Lord of a Thousand Nights (32 page)

“Light-haired, medium height, and stocky is all I remember. Scot, I would guess from his speech, but the burr was not strong so I figured he was from the border lands here and one of Sir Morvan's men.”

Perhaps it had been Edmund, following Reyna to Carlisle to cajole her further, but neither Edmund nor Reginald, whom Ian had released before their departure, fit Paul's description. Nor was Thomas Armstrong light-haired. But either Thomas or Edmund might have had
someone else deliver a message that would draw Reyna into their hands.

The realization that Reyna might be in real danger almost scrambled his thoughts, but he forced himself to think it through carefully. He should probably tell Morvan about this, but if he did, Morvan would lead this army on Glasgow. Things here would crumble and all hell would let loose on the border. Nor would he tell David. The stranger had shown up in Carlisle asking for Reyna because it was Reyna whom he sought. Edmund pursuing his case? Or Thomas looking for revenge in Robert's death?

He strode off to where his company camped. He would take more than two men, and plenty of horses and weapons. If they rode hard they might get to Glasgow before whoever was following Reyna found her.

Chapter TWENTY-ONE

R
eyna waited on a stool in the anteroom of the bishop's study with an unsettling foreboding plucking at her. The decision to come to Glasgow had seemed very sensible when she made it. Sitting in Carlisle had grown tedious, and important facts regarding Robert's last months could be learned here. Still, now that her meeting was imminent, she wondered if pursuing Robert's private intentions was wise.

A side door opened and a young cleric entered. Stiffly straight in flowing robes, he had dark hair, and brown eyes dulled by a forbearing expression. “I am Anselm, one of the bishop's clerks, madam. Father Rupert said that you insisted you had urgent business.”

Reyna had never realized how hard it was to see a bishop, and her entreaties to the various officials had gotten a little exaggerated over the last hour. “It is urgent to me, since I can not remain in Glasgow long.”

“Then I am sorry to disappoint you. As you have been told, the bishop is not in residence, but up north, where
we expect him to remain on church affairs for some time.”

“Father Rupert thought that maybe you could aid me. It is information that I seek, not a bishop's dispensation or judgment.”

Anselm lowered himself into a nearby chair and regarded her while he smoothed his robes with fastidious fingers. “I will hear you, but most of the bishop's affairs are confidential.”

“I hope that this is not. My name is Reyna Graham. My husband was Robert of Kelso, who held the border lands of Black Lyne Keep through Maccus Armstrong. My husband died several months ago. Shortly after his death, a letter came from the bishop.” Reyna described the letter, and its reference to Robert's request for guidance.

“I remember it well, since I wrote it for His Excellency,” Anselm said.

“No one knows to what it referred,” Reyna explained. “If my husband had some desire or wish before his death, I would like to know of it so that I can see that his will is done.”

Anselm ignored her during a protracted period of contemplation. Reyna began to feel anxious. Perhaps the secretary hesitated because Robert's inquiry had indeed concerned her. Was it possible that she had known her husband's mind and heart so little?

“It is likely that I can explain this, Lady Reyna, but I have one question first. How does your husband's testament dispose of his property?”

“The lands were left to me, although it is questionable whether his liege lord will permit that to stand,” she said, deciding that tangents into the fall of the keep and her marriage to Ian would serve no purpose.

“Not the lands. His personal property.”

“That also came to me.”

“In that case, there can be no objection to my speaking with you.” He settled more comfortably in his chair, if a man with such rigid posture could ever be said to find comfort. “Your husband wrote a letter that we received five months ago. In it he explained that he possessed some property that was not rightfully his, and which he sought to dispose of in an honorable way before his death so that it would not become entangled in the estate. He wanted to give this property to a monastery engaged in educating the young. The bishop intended to speak with the blackfriars here in Glasgow and make the arrangements, but other business called him away.”

“Did my husband describe this property?”

“Nay, but it was clear that it was not land. He referred to ‘them’ at several points in the letter. He felt that it would ease his conscience to have the matter settled with death so near at his advanced age.”

Them. Not land, but objects. “Did he indicate the value of this property?”

“His letter indicated several thousand pounds. Three or four.”

Objects. Useful in education.

Books
.

She knew that the library was valuable, but not
that
valuable.

“Did my husband mention how he came to possess these objects?”

“Nay, but the request was not unusual. Men gain wisdom and piety as they age. They seek to make amends for youthful transgressions.”

Reyna met his gaze. “You think that this property was stolen, don't you?”

“More likely it was procured after a siege or battle. Few knights or soldiers settle for the small coin their lords pay, and often that pay never comes because the lord assumes they will enrich themselves thus at no cost to him. Indeed, most barons claim one third of such spoils.”

“All the same, you are saying that my husband was a thief. Little better than a brigand,” she countered hotly.

“What is theft in one circumstance are the wages of war in another,” Anselm said. “The Church urges men to forgo it, but it is a small sin if the war is just. Even the Crusaders— And your husband, unlike most, sought to make restitution. It would be impossible to return this property to its owners after so many years, so he wanted to give it to the Church for her work.”

“I did not realize that the Church had decided that sin was conditional upon circumstances. I shall have to remember that in the future. No doubt it will prove convenient.”

Anselm sighed. “I only seek to relieve you of your obvious distress.”

Distress didn't begin to describe her reaction. Robert, dear, good, honest Robert, had lived a very different life before he arrived on the Scottish border and taken service with Maccus Armstrong. It had occurred a lifetime before she met him, and he had put it behind him, except for the evidence with which he could not part, the books that he loved so dearly.

