Maiden of Inverness (39 page)

A frowning William helped her dismount.

She took the tapestry from her pouch, having decided to give it to Revas now. “What's wrong, William?” she asked. “You look like we're going to a funeral mass.”

Distracted, he guided her up the steps and opened the door. “ 'Tis most likely the remains of that rancid haggis.”

A feminine giggle gave Meridene the first impression that something in the lodge was wrong. Naked to his waist and barefoot, Revas sat in one of the new chairs, the hated map spread before him on the low table.

The smell of newly cut wood permeated the air. A vase of freshly cut spring lilies caught her eye.

He looked up, surprised, then glared at William. “You knew better than to bring her here.”

Meridene couldn't make her feet work. “I insisted.”

Revas glanced at the bed. “You did not knock.”

She expected stubbornness from her husband; his belligerence was something new.

“Revas,” trilled a voice from behind the bed curtains. “Send them away, and come back to bed. I promise to nibble your manhood again.”

Meridene jerked and stared, transfixed, at his bed. He had a woman in there, and she used lovers' phrases that Meridene had spoken to him in confidence. He'd delivered the furniture himself so that no one else would know about this place and the sins that went on here.

Gathering courage, she moved closer. “How long has she been your leman?”

Suddenly sullen, he stared at the beamed ceiling. Beside her, William shuffled nervously.

Wringing the tapestry in her hands, she counted to ten, then to twenty, but he did not answer. Like a hot wind, anger blasted through her. “Bid farewell to your legitimate heirs, Revas Macduff. I'm going back to England.”

Still staring overhead, he clucked his tongue. “You'll come back to me.”

“When badgers fly!”

He looked at her then, and his eyes were cold with purpose. “Who will pay for your keep at the abbey? Surely not the husband of a runaway wife.”

Rage, hurt, and confusion battled within her. Rage won out. “Do not trouble yourself about me, Revas Macduff. I managed well enough for many years without you.”

“I'll take you there,” William said. “We can be packed and gone in an hour's time. Leave him to his wenching.”

A cajoling Revas started to rise. “Now, Meridene.”

She held up her arm to keep him in place. “Stay where you are, you wretched snake.”

“Look,” he wheedled. “ 'Tis a rocky patch we've arrived at, but now that you understand, 'twill be better.”

“Better? I'd rather face a pack of hungry wolves on the Great North Road than live here with you. You adulterer!”

“You cannot begrudge me one woman.”

Fearing she would cry, she implored William with a glance. He took her arm, and she wanted to wilt into his. “Come, sister.”

“Leave the Covenant,” Revas said. “But you may take the belt.”

Her control fled. Shaking William's hold, she marched up to Revas and threw the tapestry in his face. In a blur of unshed tears, she stormed out the door.

Revas's knees wouldn't hold him. He collapsed into the chair and unfolded the cloth. Even after he heard them mount and knew she was gone, he couldn't take his eyes from the cloth. The face that crowned the work was his own, and the branchlike arms played host to girls and boys, each wearing a different Highland plaid.

From behind the bed curtains, Gibby's grandmother emerged. She had white hair, yet her face bore fewer wrinkles than other women her age. “Oh, Revas,” she cried. “ 'Tis sad work we've done this day. You've broken the lassie's heart.”

And his own.

Oh, sweet charity, how would he rule without her? What had once loomed as a glorious future now yawned like captivity in a foreign land. How could he kneel in church and speak honestly to God with so much blackness in his soul? How could he be fair when nothing mattered?

For a day and a night, he pondered the question. Comfort came with the knowledge that she was well on her way to England by now. With Cutberth's army marching across Lord's Meadow, the battle would soon begin.

*  *  *

The landscape stretched before Meridene, but she noticed little of the Highland scenery. Her heart pounded like a drum, and with every mile they traveled, the beating grew stronger. The feeling was not new; she'd experienced it aboard the ship after Revas had taken her from the abbey. But she understood the source of her discomfort. The thrumming in her chest had been the Highlands calling her home. Now it wanted her back.

As if compelled, she looked over her shoulder. Once she had condemned Scotland, but that was before—before she'd come to know the people of Elginshire, before she'd met Serena and Summerlad, the adorable Ellen, the quiet Lisabeth, and dear, sweet Gibby.

Or Revas. Her stomach bobbed like a cork, and not from the ride, for her mount was the best mare in Revas's stable.

Revas. Tears stung her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. A womanizer wasn't deserving of her love and devotion. But why had he taken up with that woman? What feminine aspect did Meridene lack that would drive him to seek companionship elsewhere?

Did the name Macduff's Halt have some base meaning? Yes, she thought. It was a halt to decency and a respite from his wedding vows. He was welcome to it, and she hoped the sin blackened his soul.

But a part of her could not condone that low opinion of him, because it did not fit. In the moments when her mind's vision was unclouded by the reasons that drove her away from him, she wondered if she hadn't imagined the lodge, the woman, and her unrepentant husband. That man was a stranger.

She had questioned Brodie, William, and the Forbesmen who served as her escort. With the twin towers of Auldcairn still within sight, she had interrogated them.

Brodie dismissed Revas's transgression with a mumbled “ 'Tis a wife's place to obey her husband.”

Glennie Forbes had set his jaw and stared at the road ahead.

One of his kinsmen had declared, “A man has his needs.” But he'd spoken with little conviction.

On reflection, she wished she had talked with Summerlad. Why had he been so sullen when they last spoke in the common room? Why had Sibeal simply glared at her husband, rather than interrupt and correct him as was her way? And why had Sim been so evasive and guilty?

And that had been the order of the day: guilt. She'd been so aggrieved at Revas, she hadn't stopped to say good-bye to any of her new friends. Lisabeth and Ellen deserved better from the Maiden of Inverness. Sim deserved a personal return of his father's sporran. Would Gibby remember Meridene as the cold stepmother who came and went in a few fleeting cycles of the moon?

