Maiden of Inverness (22 page)

She unrolled the parchment.

Welcome home, little Maiden, and heed my words. You are in danger.

How could William know? Did Revas? She must learn the answers, but her senses were raw from Revas's halted seduction. Delving into Scottish politics would create an emotional storm too great for her to weather just now.

The bed linens rustled. She put the package back into its wrapping. Turning, she blinked in surprise at the misery on Revas's face.

“ 'Tis good you did not kiss me downstairs,” he said. “I'd have much to answer for to Summerlad and the others.”

In any event, she would have kept her maidenhead, for Revas would not risk losing his chance to wear the crown of the Highlands. Not even to prove he loved her. As always in Scotland, sentiments of the heart fell prey to political ambitions. Harder to accept was the fact that she'd fallen in love with him.

The weight of the admission saddened her. She looked down and took refuge in the package that contained the bird nest, a keepsake of one special afternoon in the lives of a brother and sister. She'd had so few fond remembrances of her childhood.

This, then, was one.

“I should reacquaint myself with the handmaiden ceremony.” She picked up the Covenant. “The drawing is tomorrow.”

“We should talk, Meridene. Greater concerns dictate the intimacies of our lives.”

The truth came easy. “I'm embarrassed, Revas, not ashamed of what we almost did.”

“Good. Until the morrow, Meridene.”

Indeed.

*  *  *

After a fitful night Revas sought out the wheelwright, but found him gone. He gave the man little thought until an hour later, when a distraught Ellen burst into the armory.

“Revas! Lady Meridene's bed has not been slept in. And she's nowhere to be found!”

*  *  *

Concealed beneath a mountain of stifling, smelly blankets, Meridene tried to brace herself against the wagon's bumpy ride. Her benefactor, the wheelwright who bore the common name of Robert Dunbar, had not slowed the team since helping her inside hours before.

The postern gate behind the chapel had offered the only unobserved escape from Auldcairn Castle. Wearing a dark cloak and carrying a sack of personal items and her bag of coins, Meridene had exited the castle proper through the buttery. Like a thief in the night, she had kept to the shadows and slipped through the back gate.

Crossing the inner bailey had proven uneventful, but a pair of lovers strolling in the moonlight forced her to crouch near the newly mortared outer wall. Their tryst went on and on, and not until later, when Meridene pulled the rough blankets over her head and felt the wagon move, did her heart cease its pounding.

Now, desperate for a glimpse of the outside world, she lifted her head and peered over the back of the wagon. The rising sun almost blinded her.

They should be traveling east, not west.

She felt the first shiver of alarm.

Carefully she craned her neck and spied the driver. Hunched over the reins, he was engrossed in guiding the team through the boulder-strewn field. He had been insistent that they avoid roads and travel quickly. That made sense, for she expected Revas to give chase.

Revas. Her heart flip-flopped at the thought of him. Rather than ignore the pain, she faced the longing, and just when the agony made her stomach float, she shoved it away. She'd dealt with loneliness before. But saints guard her soul, a woman's pain made trivial the hurts dealt to an exiled and lonely child.

Pray Revas did not find her, and surely he would not, considering the direction the wagon traveled.

Perhaps the driver was merely circumventing a town or an impassable stream. A forest lay just ahead, and if he did not change direction soon, she would question him.

Hoping to find a more comfortable position, she scooted to the front of the wagon, but stopped when her hip struck something hard and sharp. Lifting the blanket higher, she spied amid the cushioning hay a veritable arsenal of broadsword, dirk, mace, and a deadly short sword.

A second shiver stole her breath.

Why would a wheelwright have need of so much Spanish steel?

She found the answer beneath the board on which the driver sat. Reaching blindly into a bulky sack, she discovered a battle shield. Without benefit of light, she relied solely on feel. Even as she traced the shape of the heraldic device emblazoned on the shield, she could not picture the design.

Why did he conceal his family crest, unless his mission was sinister? She couldn't be sure, but instinct told her she had erred in trusting this man who traveled west to reach east.

