Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (26 page)

Meg nodded, fearing that was true. Her parents were both more likely to believe Simon or Tom before they’d believe Amalie—or Meg herself, come to that.

“Tell me what he did,” she repeated, her voice as gentle as she could make it.

“He took me riding,” Amalie said. “We went to the old mill upstream from Elishaw. He said he wanted to show me the mill wheel, so we went inside. I had no reason not to trust him then. He’d always been nicer to me than Simon was.”

“You should have been able to trust him,” Meg said grimly. “What then?”

“He’d been there before, because there were blankets and a pile of straw. It was horrid, Meg. He threw up my skirt, shoved down his breeks, and . . . There was so much blood!” Taking a breath, she said, “He left, and I thought I’d die there.”

Meg felt dizzy. Still seeking an acceptable explanation, she had an impulse to ask what Amalie had done to make Tom think she would welcome such treatment. But her sister’s pale face, tear-filled eyes, and shaking hands stopped the words on Meg’s tongue. Amalie could be flirtatious, and she had practiced her flirting on her brothers when she’d wanted something from them. But, even so . . .

Meg winced at the course her thoughts had taken. Whatever Amalie might have done in innocence, she was still Tom’s little sister. He was duty-bound to protect her from harm. It was no part of that duty to accept innocent flirtation as an invitation—if, indeed, that was even what Tom thought he had done.

Having seen him slip out after the countess signed to her ladies that she was ready to leave the table, Meg wanted to run after him. Propriety forbade running after the minstrel, however, so she waited long enough to persuade Amalie to rest and to beg leave of the countess to abandon her for a while.

Isabel laughed and said, “See to your own needs, my dear. You have been a great help to me. I mean to rearrange some things in my lord’s chamber and decide what room I shall take when Carrick arrives, for I cannot share that chamber with him. But the other rooms . . .” She shrugged. “Jamie
must
get on with enlarging the kitchen tower. I warrant we will all be much more comfortable after he does.”

Escaping as soon as she could without rudeness, Meg found that her brother had disappeared. But, remembering that he’d practiced in the chapel the day before, she sallied forth to look for him there. By the time she had crossed the drawbridge, her temper was rising with each step she took.

The brown stone chapel sat in its own clearing near the trees lining Hermitage Water. Recalling Amalie’s chilling description of what Tom had done to her, Meg decided not to confront him inside.

She went only far enough to open the door and look in. Pale light through three slits of windows revealed him sitting on a stool, polishing his lute.

“Tom, come outside, will you? I want to talk to you.”

“Then come in where it’s cool. It is hot enough out there to roast a haunch.”

“You’ll live, and I’d rather talk out here.”

He sighed a martyr’s sigh, set down the lute, and stood.

Meg stepped back from the door, glancing toward the castle. Seeing guards at the entrance and on the open parapet of the portcullis chamber reassured her. If she screamed, they would hear her and quickly send help.

The thought made her feel sick. Had anyone told her she could ever think such thoughts about Tom, she’d have thought the person was daft.

But Amalie was no dafty. Moreover, the look Tom gave Meg as he came outside made her wonder if he suspected that she knew what he had done.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you?” he said, looking around as if to be sure no one else was within earshot.

Startled but hoping he referred to their previous discussion, she chose her words carefully. “I promised I’d not tell anyone who you are or what you’re doing.”

“People break promises all the time.”

“Do they, Tom? Do people break faith with their families all the time, too?”

“I told you, I’m doing it
for
the family.”

For a moment, she wondered if he did believe she was just talking about his spying on Douglas. Then she noted the probing way he watched her.

Her temper was close to ignition, but long practice at controlling it helped her stifle the urge to snatch his hair out by its roots—every tawny strand of it.

“I think you have guessed that I’m not talking about your spying,” she said.

Stepping nearer, he said softly, “Then what are you talking about, Meggie?”

“You raped Amalie,” she said. “You know it, and I do, too. Don’t deny it.”

