Amanda Scott (6 page)

Sidony’s eyes widened. “But—”

“I don’t want to live in Edinburgh or Stirling, or in any town. Nor do I want to impose myself on you or Sorcha, Isobel. I’ll do my duty to Ardelve, and then I will go home. But all I want now is peace, so go away, all of you, and let me be!”

A moment later, the door clicked shut behind them and she had her wish.

At first, she was grateful, but it was not long before her thoughts and emotions began to plague her. What had happened too many times before was happening again. Unfair though she knew it to be, she was angry with Ardelve for dying, just as she had been angry when her mother had died, and her sister Mariota.

A voice in her head suggested that she should depend on nothing and no one. People could not control the Fates. Certainly, she could not. The voice in her mind seemed so loud that she began to wonder if she were going mad.

Why had she told them so rudely to leave? What would they think of her?

The iron control she had developed had slipped away without warning, and the result was as she had so often feared. She had to regain her composure and keep it, because what might happen if she lost it altogether did not bear thinking about.

Deciding she might relax if she lay down on the bed, she did so without even taking off her dress. No sooner did she shut her eyes than she fell asleep.

A nightmare wakened her. She did not recall details, only that she had been frightened witless as usual and felt as if she were choking. She had suffered from bad dreams since her abduction, but this time her necklace had tightened round her throat as she slept. So, at least, she told herself as she straightened it, the choking sensation was understandable.

The room was dark, the embers on the hearth barely aglow. She had no idea how long she had slept. But if her sisters had left her alone for hours, the chance that they would do so much longer was small. On the thought, she got up, relieved herself in the chamber pot, found the hooded lavender velvet cloak that Isobel had given her, and flung it on as she hurried to the door.

Opening it cautiously, she peeked out, found the landing reassuringly empty, and fled up the winding stairs to the narrow door onto the ramparts. Praying the fog had not dispersed and that Hugo had removed all the men to guard approaches from the glen, she quietly opened the door and stepped onto the wall walk.

Shutting the door behind her with no more sound than a metallic click as the latch fell into place, she felt as if she had shut out the world. The eerie black silence of the fog-shrouded ramparts engulfed her, banishing the discomfiting sense she had had since Ardelve’s death of being swallowed up by well-wishers, critics, and fools.

The result of this peace, to her surprise, was a wave of gusty sobs that wracked her until she pressed hard against the stone wall, seeking comfort from its solidity in the black mist. No one would seek her here, she assured her-self as she wiped tears with her sleeve and began to relax again. She should savor the quiet.

The air felt damp and chilly on her cheeks, but she did not care. The velvet cloak was warm, and its sable-trimmed hood protected her hair from the mist. The chilly, damp air was refreshing, but thoughts of what lay ahead still plagued her.

Although she had declared that she would do her duty, she did not want to accompany a corpse all the way to the Highlands. Such a journey could take a fortnight, and although days were still cool, no corpse could remain fresh for long.

A scraping sound, as of a boot on the wall walk, startled her.

“Who’s there?”

A male voice, deep and unfamiliar, said, “Do not be frightened, my lady. There is naught in this darkness to harm you.”

Chapter 3

T
he deep, disembodied voice sounded educated, soothing, even sensuous. Adela’s tension increased nonetheless. “But who are you?” she demanded.

“Just a man, my lady, who finds the sound of a young woman’s sobs distressing. Is there naught I can do to help you put things right?”

“No, sir, nothing,” she said, embarrassed that he had heard her crying.

“Will you not tell me what has distressed you so, Lady Adela?”

“Faith, you know who I am?” Her embarrassment increased. Even in the chilly dampness she felt her cheeks burn at the thought that he had witnessed her uncharacteristic and most unladylike display of emotion.

“I recognized your voice,” he said. “In view of what happened, I should say that you have cause for tears. But, clearly, yours was no ordinary arranged marriage if you care so much for your loss that you fled here to indulge your sorrow.”

