Rivals for the Crown (14 page)

"Aye. And we wanted to tell ye thank ye for yer fine hospitality. It has been a pleasure meeting ye and yer family, Rachel Angenhoff. We wish ye well here in Berwick, and in all ye do. And if yer sister does marry Edgar Keith, as I think she might, I hope ye and yer father will forgive her in time."

Rachel nodded, pressing her lips together. She glanced at Kieran, then looked at Rory again. "We were pleased to have you stay with us. And we wish you safe journey home."

"Thank ye," Rory said.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Rachel smiled and left them.

Rory shook his head at Kieran again. "And ye said not a word. Have ye learned nothing from all I've taught ye about women, lad? It's this simple: say what's in yer heart. Ye may get slapped, or draw angry words. Hell, ye also may get kissed, but whichever it is, ye'll have no doubt about her feelings."

Kieran laughed sheepishly, then shrugged. "But likely I'll never see the lass again. What, if by saying it, I make her feel worse? Would I not regret that? I think silence is best, Rory."

"I'm sure ye do, but.. I'm thinking on it."

They packed their
meagre
belongings and bid Jacob farewell, but Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Rory went out to the street. Kieran lingered a moment longer in the foyer, then came outside with a sigh.

They'd just begun to walk down the hill when Rachel burst through the door, rushing after them to stop next to Kieran. "Sirs. King Edward is taking Eleanor's body to London."

"Aye," Kieran said.

"Which means he won't be coming here," Rachel said. "It is good news."

Kieran looked into her eyes. "Aye, lass, it is good news for ye. For all of us."

"Yes. Safe journey. I...Safe journey." She took three steps away, then turned back. "Kieran, Rory.. .will you travel to London?"

"Ye mean, will we go to the English queen's funeral?" Rory asked. "I dinna think so, lass."

"Oh. Safe journey then."

Kieran caught her arm before she could leave. "Why? Is there something you need from London?"

Rachel shook her head quickly. "No. But.. .if you ever go there.. .if you do travel there, ever.. .Could you find a friend for me? She is.. .she was.. .one of the queen's ladies."

Rory raised his eyebrows.

"We.. .we were girls together," she said, rushing her words together and looking away from Kieran, who continued to watch her. "Her grandmother lived near my family and she and I would play when we were very young and we stayed friends as we grew

older, even though we were different and our lives were very different." Her cheeks were scarlet. "I...we left London hurriedly. I would like her to know that I am well."

"Ye could write to her. Does she read?" Rory asked.

"Oh, yes." Rachel glanced at the inn doorway, where Jacob stood watching them, his arms folded. "But I am afraid.. .1 would like her to know where I am, that we are well. But I would like no one else to know."

Rory glanced at Kieran, but his cousin stood silent. "It is unlikely that we'll ever go to London, but give me her name, lass. If I hear of anyone going, I'll ask them to find her and give her yer message."

"Isabel. Her name is Isabel de Burke. I would be so grateful." She smiled. "I thank you for everything, for your kindness.. .and understanding."

"Another smile like that," Kieran said, "would be worth the trip to London."

Rachel's mouth fell open.

"I kent ye were from London," Kieran said, "but I dinna ken why ye left. Now I do. I want ye to ken that I dinna care what god ye worship, nor what King Edward thinks of yer people. I'm glad to have met ye, Rachel Angenhoff, and I wish ye safe journey as well. Wherever life takes ye, safe journey." He took her hand and

brought it to his lips. "I will think of ye, lass. And I'll find a way to get yer message to yer friend. I vow it."

"Thank you." Rachel looked into Kieran's eyes, then fled.

"I dinna believe it," Rory said.

Kieran puffed out his chest. "Dinna worry, Rory, lad, I'll teach ye how to behave around women."

Rory laughed aloud. "Aye, ye do that."

