Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (20 page)

To his surprise the older man blushed like a schoolboy but said hastily, “Nay, I told ye, lad, ’twas nobbut bit o’ ribble-rabble. In troth, I scarce recall it, but ’twas nowt for making a bard’s tale about, so I’ve nae intention of speaking more on the subject. If Annabel wants to tell ye, she will, but I’ll tell ye nowt.”

“Very well, sir. It must be as you say. I’ll be much obliged to you, though, if you can manage to distract her from talking of time and distance today.”

“I’ll do that and happily,” Sir Malcolm said. “I’m gey pleased that I decided we should come. I’d forgotten what a fine sense of humor your mam has.”

Simon stared at him. He had heard many things said about his mother in his lifetime, and he fancied he knew her well. But no one had ever accused Lady Murray of having a sense of humor, and he had never expected anyone to do so.

Whether Sir Malcolm knew what he was talking about when it came to her ladyship or not, Simon was relieved when he did manage to keep her diverted.

By the time they approached Holyrood Abbey at the southeast end of Edinburgh, the sun was low and Sibylla was again riding beside him. Her eyes were bright as her gaze swept westward from the abbey bell tower and upward to Castle Hill. Her expression revealed simple pleasure in the view.

“Do you enjoy life in court circles?” he asked her.

She looked startled at the question but gave it thought before saying, “I like being with Isabel, but I dislike all the intrigue at court. Someone is always plotting something, so one has to watch for pitfalls if only to avoid falling victim to a prank meant to make someone else look bad.”

He nodded. Having been party to many such intrigues over the years, if only as an adjunct to a primary player, he knew she was right.

“One must be devious by nature, I suspect, to enjoy such things,” he said.

“Are you devious, sir? I would not have thought that of you.”

He said, “I don’t think I am, but I was raised to be loyal to my liege, and obedient. I was both of those things, and I am still loyal to the Crown.”

“And the Crown is Fife,” she said with a sigh.

“Aye, the Crown is Fife.”

She glanced back. “I should fall back to ride with the other women, should I not? I am surprised that neither her ladyship nor my father has commanded it.”

He was reluctant to agree with her but knew he must. “Aye, you should,” he said. “You do not want to stir talk, not if you would please Isabel.”

She sighed. “She does not dare keep anyone who stirs gossip, lest she give Fife cause to make her leave Sweet-hope Hill and live with the husband she detests. Even the Douglas would refuse to tolerate scandal in her household.”

He missed her company after she fell back with the others, but the castle looming ahead soon turned his thoughts back to Fife.

As they rode along the Canongate, past St. Giles, and into the High Street, Sibylla described the royal burgh’s points of interest for her sister and Rosalie. The most impressive view of it came as they wended their way up the steep road to the castle with the burgh sprawling below and southeastward to Holyrood Abbey.

Passing under the tall gate tower into the castle precinct, they rode to the easternmost end, to massive David’s Tower, containing the royal apartments.

Greeting them just inside, the steward for those apartments solemnly informed Sibylla that the princess Isabel was not yet in residence.

Chapter 11

S
ibylla received the news of Isabel’s absence with more equanimity than did other members of their party. Sir Malcolm, showing signs of incipient wrath and ignoring the steward’s presence, demanded to know if she had purposely misled him.

Giving him a straight look, she said, “You know me too well to believe that, sir. Isabel said she would come when the court removed from Stirling. That she has not yet done so suggests only that something has delayed her.”

“Where will you stay until she does come?” Lady Murray asked.

Smiling at the expressionless steward, Sibylla said, “As one of Isabel’s ladies, I have access to her chambers, madam. I shall occupy my usual room.”

“Begging your pardon, Lady Sibylla,” the steward said. “As ye ken, the princess always sends word a few days ahead, and we’ve not heard from her yet.”

“She did tell you to expect her when the court removed here, did she not?”

“Aye, she did that,” he agreed. “And ye’re welcome as always, m’lady.”

Much as she would have liked to have Isabel’s chambers to herself for at least a short time, she said to her father, “Alice can stay with me, sir. Rosalie is also welcome, madam, and you, as well, if you like. I can provide beds for you all until Isabel arrives, but I recall that you do have access to other accommodations.”

