Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy Two 02] (16 page)

“I thought he seemed troubled when he left,” Sibylla said, flicking a glance at Garth and Isabel. “My window overlooks the front garden, as you know. By the look of him, I suspected that he had suffered some sort of nightmare.”

Amalie stared at her and then wished she had not when Sibylla went straight on to say, “But I see that you know about that. I hope it was not too terrifying. He has much experience of battle and death, I know. It disturbs me that evil spirits often force such men to revisit the horrors they have witnessed in their sleep.”

She eyed Amalie hopefully.

“Faith, Sibylla, you don’t imagine that young man can have told our Amalie about any such dream, do you?” Lady Averil demanded. “No man would do that.”

Amalie bowed her head to keep the truth from showing on her face.

Lady Nancy said lightly, “Oh, indeed, Sibylla,
no
gentleman would describe a nightmare to a young lady. I warrant he rode out only for exercise and then, chancing to meet her, brought her safely home again. Very kind of him, I’m sure.”

Looking up to meet Nancy’s gaze, and hoping to ease the tension she felt, Amalie said quietly and in a way to include the others, “It was kind, was it not?”

Agreeing, the ladies turned to more ordinary topics, and Amalie was able to congratulate herself for deft handling of a sticky situation.

She indulged that belief until Garth and Isabel joined them, when Isabel said, “I left a basket in the hall with some threads I was sorting, Amalie. Do fetch it for me, will you? Sir Garth will escort you.”

Poised on the brink of insisting that she could fetch the basket perfectly well without help, Amalie swallowed the words and stood. Noting Sibylla’s knowing gaze and Lady Nancy’s wide-eyed one, she strove mightily to look calm.

Isabel said casually, “There is no need to hurry. I mean to enjoy this sunshine, and I warrant neither of you has yet broken your fast.”

“N-no, madam,” Amalie said, avoiding Garth’s eye and pretending not to see the arm he extended to her.

But he just put a hand between her shoulder blades instead and urged her forward. The firm touch of his hand there was far more disturbing than when he had placed a gloved hand over hers at Scone Abbey. His hand was bare this time and her bodice summer thin. The warmth of his touch was more evident. But her unease arose more from the fact that the warmth spread all through her, stirring sensations in other parts of her body, unfamiliar but oddly pleasant ones.

To make matters worse, they met Susan at the door. The look she gave Amalie as she hurried past could have turned water to ice.

“What is wrong with that woman?” Garth asked as he held the door for Amalie, barely waiting for Susan to get beyond earshot.

“I haven’t a notion,” Amalie said. “You may leave me now, sir.”

“May I?” She heard laughter in his tone.

“There is naught in any of this that is funny,” she said, nearly stamping her foot. “Sibylla saw you ride out this morning. Moreover, she knows you had a nightmare, and she very nearly asked me what you had dreamed.”

His eyes widened, but then he shook his head at her. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “How could anyone know such a thing? Is the woman a witch?”

“Well, if she is, she is a noble witch. Her father is Sir Malcolm Cavers.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Not a word, because Lady Averil intervened. But when Isabel told me to go with you, she gave me the most knowing look.”

“Isabel?”

“Nay, Sibylla, of course. And like it or not, witch or not, she sees things others do not and seems to know things others don’t know. She has a good heart, though.”

He waited, pointedly holding the door open until she entered the house. But when he guided her through the anteroom into the hall, she protested.

“I cannot believe that Isabel meant for you to stay with me,” she said.

“I have a duty to protect her ladies,” he said loftily.

“That may be so. And her knights may have chambers inside the house—”

“Boyd will stay in the dormer to look after the men who eat and sleep there.”

“As I was saying before you interrupted me,” she said between gritted teeth, “the men’s chambers are in the north wing for a purpose, sir. Her knights are never supposed to be private with her ladies. If no one has explained that to you—”

“I have Isabel’s permission,” he said.

“Her permission! Why would she give such permission?”

“Because I requested it.”

