Maiden of Inverness (38 page)

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At midday she went to the kitchen. Montfichet was dutifully conscience-stricken, and Sibeal looked disgusted with her husband.

“Damned Macgraw!” the cook spat. “He slew that hart a sennight ago, not two days as he swore when I bought it. Turks'll plow this land before I spend good coin on another of his kills. There's fresh barley from Aberhorn—acquired just this morn. Shall I make you a broth, my lady?”

Standing at the worktable, Sibeal huffed and ground her knuckles into a mountain of bread dough.

Conal wagged his finger at her. “And if you challenge me, woman, I'll be visiting the blacksmith for that special head ornament I promised you.”

His wife hefted the dough and threw it at him. By the time he'd peeled the sticky mass off his face and yelled in outrage, Sibeal had fled out the back way.

Choking with suppressed laughter, Meridene fled to the steward's pantry.

Sim, too, had eaten the accursed haggis, but his tale of woe was overdone, for he tended to be a quiet fellow, or at least efficient with words.

He sat at his desk, the ledgers piled high around him.

“A wretched night I spent, my lady,” he went on, twisting the quill. “Too weak I was to do more than blink once for water and twice for help getting to the privy.”

He almost recited the words, and his choice of them was odd, for she couldn't imagine him mentioning the private workings of his body—not to her or to any other female—of that, Meridene was certain.

“A wretched sickness, my lady, to all of us that caught it.”

All? “Has everyone recovered?”

“Aye. Revas fared the best. Off he's gone, taking the new furniture to the Halt.”

Surely not. Moving furniture was the last thing he'd do, knowing she'd just risen from the sickbed. She peered out the window. Glennie and Summerlad practiced with short swords, but Revas was not among the bystanders. “You must be mistaken, Sim.”

“Nay.” His gaze flitted to her, then dashed back to the quill. “He was driving the carpenter's wagon when he said he was on his way to the Halt. He'll be home before Vespers, he said. But you're not to wait.”

Meridene didn't wait. She wanted the old rosary. Henceforth, she would pray with the Maiden's beads and give her own to Gibby. She found the rosary in the niche where Revas had kept it all these years.

Her husband. Revas Macduff. At Vespers she thanked God for blessing her with so fine a man. The best man o' the Highlands, the villagers said of him.

Happiness propelled her from the church. Revas had gone to his lodge because he was planning a surprise for her there, some gallant gesture to melt her heart.

She would pretend surprise just to please him.

Then she would present him with a gift: the new tapestry. Tonight, in the company of their friends and the entire household, she would give it to him.

Hoping to fetch it before he returned, she hurried into the castle. Only Summerlad sat in the common room.

“Where's Serena?” she asked.

“She went with the soldiers to see Gibby home to Aberhorn.”

But Sim had said the others were on the mend. “Why? Is Gibby still ill?”

“Nay, the lass is fit, as is my Serena. Revas sent his lass home.”

To be with her grandparents. Most likely they were worried about her. “Then Revas is back?”

“Aye, we returned before Vespers.” As he spoke, he twirled one of his war bracelets. The casual gesture was out of place, for he valued the bands second only to Serena. They were not toys; he took his duties to heart.

Now Meridene understood. He simply missed his sweetheart and awaited her return.

At the cheerful prospect of seeing her own sweetheart, Meridene forgot the tapestry and almost ran up the steps. Revas must have wanted to bathe before seeing her, and that was why he had not sought her out upon his return.

She found him in his chamber studying a map, not lounging in the bath. William sat beside him. Neither looked up when she approached.

“Are you planning to build a road?” she asked, remembering what he'd said about traveling messengers.

Her brother started, but Revas barely spared her a glance. “ 'Tis Kilbarton Castle and the grounds. Surely you recognize it.”

He sounded disinterested, cold. This morning he'd been evasive.

Thinking he'd fallen ill again, she took a stand. “You should have stayed in bed another day.”

“Oh, nay. I'm eager to see your father's face when I demand the crown.”

