Maiden of Inverness (2 page)

“Thank you,” came her soft whisper. “I fear I'll disgrace myself.”

“Nay. I'll help you.”

“You're very kind.”

She smelled of new linen washed in costly soap. She was just a girl, and some brute had beaten her. Revas wished he were older and skilled with a broadsword. He'd drag the bully into the yard and whack him to pieces.

“Have you nothing to say to
me,
Macduff?” asked the king.

Revas couldn't resist looking at her again. Her black-as-night hair trailed down her back and pooled on the bench. Upon her marriage, she would wear a coronet of rowan leaves. Upon her wedding day, the lass of the Macgillivrays would demand her father's sword. With the ceremonial weapon, she would dub her husband king of the Highlands.

“Do words escape you?” said the king of England.

“Nay, Your Majesty.” He caught the king's gaze. “But the Maiden is betrothed to the earl of Moray's heir, and her father wants an alliance with them.”

Sighing, Edward Plantagenet scratched his gray beard. “That match ill serves my plans for the future of Scotland. Marriage between the two of you pleases me greatly.”

“Nay!” wailed the red-haired serving woman.

“Out!”

At the king's command, she blanched, then fumbled with the latch before dashing from the room.

“Wretched, ignorant Scots,” he murmured.

“But I cannot be king of the Highlands,” Revas confessed. “I'm but a butcher's son.”

“Precisely.” The king leered, as if proud of himself. “You will wed this lass posthaste.”

Hadn't he noticed the Maiden's distress? “She's hurt, Your Majesty.”

“Of course she's hurt,” he bellowed, loud enough for the bishop in Nairn to hear. “Her wretched father beat her rather than see her wed to you. What say you, Revas Macduff, to that bit of deviltry?”

Small pearly teeth covered her bottom lip. Her flat chest quivered with sobs she struggled to control. Yet she held her chin high and her back stiff.
The Maiden of Inverness
. Here. Seated so close to Revas Macduff, he could feel her warmth.

Awe filled him, and years of loyalty to the ruling Macgillivrays colored his opinion. “But her father's the king of the Highlands.”

The English king shot to his feet. The Maiden rose, too, but her footing was unsteady. Revas jumped up and took her arm.

“Cutberth Macgillivray is the king of nothing.” Plantagenet's blue eyes widened, and making a fist, the king laid it across his own chest. “I rule here now, and if the dead you see are not proof enough, by Saint George, I'll strike the battle again.”

The elders believed that England could lay claim to Scotland until the sea swallowed the land, but they'd never govern the Highlands. Revas thought of the blood-soaked battlefield, an hour's ride away. Closer, evidence of England's might was everywhere to see—bodies of clansmen had been piled high and even now awaited the torch; severed heads of a dozen clan chiefs stood on pikes at the city gates.

Revas shuddered at the waste of human life and Scottish dignity. Did the Maiden feel it too? So closed was her expression, he could not tell. Where were her clansmen?

“Where is her father?” he asked.

“In retreat,” growled the king. “Where all good cowards go. Now. I return to England today, but I command you to take this lass to wife and hold this castle for me.”

The notion of Revas Macduff wedding the legendary Maiden of Inverness was wild beyond belief. Governing Auldcairn Castle didn't bear considering. He said the first thought that came to mind. “But she's as weak as a lamb.”

Chuckling, Edward Plantagenet said, “And you're as pure as she is, I'll wager. Are there no willing wenches in Elginshire? Or are you too green yet to mount one and give her your all?”

The blow to his manhood was more than Revas could bear. He puffed out his chest. “I could've had the carter's daughter.”

A girlish gasp of embarrassment followed his artless admission.

The king scoffed. “Perhaps I should have chosen the carter's son to wed this girl. He would have done as well.”

“Revas,” she whispered. “You must not let him goad you into rebellion.”

The king laughed and reached for a goblet of ale. “Mayhap there's a banked fire in you, butcher's son.” He held up the cup in a mock salute; then he marched from the room. The door closed behind him, but his booming voice rang clear. “Summon a priest. The Maiden of Inverness will wed the butcher's son.”

Laughter erupted in the hall.

Overwrought, Revas took her hand. It felt cold and small and soft. “I beg your forgiveness, Maiden.”

“ 'Twasn't your fault, Revas.”

Although weak, her voice sounded like a spring breeze stirring the rowan trees. She looked up at him, her green gaze open, kind. Lovely didn't begin to describe her delicate features. From birth, she'd been pampered and tutored. She'd never slept on a soggy bed or tried to light a fire with damp wood and hope.

She eyed his worn tunic and mended hose. “We're pawns, you know.”

“Pawns?”

“In wedding me to you, the English king ends the legend of the Maiden of Inverness. A butcher's son cannot rule the Highlands.”

She seemed so mature. And defeated. He had to brighten her spirits. “But your mother could have another daughter.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. “She'll have no more children. I fear she regrets giving birth to me.”

Revas felt his heart break. “Oh, nay. You're too bonny. Surely she worships you. Everyone else in the Highlands does.”

A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “You're so innocent, Revas Macduff.”

He did feel like a child. Odd, for he was five years her senior, and a lad, too. He grasped a manly subject. “Your father eluded the English king.”

“Eluded?” She shook her head. “ 'Tis true that he retreated to the safety of the Black Isle.”

“Then how did you fall prey to the king?”

Her chin quivered. “My father and mother gave me to him.”

Revas could think of no fitting reply to the heartless act, so he asked about her home, her friends, and her favorite pastimes. She spoke freely until the side door opened, and a smallish man entered. He wore a short black surcoat, but he did not carry himself like a servant. In his hand he held a tankard.

