Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy Two 02] (21 page)

“What is it?” she asked when they were beyond earshot.

“Fife plans to travel through the Borders, and as he is beginning here, I’m thinking Archie kens nowt about it. I’ll need a few extra days to ride and tell him.”

She nodded and asked a few questions but agreed that Archie should know of Fife’s plan. As he took his leave a few minutes later, his gaze met Amalie’s.

When she looked wistful, as if she had decided after all to miss him, his loins stirred, and he realized that danger definitely lurked ahead.

Chapter 11

A
malie and the princess’s other ladies kept busy that afternoon and much of the evening, preparing for her to depart the next day with Lady Murray.

As it was, they did not get off until the morning was half over. But that was due as much to thick fog as to Lady Murray’s strong distaste for early rising.

At last, the fog dissipated, revealing high, hazy clouds. They were soon ready and mounted—except for Lady Murray, who preferred her horse litter.

She was comfortable in it, though, and the gillie who guided her horses was one of Elishaw’s own. So Amalie expected few complaints.

Seeing Sir Harald, she grimaced, realizing only then that he would take charge of seeing them back to Sweet-hope while Sir Garth rode on to Galloway.

She tried to persuade herself that Sir Harald’s presence would give her further opportunity to discourage him. However, since she did not want to spend any time in his company, that thought just depressed her.

With the added men from Elishaw, their cavalcade was larger than usual. But they set a good pace, despite the litter, and Isabel declared that they ought to reach the abbey comfortably by midafternoon.

Amalie spent the first hour riding beside Sibylla, enjoying her sunny good humor. But neither objected when Rosalie guided her pony alongside Amalie’s and said, “You won’t mind if I ride with you, I hope. It grows tedious riding by our lady mother. She dozes unless the pace grows too fast to suit her. Then she scolds, as if I ought to have prevented it.”

Amalie chuckled. “I doubt she scolds you often, dearling. You seem to have a knack for managing her.”

“She does not require managing,” Rosalie said. “I know that you and Meg chafed under her strictures, but truly, she does not say such things to me. I’m more worried that she and our lord father will not
let
me marry than that they will press me to wed a man I do not know, or one I dislike, as they did with Meggie and have been trying to do with you.”

Sibylla had considerately tightened her rein to let them draw ahead and talk privately. Even so, Amalie said only, “Our parents do seem very fond of you.”

“I expect so,” Rosalie said with a shrug. “They rarely tell me I should not do something I might want to do, as you did. Why did you say I should not ride with any man, not even Simon or Tom? That seemed strange to me.”

Realizing she had to choose her words carefully, and aware that Sibylla might well overhear them, Amalie said, “I was just noticing how pretty you are becoming, I expect. I worry that someone might try to take advantage of you. They do, you know.” Remembering what Garth had said, she added, “Sithee, love, men enjoy the chase and see pretty young ladies as prey to hunt.”

Rosalie grinned impishly. “But that sounds amusing, and our
brothers
would not hunt me. Moreover, I like to ride with them. Tom is always merry and makes me laugh. And Simon teaches me interesting things.”

“Simon rides with you?” Amalie could not recall his ever riding with her or Meg unless the whole Murray family traveled together.

“Aye, sure, whenever he chances to be near Elishaw, he stops with us for a day or two. When he does, he takes me riding. And Tom has been helping our lord father run the estate for some months now. He is frequently too busy to ride with me, but he does whenever he can, and it gives me pleasure.”

Recalling belatedly how little she had known of men, or anything else, at thirteen, Amalie said carefully, “Then you would be wise to use Simon and Tom to practice understanding men. Our father may be as helpful with that as our brothers, but you should learn to observe them all closely, Rosalie.”

“What
do
you mean?”

Amalie took another tack. “You will be visiting the royal court in Edinburgh in a year or two, and houses and castles of kinsmen and friends. In such company you will meet all manner of young men, and some not so young. By learning to recognize unusual behavior in our own menfolk, you will train yourself to judge men you don’t know. ’Tis much wiser than to assume that all men are as trustworthy as our father.”