Glowering, she stepped away from his hand and faced him, hands on her hips, grateful that no servant was in the hall. With the midday meal hours away and no fire in the fireplace, none would come unless she shouted for one, or he did.

Fiercely, she said, “You had no right to ask her for such permission!”

His eyes narrowed, making her sharply aware that she was alone with him.

Forcing calm into her voice, she said, “You must have told her more than that you wanted to be alone with me.”

“I told her that I believe you know certain things that might help clarify matters about which she is curious.”

“The only thing that makes Isabel curious these days is her determination to learn the truth about James’s death,” Amalie said, feeling her calm slip away again.

He remained silent.

“Sakes, what do you think I could know about that?” she demanded. “I have heard only what Isabel herself has heard. Indeed, not as much, because I know only what Wat Scott told us both and the things that she has repeated to all of us.”

“What did Harald Boyd want with you?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Sakes, lass, stop trying to counter everything I say and just answer my questions. Isabel is unlikely to let this conversation go on all day.”

Amalie’s stomach growled again, the sound long and protesting.

Sir Garth’s lips twitched, and when hers responded in a like manner, he said, “Let’s find something to eat. We shall both be more comfortable if we sit.”

She turned quickly away to forestall any notion he might have of touching her again, and strode to the dais table. A basket of manchet loaves, pots of butter and quince jelly, and a ewer of water were all that remained from the others’ breakfast.

She knew she could send someone to fetch sliced beef or fresh salmon, but the last thing she wanted was a hovering servant. Nor did she think Sir Garth would let one stay if she sent for one. If he had reached the point of persuading Isabel to allow his interrogation, he meant to get the answers he sought without more delay.

Accordingly, she split a manchet, slathered quince jelly lavishly on both halves, and placed them on a fresh napkin.

Garth pulled the basket to himself and, taking a roll, tore off a chunk and buttered it thickly. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed.

“Water?” he asked as Amalie took her usual seat.

“Thank you,” she said, watching him fill goblets for each of them.

“Now,” he said as he moved a stool and sat facing her, “what did he want?”

“He was just being tiresome,” she muttered.

He pulled the pot of butter closer and broke off another piece of his roll. “So it was not enough for him to have taken Isabel’s stable master to task,” he said. “He continued to rail on about your puny escort.”

“Aye,” she said. “Being tiresome, as I said.” She broke off a chunk of her own bread and jelly and ate it hungrily.

“He seems to have taken more notice of your escort than it warranted. Perhaps such a man may read more into such a ride than he should.”

“You usually speak more plainly,” she said. “Don’t change your ways now.”

“I’m suggesting, lass, that he might try to take advantage if you make a habit of such solitary rides.”

“Thank you for your concern, sir,” she said, lifting her chin. “Is there aught else you want to know?”

“You know there is,” he said gently.

She grimaced. “That will teach me to resist sarcasm.”

“At least tell me if you recognized either voice,” he said.

“Tell me first who sent you here.”

“Archie the Grim.”

She blinked. “Why would you not tell me that the first time I asked you?”

“I did not know you well enough. Isabel knows that Archie sent me, but most folks do not. I’d as lief keep it that way.”

“What do you know about me now that you did not know then?”

The look he gave her was indecipherable until he said, “I know you can keep a secret. Look,” he went on, putting his forearms on the table and leaning toward her. “I ken fine that you find it hard to trust me, but we both need to learn whom we can trust, and I think we can help each other if you will just try.”

“How?”

“I’m certain that whatever you overheard in Abbots’ House was more than a simple, innocent conversation between servants.”

“I told you they were not servants.”

“Hush, let me finish. You also told me you could not hear what they said. I did not believe that then, and I still don’t.”

“But—”

“If it were true, you’d have lost your temper with me by now and said so in such a way as to defy my continued disbelief. And, if there were no more details to impart, you would not have to decide whether to impart them to me. Therefore, the only thing tying your tongue is your continued distrust of me . . . of men in general. But I know, too, that you have said nowt to Isabel of what you overheard.”

“Faith, did you ask her?”