“She is lying. I never raped her. I may have teased her, but she asked for that. She wanted it, and I gave her a bit of what she wanted. There’s no harm in that.”

“There is if one fathers a child thereby,” Meg snapped.

That bolt struck home, because he paled. The last ounce of her doubt vanished, and so did her hold on her temper.

“How dare you ask me to trust you! How dare you extract a promise from me to do so, and in the name of helping kinsmen, when you have betrayed all that being a family means! Don’t talk,” she snapped when he opened his mouth.

Her hands had found her hips, and she leaned forward, looking him in the eye. “You betrayed Amalie in the worst possible way, Tom. There is naught you can do now to atone for that. We both loved you and trusted you, but you have destroyed that. You deserve the hatred she feels for you now, and my scorn.”

He shook his head, and as he did, he straightened, looking more menacing than she had ever thought he could.

“No one will believe you, either of you, if you speak of it,” he said. “They’ll believe me. People always blame the lass when such things happen. She is the one defiled, and therefore she must have done something to deserve it. You’ll see.”

Meg knew he was right, but she was not about to back down. “I cannot trust you to keep your word to me, can I?”

“About what?”

That he had to ask gave her the answer. He would not even exert himself to recall what he had promised, because the promise had not mattered to him.

“You said you would not harm Douglas or his family. But you or the people you serve do mean harm to him, or you would not be spying on him.”

“Are you threatening to break your promise, Meg? Because, before you do, you had better think very hard. Too much is at stake to allow you or Amalie to spoil it. Royal favor, for example. If the English succeed, we will have provided valuable service to our new king. We Murrays will benefit more than you can imagine.”

“Is that more important than the lives of your own sisters?”

“Aye, sure, because we’ll have a strong ruler again, and Elishaw will be safe. I’ll win my spurs without having taken part in a single battle, and we’ll reap other rewards. You’ll see. You will be proud of me yet if you don’t get in my way.”

“And if I do?”

“I won’t allow it. I’ll accept your word that you won’t, because I believe you’ll keep it and because I don’t want to harm you or Amalie.”

“But what if I do break my word?” She felt an odd detachment from the conversation now, as if she were talking with a stranger about nothing in particular.

“If you stir a step to do so, I’ll kill you both,” he said. “Don’t think I won’t, and don’t think I
can’t
do it, because I’d not have to do it myself. I need only speak to a man to see it done. Sithee, I’ve allies here, and you don’t know who they are.”

Her spirits sank as she listened, and her body wanted to slump, too. She drew herself up and said, “Unlike you, I do not lie or break my promises. So, as much as I’d like to break this one, I won’t. But you should think shame to yourself, Tom.”

“There’s no shame in doing what is best for one’s family
and
one’s country.”

Unable to stomach more, Meg turned on her heel and walked away. She held her head high, vowing silently never to speak to him again if she could help it.

She wondered, too, which was the greater duty, her duty to her family or to her husband’s liege lord. Her parents had raised her strictly to believe that one’s own family came first. But surely one was not duty-bound to protect its traitors.

The more she thought about what Tom had said, the more certain she became that there was a dangerous plot afoot. If the intent was not to harm Douglas—and she could not be certain that it was—then who was the intended victim?

It occurred to her that perhaps they had set their sights on more than one.

She had not walked ten steps before a frightening possibility struck her.

Dusk was falling and a full moon rising before Buccleuch and Huntly reached Otterburn with the main force and its vast herd of lowing cattle.

The mounted knights and lords had settled in by then, and had examined and improved their defenses. They had seen no sign of Hotspur and had had no word yet that he was on the move when Wat checked his men before going to bed.

He wondered if Hotspur meant to let the little gauntlets that had served as his lady’s favor cross the border with Douglas to grace the tower of Dalkeith Castle.

After all, Percy’s nickname was not from cruelly spurring horses. His temper, volatility, and sleepless passion for repressing Scots had earned him that name. Wat doubted that Hotspur would let Douglas keep the gloves if he could prevent it.

