Amanda Scott (8 page)

Roslin Castle was one of the strongest fortresses in the country, boasting a high curtain wall and strong gates. Perched on a clifftop promontory thrusting into a sharp curve of the deep gorge cut by the turbulent river North Esk, it was nearly unassailable for even the most determined enemy.

The river flowed almost all the way around the south-facing promontory, leaving only a narrow, terrifying land bridge to connect it to a treacherous, heavily wooded land mass to its north. From there, a narrow cart track dipped down to follow the river’s western bank north to Edinburgh or south to the head of Roslin Glen. Another, higher road reached by fording the river below the castle followed the eastern ridge and was the better of the two.

Reminding herself again that she was safe, Adela put all thought of the nightmares out of her head. Moving quickly in the chilly room, she performed her morning ablutions, then accepted Kenna’s help to dress in a simple, becoming tunic and skirt of soft, moss green cameline.

“Ye’ll need a proper headdress today,” Kenna said as she brushed Adela’s hair.

Adela agreed. Both Isabella and Lady Clendenen would expect her to behave as a married lady—a widowed lady—and as such, she could not go about as she preferred, with only a short veil to cover her hair.

“Just plait it, Kenna,” she said. “But first brush it back off my brow. I’ll wear the plain white caul and the matching silk veil that Lady Isobel gave me.”

Most of the clothing she wore at Roslin had come from the generous Isobel, because Adela’s abductor had taken her from the Highlands with no more than the blue wedding dress and linen shift she had worn the first time she had tried to marry Ardelve. Thanks to the countess and the countess’s seamstress, she did have her golden velvet wedding dress and one other, a fine tawny silk gown with bands of colorful embroidery to decorate its hem, deep neckline, and the edge of each sleeve.

Ten minutes later, heading to the great hall to break her fast at the high table, she warned herself that it might take effort to maintain her resolve and remain civil. Thus, she hesitated on the threshold when she saw that Isabella, Lady Clendenen, Isobel, Sorcha, and Sidony had all lingered at the table, chatting together.

She knew they had likely been discussing her, deciding amongst themselves just what she should do. None seemed to notice her right away, though, so she drew a breath to steady her nerves and moved quietly toward them.

Except for two gillies dismantling the last of the trestles in the lower hall, no men were present. But as she neared the dais, her father entered the lower hall from the stairway in the southeast corner that led to the main entrance a half-floor below.

“Hold there, lass,” he said in his loud, blustery way, bringing conversation at the high table to a halt. “I want a word wi’ ye.”

“Aye, sir,” she said. Turning to face him, she was aware that every eye at the high table had turned their way. She knew, too, that every ear strained now to hear what he would say to her.

Macleod was a large, robust man with a large, robust voice and an unpredictable temper. But he smiled and put a hand on her shoulder as he said, “I’m pleased to see ye up and about. Ye mustna shut yourself away.”

“I’ve no intention of doing that, sir,” she said, keeping her voice low despite the surge of annoyance she felt when she realized that he must have discussed her with Lady Clendenen. “I know my duty, Father,” she added clearly.

“Aye, ye do,” he agreed. “’Tis one o’ your most admirable traits. By my troth, lass, I ken fine that I can depend on ye to do as ye ought.”

“I hope so, sir, although I own that I do not know yet what that may be. Mayhap you, too, have advice for me.”

When he glanced at the high table, fidgeting, she knew exactly what he would say and nearly sighed in her vexation when the prediction proved true.

“Bless ye, lass,” he said. “Ye ought to stay right here at Roslin wi’ your sisters and … and others ye can trust to ha’ your best interest at heart.”

“Indeed, sir, do you not think Ardelve’s family may take offense if I do not accompany his body home? Surely, they’ll expect me to.”

“Sakes, they dinna ken that the man be dead, so they’ll expect nowt o’ ye.”

Exerting patience as she so often had to do to avoid rousing his temper, she said, “They’ll learn of his death soon enough, because word of such things travels faster than coffins do. Will they not expect me to accompany his funeral train?”

“Ealga—that is to say, Lady Clendenen—will attend to them if they do expect such,” he said, glancing again at the high table. “She’ll send her own message, telling Fergus she’s invited ye to stay wi’ her.”

