we moved back upriver to a point above the castle, tied me to one of the ropes we’d brought with us, and Henry manned it whilst I swam across and climbed the rope to the sally port.”

“I’ll wager that sounds easier than it was,” Michael said.

“Aye, sure, but Adela had been kind enough to leave the sally port open and throw down the rope, so it seemed a pity to waste it. Scared me witless to see it, I can tell you, thinking she’d tried to use it and had fallen. But then I saw de Gredin.”

“So he was there.”

“Aye, thank the Fates. I’m thinking he probably saved my lass’s life. I saw Fife, too, from the river before I grabbed the rope. He swung her out, threatening to toss her into the river. Had he not been holding her so, he’d have seen me.”

“Fife is an evil man, Michael,” Adela said. “He wanted to make me talk about”—she glanced at Rob— “about many things. I cannot believe he has simply gone away. He said I was under arrest! I’ve never been so terrified.”

“Never?” Rob said.

She frowned, remembering how clearly she had been able to think. “It was strange,” she told him. “At the time, I just thought about how I could foil his plan, whatever it was, and get away. And you, my lord husband,” she added sternly, “have much to answer for with respect to the limited choices I had.”

“Do I, sweetheart?” he said, putting an arm around her. “As soon as we get rid of all these people, you may have my head for washing.”

“You think I won’t,” she said curtly. “But you had better prepare yourself.”

He looked at her, eyes twinkling, and opened his mouth. But apparently he thought better of whatever comment he was about to make, for he shut it again and turned hastily to speak to Michael.

The urge to burst into laughzter had surged up without warning, and Rob was having all he could do to control it as he congratulated Michael on the success of his ruse. But he knew Adela would never understand that his need to laugh arose not from amusement but from the joy of having her safe again.

Moreover, he had sensed real anger beneath her words.

He recognized the euphoria of temporary victory, both in her and in himself, and dared to hope she would suffer no more of her nightmares. He had seen such relief before when once-defeated men went on to claim victory. The ills that had settled on them after failure eased as they came to believe in their abilities again and disappeared if they won their next battle. If she was truly angry with him, he would have to address that, but he could not do the task justice until they were alone.

“Judging by the way you’re looking at your wife, you’ll want to see us gone soon,” Michael said. “So I shan’t invite everyone to join you for supper.”