“Or Simon and Tom,” Rosalie said thoughtfully. “I begin to understand. But they are always much the same with me, so I don’t know what to look for.”

“Simon has a wicked temper,” Amalie said. “If you don’t know that, you have been fortunate in never having stirred it. Father, too, gets angry quickly. Indeed, each of them expects always to get his own way, so I venture to suppose you have not yet crossed any of them.”

“Or they just like me better than they like you,” Rosalie retorted saucily.

“Rosalie—”

“Oh, don’t scold,” she said, laughing. “I meant only that whilst there were three of us at home, and I too young for anyone to count, you and Meg just drew their anger. You especially were accustomed to say whatever came into your head.”

“Was I?” It was hard to remember being so carefree.

“Well, you did stop doing that shortly before you went away with Meg. Indeed, you grew unnaturally quiet then, I thought. But you can also be stubborn about getting your own way, so I warrant you just annoyed them more than I do.”

Having said as much as she dared, and not wanting to encourage further discussion of her own habits, Amalie said, “I do tend to irritate Simon, don’t I? Even so, love, it will be good practice for you to learn the signs of even the smallest changes in their moods, so that you can better judge the many young men who will pursue you from the moment they clap eyes on you.”

Rosalie giggled. “Do you truly think they will?”

Amalie said sincerely, “I am sure of it.”

Their route took them along the river Tweed, and although Amalie kept her eyes on the track ahead, she managed to stay aware of where Sir Harald and Garth were riding. She soon realized she would have little opportunity to snub Sir Harald, because Garth had sent him to lead the main body of men, well behind them.

Four men-at-arms preceded their party, but Isabel did not like riding through clouds of dust, so she never allowed more than that to ride ahead unless they’d had word of potential danger threatening an area she passed through.

As the knight in command, Garth rode with the forward party, and Amalie enjoyed watching how easily he controlled his mount. Occasionally, he dropped back near the princess but whether by Isabel’s choice or his, she could not tell.

The ladies Averil and Nancy took turns, as usual, one riding beside Isabel while the other followed with either the lady Susan or Sibylla. Nancy was now with Susan, and Sibylla soon returned to ride three abreast with Amalie and Rosalie.

They arrived at Melrose Abbey just a little later than Isabel had expected.

Before they saw the abbey itself, on the north bank of the river Tweed just east of where it met Ettrick Water, they had skirted broad pasturelands filled with baaing, bleating sheep, and passed through orchards and across fields containing pigs or cattle. The abbey lands were extensive.

As they rode downhill across a flower-strewn meadow bright with color, Amalie gazed sadly at the charred and broken walls of the once magnificent abbey. Before its destruction, it had occupied the site for over 250 years.

Much of its stonework remained, and the monks had restored some buildings, but the sight reminded her yet again of why Scots hated the English so.

When they entered the graveled yard outside what had once been the cloister, the abbot appeared in the doorway of the chapter house in his long, unbleached, and undyed Cistercian habit. Its hood was down, revealing his long, darkly tanned face and wispy, tonsured hair.

The damage, now that they could see into the inner precinct, was more appalling. In the old days, Isabel had told Amalie, the Cistercians had not allowed anyone within the abbey’s wall. But of late, that strict rule had eased. With the wall still broken in many areas and its cloister destroyed, the inner precinct now began at the chapter house and was marked with a low stone wall of its own.

Much of its area was charred rubble, but the chapter house and other restored buildings were clearly habitable and occupied.

The restored guesthouse stood within the damaged outer wall, not far from the graveyard but some distance outside the marked precinct.

As the abbot moved with dignity to greet the princess, and Garth quickly dismounted to assist her, Rosalie looked around in dismay.

“Faith,” she exclaimed. “Whatever happened here?”

Isabel glanced back as she dismounted and said, “The English burned the abbey five years ago. As you can see yonder, the villains destroyed the beautiful abbey kirk, even knocking down its walls. Its rebuilding alone, they say, will take a quarter of a century or more.”

“But to have destroyed all this is sacrilege!” Rosalie protested.