They reached Stirling just before nightfall, and unlike the last time, they were shown through the gates at once. They sent word to Liam that they had arrived, then headed for the stables, where Rory left a generous sum and a warning that this horse was not to be harmed. The stable lad nodded with a terrified expression. And then they went to find Liam, but instead, it was their aunt Nell who rushed forward as they entered the castle, throwing her arms around each of them in turn, her smile wide.

"At last!" she cried. "We've been worried, wondering what had detained ye in Berwick. Come say hello to yer uncle, and get a bite to eat. We need to talk. We're all leaving in the morning."

"Are we?" Rory asked, laughing.

Nothing changed Nell, not time, nor being a mother, nor all that had happened to her. She still embraced life with open arms and a glad heart. She never seemed to age. Her brown hair was as thick and wavy as ever, her step as lively, her green eyes as clear. And she was, as always, in a hurry.

"Where are we going? Are ye coming to Loch Gannon with us?"

"Och, no, laddie," she said, her smile fading. "We're not going anywhere together. Ye're going to London to bury a queen."

Liam poured each of them another cup of wine. "She thinks it's a good thing, the two of ye going to London."

"It is a good thing," Nell said. "Ye will learn much, going to Queen Eleanor's funeral and discovering the mood in England. We need to ken whether Edward has the backing of his own people in trying to rule us. They were behind him when he invaded Wales, but I've heard they're weary of war."

"Weary of paying for it," Liam said.

"Which amounts to the same thing," Nell said. "Yer brother Magnus came to me, when he heard about ye killing the MacDonnell lad. And yer da came to Ayrshire to see him and discover what was happening. It's not something ye can take lightly, Rory, a blood feud being called against ye. So I came here, to tell Liam."

"Ye used it as an excuse to come see me," Liam said, "which was foolishness, since Rory's yer own blood, and a feud against him is one against ye as well."

"I had twenty Comyn men accompanying me, as ye well ken, since ye sent them down to see if we were a'right, love. And I'm only his aunt. And ye had already gone to talk with the MacDonells. Which yer da did as well, Rory. The MacDonnells dinna want this to get any bigger than it is and they're spreading the word of what really happened. Last thing this country needs is to have two western clans killing each other."

"Aye," Liam said. "They could be killing Balliols or Bruces instead."

"Bruces, if I'm asked," Nell said. "When I got here, John Comyn was here."

"He's taking a whole group of yer Comyn cousins to London for the funeral," Liam said. "He thinks ye should go with them. And so do yer parents. They sent word that ye need to go. And we agree."

"So drink up, lads," Nell said. "Ye'll go and see John Comyn tonight, and in the morning ye leave for London."

John Comyn had aged well, Rory thought as he waited to talk with his mother's cousin. The Comyns were the most powerful family in all of Scotland, and John, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of

Badenoch, was their leader. He was one of the thirteen Competitors for the crown and had been—still was, for that matter —one of the six Guardians who ruled Scotland in the Maid's absence and now in her death. Black Comyn, he was known as, for his son was also named John, called Red Comyn to describe them by the color of their hair and distinguish between them.

William, the third Earl of Ross and uncle to Rory's mother, had married Jean Comyn, uniting the two families. His brother Magnus had further cemented the ties when he'd married Jocelyn Comyn. Black Comyn had extensive holdings in both the north and south of Scotland, especially around Lochaber. It was within the boundaries of his control that Rory had killed the MacDonnell. The web of Comyn power extended throughout the land, and Rory should have realized that he'd be called to task by John Comyn for starting a blood feud, inadvertent or no. There was enough unrest with the conflict between the rivals for the crown without adding to it.

Which is exactly what Black Comyn told him. Rory defended himself, explaining what had happened, trying to control his anger. He'd done what any decent man would have done and look what had come of it. Which is just what he said.

