Maiden of Inverness (23 page)

A wall of bracken separated them from the others.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

He gave her a look rife with waning indulgence. “What happened to your hand?”

“A minor cut.”

She didn't like the knowing gleam in his eye, but even if he had threatened to beat her, she would have welcomed the sight of him just now. As much as she wanted to deny it, he looked like a prince in a land of monsters.

“When did you depart the company of the wheelwright?”

Even now she could not quell her relief. “An hour ago. He's no tradesman.”

“Nor is he a Dunbar, I'll wager.”

“How did you find me?”

He held up a scrap of linen. “ 'Twas snagged on a thistle near the path of the wagon.”

The hem of her gown had been shredded by the winter-dry underbrush. “Thank you for finding me.”

“My men believe the wheelwright kidnapped you.”

Although plainly put, the statement held a complex meaning. Revas knew she'd run away, but he would not say it, for he was more concerned with the opinions of his men. A wayward bride would be an embarrassment.

“If that is so,” he went on, “why did you flee him?”

“Why ask me if you know the answer?”

Quietly he said, “You thought he would take you to Aberdeen.”

“Yes.”

“Whereas he thought to take you to villains unknown.”

Unknown. To her, but not to Revas Macduff. She asked, “Which villain?”

“You will not like my answer.”

“If you tell me who sent that man, I will know better next time.”

He stared at the sun. “You know, no one else will bother to help you, Meridene. You're too much trouble.”

The burr in his voice rolled over her, reminding her of a childhood spent under the control of ambitious Scotsmen. “Then give me a horse, and I'll be on my way.”

“Give me the sword of Chapling, and I'll empty the stables on your behalf.”

“You
are
angry.”

“Summerlad!” he yelled out. “Take three of the Forbes and introduce yourself to the wheelwright. He cannot be far ahead. Find out who sent him. Meridene will not choose the new handmaiden until you return to Auldcairn.”

“Aye, Revas.” Summerlad lowered his visor and in turn pointed to three other men. Sawing reins, he wheeled his warhorse around and galloped into the forest.

Leather creaked as Revas dismounted. “Where did you get the sword, Meridene?”

She gave him the weapon. “The wheelwright has an arsenal in his wagon.”

“Macpherson! Take Glennie and Douglas and follow Summerlad.”

“But—”

“Go. Lady Meridene has cut her hand. I believe I can escort one frail woman as far as my own holdings.”

“Aye, Revas.” Macpherson and the remaining men hurried into the forest.

“Come, Meridene.”

Revas could have held out his hand. Obviously even that small gesture was beyond him. Graceful acceptance was her most rational choice, so she picked up her belongings and stepped off the boulder.

Withdrawal shielded his emotions as surely as chain mail armored his body. Splendid. She didn't care a knotted thread how he felt. Call her frail, would he?

Lifting her chin, she moved closer. As if it were kindling, he snapped the sword over his knee and flung the pieces aside.

“A warning to your enemies?” she asked.

“Nay.” He lifted her into the saddle, then mounted himself.

“Then why the show of animal strength?”

“I was merely marking my territory.”

Odd as it was, she wanted to laugh. “I'm not afraid of you.”

He kicked the horse into motion. “But you are afraid of yourself and what you feel for me. 'Tis why you ran away.”

“You know so much.”

“I know that you want me.”

“You want a sword.”

“I did not seek the sword of the Highlands, but I must have it. I'm baffled by why I want you.”

“Then enjoy your quandary alone, for you'll get no help from me.”

“How can you ignore the harmony you see? Do you not wish it to prevail? Think of Sim, of Brodie, of Lisabeth. With peace in the land, the lass will have a husband to give her children. Her father will cherish her babes. Her brothers will not seek their destiny on a field of battle.”

His eloquent speech touched her deeply. “Yes, I wish them that happiness and more.”

“ 'Tis enough for now.” He hugged her.

“Enough what?”

“Enough trouble from you,” he grumbled.

She looked up at the sky. “But the day is young.”

A spyglass pressed to his eye, Revas stood in the guard tower and scanned the horizon for a glimpse of Summerlad and the others. They should have returned by now; he'd been watching and waiting for hours.

Just when he'd decided to mount yet another rescue, the riders popped into view. Pennons fluttering above their heads, they were a powerful gathering of Scottish youth and valor. Expert horsemen all, they rode their steeds in perfect vanguard formation. As they approached the break in the curtain wall, Summerlad raised his arm. The others fell back into columns.

Revas raced down the steps and arrived at the gate as the first of the horses thundered into the yard.

Stable lads converged on the lathered animals; squires attended the toilworn riders.

Revas searched each man for signs of injury. He found none, but Summerlad's trunk hose and leather battle jerkin were stained with blood.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

His mouth tightened, but his countenance spoke of victory. “Nay, Revas.”

“What delayed you?”

“The wheelwright admitted to having accomplices awaiting him at Elder's Bow.”

Macpherson said, “We ventured ahead to spy them.”

“We found a nest of Cutberth's mercenaries,” Summerlad hissed.

Meridene's father so close to Elginshire? Revas didn't believe the action signaled war; Cutberth enjoyed leading an army himself. He'd sent the wheelwright to abduct Meridene, and the mercenaries for escort. In her desire to escape, she had aided her father's cause. “How many mercenaries?”

Summerlad removed his helmet and shook his head. “A score and some.”

Revas looked pointedly at the bloodstains. “You led your men against a force three times as great?”

Again Macpherson stepped forward. “Nay. We wanted to engage them, but Summerlad bade us return before they saw us. He earned his bands on the wheelwright.”

Summerlad had slain the man in a fair fight; of that, Revas was certain. He'd also prevented his men from waging a battle they were sure to lose. His leadership ability had been tried, and he had prevailed. “Dunbar died well?”