The abbot said, “Aye, my lady, but all is as God wills.” Returning to Isabel, he said, “Your men will camp by the river as always, princess. If they require food or other assistance, they need only ask. We want them to be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Isabel said. “The plantings are coming along well this year.”

The abbey fields and tidy orchards had been burned, as well. But the monks and lay brothers had soon replanted them and now, five years later, most of the trees were heavy with fruit.

Recalled from her musing by a word from Lady Averil, Amalie dismounted quickly without assistance and hurried to the guesthouse to attend to her duties.

The princess’s ladies enjoyed an early supper in the hall of the guesthouse. The food that lay brothers in hoodless, undyed robes provided for them was plain but sufficient. Their own men had set up their encampment and were cooking their meal over their own fires.

After supper, as the lay brothers bore empty platters away and dismantled the trestle tables, Isabel excused herself. “You will forgive me,” she said, “if I leave you now to visit the graveyard.”

“May I walk with you part of the way?” Amalie asked.

“I’d enjoy your company,” Isabel said, raising a hand when Susan stood, looking eager to join them. “The rest of you may amuse yourselves until I return.”

“With permission, madam, Rosalie and I will retire,” Lady Murray said. “We must be off in the morning, and Sir Garth has said he wants to make an early start.”

Amalie made no comment then, other than to bid her mother and sister goodnight. But as she and Isabel walked along the tidy, stone-lined pathway to the graveyard, she said, “Sir Garth had better say his prayers tonight if he expects to get my lady mother off to an early start.”

Isabel chuckled. “Is your mother always a lie-abed sort?”

“She did not used to be,” Amalie said. “But even before Meg married, she had begun to take her days in a more leisurely way. She is still quick to criticize any error, though, so I am certain she still keeps Elishaw running smoothly.”

“Indeed, I should think she would,” Isabel agreed as they reached the little wicket gate in the low stone fence that surrounded the graveyard. “You will not want to come further with me, so I’ll take leave of you here. Do not wait for me,” she added. “You are safe on any grounds near the abbey. I often roam through the orchards or the meadows. The river path is pleasant, too.”

The graveyard being nearer the orchards than the river, and a break in the abbey’s wall inviting her to go that way, Amalie decided to walk up to the nearest one, where she soon found pear trees bearing ripe fruit.

Certain the monks would not object, she picked a ripe one, wiped it on her skirt, and bit into it. The juice ran down her chin, making her grin. With no one looking, she did not hesitate to wipe it off with her sleeve.

She wandered happily amid the trees, enjoying the peaceful evening twilight.

The moon peeked over the northeastern horizon as she was thinking she ought to return to the others. But as she turned back the way she had come, she saw that Isabel was still in the graveyard, sitting quietly on a stone bench.

Not wanting to disturb her, Amalie skirted the abbey wall instead and found a path heading toward the river. Moonlight painted the water silver, and to her right, below where the track they had followed curved around the abbey wall, small fires dotted the hillside above the riverbank.

The moon seemed to rise quickly. It was nearly full and cast enough light for her to see that her path crossed the track ahead and continued to the river.

At the intersection, she did not hesitate. She was not ready yet to give up her peaceful evening and rejoin the other women.

A soft, warm breeze blew toward her from the river. The path was smooth and well tended, the moonlight on the river magical. The low “
hoo-hoo
” of an owl, clearly calling to her, gave the increasingly dark landscape a delicious eeriness.

She fixed her eyes on the sparkling flow of water and breathed in the herbal scents of the trees and the low shrubbery along the riverbank.

A wide grassy patch between two large, shadowy clumps of trees and bushes beckoned her. She stepped off the path, already curving to follow the river’s course, and walked toward the water. She could see several ducks—coots by their sounds and, by shape, at least two hooded mergansers. They floated in the moonlight as if it were day, riding the river’s slow but powerful current. As she moved nearer, a large figure stepped out of the deepest shadow of the shrubbery to her left.

She opened her mouth to protest his springing up again, for although his back was to the moon and his face shadowed, she had not one second’s doubt who it was.

Before she could speak, he raised a finger to his lips and then pointed.