It was still early, but they all needed sleep. Making certain his sword, mace, and dirk were within easy reach, Wat settled himself as comfortably as he could.

Like most seasoned warriors, he could usually sleep anywhere and any time he found the chance. But for once, the skill failed him. With cattle gently lowing a lullaby in the background, he found himself remembering how Meg had wondered about the signs of pregnancy. She had said she would know in a sennight or so.

Realizing that it had been nearly a fortnight, he hoped she was with child.

He did not want to die before he had sired a son to carry on the Scott name.

Tom kept out of Meg’s way for the rest of the afternoon, showing himself only when it was time for Giles Gilpin to entertain the ladies at suppertime.

The countess invited the captain of the guard to join them, and Meg noted with amusement that Sym seemed to think the captain’s presence demanded even more meticulous attention from the serving lads.

He harried them like a sheepdog herding a tiny flock until she feared that, being older and not at all ovine in nature, one might turn and snap back at him.

Amalie had grown quiet again, and Meg felt little energy herself. Her anger and sorrow over Tom’s betrayal increased every time she thought about it.

She realized she faced another dilemma now—how much to tell Amalie?

Making their excuses to the countess, Meg bore Amalie upstairs with Sym following as usual. Shutting the door on him after asking him to warn them of any approach, Meg lit the two cressets in the room with a taper she had brought from the hall and said, “Sit down. We must talk.”

Amalie sat on the edge of her cot. “What is it?”

“I need to know that you will not betray Tom to anyone here. I gave him my word, but my word is worthless if you mean to expose him.”

“I won’t go against you, Meg, but I don’t agree that we should keep silent.”

Meg had decided to reveal that Tom had threatened to kill them both if either betrayed him. But she could not guess how her unpredictable sister would react. An impulsive word or an inability to conceal her fear could put them in grave danger.

So instead, she said, “I wish I had not given him my word, but I did. And after living with Walter and his men even for the short time we have, I don’t want to lead any of them to think we have a weaker sense of honor than they do.”

That was true enough, because Meg
had
learned a new code of honor from her husband’s family, and she wanted to live up to it. As deterrence, it lacked the power of Tom’s threat, but that threat could as easily send Amalie into a tizzy as frighten her to silence. In a tizzy, the impulsive Amalie was apt to do anything.

“I don’t think it is dishonorable to unearth a spy,” she said now.

“Would you feel the same way if Tom had not betrayed you?”

Amalie shrugged. “I don’t know. I own, it would be harder. But if we keep his secret, are we not, in effect, betraying the Douglas ourselves?”

“That is the dilemma, aye,” Meg agreed. “I don’t want to protect Tom, but having given my word, I must keep it, just as Walter kept his to ride to our father’s aid on no more than a summons to do so. Even though Father tricked him, I am certain Walter would ride to his aid again. He believes himself bound to do so. Can we do less for our brother? Are we not bound to keep our word in the same way?”

“I did not give mine,” Amalie reminded her.

Meg sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, aye, and I will do as you ask, but I don’t feel as if it can be right, and I do think you should tell the countess that her minstrel is our brother. It is your duty.”

“But despite what he’s done, I still love him as a brother,” Meg said sadly. “If we break faith with him, is that not as bad as his having broken faith with you?”

“So you will protect him, no matter what he does?”

“Just as I would protect you in a like instance, dearling,” Meg said. “Unless I learn that he truly threatens Douglas or that he also threatens the Scotts, I must.”

The other fear that had occurred to her as she left the chapel stirred again.

Tom seemed certain that the English would conquer Scotland, but the Scots were as certain that they would not. In either case, strange things had happened, and she had not considered any English role in the plot that she had suspected earlier. The raiders and Carrick’s visit to Hermitage had seemed part of that bigger picture, but although the raiders might have been part of a plot to weaken Douglas, English conquerors would have little interest in such a weak heir to the Scottish throne.

In any event, she would try to keep her word, and her own counsel, at least until the other men returned. She thought she could trust Amalie to keep silent that long unless Tom committed the folly of repeating his deadly threat to her.