Like a lackwit, she had fallen prey to yet another Scotsman. Out of a skirmish and into a battle, she lamented.

Then an image of Revas popped into her mind, and she willed him to rescue her.

Terrified to her toes, she ducked under the blankets again and tried to think what to do. She must flee and soon, but how?

“My lady?”

She froze.

When he called her again, she moaned, as if he'd awakened her. They would enter the forest soon. Once there, she'd make good an escape.

“Are you hurt, my lady?”

Yawning, she lifted her head and gave him what she hoped was a sleepy smile. “Have we reached Aberdeen?”

She saw through his confident grin.

“Never as yet,” he said. “ 'Twill take the better part of the day to flee Macduff's land.”

The speech of an Invernessman.
Was it true? She did not know, could not remember the manner in which her kinsmen spoke. But something about the way he said “Macduff” gave her pause.

“Is aught amiss, lady?”

Not unless lackwitted counted for anything, she morosely thought.

Desperate for courage, she tried to sound aloof. “Wake me an hour before we arrive, so that I may tidy myself.”

When he turned back to the team, she felt for the hilt of one of the swords. Unfortunately, she found a blade first. Wincing, she curled her fingers against her palm. They came away sticky with blood.

A perversely humorous notion crossed her mind: She would not soon pick up a shuttle or thread a needle.

As the wagon rumbled on, she made her plans. She would toss the short sword out first, then carry her sack of belongings. The search to retrieve the weapon would waste valuable escape time, but she knew better than to take a blind leap with a deadly blade in her hands. Especially since the sword was already stained with her blood. More, she must have a weapon.

When all was ready, she lifted the blankets and breathed the blessedly sweet smell of the forest. Slowly, cautiously, she tunneled beneath the blankets to the rear of the wagon. Wedged into the corner, she braved a peek at her escort. His back to her, he flipped the reins and urged the draft horses to greater speed.

The forest moved past in a blur of naked hardwoods and an occasional splash of verdant pine. Before her courage fled, Meridene grasped the handle of the sword and pitched it out. Quick as a frightened hare, she again ducked beneath the blanket.

She counted to twenty. Taking a deep breath, she swung a leg over the back.

*  *  *

Revas held up his hand and called for silence. Macpherson and five of the Forbes clansmen grew quiet.

As a precaution, Brodie, Thomas, and the bulk of the soldiers had stayed behind to guard the keep. If eight trained and dedicated men couldn't find one woman, Revas might as well surrender to the Macgillivrays.

Summerlad cursed. “How could a wheelwright snatch the Maiden from beneath our noses?”

“He's clever,” spat Glennie Forbes.

Fortunate
better fitted the wheelwright's circumstances. Unlike the guardsmen, Revas knew that Meridene had left willingly. Escaped, as she probably put it. Gone. Again.

The burden of thirteen empty years returned. Even the relief he'd felt at finding her in England could not quell the new loss in his heart.

Revas wanted to place the blame for her flight on the gift from William, but he could not. Unless the note tucked inside the bird nest had contained some other meaning than danger. Revas had inspected the package. He felt no guilt at lying to her. With her safety at stake, he trusted none of the Macgillivrays, least of all his scheming wife.

Her decision to leave him had been made long before she opened her brother's gift. At table last evening she'd been agreeable and intimately earnest because she knew she wouldn't be there to face the consequences.

Had she been thinking about the departure when she kissed him? No. She had wanted Revas. Hers had been the passions of a woman in need of her man.

Last night her desires had been uncluttered by schemes and destiny. Meridene Macgillivray held an intimate affection for her husband. Although he would have chosen a different path for the quest for her affection, he must now bind her to him with the pleasure of physical love. Her heart would come later.

First he had to find her.

As they followed the westward tracks of the fast-moving wagon, Revas let go of his anger. Manly pride forgotten, he raged at the folly of what she'd done. Her recklessness could land her in the hands of the very evil she avoided.

She knew better; she'd been Highland born and raised.

Kilbarton Castle teemed with soldiers eager to throw down a gauntlet. Her father's demesne attracted landless adventurers who lacked the tools to prosper on an estate, even did they win it.

