Rivals for the Crown (34 page)

letter could possibly arrive—if it ever did. But it gave her something to do.

So many losses in her life. And now.. .but no, she would not think of the summer when she and Gannon had met, when all she'd known had been taken from her. Nor of the children they'd lost, each one a blow that she'd thought she would never be able to bear. But she had; each time she had continued to live. And each time Gannon's strength had helped keep her alive. It was more than their love for each other that kept her going. It was the growing realization that this was the path on which she had been placed, on which she was to travel, and learn.

But now, as so many times in her past, she was afraid to step forward for fear of the next loss she might suffer. She prayed, repeating the words so often they sounded like the chanting of monks. Please, God, not my sons. Not Gannon. Not Nell or Liam or their girls. Or Kieran, who Davey had tried to keep home, or Davey and his family. Or Jocelyn, whom my son loves. There were so many she could not bear to lose. She prayed to find strength to endure the waiting.

She went to the small stone chapel Gannon had built to celebrate the birth of their first child, a boy they'd named Alexander, as King Alexander had requested. The first child that she'd buried, the prayers for his soul uttered here, in the chapel where he'd been baptized. This had been her place to find comfort over the years when she could not go to the sea, a sheltered spot where she could think.

It had taken years for her to find this peace. She'd been angry with God, and bitter. And numb when death had raised its head again and claimed another of her own, her second son. And the next. She'd raged at God then, at all the gods, for they were here too, the spirits who guard springs and pools and trees and the sea itself. She'd compared herself to other women, who bore children who lived, who had never known the suffering of placing your own in the ground, and while she did not covet their children, she wondered why she had not been chosen to be among them. Some days she had lived only because others had expected her to, but as the years had gone on, she'd seen things differently. Magnus and Rory, living to be grown men, so different and yet each so wonderful, had helped to heal her. Time had helped as well, and Gannon, whose love and own suffering had made her realize she must be stronger to comfort him.

There was some solace in knowing that she was part of an eternal chain of women who had traveled this path, who had survived without cowardice, who had waited for their men or their sons to return, accompanied by the knowledge that they might not. Knowing that other women knew this kind of suffering did not comfort her. Their survival did.

Or was she wrong? Was the world nothing more than a series of mishaps strung across time, and was a woman who tried to make a pattern from it all nothing more than a fool?

A week passed, then a day and another day. And on the tenth, a runner came with news. Rory had been outlawed for murder. Margaret questioned the man over and over, but he knew no more

than the bare bones, that Rory had killed an English knight in Ayrshire.

On the eleventh day, Gannon returned on Gannon's Lady, her sails billowing in the winter wind. When the men told Margaret that his ship was in the loch, she waited for him, standing in the cold at the end of the dock. Each moment seemed an hour, but at last the ship was nearing. Gannon stood alone amidships, his back straight and arm raised to wave at her, but his movements were not buoyant, and the band around her heart tightened.

When he arrived, he drew Margaret into his arms. "Rory is outlawed."

"Aye. They say he murdered an English knight."

"No. He killed an English knight who was attacking Nell and Liam's house."

She gasped.

"No, lass, all are well. Rory and the others fought them off, and none of them were hurt badly. But the knight is dead and some fool of Liam's told the English Rory and William's names, so they're on the run. We dinna ken where Rory is. He was alive a fortnight ago, but no one's seen him since."

"He's not with Magnus?"

"No, and Magnus doesna ken where he is. Apparently neither do the English, for they've searched Magnus's house three times now."

"How is Magnus?"

"Heartsick. Our lads argued, and Magnus told Rory not to come there again, that he was endangering Jocelyn if he came. Which, of course, he would be. Magnus is doing the best he can, but he's worried. With good reason, Margaret. It's getting worse by the day over there."

"Oh, Gannon."

"Aye."

"And Nell and Liam?"

"They're well. John Comyn sent word that the Crawfords are not to be touched. And it seems the soldiers are listening. Nell says now she has a debt to repay the Comyns, but it's worth it to have peace, aye?"

"Gannon! They should come here, all of them! Did ye talk of

it?"

"Oh, aye, until I had no breath left. They intended to, but now none of them will. Nell sends her love and told me to tell ye she's got a pot of pitch on the fire at all times. And that Liam is still the most infuriating man in the world."

Margaret smiled briefly. "And here I thought ye were." She sighed. "I'll write to her and tell them to come here at once. But, Gannon, where's our Rory?"

"With William Wallace is all we ken."

"I canna believe this has happened. This is what ye dreamt."

"Part of it."

"And what else, Gannon? What else did you see in your dream? Tell me what else is coming!"

"I dinna ken for sure, Margaret. But I saw our lads in
armour
. And me with them. And Liam. But where we were, and when, I dinna ken any more than that."

She took a deep breath. "A'right. Then Rory is still alive. If ye dreamt he was with ye in war, he's alive now. And he and Magnus will repair the rift."

"Or my dream is nothing more than a dream."

"And neither of us believe that."

The next day a contingent of English soldiers arrived at Loch Gannon, looking for Rory and William, saying that they had orders from King Edward. Gannon let them search the fortress and the village outside. The men were polite. Friendly even, interested in hearing anything Gannon MacMagnus had to say. On the third day, Gannon told them they had to leave. He did not raise his voice, but he let them know that the only way they could stay at Loch Gannon was to be buried there. They left then but warned that they would not be the last to visit him. And so he stayed home all the rest of the winter and into the spring, loath to leave Margaret and his people unprotected.

And all that time, they heard nothing from Rory.

