Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (16 page)

Perhaps Sibylla
was
a witch, he told himself as he bade his mother goodnight.

That thought amused him, but his amusement faded when he realized that with servants and men still up and about preparing for the next day’s journey, he could not go to the bakehouse chamber and search for the tunnel entrance at once. Nor, with Jack sleeping there, could he go down later in the night.

Such exploration would require forethought and so must await his return.

The next day’s journey to Akermoor proved pleasanter than Sibylla had anticipated. Having traveled with Lady Murray once before at a plodding pace made necessary by her ladyship’s apparently customary insistence on a horse litter, she had expected to endure the same slow pace to Akermoor.

However, her ladyship astonished everyone by electing to ride.

Sibylla had also expected Sir Malcolm to seize his first opportunity to speak his mind to her. But he, too, surprised her. The only pertinent comment he made was to say, as they rode side by side for a time, that he hoped she had fully recovered from the illness that had kept her at Sweethope Hill.

“Aye, sir, I’m rarely sick, as you know,” she replied. “In troth, I was the last to succumb to the illness that struck us, which is how Isabel came to leave me.”

“I feared your swim in the Tweed might have made you sick again,” he said. “But, barring that bruise on your head, ye’re looking gey hardy.”

“I am, sir,” she said. “Tell me more about Alice and this man she is to marry.”

He shot her a look from under his eyebrows that told her he was pleased with himself. “I warrant ye’ll recall young Colville of Cocklaw.”

“Aye, sure, I do,” she said, her heart sinking at the memory of her third rejected suitor. “But Thomas Colville is too old for Alice.”

“So I thought, although a man’s age has less to do with his fitness for marriage than his fortune does. However, Colville has a younger brother.”

“But Thomas is heir to Cocklaw.”

“Aye, sure, he is, and ’twas foolish of ye to reject your chance to be mistress there, just as ye were foolish to spurn Galston and his wealth. Thomas is to marry a great heiress now and will control her vast estates, but his brother inherits their mother’s property. ’Tis a tidy place, albeit not as large as what Thomas will have.”

“I hope the younger Colville is a better man than his brother, sir.”

“He’s a God-fearing man and has gelt, so he’ll do for Alice. In troth, ’tis more than I’d expected for her, with her share of what I’ll leave being gey smaller than yours if ye marry. And now that I’m seeing ye with young Murray again—”

“Do
not
let your thoughts turn in that direction, sir,” Sibylla begged. “He has not forgiven me for rejecting him. Nor is he likely to,” she added a little dismally. “Also, his lady mother knows naught of that day, so prithee . . .” She looked at him.

“I’ve told the lad I’ll say nowt, but I wish I’d made sure of
that
match,” Sir Malcolm said. “I’ll not be making such a mistake again. Nobbut what Alice will do as she’s bid. She’s agreed and the date for the wedding is set, so I’ll hear no sighs and such over yon plaguey lackwit that was cheeking up to her last year.”

When Sibylla inquired further about the lackwit, Sir Malcolm’s temper flared. “Ye’ll not be stirring talk of rebellion in your sister’s head, Sibylla, or by the Rood, I’ll lock ye in your bedchamber till after her wedding. D’ye hear me?”

“Aye, sir,” Sibylla said and tactfully changed the subject.

Simon glanced back several times at Sibylla and her father, riding just ahead of the servants and men-at-arms. He was curious about their conversation. Overall, he was bored, but his mother and Rosalie rode behind him, and he could not think of a tactful way to drop back to ride with Sibylla and Sir Malcolm.

Knowing he did not care a whit what Sir Malcolm might be saying, he saw it as an ironic turn of fate, shortly after they entered Teviotdale, when the older man urged his mount past Lady Murray and drew in beside him.

“I could see ye were aching for conversation, lad, and I’m not one for spending whole days with the ladies. If ye’ll permit me, I’ll ride with ye for a time.”

“You are welcome, sir,” Simon said. “I must thank you again for offering us your hospitality at Akermoor.”

“Faugh, I’m glad to have ye. In troth, I miss my son Hugh most when the emptiness of the place gets over me. Servants, even a daughter as loving and obedient as our Alice, cannot compensate a man for the loss of his only son.”

“Hugh died a hero,” Simon reminded him, trying to keep his own sense of loss at bay. “You must be proud of him.”

