Maiden of Inverness (14 page)

Serena looked so forlorn, Meridene approached them.

“What's amiss?” she said.

Revas glowered at Summerlad. “I fear Serena needs a protector.”

The young man's features were frozen in indignation. “We are betrothed, Revas,” he said.

“That does not give you the right to anticipate your vows.”

Shocked, Meridene said, “You mean he would dishonor her?”

“He's too young and randy to see it as that,” Revas replied. “I'm certain he thinks to
honor
her with his lusty attentions.”

He sounded so wise and so outraged—an oddity, considering he had reclaimed by force his own unwilling wife.

“ 'Tis not all his fault, Revas,” Serena pleaded. “He did not carry me up those stairs. I went to him willingly, and I'm still a virgin. I swear on my wicked soul.”

Revas rounded on Summerlad. “No thanks to you.”

“I only kissed her,” came the grumbling reply.

Serena began to cry. At the sight of her tears, Meridene drew the girl aside and clutched her hands. “Worry not. You're to be married.”

Between sobs, she said, “You must be completely disappointed in me. But Summerlad and I have waited forever.”

“How long have you been betrothed?”

“Five years. We've only held hands. But then you came back, and . . .”

“And now you can be wed.”

“Aye. Unless Revas tells Randolph.”

She sounded fearful, and Meridene's heart went out to her. “Who is Randolph?”

Her breath shaking, Serena said, “He's Summerlad's older brother and chieftain of the Macqueens. He was against the betrothal because I'm a lowland Scot. But I love Summerlad, and my father likes the match. Revas did also.”

“Shush,” Meridene said. “One kiss will not change his mind.”

“Truly? Will you talk to him?”

Under the circumstances, she had to agree. But when she turned to him, words died on her lips.

Once a butcher's barefoot son, Revas Macduff now stood, hands on his hips, his considerable wrath directed at an unrepentant lad of noble birth.

“If I see you within sword's length of Serena before your vows are said, I will come after you. Do you understand?”

Summerlad's blue eyes widened in alarm. “I'm no match for you. You'll force me to yield.”

Revas flung an arm toward Serena. “What did you ask of her?” he spat. “I will not let her fall to your winsome ways. She is a fair flower of Scotland. You will tend her, for she has given you leave to rule her life.”

“I will husband her well.”

“By God, Summerlad, you have stooped low. 'Tis a blessing Randolph is not here to witness your fall from grace.”

Completely shamed, the young Macqueen stared at his boots.

Revas sighed and in a lighter tone said, “ 'Tis for certain you love her well, lad. Everyone knows 'tis true. What will you do now?”

So quietly his words sounded like a prayer, Summerlad said, “I beg your pardon, and henceforth, I will honor her. On that you have my word as a Macqueen.”

Revas slapped the lad on the back. “Well said, and we'll seal that bargain with a tankard of the brewer's best. Go along. I'll join you there shortly.”

Summerlad headed for the tavern. Revas approached Meridene and Serena. Smiling fondly at the girl, he brushed her hair from her face. “How fare you, lassie mine?”

“Oh, Revas.” She flew into his arms, and he held her, rocking from side to side, his big hand cradling her head on his shoulder.

“Fret not, sweeting,” he murmured. “What has occurred here will stay with us.”

Meridene was reminded of another heartsick girl he had comforted long ago. He'd been rail-thin and his voice had warbled with youth. His honest concern had seasoned with age.

“I'm so ashamed,” Serena cried. “And I do so want to be a goodwife.”

His gaze fell on Meridene. She saw tenderness there and something else. As if speaking to her, he said, “There's more to being a
goodwife
than meaningful kisses in the dark of night.”

Two evenings later, Meridene sat at her desk and pressed her seal on a letter to Sister Margaret. After telling the nun of Revas's abduction, Meridene assured her she was well. In closing she had asked for assistance in fleeing both her husband and the dangers of Scottish intrigue.

She hadn't seen Revas since Wednesday night. According to Sheriff Brodie, her husband had gone a-hunting.

She hoped he fell off his horse and landed in a bush of nettles. The wretch had secured his chamber door, and none of the castle keys would spring the lock.

I cannot allow you to take the book.

Splendid. Deciphering the Covenant of the Maiden would wait. Understanding Revas Macduff would challenge the brightest Oxford mind. One moment he acted the caring gallant by rescuing Serena from Summerlad. The next, he left without a word to his wife.

His absence thrilled her beyond measure. Her anger stemmed not from a wayward husband, but from a cowardly priest. Even now, her hands clenched and her eyes narrowed at the memory of her meeting earlier today with Father Thomas.

Overly tall and thin, with brown hair perfectly tonsured and a beard so neatly trimmed, a servant had surely done it, Father Thomas had towered over her. If his place in the clergy weren't influential enough, he had the powerful duke of Ross behind him. Revas had chosen well and wisely in picking this man for his priest.

After denying her request to petition the pope for an annulment, the goodly Father Thomas had ordered her to confess her wifely lapse to Revas Macduff.

She had flatly refused to obey him. “No kind priest would make such a demand of a woman concerning her husband.”

“Tell him, Lady Meridene, else I will.”

“In your capacity as a messenger of God? I think not. You base your decisions on the needs of Scotland.”

His gaze slid to a statue of the Madonna. “God has chosen Scotsmen to serve. He meant for us to honor our kinsmen, else he would have summoned only Romans to tend his Christian flocks.”

Meridene had chuckled at his attempt to use religious justification for pure deviltry.

“My lady!” The girl Ellen skipped into the room and twirled in a circle. Meridene gladly put aside the disheartening memory of the pious Father Thomas.