A suspicion stirred as to who he must be, for only one man other than Ardelve had shown interest in her that day. But surely guests at Roslin did not usually wander about the castle by themselves, let alone all the way up to its ramparts.

“Pray, sir, tell me your name?” she asked.

“My name is not important,” he said. “Indeed, ’tis better that you continue to think of me as just a friendly voice in the darkness.”

“Are you a friend of the Sinclair family?” she asked.

“Aye, a good friend.”

“I wondered, because strangers do not normally come up here alone.”

“I suppose not,” he agreed. “However, tonight even the so-careful Sinclairs would scarcely expect an enemy to take a stroll around the wall-walk. Hugo Robison is famous for his ability to protect this castle.”

“Sir Michael Sinclair, as well,” Adela said, knowing that Michael served as master of Roslin when Henry was not in residence.

“Aye, but you change the subject, my lady. I was told you scarcely knew your husband. Do you indeed grieve so deeply for him, or for another cause?”

“In truth, I do not know why I was weeping,” she admitted. In the silence that followed, she tried to sort through her thoughts and feelings, then added, “ ’Tis more likely that I was crying because I can
not
weep for Ardelve.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “If you cry but cannot cry for him, then for whom were you crying?”

“You make it sound like a bard’s riddle,” she said. “The truth is simpler. You see, this morning I had no feelings at all. It seemed very odd, because a woman ought to be happy on her wedding day, don’t you think?”

“Were you sad?”

“I felt nothing.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“Faith, sir, I don’t know. I do not know why I am talking to you when common sense tells me I should not even be here. Yet I am saying things I would not normally say to anyone, and I have no idea why. If I could see, I think I would have fled immediately upon hearing you speak. I’d never have entered into this absurd conversation with you.”

“You may certainly return to your chamber if that is what you want to do,” he said, still in that same calm, soothing tone. His voice was having an unusual effect on her, for it seemed to touch something deep inside, warming her in a way that was unusual but seemed desirable. She wanted the sensation to continue.

“At least you do not order me to go,” she said. “Most men I know would say that I should return at once and lock my door. They would scold and insist that I ought not to stand here talking to you as if I knew you.”

“You are perfectly safe talking to me,” he said.

“You may say so,” she said. “But I doubt Sir Hugo would agree.”

“Hugo’s opinion in such a case matters not one whit to me.”

More certain than ever of his identity, and amused that he would dare to defy Hugo, she allowed herself a near smile. “I doubt you would say that to his face.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed, and she heard a smile in his voice.

She was silent, and a moment later, he said, “I know about your abduction, of course. That must have been a terrifying ordeal.”

“It was not pleasant,” she said. “He snatched me right off the kirk steps at my wedding. The priest had just asked if anyone objected to our union when four men rode out of the woods nearby. Everyone thought they were just tardy wedding guests, except they wore masks and rode right to the steps, and their leader—”

“Waldron of Edgelaw.”

“Aye, he rode right up to me. I thought he had a message, so I stepped forward. He just scooped me off my feet and rode off with me.”

“Horrifying,” he murmured.

“Aye, but he did not harm me. Nor do I believe he ever would have.”

“I am sure you knew him better than I, my lady.”

A certain sharpness in his tone made her stiffen. “I know only that I had no real cause to fear him,” she said, firmly suppressing the irritating memory of how much the menacing Waldron had terrified her—especially in the beginning.

“I don’t know that I’ve heard an explanation of
why
he abducted you,” he said. “Did he ever supply a reason for such insolence?”

“He said it was vengeance for wrongs done to him and to the Kirk,” she said. “I own, I never understood that, and I … I do not like talking about it, so if you …”

“Forgive me,” he said as she sought words to explain. “I should not have probed into so personal a matter. ’Tis a failing of mine that I can never seem to keep my curiosity in check when something, or someone, interests me.”

The comment stirred again that mild, twitching sense of humor. “You should meet my sister Isobel, sir. Your curiosity can be as nothing to hers. She asked so many questions that I finally lost my temper, or as near as made no difference.”