He hoped she had been lured by a stranger with false promises. The openness of Auldcairn Castle afforded ample opportunity for a villain to come and go. If Revas closed the gates and subjected the people to searches and interrogation, he ran the risk of spreading fear and encouraging isolation. Grim alternatives when his success had been built on free travel and the commerce it spawned.

But if strangers were free to prey upon his people, he had a duty to identify the culprits and vanquish the worst of the lot. Discretion must be his tool, and diligence his method.

Henceforth, soldiers would mingle in the village, and the gatemen would take notice of those entering and leaving Auldcairn. Pray the first arrival to be noted was Meridene Macgillivray.

If she wanted to be free of Revas, why did she travel toward the family she despised? He did not know, but was certain the answer lay ahead.

In the field near Alpin's Moor, they lost the wagon tracks in stony soil. The men fanned out and searched. At the edge of the forest, they again found the trail.

*  *  *

An exhausted and bruised Meridene sat on a boulder amid a stand of concealing bracken. Relief at escaping her captor gave way to confusion over what to do next. When no plan came to mind, she opened the Covenant.

I am the Maiden Mary, and I stand over the cairn of my last son. Now I must bargain with the villain who slew all of the lads of my womb, for he has demanded my little princess in exchange for the life of my beloved husband.

The story brought an ache to Meridene's heart and tears to her eyes, for it confirmed her worst fears about the warring practices of Scots. But as she continued to read Mary's dramatic chronicle and several more, she felt her apprehension ease.

Although Mary had not known it at the time, she had made a decision that benefited all Scots for generations to come. Her daughter and the next five Maidens had thrived. A result, according to the chronicles, not of a softening in Scottish temperament, but of the ongoing Crusades in the Holy Land. Side by side with Romans and Englishmen, Highland kings had defended the faith. Yet in their zeal and their absence, they had almost ended the legend. Were it not for the courage of Sorcha, a Maiden of one and twenty years, who traveled to the Holy Land to find her husband, Meridene's great-grandmother would not have been conceived. The following spring, the sword of Chapling had fallen to a heathen's scimitar. The widowed Sorcha had done her duty.

What would Meridene Macgillivray do? She closed her eyes and held her breath, hoping a sense of loyalty would guide her. She felt a deep affection for Revas Macduff, but no great devotion to a land and a people who asked for more than she could give.

With sad acceptance, she opened her eyes.

The sun offered little warmth, and the sight of Revas riding through the forest chilled her even more. He had not noticed her; her plain woollen cloak blended with the dried brush.

What would he say?

When her hands began to tremble, she put away the Covenant, laid the sword across her lap, and followed the progress of the approaching men.

They rode two abreast, with Revas and Summerlad in the lead and Macpherson and five of the Forbesmen behind. The gray warhorse thundered across the for-rest floor, clumps of sod flying beneath his hooves. Taller and broader of shoulder than the others, Revas stood out like an oak in a field of saplings. He rode with the ease of a man well suited to command. The shield of Clan Macduff rested against his knee, and his powerful legs hugged the withers of the mighty horse. Sunlight glinted on silver spurs and golden bracelets, and the wind ruffled Revas's overlong hair.

She had blundered in her attempt to escape him and the political pitfalls of the Highlands. Another option remained: seduction. By yielding her innocence, she forfeited the Maiden's right to claim the sword of Chapling. But more, she avoided facing the father who cared more for his falcon mews than his daughter.

How could she make it appear that Revas had compromised her and yet keep her innocence? She'd need a witness, but who?

Ah, she knew just the one.

She also knew the exact moment Revas spotted her. Although slight, his reaction was marked.

What would he do?

“Meridene,” he called out, as if they were old friends being reunited. Yet, like a hunter, his eyes scanned the perimeter.

Without words, he conveyed orders to his men. With a look, Summerlad lifted the visor on his helmet and guided his horse around the bracken behind Meridene. Each man in his turn did the same until she was surrounded. Only then did Revas approach her.