Rivals for the Crown (44 page)

Scotland had not invaded England, nor had its people invited Edward to occupy its castles and towns, but Edward would not recognize that in his ache for conquest. Edward knew that the best, the bravest, the boldest, and most responsible of Scotland's men would oppose him. And that many would die in the process. Which would make the next generation that much easier to control. The tactic had served him well elsewhere, and Edward had honed his skills with it.

Rory remembered Isabel championing Edward, telling him her ridiculous story of Eleanor sucking the poison out of Edward's wound in the Holy Land. Of her telling him, her eyes so serious and lips so tempting, of their devotion to each other, of the overwhelming grief Edward had shown at the death of his lady. How could a man mourn his wife and turn around and sentence other women to die or to live as widows? How could a man occupy another country and cause tens of thousands of deaths and also build twelve crosses celebrating God in his wife's honor? Or was it all of one piece, the vainglorious Edward constant through it all, brilliant in war, ruthless and insensible in all he did? Was that the explanation?

"D'ye think it was always so," Kieran asked, "men killing men? D'ye think there was ever a land or a time when men just lived together without war?"

Rory shook his head and shredded another brittle leaf, adding it to the pile at his feet. Oak leaves, he realized now. And almost midwinter. The men around them slept or talked quietly. Somewhere, out of sight, a man sang softly, a sad song of lost love.

"We're living in a cave," he said to Kieran, "freezing our arses off."

"Ye've just discovered this, aye? Ye're that brilliant, ye are."

"This was not how I thought I'd be living now." He picked up another leaf.

Kieran poked at the fire. "At least ye still have a house to go to when this is all over. Think of all those who were burnt out before we drove the soldiers out."

"Aye, ye're right. But ye ken why they went so easily?"

"I'm not remembering that a lot of that was easy," Kieran said.

"No. But they're gone," Rory said. "Edward's pulling back the last of them."

"Because he's planning to invade."

"Aye. Ready for war at last?"

"Better than the waiting. I feel like we've been waiting for years."

"We have been. What did Edgar have to say? Any news?"

Kieran looked into the distance. Rachel, Rory thought. More bad news of the lass. Kieran had been inconsolable when he'd learned she'd married the butcher's son after all. Wages of war. They were far from the only ones whose wives or lovers had drifted to another. He waited. Kieran would talk when the time was right. They needed information and Edgar was a good source of it, but seeing him, as Kieran had today, always saddened Kieran. It usually took days for his mood to rise. Wages of war.

"I was going to tell ye in the morning," Kieran said, his voice low.

Rory raised his eyebrows. "Why not now? How bad is it?"

"It's not. But I thought it could keep until daylight."

"Kieran..."

"She's in Newcastle, Rory. Edgar found her there. She's changed her name and dyed her hair and is teaching a merchant's daughters French."

Rory's hands stopped moving. "Isabel?"

"Aye. He talked with her. Told her all that has happened in Berwick, and where ye are. And that ye've looked for her. She sends ye a message."

Isabel.

"What is it?"

"That she wishes ye well."

"And?"

"There is no more."

"Nothing?"

"No."

"What else did he say?"

Kieran told him all Edgar had told him. Rory listened without comment, then threw the last of the leaves in the fire and reached behind him for his pack.

"What are ye doing?" Kieran asked.

"Going to talk to Edgar myself."

"Now?"

"Now." Rory stuffed his clothing into the pack and stood.

"Wait until morning."

"I've plenty of light. It's almost a full moon." Kieran sighed and rose to his feet. "I'm going with ye." "Ye dinna have to."

"Aye, I do. Because I ken what ye'll do next." "I'm going to Newcastle."

"Of course ye are. Which is why I was waiting until morning to tell ye."

"No. I thank ye, lad. But this one I do on my own. Ye can come with me as far as Berwick is all."

"That's far enough for me."

"Aye, I thought so. Ready?"

He heard all Edgar Keith had to say. He'd eaten the good food at The Oak and The Ash and talked with Rachel, whose delight that Isabel had been found was tempered by her fear for her friend. And her awareness of Kieran. Jacob made it plain that he wished them both gone. Rachel's mother was the only one who welcomed them

without restraint, feeding them copious amounts of food and letting her daughter spend time with them. But not alone. Jacob was always in the room.

"Tell Isabel," Rachel told Rory as she sat at the table with him, "that I've prayed for her and wondered so many times where she was. Tell her to be careful. She shouldn't come back here, but I would love to see her."

"Ye canna go to England, Rachel," Rory said.

"No." She looked close to tears. "Tell Isabel I love her."

"I will."

"And Rory, she thinks you forgot her. If that is not true, make sure she knows it now. Please?"

"I intend to do just that. Rachel, I'm sorry to hear that ye have moved back to the tavern with yer parents."

She sighed and looked across the room, where Kieran and Gilbert stood talking. Kieran met her gaze for a moment. She looked away first. "I could not forget Kieran. There were three people in my marriage, Rory, not two. And Mosheh is too proud to be one of them. I cannot blame him. I only blame myself for letting this happen."

"No more than I blame myself for not being here when Langton came. Ye all lived through it, Rachel. Sometimes that's all we can ask."

She nodded, but her eyes were shadowed. Even more so when she looked at Kieran, who looked nowhere else but at her.

"Ye need to be on yer guard, lass. War is coming and ye need to prepare."

"We will," she said. "But Berwick is strong. We will be safe here."

"It will be war, Rachel. No place is safe. Be careful, aye?"

She looked at Kieran, her longing for him visible, then back at Rory.

"And you."