“You spoke the truth. He's no Dunbar,” Summerlad said. “His shield bears the bull of the Macleods, barred.”

The black bar of illegitimacy. Such men were often more ruthless than foreign-born mercenaries. “A hired-out bastard.”

“He would not yield his sword to me,” Summerlad said. “When I made the offer the second time, he swore to slice off my manhood and present it to Serena.”

“Thereupon,” proclaimed Macpherson, “Summerlad did the slicing.”

Revas looked for a change in his fosterling, a hardness and acceptance of the need to slay another man. To his relief, he saw a shadow haunting those blue Macqueen eyes. He motioned to Summerlad. “Come with me.”

Oblivious to the people in the lane, Revas hurried to the church and ushered Summerlad inside. Father Thomas stood near the altar, and when he took a step toward them, Revas held up a hand to stop him. The cleric would take Summerlad's sin to God; Revas had other counsel to offer.

“Even a black soul deserves a prayer,” he said. “Never forget that, my friend.”

Summerlad jammed the helmet under his arm. “Tell me, Revas. Would I feel differently had he kidnapped my own Serena?”

He was hoping for a respite; good men always did. Revas offered the wisdom taught him years ago by Kenneth Brodie. “No matter the crime, a soul is lost. Is one soul of more importance than another? That is for God to decide. You must give it up to Him, Summerlad.”

With stern insistence, he said, “I will never forget the man or the moment.”

“Nay. Nor will you forget the sight of that first carrot-haired son your beloved Serena gives you.”

The crease in his brow smoothed. “Or her smile when I declared my love.” He grew pensive. “Is that a woman's place, then? To ease the ache that killing brings us?”

“Aye. For that blessing and infinitely more are we gifted with God's loveliest miracle.”

“ 'Tis good then, for on my oath, I feel little joy at ending that man's life, villain though he was.”

The bond that had begun years ago between them grew stronger. At two and twenty, his friend had indeed become a man. “You are wise beyond your years, Summerlad Macqueen.”

“I thank you, Revas, for this and the many other wisdoms you've bestowed upon me.”

Revas squeezed his arm. “With Father Thomas's help, we'll now make our peace with God. Then we shall see your Serena put away her handmaiden's smock and don that costly gown you gave her.”

*  *  *

Meridene thought Serena looked like the goddess of all harvests. Beneath a surcoat of golden velvet, she wore a bliaud of orange that turned the color of her hair to fire. Anticipation glittered in her eyes.

Nearby, Lisabeth and Ellen, dressed in their yellow smocks and wearing garlands in their hair, accepted greetings and shared gossip with the crowd. Near the well, the elderly villagers sat on stone benches and chatted among themselves.

Serena sighed.

“Your gown is beautiful,” Meridene said.

The girl flushed. “ 'Tis Summerlad's doing. When he saw the clothing Revas commissioned for you, he bought this.” She caressed the fabric of her sleeve.

Meridene's own gown was sinfully beautiful. Of soft white wool, adorned with butterfly shells from the sea and seeds from the orchard, the garment and its matching veil were fit for a queen. Or for the Maiden of Inverness.

If only Revas would relent on the matter of her demanding the sword of Chapling, she'd gladly wear sackcloth and bare her feet. But ambition ruled her husband. He'd doubled the holdings given to him by the English king and cast his fortunes in Scottish politics.

The people wanted him, believed in him, and that was their choice. They'd rallied for other men. The last Alexander to rule Scotland had captured their hearts. With Revas's help, Robert Bruce might well do the same. If Meridene delivered the sword and the Macgillivrays, accord for all of the Highlands could follow. Her father must yield, else his kinsmen would abandon him. His land would fall to the crown, and he'd be left with only foreign soldiers and legal sons to lead. Even if Daviot and Kilbarton Castle flew the flag of Chapling, Revas would become the king of the Highlands.

For how long? Peace reigned now in Elginshire; the people had turned out in droves to witness the choosing of the handmaiden. A subject, she realized, that held greater appeal to her than Scottish politics. By ending her time as handmaiden, Serena would embark on a new life, a mate to Summerlad Macqueen. Serena had failed in her attempt to convince Randolph to hold the wedding on Whitsunday. The couple would wed at harvest's end.

Now Meridene must put into motion her plan to seduce Revas Macduff.

“Serena,” she said, and waited for the girl to turn. “Will you come to my room later and accompany me to table?”

Completely flattered, Serena smiled. “Oh, aye.”

Setting a trap pricked Meridene's conscience, but she had no other choice. If Serena stumbled upon Revas and Meridene in a compromising position, it would appear that Meridene had lost her innocence. Then no one would expect her to face her father and demand the sword.

“How is your hand?” said Ellen, who had come to stand beside them.

Meridene's hand was sore, but her spirits were high. “It's only a scratch.”

When Revas, Father Thomas, and Summerlad joined the throng, Serena almost quivered with excitement. Revas approached her. Around her neck he placed a string of amber stones shaped like arrowheads.

He said, “You have done good service, Serena the Handmaiden, and we thank you.”

Tears pooled in Serena's eyes when she touched the necklace. “Oh, Revas, you truly are the best man o' the Highlands.”

Oh, the sweetness of ceremony, Meridene lamented, watching Revas kiss Serena's cheek, then move to stand beside his wife.

But Scotsmen weren't supposed to value their women. They surrounded them with armed guards, traded them for land, and to save their own hides, abandoned their daughters to the enemy.

But not the Scots of Elginshire.

These people admired Serena, just as they admired Summerlad for his prowess with a sword and his willingness to govern. The young girls gazed at Serena Cameron with loving envy, as if to say they would be as she when they left their youth behind. Husbands smiled fondly at wives, who did not demur as she expected, but nodded as if accepting a deserved word of praise.