Adela fought a familiar urge to agree to whatever he said, if only to end the discussion. But she knew she could not submit so easily, not if she was to hold her own against them all. Right or wrong, if she was not to lose what freedom she had, she had to choose for herself the course her life would take.

Therefore, deciding that she might as well make her case to the others as she made it to him, she said in a tone that would reach the dais, “I am grateful for Lady Clendenen’s invitation, Father, but much as I appreciate everyone’s advice, I will decide for myself what to do.”

The heavy frown returned. “D’ye think that’s wise, lass? Ye shouldna reject the opportunity her ladyship be offering ye.”

Deciding to emphasize what she hoped would prove her strongest weapon, she said, “I am a married lady, sir, a widow, and I have resources of my own now, or I will have them soon. Surely, I have the right to decide this matter for myself.”

“Resources? What resources?”

“Lady Clendenen said Ardelve settled money on me, enough so I can live independently. You agreed to those settlements, sir. Is that not so?”

Macleod’s frown grew more ominous. “She shouldna ha’ told ye such stuff!”

“Mercy, is it not true then?”

“Och, aye, it be true enough, but ye’re nobbut a lass, Adela, and ye ha’ nae business to be thinking o’ living independently. What can ye ken o’ such a life? I’ll deal wi’ your gelt for ye, my lass, or if ye dinna trust your own father with it, and choose instead to make your home at Loch Alsh, as
is
your right, I expect yon Fergus will be capable enough o’ looking after your gelt for ye.”

Stiffening, she looked him in the eye but lowered her voice again as she said, “I can think of no one I would trust more than you to look after my affairs, sir. I know you to be a most careful manager.”

“Aye, sure,” he said in his normal tone and looking less belligerent. “But if ye dinna want to live at Chalamine …” He paused meaningfully.

“I warrant you’d even welcome me home, despite having made it plain to me that Lady Clendenen will not marry you until you have married off your daughters. She meant me in particular, you know,” she added, lowering her voice even more. “She certainly knows Sidony well enough to be sure
she
would never interfere with the management of your household.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Macleod acknowledged. “That lass couldna make a decision an her life depended on it.”

“Nor would I intentionally interfere with Lady Clendenen,” Adela added, nearly whispering. “But I do understand her concern, because I cannot promise never to suggest she try another way of doing things. Not after so many years of running that household according to my own wishes, and yours.”

“Aye, well, two women trying to control a household can be a wretched business,” he said with a shudder. “I remember how it were wi’ my mother and yours. Hoots, but until your uncle took your gran to live wi’ him on the Isle o’ Lewis, ’twere a dreadful arrangement! Me mam had a temper on her, and although yours were a gentler lass, mine could stir coals wi’ a tree stump.”

Feeling her cheeks redden at the realization that no one could have any doubt now what course her side of the conversation had taken, she raised her voice again to say, “I don’t think for a moment that Lady Clendenen would stir coals, sir. She simply wants to believe her household will be her own. Pray, try to understand, though, that I must think about this. I want to understand my position, and I will appreciate advice from anyone who offers it. But do please recall that I, too, am accustomed to running a household. I don’t want to dwindle into …”

She hesitated, reluctant to speak the words that hovered on the tip of her tongue lest she anger him, but to her surprise, he smiled.

“Ye dinna want to become like your Aunt Euphemia,” he said bluntly. “Sakes, lass, ye couldna do that an ye tried.”

“But I think I could,” Adela said. “Only think, sir, when Aunt Euphemia lived with us, she barely opened her mouth for fear of angering you and being turned out although you are her own brother and would never have done such a thing. And
she
does not like to manage things. But I do. I’d feel suffocated if I had to live with anyone who expected me to be always meek and submissive.”

“But women
should
be meek and submissive,” Macleod said.

“Perhaps some should,” a new voice chimed in. “But, thankfully, most noblewomen of my acquaintance are rarely either.”

Adela, facing Macleod, had briefly forgotten their interested but still silent audience. Although it was Isabella who had spoken, the surge of heat in her cheeks resulted from fear of what Lady Clendenen must be thinking. How, she wondered, could she face her again?

However, Macleod, typically, had paid the women at the high table no heed whatsoever until the interruption. He turned now, his heavy frown back in place until he realized who had spoken. Then, hastily, he bobbed a semblance of a bow.