“They've returned, Lady Meridene,” Ellen chirped. “And you'll never guess who's standing in our very own stables at this very exact moment.”

Although she knew the answer, Meridene couldn't help teasing the excited girl. “Has my husband perchance returned?”

“Oh, aye.” Hands clasped, Ellen stared in dreamy fixation at the ceiling. “But someone else—someone truly enchanting—has come.”

Budding with womanhood, the girl discovered at least one new passion every day. Meridene couldn't help enjoying her company or teasing her. “Has the pope graced us with his presence?”

Like a bird eager to build her first nest, Ellen darted about the room, her wavy blond hair bouncing as she went. “Oh, my lady, you are the very cleverest of women, and I am hopelessly speechless at
his
arrival. Should he cast eyes on me, I shall surely wither like a sickly English rose.”

According to Serena, Ellen's interest in the opposite sex had begun at May Day last. “Yesterday you swore the Leslie lad was all a woman could hope for in a devoted husband.”

“My devotion was misplaced with Lord Leslie.” As if it were a matter of her salvation, Ellen said, “He doesn't play a harp or sing ballads—or captain his own ship.”

Meridene ducked her head to hide a smile. “Who is this newly arrived model of chivalry?”

Sighing as if to swoon, Ellen hugged herself. “Randolph Macqueen.”

Revas had spoken of him. “He's Summerlad's brother.”

“Aye, and chieftain of all the Macqueens. When the elder brother, Drummond, fell prisoner to old King Edward, Randolph braved unspeakable perils to assume leadership of his clan.” Having emptied her lungs, she took a deep breath and kept going. “The woman he chooses will know much happiness and wifely bliss. Serena says that Macqueen men cherish their women as kings unto queens.”

For the sake of her best and oldest friend, Meridene hoped that was true. “You'd like to wear his crown?”

“Oh, my lady. He is the very noblest of minstrels, and handsome beyond words, and better with a sword than even the Holy Roman Emperor.” She sucked in a breath. “They say the countess of Buchan was so completely besotted with him, she took a short sword to his mistress and forced the woman naked into the street.” Her complexion blossomed red.

“Then you had best conceal your interest, Ellen. You have only a dirk for weapon.”

Youthful adoration turned to pure alarm. As quickly, the girl relaxed. “Revas will protect me from her evil clutches.”

If his concern for Serena was any indication of his devotion, Revas would indeed take up his sword in defense of the handmaidens of Elginshire. He would win, too, if the priest's assessment of his skill was to be believed.

But what would he do when Meridene told him of her request for an annulment? She didn't know, but postponing the inevitable seemed cowardly. Her cause was just, her reasons true.

Eager to have it over and done, she capped the ink. “Ellen, please seek out Revas, and tell him I wish to see him alone and at his earliest convenience. And should he attempt to bring along Randolph Macqueen, I expect you to engage that man in conversation—without withering.”

“Aye, my lady.” She skipped to the door, murmuring, “Good evening, Lord Randolph. Are you enjoying your stay? Shall I show you the mews?”

The moment Ellen stepped into the hall, her girlish demeanor vanished. Her back went pike-straight and her strides were as smooth as those of a princess.

Her own courage fleeting, Meridene couldn't sit still. She must tell Revas about her visit to the priest, else Father Thomas had promised to do so himself. The Judas.

She went livid at the thought of those men discussing her behind her back. Men exercised too much control over women, and asking her to sacrifice her life for Scotland was unfair. As a child she'd been isolated from the people because of her birthright. At eight years of age her estrangement had been complete.

Father Thomas's blunt rejection of her request had shocked her into challenging him. “What of the church's obligation to keep confessions secret?” she had demanded.

“You did not ask me to hear your confession. You insisted, without good cause, that I petition the pope to dissolve your marriage.”

“Good cause?” she had argued. “I was eight years old and suffering the effects of my father's poison. The priest even suggested a betrothal rather than marriage. King Edward compelled him.”

“Greater concerns were at stake.”

“Concerns greater than the life of a defenseless child?”

“Aye, if she is the Maiden of Inverness.”

Scorn ripped through her. “I will never, never wear the crown of rowans. You people have no right to ask it of me.”

“All the better, then, that you surrender yourself to the care of Revas Macduff. He will protect and cherish you.”

His loyalty should not have shocked her. Priests yielded to the will of kings and to men who aspired to rule. “In exchange for the sword of Chapling.”

“It is your destiny, Lady Meridene.”

A truly regrettable phrase, she thought. “And if my father again tries to rid himself of an unwanted daughter? Who will protect me then?”

“Revas will, and if a better swordsman resides in Christendom, you'll find him ruling the Holy Roman Empire. The sons of Macqueen, Leslie, Macpherson—all of the other skilled soldiers who follow him will take up your cause.” He spoke confidently, but the cool expression in his eyes told her he did not believe her father would be so bold.

Clan pride. She knew it well.

Too angry to speak, she had clutched the back of the pew until her fingers cramped. When she gathered her composure, she moved into the aisle. “You shame the robes you wear. How dare you put the concerns of the clans above the souls of those you are beholden to serve.”

Unmoved, he had reasonably said, “They are often one and the same. Had you not been away so long, you would remember that. Much work awaits you here, and the people will reward your sacrifice with devout friendship.”

Now, in the privacy of her solar, the memory of that meeting fired Meridene's temper anew. She would tell Revas, but not for the reasons Father Thomas had insisted. She was unashamed to seek a destiny that opposed Scottish interests.

She looked at the hour candle. Rings were carved into the wax at intervals, each to mark an hour's burning time. It was after six. As she waited for Revas, she took comfort in the knowledge that Father Thomas was still occupied with Vespers.

What would Revas say?