It was Nell who sent the news that Rory and William were in Riccarton, in Ayrshire, at the home of William's uncle, Sir Richard Wallace. Gannon sailed at once, finding Sir Richard blinded and disabled after a skirmish with English soldiers.

Sir Richard welcomed Gannon and confirmed that Rory and William had been there with him. But they'd left, in the night, warned of a visit from Edward's men. He'd heard they'd gone to stay in the forests of north Ayrshire.

But when Gannon went there, he discovered that William, and Rory, and about twenty others, had gone to the eastern Highlands to discover the mood of the people there. Gannon returned home disheartened. Margaret wrote to Nell of their worry.

And they waited.

FIFTEEN

Sarah Angenhoff married Edgar Keith at The Oak and The Ash

on a
grey
and wet afternoon near the end of May 1292. It was a simple ceremony with few in attendance. Their parents, of course, and Isabel and Gilbert and the others who worked at the inn. And the rabbi who performed the marriage. A handful of Jews from Berwick had made their disapproval known, but still they'd come and wished the happy couple well. Rachel was sure that Sarah never suspected the comments that were made out of her hearing.

Edgar's family had come as well, his father composed, his mother's plump face sagging with obvious anxiety. She never said a word against the marriage, though, smiling when appropriate and toasting them with a cheer afterward. But Rachel stood close enough to hear her sighs and saw the looks she gave Edgar's younger brothers, whose wary eyes and stiff manner let Rachel know that they'd been warned to behave.

The party that followed the ceremony was a quiet one, but Sarah glowed and Edgar beamed with pride. They saw only each other, Rachel was sure, and she tried to keep a smile on her face through it all—even when Mosheh, the butcher's son, told her he'd offered for her hand in marriage that very day. She stared at him, trying not to laugh, for he made it obvious that he was very much in earnest. He nodded, telling her they would speak more of this later, then spent the rest of the evening trying to catch her eye. And she trying to avoid his.

It was not that there was anything wrong with the man. He was pleasant looking, and kind, and certainly attentive. But she had not spoken more than a hundred words to him in all the time she'd been in Berwick. How could he possibly know her, or she him?

And, more importantly, she admitted to herself, he was not Kieran MacDonald. She could not promise herself to another man until she knew whether Kieran cared for her. He'd written twice more after Rory's visit in August. And then nothing. She'd written two letters, knowing neither might ever reach him, and then waited. And waited.

It was both a delaying ploy and a denial, for nothing could come of her attraction to Kieran. She knew that, knew that she could not deal the blow of marrying outside their faith to her father, could not be the second daughter to disappoint him. Jacob had done his best to hide his discontent, just as Edgar's mother had, but they all knew he was unhappy with this match. How could she do the same to him?

And yet.. .Sarah was radiant. Edgar burned with passion for her. How could that be wrong? What did it matter that they were not the same faith, that their families had different traditions? Was

everything meant to always be the same, or could love inspire new traditions, as
cherish able
as the old?

Isabel wept during the ceremony, smiled during the meal after, and now hurried to help clear the tables. Rachel rose to help her, carrying the trenchers to the kitchens to be broken in two and handed out to the poor who had already gathered at their door. When all the work was done, they sat together in the silent tavern, sipping cups of wine and talking about the day. Outside, the rain had increased and the streets were empty.

"Aren't you glad your father closed the inn for this day?" Isabel asked. "I could not serve a meal now if my life depended on it."

"Oh, yes," Rachel said. "It was a good day. I've never seen Sarah so happy. She was radiant."

"Wasn't she? As you will look on your wedding day to Mosheh," Isabel said.

Rachel laughed and shook her head. "If you had asked me, I would have sworn that the man did not even know my name."

"Apparently you were wrong."

"Apparently I was wrong. Or it is not my name he is after. At least you don't have a father breathing over your shoulder to be sure you pick a Jewish man."

"At least you have a father."

"So do you." Rachel was surprised by the sadness in Isabel's voice. Isabel rarely spoke of her family, and she certainly had not spoken kindly of her father since she'd discovered he was alive. "Do you ever wonder if you should have gone to Newcastle and waited for him to come for you?"

"Sometimes. But I wonder what I would have done if he'd not come. What would I have done, Rachel? I'd be living on the streets, selling myself perhaps, or sewing some Newcastle woman's clothing for a pittance. Your family is good to take me in. But I cannot stay here forever."

"Why not? Sarah will leave in the morning to live with Edgar and we need you more than before. I will be here forever and would be glad of the company."

"What will become of us, Rachel? Do you think we'll ever marry?"

"You will catch the eye of some wealthy nobleman and go to live in a castle. And I will marry Mosheh, the butcher's son."

"At least you will always eat," Isabel laughed.

"And you could always write to your father. I have nowhere to go. And if the king comes back, things might be very different."

Isabel put her chin on her hand. "I'm hoping so. Henry will be here."

"With his vague promises."

"You don't like him, do you?"

"It's hard for me to trust a man who is so self-assured. He assumes you will wait for him to return. And he's too beautiful."

"He is beautiful, isn't he? Too bad the inner man does not match the outer."

"What has he done?"

"What has he done? He wooed me, led me to believe that he cared for me, and then he pursued Alis. I was correct from the start not to believe him. I have learned not to believe anything a man says."

"What about Rory? He's not lied. And he is beautiful as well."

"But where is he? Rachel, I have waited for a year and a half and nothing from him! Nothing! Kieran has written to you."

"Yes. Not often, but yes. Although it's been months. Perhaps he's forgotten me as well. Perhaps they are dealing with something important."