They stayed just the one night, leaving in the morning with the dawn, late on this December day. They parted outside the town. Kieran would ride north, to find William and tell him where Rory had gone.

"Tell William I will be back when I can,"
Rory
said.

"Aye. And I'll send word to yer da."

"No, dinna. They'll just worry. And if I'm not back, go home for Christmas as we'd planned."

"If ye're not back by then, the lads and I will come and find

ye-"

"No, Kieran. Dinna go to England after me. Promise me."

"I'll do nothing of the sort. Nell calls ye Madman Rory, ye ken. Do yer best not to live up to the name. Are ye sure I canna come with ye?"

Rory grinned. "I'm off to woo a lass, Kieran. I dinna need help doing it."

"Ye're off to woo a lass. That means ye need me there surely." "Safe journey, cousin. I'll see ye anon." "Make it sooner than that."

Rory waved his hand in farewell and turned his horse to face south. Forty miles from Berwick to Newcastle. And a world away.

The road was dry and the travelers few. He spent the night at a roadside inn that had neither the charm nor the cook that The Oak and The Ash did. But the food filled him and the bed did not need to be shared, so he was content.

He rode slowly Into Newcastle just before dark, telling the guards at the gate that he was visiting his cousin. The guards exchanged a look but let him pass. He should have changed his clothing, he realized much too late. Everything about him said Scot and Highlander, and Newcastle was full of English soldiers preparing to invade his land.

The first thing he needed was a place to stay. He went to the inn that Edgar Keith had mentioned and got a room. He ate alone in the tavern, his back to the wall and his guard high. In Scotland his being outlawed no longer meant anything, with Balliol on the throne and the English soldiers gone. In Newcastle it could mean death.

He thought he recognized one or two of the knights and squires who shared the tavern with him. He watched as they talked quietly, which might have meant they had recognized him as well, or only that they were watching the Highlander closely. He finished his meal. And found a room in another inn for the night, not as clean, but mercifully not shared.

He did not sleep well and was awake much before dawn, washed and dressed. He broke his fast with three other men. None spoke, which suited him. When he left the table, they did the same. And when he left the inn, they did that as well. It took some doing, but at last, when he was confident that he was no longer followed, he walked toward the street where the coachman had told Edgar that Isabel was living. If she was here, Rory would find her.

He waited in the dark recess of a doorway while the sun rose and the streets began to fill with people. And still no one moved in the houses he watched. Another hour, marked by church bells. Another bit after that. And a door opened. He straightened but slumped again as he saw two men greet each other and walk the other way. Then a woman came out of a doorway, followed by another, taller. Younger. Walking slowly with the older woman.

He would know her anywhere. The set of her shoulders, that lift to her chin, the way she held her hands. Isabel. He was filled with longing, with the need to rush to her and take her in his arms and this time keep her there. To fill her body with his seed and his life with her presence. If he'd had any doubt why he was here, it was gone in that moment. But she was not alone, and so he waited.

They went to a church, a small parish church, a chapel really, joined by the other faithful this Advent season. He watched her enter, then found a spot where he could watch the church door. He'd not thought her devout, but perhaps she had changed. Or, more likely, he'd not known this about her, as he did not know so many other things.

He waited nearby, wrapped in his heavy, dark cloak, fading into the shadows of doorways. He did not move, not even when he saw two men take their positions and realized he was not the only one watching Isabel de Burke. When Mass was ended, the faithful left the church, hurrying off to their day. Isabel walked outside with the older woman. They spoke for a moment, then, with a wave, Isabel walked quickly away.

One of the men followed Isabel, and Rory was about to do the same when the older woman waved at the second man in the shadows. He looked in the direction Isabel had gone, then stepped forward to greet the older woman. They talked quietly. The older woman shook her head and held out her hand, saying something that displeased the man. She said something else and he nodded, pulling a coin purse from his waistband. He counted coins into her hand. She counted them on her palm. And smiled. Then left him.

Rory waited another moment for both of them to disappear, but when he went after Isabel, she was nowhere to be found.

She was being followed. Isabel did not turn to see who it was that dogged her steps, but she could hear him on the quiet street. When she moved forward, he did the same. She hurried to the more crowded areas, where perhaps she could lose him, glad to reach the merchant's street, bustling with the morning's activities. She paused a few doors down from the merchant's house, as though to readjust her cloak and hood, and turned to look behind her. She could see no one watching her, no one waiting in a shadow to resume the chase. But she could feel his presence. For the first time since she'd come to Newcastle, she was afraid.

Should she return to her lodgings? But no, if he'd followed her here, he would follow her back, and there would be no chance of assistance there. Her best chance was to go about her day as though she suspected nothing, to spend her day with the merchant's daughters. And think of what to do next. And where to go.

This morning Florine had pressed her for money. Isabel had given her a tidy sum, but the woman had not been pleased, and she knew that unless she could pay more, Florine would report her presence here. The woman might take her money and still expose her.

This would be her last day in Newcastle. Only a fool would not heed the warnings. On her way to the merchant's she had reviewed her choices and found no answer. But perhaps, as the hours passed and she concentrated on French verbs and Latin declensions, something would come to her. And that is just what she did, spending her day as she normally would, correcting the girls' small errors, pleased to see how much they had learned. It would have to suffice.

She ate her midday meal alone, in the warm kitchen, chilled to the bone. The merchant's nephew, a soldier in Edward's army, now billeted in Newcastle, as well as two of his friends, had joined the family for their meal. The merchant's wife had been kind enough to invite Isabel to join them, but she had refused, feeling the noose of danger tighten around her. Soldiers dined above in the dining room, and here the talk was all of the king arriving.