“Aye, sure, but I’d be that proud if he were still here,” Sir Malcolm said. “I did not ride with ye to talk of myself. I heard ye’ve fallen out with the Governor.”

“Our relationship remains cordial, sir. He recognizes my duty to my family, and to Elishaw, and knows I remain as loyal to the Crown as I’ve ever been.”

“Ye don’t want him as an enemy, lad.”

“I know that. But I am no danger to him.”

“D’ye mean to say then that the Murrays will nae longer maintain their so-determined neutrality, but will now favor only the Scots?”

Recalling that Sir Malcolm had accepted his offer for Sibylla because of the ready access he had to Fife, Simon said warily, “I foresee no trouble any time soon to test our neutrality. The truce with England has lasted more than two years now.”

“Such as it is,” Sir Malcolm said. “I ken fine that ye’re plagued with raiders in your part of the Borders, just as folks to the west have been. And whilst English raiders are crossing the line, we Scots will ever retaliate.”

“As will the English whenever our lads cross the line,” Simon said.

“Aye, but ’tis English reivers doing the crossing now.” “Have you proof of that, sir? I’d remind you, it would not be the first time minor incidents of reiving had been made to look more threatening than they are.”

“D’ye mean to suggest someone may be stirring trouble on purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Simon admitted. “I’d suggest only that the truce is as likely to succeed as to fail. Should it fail, I will decide my course.”

Sir Malcolm nodded, and they talked of other things until they reached the river Teviot north of Hawick and stopped for their midday meal.

Sibylla had been listening with amusement to Rosalie’s stream of questions about the royal court and her mother’s surprisingly patient answers.

At one point, Rosalie said, “You did not tell me where we will stay, madam.”

“Simon has chambers in the castle,” Lady Murray said. “I suppose we will stay there as your father and I often did.”

Knowing that Fife’s gentlemen had cramped quarters, Sibylla said, “Isabel also keeps rooms there, madam. As she has not yet replaced Amalie, she’ll have an extra one. So if his lordship’s chambers are not adequate, let me see what I can do.”

“That would be very kind, my dear,” Lady Murray said with a gracious nod.

The afternoon was pleasant and the distance from the Teviot to Akermoor just five miles through low hills. Two hours after they had eaten, the castle came into view, giving Sibylla an unexpected surge of pleasure.

Akermoor Castle sat high above Wolf Burn on a rocky knoll that protected all but the west front of the castle and provided a solid foundation for its square, four-story keep and the two round, five-story towers flanking it. Watch-towers on corbels made the two towers look as if they wore peaked hats.

On the west front, a walled forecourt protected the entrance. Gates opened for them into the court, where a raised portcullis guarded the archway to the door.

As Sibylla watched, the door opened and Alice Cavers stepped out, waving excitedly. Waving back, Sibylla realized she was glad to have come home.

Chapter 9

T
he forest surrounding Akermoor reminded Simon of Elishaw. The primary difference was the way Akermoor perched above the trees on its granite knoll. The track up to it was a good one but dropped off precipitously to the burn below, so anyone trying to attack the castle would be at a distinct disadvantage.

The distance to the water was about three hundred feet at the track’s highest point. A siege might be possible, he thought, but if the tower were well stocked . . .

“Have you a source of water inside?” he asked Sir Malcolm.

“We’ve a spring in the cliff just above us, aye,” that gentleman replied.

“How far are we from the loch?”

“A mile, no more, by yon track,” Sir Malcolm said, pointing to a narrow dirt path into the woods. “But come in, lad. I’ll show ye the whole place.”

Dismounting in the forecourt, Sibylla hurried to embrace her sister, who met her laughing. Alice also had their father’s light gray eyes but was half a head shorter than Sibylla, very fair, and of a willowy shape and build.

“I am so glad you’re home,” she said to Sibylla. “I’ve missed you.”

Introducing her to Lady Murray and Rosalie, Sibylla said, “The Murrays were very kind to me, and they stay only one night before riding on to Edinburgh to join the royal court. We must show them our finest hospitality.”

“Oh, how I wish I could go to court,” Alice said, looking at Rosalie, her envy plain to see. “It has been so dull here, and everyone else is going somewhere!”

“Your turn will come,” Sibylla said, her attention drifting to Simon and her father, who had dismounted and were heading toward the stables together.