What of that bright-eyed lad who'd presented Meridene with that precious wooden bowl on the day of her arrival? What story would Revas spread in explanation of his wife's hasty departure?

But it wasn't Meridene's fault. Revas had broken his vows. Revas planned to make war. Revas had sent his daughter away.

Why?

Like a wasting sickness, the word tormented her.
Why, why, why?
If Revas marched to Kilbarton Castle to face Cutberth, why send Gibby to a farm in the sleepy village of Aberhorn? She'd be safer behind the walls of Auldcairn.

Unless he planned to strike the battle elsewhere. A notion wiggled its way into the quandary, and Meridene guided her horse abreast of Brodie's mount.

“Revas is planning a siege of Kilbarton Castle. That's why he wanted me to leave, and the reason he sent Gibby away.”

Brodie's hands grew slack on the reins, and the stallion sidestepped. “Nay, my lady. He'll not make war without me and the Forbesmen at his back. 'Twould be folly, and Revas is seldom foolish.”

At this point, she didn't know Revas at all. At least not the Revas she left behind. Why hadn't he kept Gibby at the fortress? Why had he driven Meridene away?

Like a shower of sunshine after a raging storm, enlightenment rained over her. Revas
had
driven her away. He hadn't meant those hurtful words. “Damn his noble heart!” she cursed out loud, and pulled her horse to a stop. “I'm going back.”

Brodie snatched her reins. “You cannot.”

She looked to William, who looked away. And she knew that her brother had helped deceive her. Only Glennie Forbes met her gaze. Rash and eager, he was too young for noble thoughts. That was why Revas always gave Summerlad command of the Forbesmen. The Macqueen lad had stayed to fight, and he hadn't been able to look Meridene in the eye when last they met. Shame had caused him to twist his war bands rather than face Meridene and lie. Sim had shied from her. Conal had acted strangely bold. Sibeal had been angered by her husband's odd behavior.

Worse than all of their actions was Revas's treatment of Meridene. Oh, yes. He had thought to exclude her from the impending strife. Unfortunately for him, he had not considered that she, too, felt responsible for keeping the peace in the Highlands.

Her father had pledged to end the legend of the Maiden, and through his ill deeds, he had convinced Meridene, for a time, to do the same. But now she would preserve her heritage and honor the women who for centuries had sacrificed to keep peace in the Highlands.

“Glennie,” she said. “Will you help me teach Revas Macduff that his wife is not a delicate flower?”

“I . . . ah.” Completely ill at ease, he had to struggle to control his mount.

“Will you assist me in showing him that it's wrong to belittle the office of the Maiden of Inverness?” she demanded.

Suddenly he was a ready warrior. He rose in the saddle. “Aye, my lady. Stand back, Brodie! Forbesmen,” he commanded, “to me!”

Surrounded by Glennie and his kinsmen, Brodie had no choice but to yield. “The sin falls upon your head, lad.”

Glennie's chest swelled and his eyes narrowed with conviction. “ 'Twas wrong of Revas to drive her away. The Maiden belongs in Scotland.”

William guided his mount close to Meridene's. “She must go back, Sheriff,” he said thickly. Turning to Meridene, he said, “She's our only chance. Take heart, sister mine, and remember that you demand a crown from a monster who has ordered your death.”

Yanking the reins, she wheeled her mount and headed home.

At sunset the next day, they crested the hill overlooking Auldcairn Castle. Below, the outer bailey teemed with a well-provisioned army. A pennon bearing her father's device told Meridene all she needed to know.

She called out for Brodie and explained what she must do.

“Oh, nay, my lady. 'Tis too dangerous. Should your father spy you—”

“I know the way to the postern gate, Brodie. I've used it before. I'll not fall prey to that monster again.”

His eyes gleamed golden from the light of the setting sun. “Then take Glennie with you, or William.”

Again, she knew only boldness would sway him. “Then I might as well bring a bannerman to announce my arrival.”

“They'll think you a camp follower and behave accordingly.”

She'd act the veriest wanton to gain access to her home. “Then I'll tell them I have the French pox!”

He looked away, but his mouth twitched with humor.

She grasped his forearm. “Worry not, Brodie. I'm the Maiden of Inverness. But give me your yellow sash to hide the color of my hair.”

All grumbling dissent, he did as she asked. “Go safely, then, and quietly.” He handed her a sheathed dirk. “Use it swiftly and strike here.” He drew a line across his throat. “ 'Tis sharper than a razor.”

She swallowed hard at the thought of taking another life, even in defense of her own. But she must ease the sheriffs mind. So she nodded and slipped the dirk inside her sleeve.

“And you must avoid the pond,” he insisted, pointing to the spot where the goose girl and her flock should have been. “They'll water their horses there. Move in a wide circle to the south, and approach the wall from the east, but do not leave the shelter of the forest until night is full upon us.”

With a last embrace for her brother and a silent prayer for God to keep William safe, Meridene covered her hair with the scarf. Then she pulled up the hood of her cloak, circled wide, and moved into the woods to wait for nightfall.

*  *  *

“Take this.” Elizabeth Gordon, the herald of Robert Bruce, handed Revas a tankard. “ 'Tis the best brew o' the Highlands.”

They stood atop the newest of Auldcairn's square towers. Tents and campfires dotted the outer bailey. The sheep and cattle now milled in the castle yard, and the village was filled with families from the small farms close by.

Turning his face in to the night wind, Revas surveyed the enemy. “You say that because Randolph brewed it.”

“Be it trouble or ale, Randolph is a master at brewing both.” Her voice dropped. “Tell me what you are thinking.”