“We do, aye,” Lady Murray said. “In the past, my son has given up his room to his father and me, and I did assume . . .” Pausing, she looked at Simon.

“You are welcome, of course, madam,” he said. “I can always find a bed.”

“And you, sir?” Lady Murray said to Sir Malcolm. “Where will you put up?”

His annoyance with Sibylla plainly forgotten, he said, “The Douglas keeps chambers in the gate tower, and I use one of his rooms. But I own, it would be better if Sibylla provided a cot here for Alice. And, as I’m thinking the two lassies might like to sleep together”—Rosalie and Alice nodded fervently—“I’d be gey pleased if ye’d agree to look after them all yourself, my lady.”

“ ’Twould be a pleasure for me, sir,” she said, nodding. That exchange leaving Sibylla with no more to say, the other ladies followed her to Isabel’s chambers. The rooms were always kept ready for the princess and her ladies, and comprised five bedchambers opening into a larger central solar—two on one side and three smaller ones on the other—on the third floor of David’s Tower.

Rosalie and Alice shared one room, leading Sibylla and Lady Murray to opt for separate chambers until the princess’s return. Lady Murray had her woman, Alice had brought a maidservant from home to assist her, and the princess always left a chambermaid to look after her rooms, so their baggage was soon stowed.

By then the rooms were redolent of lavender and cloves from scent bags in the Murray ladies’ sumpter baskets. Commenting on the pleasant aroma, Sibylla learned that while Lady Murray and Rosalie liked a mix of lavender and cloves in their scent bags, Simon preferred a hefty dose of cinnamon added, as his father had.

When Sibylla told the others they could order food brought to them, Lady Murray announced that they were too weary from their travels to think of attending court that evening. The girls protested, but her ladyship summarily overruled them.

“We shall retire early, my dears, and make our plans tomorrow after we have broken our fast. I know you will agree that that is the best plan, Sibylla.”

“Indeed, madam. But, prithee, you two, do not look so downcast,” she added. “We are too late to take supper in the hall. Moreover, for a first appearance at court, certain customs apply that you must follow. Your brother will present you to the Governor or to his chamberlain, Rosalie, and our father will present you, Alice.”

“What do we say if we meet the Governor?” Rosalie asked.

“Not a word, dearling,” Lady Murray said. “You will make your best and deepest curtsy and remain silent unless he addresses you.”

“Fife won’t,” Sibylla said. “He never does.” Recalling his aborted attempt to arrange Rosalie’s marriage eight months before, she hoped she spoke the truth.

The evening passed without incident, and the next morning, with little else to occupy their time, Sibylla agreed to escort Alice and Rosalie around the castle.

Lady Murray excused herself. “I have been here many times and do not need to wear myself out walking up and down Castle Hill,” she said. “But do be sure to show them St. Margaret’s Chapel, Sibylla.”

Sibylla agreed and, seeing the castle precinct anew through the eyes of her young companions, soon recalled how exciting it had been for her the first time.

A sea mist had blanketed the dawn but lifted before they set forth, to reveal a sky full of drifting white clouds. The air still felt damp but was warm enough for Sibylla to wear only a pale-pink silk tunic and skirt. She wore gloves and a caul, too, because one did so in Edinburgh whenever one was outside. Rosalie had also rejected a heavy wrap, but Alice, less hardy, had donned a gray wool mantle over her dress.

Both Rosalie and Alice showed more interest in the bursts of scenery and the men they saw than in the fine buildings Sibylla pointed out.

Other parties strolled about, gazing at one part or another of the castle just as the three young women were, and usually with someone to act as guide. With her charges showing as much interest as they were in any young man who crossed their path, Sibylla was relieved when the number of other wanderers thinned as they went uphill, until they found themselves alone at the top.

St. Margaret’s Chapel sat by itself atop the highest point of Castle Hill. Just fifteen by thirty feet, its exterior was undistinguished for the oldest building in Edinburgh. Explaining that its use was reserved for members of the royal family, Sibylla encouraged her charges to look inside at the columns and lovely carvings on the semicircular apse’s arch and the chancel.