Comyn listened carefully, nodding when Rory was finished. "I have ensured that the other men who were party to it have been punished," he said. "They'll not be coming after ye, nor will their families. We've made sure of that. Make no mistake, I applaud ye for saving that lass, and had I been in yer position I would have done the same thing. But it's spread beyond the MacDonnells, and ye have become a target for anyone to aim at. There's a
rumour
that there's a large prize for yer head, and many are listening. We need to end this, and end it now. Ye need to be gone for a while and let the whole thing be forgotten. The MacDonells will deal with their hot
headed young men."

He handed Rory a bundle wrapped in scarlet silk, with a ribbon embroidered with gold wrapped around it. "From the MacDonnell's lady, to thank ye for saving the lass. She says ye're a champion of all women." He laughed. "That may be why some of the MacDonnells are ready to believe the worst of ye. Let a man's woman praise another man and he's not too pleased about it. It will pass. But it will take time, and the last thing I need is to have ye murdered on a dark night."

"Or any other," Rory said. "I'm not fond of the idea myself."

Comyn nodded. "Ye'll come to London with us. After the funeral we'll return home, but ye'll spend the winter there learning what ye can. Ye'll send regular messages back to us. And perhaps by spring this dispute with the MacDonnells will be forgotten."

"Have ye not yer own men in London already, my lord?" Rory asked.

"Of course I have, but it never hurts to confirm what I'm hearing. Look, lad, I know yer father well, and I know yer mother. I know what ye're made of. I need ye to do this. And ye'd be a fool to displease me. Do we understand each other?"

Rory nodded. "When do we leave?"

London might officially be in mourning, but one would never have known it from the
behaviour
of its citizens. Each day looked like a feast day. Hawkers roamed the streets with trays of hot chestnuts and dumplings carried in iron pits, ladled out into wooden bowls that were emptied, then reused by the next customer. Innkeepers wore wide smiles as their rooms were filled, and butchers worked long hours, preparing the food for all those who would need a funeral feast.

The streets grew ever more crowded with new arrivals. Nobles on horseback jostled with farmers bringing the contents of their root cellars to sell. Fruit from Spain and Italy was sold for a premium. Stuffed figs and persimmons were piled on trays next to bright oranges, sold from open stalls set up in the squares. Every church was filled, whether because of the warmth from the pans of coals that were allowed for these few days to burn in braziers above the worshippers, or whether Londoners felt a sudden upsurge in piety at the news of Eleanor's death, Rory could not say.

Every building seemed to have people hanging from windows and doorways. The houses, dark wood or half-timbered plaster, stretched out toward each other over the narrow streets below. Walkers had to take care to step over refuse—and worse—as they pushed their way through the crowds. Whores invited Rory and Kieran inside brothels. The lads bantered with them but did not linger.

And then it was December 17, the day of the funeral. The ceremony itself would take place at Westminster Abbey, and all of

London seemed to be heading there. Rory and Kieran would be among the many who would attend the mass within the Abbey's walls, their seats assured by their connection to the Comyns but far from the altar. Rory did not mind. He was too busy taking it all in, for everywhere he turned, London presented a display unlike anything he'd seen.

Westminster Abbey stood near the river, in the part of London once called Thorney. Edward the Confessor was buried there, as he'd planned before being driven into exile by the Danes. William the Conqueror had been crowned there on Christmas Day in 1066, and every monarch since had held important ceremonies in the Abbey. The building itself was fascinating, easily the most intricate Rory had ever seen. The sanctuary was raised and glorious. Someday he would like to walk through the abbey and see all the detail. But not today.

"The queen's ladies." He heard the murmur as the women were ushered past, the most important of the noblewomen first, wives and daughters of dukes and earls, begowned and
bejewelled
in amazing fashion. Behind them was another group, less lavishly costumed.

"What was her name?" Rory asked Kieran. "Rachel's friend, the one we said we'd try to find? What was her name?"

Kieran thought for a moment. "Isabel de Burke. She must be one of them. But which? They all look older than I thought."

Rory nodded. Isabel de Burke. He could not guess what her connection to the queen might have been, but certainly none of these women looked like a possible friend of Rachel's.