“I know I shall go one day, Sibylla,” Alice said. “But our lord father says I must marry first, and I—” Breaking off, she glanced at Lady Murray. “Forgive me, madam— and Lady Rosalie, too,” she said ruefully. “I should not be talking about myself. Do come inside and I will show you where you may refresh yourselves.”

“Thank you, Lady Alice,” Lady Murray said. “I am sorry you will not be going to court. I had hoped that you and our Rosalie might become friends.”

“I’d like that, aye,” Alice said, smiling at Rosalie. “I have two cousins my age, but I rarely see them. ’Tis a pity I am not to go to Edinburgh.”

Sibylla said, “Someday, dearling, but let us go in now.” She accompanied them to the chamber Lady Murray and Rosalie would occupy that night. Waiting until her lady-ship’s woman joined them, and assured that their baggage was on its way up, Sibylla said, “Now you may take me to your room, Alice love, and tell me all the news.” With their ladyships’ door shut behind them, she added quietly, “I want to hear all about this young Colville our father tells me you are to marry.”

Alice’s face fell but she silently led the way to her bed-chamber and shut that door. Then she said, “Sibylla, Edward Colville is horrid!”

“I own, although Father wanted me to marry his brother, I have never met Edward. Sakes, I scarcely knew Thomas Colville.”

“I’m sure Thomas was just as bad, but you were so brave, Sibylla, refusing him as you did. I just wish I could refuse Edward.”

Recalling her father’s threat to lock her up if she encouraged rebellion, Sibylla said cautiously, “But why do you want to refuse him? Father says he has property, and if he
is
like Thomas, he is handsome. What makes him so horrid?”

Alice shuddered dramatically. “He is the sort of man who says what he thinks people want him to say and then behaves as he wants to behave.”

“How do you mean?”

“At Yuletide, when we were all at Ferniehurst together in a large company, he heard our father express admiration for the Bishop of St. Andrews,” Alice said. “Straightaway Edward began to act holier than I expect it has ever occurred to the bishop to act. One might have thought he aspired to take holy orders himself.”

“Perhaps he does. Many younger sons go into the Kirk.”

“Edward has no such intention,” Alice said, grimacing. “One has only to see the way he leers at anyone in a skirt to know that.”

“He is exactly like Thomas then. So why did you agree to marry him?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you how it happened. Father came to me and asked if I was a good, obedient daughter. I thought I must have displeased him, so I assured him that I am as obedient and dutiful as I know how to be, which is
true
.”

“I know it is, dearling,” Sibylla said.

“Aye, well, then Father asked what I thought of Edward Colville.”

“And you said . . .”

“I told him I scarcely knew him but he had done naught to attract my liking. Father frowned heavily, the way he does, making my knees quake. So I said, ‘Faith, sir, what would you
have
me say of him?’ ”

“And he said . . . ?”

“That he expected me to agree that Edward was a worthy young man that any marriageable maiden would rejoice to have as a husband.”

“Mercy, Alice, did you agree?”

“I did not! I told him I could not say such a thing without lying. Faith, but I had no reason to
like
Edward Colville, let alone to call him worthy.”

“What did our father say to that?”

“That he is sure I will be very happy with him as my husband. So you see—”

“I do
not
see,” Sibylla said. “Surely, you disagreed with that, too.”

“I did, aye, and he began bellowing at me. You know his way.”

“I do. But the law will side with you.”

Alice shook her head. “Nay, then, it won’t, because I’ve told him every way I know. But he went ahead as if I had agreed to everything. We marry in August.”

“But—”

“I saw how
your
behavior infuriated him each time
you
refused a husband. He regarded it as a personal affront that you sought the Douglas’s aid to defy him.”

“Mayhap he did,” Sibylla agreed, ignoring a twinge of guilt. “I did what I believed I had to do, Alice. I did not think of it as defiance but as taking my own path rather than fading to dust here at home.”

“But to do such a thing
was
defiance, and I have no one to aid me. I wish you had come home when Hugh died,” she added wistfully.

“I suppose you do, but I did not learn of his death for weeks. Do not forget that Isabel had just lost her husband, too. By the time the news of Hugh’s death caught up with me, we were in Galloway,” Sibylla said. “But I have visited twice since then. And Father seemed gey pleased to see me at Elishaw. He did not even scold me much for falling into the river Tweed.”