Outside again, standing by the chapel, they could see the North Loch just below and the blue-gray waters of the

Firth of Forth in the distance. A breeze blew toward them from the Firth, fresh and tangy with scents of the sea.

Sibylla breathed deeply, listening with only half an ear to her gaily chattering companions until Alice exclaimed, “What is
he
doing here?”

Turning, Sibylla beheld a handsome young man striding toward them with a confident grin on his face. His dark coloring, lanky build, and aquiline features put her so strongly in mind of Thomas Colville that she easily deduced his identity.

“Someone told me you had come here, Alice,” he said, walking right up to her, catching her by the shoulders, and kissing her soundly on the cheek. “So you missed me enough to persuade your father to bring you! I’m gey glad to see you, lass, but you should present me to your bonny companions.”

Seeing Alice shrink away from him stirred Sibylla’s temper. “If we are to talk of manners,” she said, “I should think you’d know better than to accost the
lady
Alice in such a rude way.”

He threw back his shoulders, put his hands on his hips, and looked down his nose at her. “And who might you be to speak so boldly to a nobleman, my beauty?”

“You would do better to put that question to someone who might present you to me,” she said tartly. “Until you find someone of that sort, pray step away from us.”

“I do not dance to a wench’s command, especially one who would make such a pleasant armful . . . if I were still seeking one,” he added with a cheeky grin. “You must not know that I’m betrothed to Alice, which must surely excuse my behavior.”

“It reveals only that she is getting a bad bargain,” Sibylla retorted. “Come, Alice, we will go back now.”

“Nay, come and pray with me,” he said to Alice, gesturing toward the chapel.

Keeping her back to him as she stepped between them, Sibylla touched Alice’s arm to urge her away, only to feel her own arm grasped rudely from behind.

“By heaven, you’ll not dismiss me like a common lackey,” he snapped, swinging her to face him.

As he did, she drew her right elbow back sharply, formed a fist, and using the momentum he provided her, drove her gloved fist as hard as she could straight up at his nose. Faintly hearing squeals of dismay from the girls, she watched him lurch backward, catch his heel on a rock, and sit down awkwardly and hard.

When he clapped a hand to his nose, blood spilled into his palm.

Looking at it, he said, “By God, when I get my hands on—”

“Come, ladies,” Sibylla said as she stepped nimbly beyond his reach.

Turning from him, back the way they had come, she beheld a familiar, broad-shouldered figure standing on the walkway, looking straight at her.

“Thank heaven,” Rosalie murmured.

Sibylla was not sure that Simon’s appearance was any blessing. Her cheeks were burning, and her temper was still far from under control. If he thought he was going to wax coldly eloquent over how a lady should behave toward boorish young men, he had better, she told herself, think again.

Walking toward him, aware of the furious man behind her, she did not intend to stop long enough to explain her actions.

“How could you?” Alice asked quietly but with an unexpected tremor in her voice. Thinking she must be on the verge of tears, Sibylla looked at her only to see evidence of suppressed laughter instead.

Rosalie murmured, “Good sakes, I want you to teach
me
how to do that. I never saw
any
female hit a man before.”

“My brother taught me,” Sibylla admitted. “But I expect I should not—”

“I hope the look on Simon’s face is for that ruffian you struck and not for us,” Rosalie interjected more soberly than before.

Sibylla was watching Simon and understood her concern. Despite his tawny coloring and stony face, the words “black as thunder” swam into her mind. She remembered Amalie using them to describe what Simon looked like in a fury.

He was not looking at Colville, either.

He was still looking straight at her.

Simon had come upon the scene in time to watch astounded as Sibylla whirled on the apparently unsuspecting man behind her and knocked him flat with one blow of her gloved fist.

As she and the other two lasses came toward him, he strode to meet them and said sternly as soon as he knew she could hear him, “What the devil were you—?”

“Not now,” she cut in sharply. “If you must have an explanation, you may have one when we are well away from here. At present, however, you will oblige me by letting us pass and taking care that that ill-bred knave does not follow us.”

“I’ll see that he does not,” Simon said, his ire shifting instantly to the new target. So astonished had he been to see her knock the man down that he had failed to observe the extent of her anger as she approached him.