Stolen books. What had he thought while he studied the moral imperatives that they contained, even while his possession of them defied those truths?

Anselm's excuses might have served him. They might now serve her too, if she could be convinced that those books had been looted during a just war. But the
possibility loomed that Robert had indeed been a thief or brigand as a young man. Just like Ian of Guilford, or even worse. She grimaced at the irony. She had been comparing Ian with an old man who, in his own youth, had been just as reckless.

“I think that I know the property to which my husband referred. If it was Robert's desire that these items be given to the Church, I will endeavor to make it so.” She rose to leave. “Would you give me a letter explaining this? It would be easier to effect this donation if his request could be clarified.”

“If you inherited—”

“I have recently remarried.”

His dark eyebrows rose in understanding. He went over to the table. “If you have remarried, the property is no longer yours,” he said while he wrote. “For whatever good it may do, here it is. Do not let this become a point of strife in your marriage, however. It is a rare man who would part with the wealth that came to him through his wife.”

Reyna clutched the parchment that proved Robert had never sought to put her aside. As to Anselm's last comment, she had no idea how Ian would react to fulfilling Robert's last wish. Probably he would refuse, once he learned the value of the books.

Then again, perhaps one brigand would have a special sympathy for another brigand's quest for salvation.

G
od is punishing us for disobeying our husbands and leaving Carlisle,” Christiana muttered as she peered out the bedchamber window. “This rain has gone on for days, and it looks to last forever.” She caught Reyna's attention. “When Anna comes back we must
tell her that we leave in the morning. Enough is enough.”

Reyna flipped over on her bed and stared at the ceiling. This journey had occurred only because Anna, seeking a respite of activity and adventure, had supported her decision to make it. Under the circumstances, it had seemed only fair to grant Anna one extra day in Glasgow.

Reyna herself would have gladly departed yesterday, once she returned from the bishop's house. Her mission accomplished, she itched to return to Carlisle. Perhaps she could send a letter to Ian and tell him what she had learned. Maybe, if this rain had stopped the action at Harclow, he would come and see her. The notion that he might have already tried to do so, only to arrive at a house empty of everyone but Paul and the serving woman, saddened her, and she was already feeling low because of the new discovery about Robert.

He had never deceived her, she reminded herself again. She had never asked about that ancient history, and he had told her no lies. Perhaps only a girl who trusted a man as she would a father could have accepted the presence of all those beautiful books without question, but so it had been.

“Here they come,” Christiana said. “They look like two drowned dogs, and Gregory's face is black with annoyance, but Anna looks radiant. You must stand firm with me. If we don't corral her now, she will be leading us into the Highlands by week's end.”

Corralling a rebellious Anna proved anything but easy. She reminded Reyna that they should get full value out of the trouble awaiting with their husbands, and indeed proposed a journey up to Argyle. Christiana scolded and cajoled, but it was Reyna's suggestion that
the rain might make a visit from their husbands possible that won the argument. They spent the evening making preparations to return to the coast.

The next day they rode out of the city of Glasgow, with Anna looking as much like a guard as Gregory, dressed in tunic and hood with her sword strapped to her saddle. The rain had stopped, but heavy clouds promised more. Christiana kept up a bantering conversation, lightening the mood which threatened to sink under the discomfort of damp and mud.

Five miles out of the city their talk lulled, and in the sudden silence a distant thunder mumbled. Anna jerked her horse still and listened with alert attention. The thunder grew closer much too quickly, and Anna pivoted her horse, called a warning to Gregory, and unsheathed her sword. Reyna looked over her shoulder to see a company of men galloping toward them.

“To the side of the road,” Anna ordered, resting her sword across her saddle. “Let them pass.”

Unfortunately, the company did not gallop through them. The men paused, then moved forward at a trot. When they were a hundred paces away, Reyna recognized the man in their lead and her breath caught in surprise.

He rode forward and stopped a horse length away. “Well, now, little sister. What are you doing so far from your husband's protection?”

“Visiting Glasgow. And you, Aymer? This is an odd place to unexpectedly meet you.”

“I have been looking for you. I sought you out in Carlisle and learned you had made this journey, and worried for your safety.”

“How brotherly.”

Aymer's twelve men clustered in, making escape impossible.
Anna held her weapon firmly. Out of the corner of her eye, Reyna saw Gregory measuring their situation and not liking what he saw.

One of Aymer's knights pushed up beside Anna, squinting at her. The point of her sword followed the movement.

“By God, it is a woman,” he exclaimed, pulling at her hood. Blond curls tumbled down her body. “Have you ever seen one so big? Pretty enough in an odd way, though, eh?”

The other men laughed. “Aye, enough woman for all of us, maybe,” one of them snickered.

“Enough woman to cut off the manhood of anyone who touches us,” Christiana said coolly.

“Stop this at once, brother,” Reyna said. “If any harm befalls either of them, Morvan will lead that army into the hills—and my father's stronghold is no Harclow.”

Anna had thrust the point of her sword against the knight's neck, staring at him down its length.

“There are too many of us, bitch,” he snarled, his head and neck angling back from the threatening weapon.

“Perhaps. But
you
will move away or
you
will surely die,” she replied.

A sudden flurry saw Gregory pushing toward them, sword raised, expression determined. One of the knights thrust his horse in the way, and with a sweeping movement he brought the flat of his own weapon down on Gregory's temple. The guard slumped on his saddle and then fell in a heap to the ground.