“Good morning, madam,” he said politely to Countess Isabella. “I ken fine that a woman o’ your rank doesna submit easily to anyone but her king. However, I hope ye’ll no be putting such notions in my lass’s head as will set her against them wi’ authority over her.”

“Our Adela has too much sense to fly in the face of true authority, my dear Macleod,” Isabella said. “But do stay the rest of your conversation until she has broken her fast. She scarcely ate a bite yesterday and must be well nigh starving.

“Moreover,” she added when he hesitated, grimacing, “we are all of a single mind with you, you know. So we can help you persuade her. And you will both be more comfortable if you sit at the table with us,” she added as a clincher.

“Ye’ll do as ye’re bid, Adela,” Macleod muttered. Then, in a louder tone, he thanked the countess and put a hand on Adela’s shoulder as if to turn her himself.

Knowing she had no choice but to obey the countess’s summons, she was already turning, but the first person to catch her eye was not Isabella but Lady Clendenen. Her eyes were atwinkle, and she was smiling as warmly as if she had not heard a word of what Adela had said.

Adela expelled a sigh of relief, hoping she had not said anything to truly offend her. Lady Clendenen had never behaved any way but kindly toward her. Perhaps she truly did take a motherly interest. Reluctant to trust her own judgment on that score, Adela fingered the gold chain necklace she rarely took off as she went with Macleod to join the others at the high table.

Feeling her way carefully in the conversation that ensued, she made no effort at first to join in. When two gillies came running, Isabella sent one to the kitchen to fetch hot food for Adela and the other to the buttery to fetch ale for Macleod. The conversation continued while Adela ate, and although the other ladies agreed that she should heed their advice, they did not seem to agree with each other.

Sorcha said, “You are a fool if you insist on traveling all the way to Loch Alsh when you do not have to, Adela. To travel with a corpse—”

“Pray, Sorcha, don’t be horrid,” Sidony pleaded. “This must all be hard for her to bear, although I should not want to travel with a dead person, myself,” she added with a shudder. “You don’t
want
to, do you, Adela?”

Applied to in such a way, and quite unable to snub her youngest sister, Adela said, “Duty is often unpleasant, Sidony. But one must do it nonetheless.”

“Have some ale, dear,” Isabella suggested. “Ivor is behind you with the jug.”

“Thank you, madam,” Adela said, nodding to the gillie and shifting aside to let him fill her mug. She had no taste for ale at breakfast, but it was easier to accept it than to debate the point with Isabella.

Conversation continued to flow around her, but although she had told Macleod she welcomed advice, she let it flow unstaunched until Lady Clendenen said flatly, “Widowhood is not for the young or the faint of heart, dearest. I was in my fortieth year when poor Clendenen went. At first, even for me, life was bleak.”

Despite herself, Adela listened.

“More than one warned me that people would think it scandalous if I lived alone in Clendenen House. Most insisted that duty to my husband required me to stay with a respectable kinsman, which meant moving in with Cousin Ardelve or my brother. But both lived far from town, so instead, when a friend invited me to stay with her and her husband in North Berwick, I did. However, after a month’s unbearable solitude there, I leaped at an invitation to accompany other friends to a house party in Linlithgow.”

“Really?” Sidony said, smiling. “A party?”

“Aye, and I’d do the same again,” Lady Clendenen said. “While it is true that some people, mostly here in the Lowlands, believe as the Roman Kirk teaches that one should observe what the Kirk calls a proper period of mourning, many more—certainly in the Borders and Highlands—believe in getting on with life whilst one has a life to get on with. My North Berwick friends are the first sort, I’m afraid.”

“Hence, the solitude,” Sorcha said dryly.

“Just so. But I believe that our time here is too short to waste it in mourning. So when the King removed to Edinburgh from Stirling a month later, I politely ignored my friends’ renewed invitations and warnings and returned to Clendenen House. Life progressed thereafter with much more liveliness and gaiety.”

“I dinna believe in long mourning, either,” Macleod said. “But nowt could harm ye whilst ye stayed wi’ friends, and ye were older and wiser than my lass here. Thank God, she has no house to be staying in by herself as ye did.”