As soon as she said them, she wished she could take back the words. He was too easy to talk to, and she did not want to admit Isobel had plagued her until she had spoken more sharply to her than to anyone else since arriving at Roslin.

“Living with the memories must be difficult,” he said.

A flood of memories, mixed and jumbled pictures and emotions, spewed through her mind before she said curtly, “I saw him hang a man.”

The words leaped out before she knew she was going to say them. Others had asked what she remembered, but the memories had eluded her. Had anyone asked her what stirred her to tell him about that, of all things, she could not have said. The man’s power to make her speak seemed well nigh devilish. But one could not unsay things, as much as one would like to.

Her words hovered between them, making her stomach clench.

He let the silence continue until she ached to demand that he tell her what he was thinking. But to do such a thing was beyond her. She could not recall any time in her life that she had made that demand of anyone but an erring servant or a younger sister. Even then, the reason for asking had been a desire to know what either Sorcha or Isobel—for it was most likely one or the other—could have been thinking to fling herself into the mischief that had earned her a scolding.

Just when Adela began to think she could not bear the silence another moment, he said, “What a shocking thing to see. Why did he do it?”

She had not let herself think about the reason before. For that matter, she had scarcely let herself think about any part of her ordeal. But without hesitation she said, “He did it to punish the man but also, I think, to frighten me. He wanted to show me what he was capable of, to make sure I would obey him unquestioningly.”

“Some men do try to rule by fear, and Waldron was a villain, so likely you’re right about him,” he said. “Had the man he hanged done aught to deserve hanging?”

She shivered, her mind as black a fog as that which surrounded them.

Her companion was apparently content to remain silent, but this time the silence was no comfort. Images formed unbidden in her mind until she shivered again. Giving herself a shake, she said, “H-he told me he would help me. He said all I need do was …” She drew a shuddering breath, but still he did not speak. At last, in a rush, she said, “He wanted me to kiss him first. He was horrid!”

“Then, truly, he deserved to hang,” he said firmly. “You need concern yourself with such vermin as that one no longer, my lady. The man was no better than your abductor. Both richly deserved their fates.”

“What do you know of Waldron’s fate?” she asked, aware that only a few knew the truth of it.

This time his silence held a different quality, and she felt instinctively that she had surprised him. But his words, when he spoke, came as calmly as ever, “I suppose I know what most do, that he has not been seen anywhere since your rescue and is sure to be dead. Hugo and the Sinclair brothers are capable men.”

Adela did not reply. She wanted him to say more but only because his voice was so calm, so reassuring. He made her feel as if she could tell him anything. As the thought crossed her mind, she heard Hugo’s voice in her head, or Sorcha’s, reminding her that she was being foolish to trust a man she could not see, a man she would not recognize if she met him the very next day.

She would know his voice, though. She was certain she need only hear him speak again to recognize him anywhere. Her suspicion that she already knew his identity was stronger than ever, but not strong enough to tell him so—not yet. However, one thing did remain to set straight before their conversation ended.

“You are wrong about my abductor,” she said. “He was not evil in the way that you and others insist he was. He did dreadful, evil things, but he was only a man with strong convictions whose beliefs differed greatly from ours.”

“You are kinder to his memory than he deserves,” he replied.

His voice was as calm as it had been all along, but she sensed something in it now that warned her not to debate that point with him. Still, no one else had come to know Waldron of Edgelaw’s thoughts and beliefs as she had. She did not think she was just being kind.

“’Tis he who was kind to me, sir, in many ways. He talked to me, said I was a good listener, and I think he truly did believe the things he told me.”

“Did you think he needed someone to listen?”

“Aye, perhaps.”

“So he needed you.”

That was, she realized, exactly what Waldron had made her think. “He may have wanted me to think so,” she said as she thought about that. “But then, he just set me free as if I had meant nothing to him, even as a hostage.”

“Did you
want
to mean something to him?”