“Nay.” He said the word forcefully, but he did not give her the angry look that she expected. Instead, he sighed and looked helplessly at her.

Ignoring that look, her bread and jelly forgotten, she said, “If you did not ask her, how can you know?”

“Because she did not mention it, and she would have.” He sighed again. “I’ll answer your questions in more detail when I can, but I cannot reveal things Isabel said to me in confidence. You do know the subject uppermost in her mind, though.”

“James.”

“Aye, and Will Douglas has joined him there. I told you before that I want to learn the truth. I tell you now that my search for his killer has brought me here.”

“Because you want to compare such information as you’ve gleaned up to now with all that Isabel has learned. You hope to find a connection.”

“Aye, perhaps,” he said.

She saw that there was more to it. But she knew that if she pressed him, he’d insist that she tell him all he wanted to know before he would say more to her.

The thought of telling him no longer seemed impossible, and she knew she had to tell someone. When Sir Harald had said her family would visit, she had considered confiding in her father. But the niggling detail of her initial suspicion, that the first voice she’d heard might have been Simon’s, deterred her from confiding in anyone.

Sir Iagan knew from his sons’ involvement in the attempt to seize Hermitage after Otterburn that Simon would do nearly anything Fife asked of him. So Sir Iagan might believe Simon was involved in another of Fife’s plots. But he would not believe that any son of his was capable of murder.

Admittedly, both Simon and Tom had threatened to murder her at least once, but she could imagine Sir Iagan’s reaction, or her mother’s, to such an accusation. Simple, understandable sibling fury, they would say, nothing more.

“Well?” Garth said.

“I did recognize one voice,” she said.

“Who?”

“Fife.”

“So you knew straightaway when—”

“Don’t be horrid,” she said. “I may have heard him speak before, but I paid no heed if I did. So I did not know his voice well enough to recognize it through that door. I did not recognize it at all until we gathered at Moot Hill and he gave the King the land of Scotland and the people of Scotland their new-crowned King.”

“But you’re sure now that one of the two men you heard was Fife.”

She nodded, meeting his steady gaze. “As sure as one can be, anyway.”

“And the other voice?”

Amalie looked down, remembered her bread, and broke off another piece. She hoped he would think she had intended to do that when she’d looked away.

“Look at me, Molly-lass.” His tone was gentle, but she reacted with strong irritation nonetheless.

“My name is Amalie, sir, not Molly. Moreover, I have
not
given you leave to use my name, nor should you.”

To her further annoyance, his eyes twinkled, and she realized that he had purposely cast bait. She realized, too, that she had leapt at it like a trout to a fly.

“I just shortened your name,” he said. “Friends do such things, you know, and I have not changed my mind about wanting to be friends. Do you really mind? After the way we met, it seems disingenuous to speak with such formality when we find ourselves alone.”

Perhaps, she told herself, that explained why his lack of formality had not irritated her more. Sir Harald’s familiarity irritated her considerably.

“Now, whose was the other voice?”

She said nothing for a moment. But he was buttering his second manchet, apparently content to leave her to her thoughts for a short time.

“I did not tell you everything Sir Harald said to me,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows but continued to chew his roll.

“He is even more annoying than you are,” she said. When that, too, drew no response, she sighed. “I don’t know why he annoys me so much. I did think it was because he was overly familiar in his behavior, but he said no more than you have said, so it cannot have been that. All he really said was that my family will visit here on their way home from Scone. He did not say when they will come, but my mother does not approve of rapid travel, so I expect it will be a day or two yet.”

“Is this another diversion, or did my question remind you of that detail?”

“I don’t see how it—” But she did see only too clearly how her mind had leapt to her family from his question about that second voice.

As she met his gaze, she knew that his thoughts had followed a similar path, and that she could no longer refuse to answer. Hoping he would believe her, having no idea how to persuade him if he did not, she said, “I did think I knew that voice when first I heard it, sir. But with my ear to the door, I was
not
certain. I hope I was mistaken, but . . . but you must see that I cannot name him without being certain.”