When he demanded it? Of all the odd comments and strange behavior she'd witnessed today, his was the most peculiar. “Do you think he'll be surprised to see me?” She knew the answer, but had to ask.

He took a long drink from a tankard. “I'll not give him that satisfaction. Your declaration is enough. There's paper, quill, and ink. Just put down your words, and I'll take them to Cutberth.”

She balked. The Revas she knew would not refuse her a moment of revenge. “What's wrong with you?”

His gaze caught hers. He swallowed hard. “Important matters.”

“Yes, important matters that concern me. You said as much.”

“I did, and sooner or later you must put down the words.” His attention dropped to her waist and the Maiden's belt she'd donned for the first time. “ 'Tis prescribed in the Covenant.”

Knowing he spoke the truth and certain she could change his mind, she went to the desk and penned the traditional demands. The scratching of the nib on the vellum was the only sound in the room, yet her heart thudded with pride. She was bothered, though, because Revas hadn't commented on the fact that she wore the golden belt. He'd said the choice was hers, but in matters pertaining to the Maiden, he was ever the champion of tradition.

After signing her name and sketching the cinquefoil of the Maiden, she sprinkled sand on the ink. When it dried, she handed it to Revas.

He scanned the page, then rolled it up and put it in his chieftain's pouch.

“When will we go to Kilbarton?” she asked.

“Not we.” He sat down again, all cold stranger. “You will stay here.”

“When fish sprout feathers!”

“You will stay.”

It wasn't like him to be unreasonable. He must still think her too afraid of her father to face him. “Seeing me take the sword from my father is all you've talked about since you brought me home.”

“Not all,” he murmured meaningfully. “You know well my favorite subject.”

She almost relished the roguish comment, even if it was spoken in her brother's presence. But Revas could not cajole her into giving up the opportunity to face her father, not when he knew it was her destiny. “What farce do you play?”

“No farce, Meridene.” Honesty glimmered in his eyes. “Unless you wish to see me slay your father and stuff his head on a pike?”

Her knees went weak at the horror. “Give me back my letter.”

“Do not be angry. You've been away too long.” Leaning back, he enlisted William with a touch on his arm. “Faced with an army of women, Cutberth will laugh. Isn't that so?”

“Very true, Meridene. Much has changed, and for the better.”

How could they scheme to shut her out? Side by side, they formed a convincing front, but she was not done. “Curse you, William, for agreeing with my noble husband.” She sent Revas her most withering stare. “I'm important to the Highlands. The people will support my claim. It's the tradition.”

Revas rudely waved her off. “ 'Twas colored up. From you they want flower pennies and sweetness, which you admirably provide. We're not so ceremonious in our time about the passing of the sword.”

“I'll be the judge of which of the Maiden's ceremonies I perform and when.”

He snatched up the tankard and drank again, as if to fortify himself. Slamming it down, he said, “I expected stubbornness from you, but it will not work this time. You will do as your husband bids.”

She planted her feet. “I'm going to Kilbarton Castle.”

“Very well, Meridene. Since you leave me no choice, I'll tell you all of it.” He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic. “Your father swore that if you came for the sword according to tradition, he would slay every woman with you. Is that what you want?”

She did not fear her father now. “His kinsmen will not support him, and William will be with us.”

“William matters not to Cutberth.”

For confirmation, she looked to her brother.

“Revas speaks the truth, and I do not wish to die for a ceremony. Father's hired mercenaries receive a boon for every man, woman, and child they slay. The price on your head and mine is a hefty purse in itself. Revas is the only one they are not to touch. Father has saved that pleasure for himself.”

“There you have it,” Revas said with finality. “None of us wants to perish to see you don a crown of rowans and speak a few words from that book.”

She could take no more of their cowardice. “Then drive the mercenaries from Scotland!”

William stepped closer. “How can we when they wear Macgillivray colors? Who's to tell them from my brother Scots?”

“Worry not, Meridene.” Revas smiled but without warmth. “I'll bring you the crown—but not with your father's head attached.”