In the blink of an eye, she assumed a queenly air. “Thomas, what do you here? If the English king sees you—”

“Shush!” The man came forward, his glinty eyes casting furtive glances from Revas to the door. “I've brought you a reviving drink, Lady Meridene.”

“Why did Moira not bring it?”

He shoved the mug into her hand. “She's at other duties. Important duties. Here. 'Tis your favorite, barley water. Drink.”

The Maiden hesitated. Revas knew he should say something, but what?

Nudging her arm, the man said, “Moira's readying your escape. You'll need your strength for the journey home. You do wish to go home, do you not, my lady? Your mother sore misses you and awaits your return.”

Her gaze searched Revas's face, as if she sought reassurance. What could he say? That she should give up her birthright to wed a common lad?

“Lady Meridene,” wheedled the man called Thomas. “Think of the Highland people—of your brothers, Robert and William. They await you. Refresh yourself, so I can take you home.”

Hope glimmered in her eyes. “William. He loves me well.” She drank and coughed.

Voices sounded in the hall.

The man Thomas glanced toward the door. “Worry not, Lady Meridene. The English devils will suffer defeat. Your sire has sworn 'tis so.” Then he scurried from the room.

Staring into the mug, she said, “Will you betray Thomas and me?”

For as long as tales had been told, the romantic legend of the Maiden had been passed from generation to generation. It must continue; Revas would lay down his life to make it so. “On my honor, nay. Not even should they burn out my eyes.”

A pained expression pinched her face. She licked her lips, then set the tankard atop the table. “Where do you live?”

Pleasant conversation was the last thing he expected of her now. But then, she'd been trained in the gentle ways of nobility. Revas had been reared in poverty. “I live aback the butcher's stall. But the king said he would give me this keep. If you stay, I will learn to protect you. I'll become a soldier.”

“Have you a sword?”

“Nay, but my sire will give me his.”

“I've never met a butcher. Is your father a goodly man?”

Family pride swelled Revas's chest. “As braw as the king, except—”

The door flew open. In marched the king, the priest, and the sheriff.

“Come,” said Edward of England. “The church is in readiness.”

In the time it took to skin a hare, documents were signed and properties transferred. With each activity, the Maiden grew weaker. Kneeling beside Revas in the chapel, she murmured the words, but her voice held little conviction, and she wavered so often, he had to put an arm around her waist to steady her. He accepted the stewardship of Auldcairn Castle, but his thoughts stayed with the girl beside him. Just as the priest made the sign of the cross, she wilted and fell into Revas's arms.

Bracing himself, he held her. Her face blanched as white as death, and her black hair trailed to the floor. Her delicate, white hand lay faceup on the stones, lifeless.

“Maiden?” Revas entreated.

When she moaned, he looked imploringly at the king.

“What's amiss?” Edward leaned close and sniffed her breath. “By the swans, she's been poisoned.”

He scooped her into his arms and returned to the castle. In the lord's chamber, he glared at Revas. “I'll feed you to the hounds for this, Macduff.”

She reached for the king's arm, her fingers pale against his colorful tunic. “Blame not Macduff. 'Twas my father's man, Thomas.” Her gaze darted to the side door. “In there.”

Sheriff Brodie flung the door open, but stopped. The red-haired woman lay in a pool of blood, her throat slashed. “He's gone, Your Majesty. I swear we did not know he was here.”

Although his face had reddened with anger, the king spoke softly. “Mark me well, Meridene of Inverness, I'll house you in a place where these Scottish monsters will never find you.”

“Monsters.” Her voice broke, and she closed her eyes.

“Aye, lass,” said the king. “Every man with a drop of Scottish blood.”

Frantic, Revas shook her gently. “Rouse yourself, Lady Meridene.”

She gasped, clutched her stomach, and doubled over.

“Curse unto hell the men who make war on children.” Rigid with anger, the king yelled for his guards to fetch his surgeon.

“Fare you well, Revas Macduff.”

At the sound of his name, Revas looked down.

She looked forlorn and frail and close to death, and he was a lowly butcher's son. He'd been given this keep and this important girl. But he was too young to defend either. Tears of confusion blurred his vision. He searched for words to comfort her. “You won't die.”

“Nay. I had but a swallow. I'll rally.”

She had been betrayed by her family. But now she belonged to Revas, and she would live. His spirits soared.

Lamely he promised, “All will be well, you'll see.”

She looked toward the king, who was conversing with the priest and Sheriff Brodie. Reaching into her sash, she withdrew a book. “Here, you must hide this or return it to my mother.”

“What is it?”

“ 'Tis the Covenant of the Maiden. It must not fall into enemy hands.”

Larger than his hand and still warm from her skin, the book had wooden bindings illuminated with ancient symbols. Revas slipped it into his tunic. “I shall guard it and you with my life.”

A tear fell from her thick black eyelashes and trailed over her cheek. “Only the English king can keep me safe from Scottish monsters.”

His spirits plummeted. She belonged to Revas Macduff. The priest had said so. Papers had been signed. Her family had tried to kill her, and King Edward thought they would try again. Now he was taking her to a place of safety.

“I cannot protect you now, but I'll learn a warrior's skill. I'll come for you, my lady,” he pledged. “When I'm older, I'll come for you.”

“Oh, Revas, did you not hear the king's threat? You'll never find me. What happened today was not a real marriage. I only spoke the vows because a king commanded me.”

Determination beat like a harvest drum within Revas. The priest had said the words before God. The Maiden of Inverness belonged to Revas Macduff.

Suddenly he had a man's duty and a husband's vow to fulfill. “I swear on the soul of every Macduff who walked his land before me, I'll come for you.”