He was different—cold and ruthless—and she longed to know why. “You swore there would be no bloodshed. You said you wanted peace through treaties and progress.”

A broadsword through his heart would hurt less than the words Revas must say next. He must drive her away, and quickly.

He spoke the words he'd practiced. “I lied, Meridene. There will be bloodshed aplenty. The Macphersons have left the Community of the Realm, which you would have noticed had you looked at the hearth wall and the shields that dwindle as we speak. Even Munro has thrown in with Cutberth. 'Twill be war. Should I fall in battle, you will be provided for.”

She swayed, as if the words had been a blow. Then she rallied. “It's my right to help you get those alliances back. Together we will unify the clans of Scotland.”

“And we shall,” he said much too amiably. “You will help by giving me a castle full of wee Macduffs to marry among the better families.”

Not if he lived three score years would Revas forget the agony she didn't try to conceal. But he could not relent; she must leave Scotland. On reliable information from the priest, Revas knew that even now, her father marshaled an army to march on Auldcairn Castle.

“You will not barter my children like sheep.”

“Come, Meridene,” said her brother, crossing the room. “Revas is not the hero we thought.”

“Why, Revas?” she implored. “This isn't like you.”

“I'm afraid it is,” William said solemnly. “Ever has he been thus, until you came.”

Revas felt his heart sink, but he must play his part a moment longer. If she did not leave now, his alternative plan would crush her spirit.

“It was all a ruse, wasn't it, Revas?”

Another moment, a few more coarse remarks, and she'd be on her way to safety. “ 'Tis Scottish politics, plain and simple. You were raised with it. Do not pretend otherwise.”

“But you aren't like Father. You want peace.”

“And I'll have it at the hands of this peacemaker.” He grasped the hilt of his broadsword. “And you'll stay behind these walls.”

William grasped her arm. “He's always like this before a battle.”

“A battle? I thought he was jesting. I thought—”

“That I'd give Cutberth your message, and he'd trip over his war boots in his haste to yield the sword to me?”

William shouted, “You promised you wouldn't tell her—”

“You know the way of things, brother-in-law.” Revas lunged to his feet and turned his back on them. “She'll get used to it.”

Meridene decided Revas was again suffering too much strong drink. Why else would he sway and his hands shake? He wore the same clothing as this morning, and he did not look ill from the haggis.

She would wait him out, hear his apology, and forgive him. They had disagreed before. They would argue again. But when he did not come to escort her to prayers the next morning, she went after him.

“He's at the Halt,” said a preoccupied Brodie.

They stood inside the stable door, where the sheriff was inspecting a harness.

Revas's favorite mount wasn't in any of the stalls. He must not be suffering the effects of drink, and since she felt much better, she would take her search a little farther. “Then I'll ride there. How do I find it?”

“You cannot go to the Halt, my lady. 'Tis his private place. He's just put in the bed and—He wouldn't want you there.”

Confused, Meridene searched Brodie's face for some sign that he jested. But his weathered features were stoic as always. She must get to know him better; other than at meals, she'd shared few conversations with Revas's mentor.

In the face of his obstinacy, a direct approach would be best. She called out to the stableman to saddle her horse, then turned back to Brodie. “If you will not tell me where the lodge is, someone else will.”

The harness snapped, and he tossed it aside. “Nay, they'll all abide by his wishes.”

“Revas told you to keep the location a secret—even from me?”

“The few who know, aye. Even the carpenter was kept out of it.”

Sim had said Revas drove the wagonload of furniture himself. Why the secrecy? Ah, she remembered. “Sheriff Brodie,” she said patiently, “I promise to act surprised.”

He blew out his breath. “ 'Twill be a surprise sure enough, if you go there.”

*  *  *

Only William was willing to accompany her, but as they rode abreast across Lord's Meadow, she saw regret and hesitance in her brother's eyes.

Tucked into a bend in a river they aptly called the serpent, the lodge was smaller than her apartments. Rough-cut logs sealed with mortar formed the walls of the structure, and the roof was of thatch.