Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy Two 02] (26 page)

Wat had told him about other misadventures of Sym’s, many of which stemmed from the lad’s unfortunate and too-frequent habit of following Dod and Dod’s reiving friends whenever they had indulged in the common Border practice of raiding other men’s cattle, both English and Scot.

Sym had followed them even when Wat had led them, one such time having been the raid that resulted in Wat’s meeting and marrying his lady wife.

This stream of thought flashed through Garth’s mind in seconds before Tam stopped it by saying quietly, “We’ve brought word from Threave, my l—”

“Both of you rode to Threave?” Garth interjected quickly.

“Aye, for Himself thought it would be good experience for the lad.”

As Garth hid a smile at hearing his volatile cousin called simply “Himself,” Sym said, “It
was
good experience, aye. But I ought to ha’ stayed wi’ me lady till she births her wee bairn. I swore to serve her all her days, ye ken.”

“Her ladyship will do her birthing better without such a queesitive gudget at her door, asking every five minutes can he do summat for her,” Tam said.

“Well, I ken a good bit about such,” Sym said, glancing at Amalie.

“Take yourself off to see to our horses now and leave the conversin’ to your betters,” Tam said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Aye, sure, I’ll go,” Sym said, giving him a look that seemed to Garth to be half remorseful, half challenging. Then the lad turned back with a flashing grin and a bow to say to Amalie, “It be good to see ye again, me lady.”

“You, too, Sym,” she said with a smile. “So Meg has not yet had her baby?”

“Not yet,” Tam said, adding sternly, “Away wi’ ye now, lad.”

Sym went, and watching him, Garth said, “What did Douglas say, Tam?”

Tam looked around, but although Boyd stood in the doorway of the dormer, no one was near enough to hear them talk. When Tam still hesitated, Amalie said pointedly, “Should I leave, Tam, so you can continue your discussion privately?”

He looked at Garth.

Amused but wishing she would not continue to display her annoyance with him so blatantly, Garth said, “If you would, my lady. Tell the princess we’ll have two guests overnight, but assure her they’ll sleep in the dormer—the lad, at least.”

“We both will, aye,” Tam said. “I’d liefer stay with the lad, sir.”

“I hope I’ll see you again before you depart, Tammy,” Amalie said. Then, without another word to Garth, she turned and walked back to the garden gate.

He watched her until Tam said, “I dinna think she’ll hear us now, sir.”

“No,” Garth said with a sigh as he turned back to find the larger man regarding him with a quizzical smile. “What are you grinning about?”

“The lady Amalie vexes easy,” Tam said. “I do recall that about her.”

“Do you, indeed?” Garth said.

“Aye, and it be nae use to take that tone wi’ me, my lord. I’m no the one lookin’ at ye as if ye were dust under me feet. D’ye ken how ye came to vex her?”

“I do, but I do not propose to share that with you, nor do I want to hear any more ‘my lords’ from you whilst you are here.”

“Sakes, does her ladyship no ken who ye are?”

“She should if she’s given it any thought, because she knows I swore fealty with the other barons at Scone. But I believe she thinks of me only as Sir Garth Napier, cousin to Buccleuch. I’d as lief not mention Westruther here, in any event.”

“A baron actin’ as servin’ knight to the princess be bound to cause talk, aye.”

“It would, and Isabel agrees,” Garth said. “But I mean to find out who killed Will if I can, and James, too. Archie sent me here, thinking I might learn more from Isabel. I’m beginning to think I may learn more from Sir Harald Boyd instead.”

“Who is he?”

“The chap who was just watching us from the dormer threshold,” Garth said.

“D’ye think he killed them?”

“Sir John Edmonstone sent him, so I doubt it,” Garth said. “Still, he is Fife’s man, so likely Fife arranged for him to spy on Isabel, and mayhap to achieve a second purpose, as well.” He did not explain about Amalie, nor did Tam ask.

Instead, Tam said, “Did ye no say Will’s man told ye he’d seen this Haldane at Edmonstone, too, but that none there had heard o’ the man?”

“I did, but I’ve discovered no other sign of him. He may be dead, come to that, so I’m watching Boyd. What better way for Fife to know what Isabel is up to than for him to send a man to join her household, just as I did?”

Tam frowned. “If ye’re thinkin’ this Boyd be Fife’s man, why not have a talk with him—a persuasive talk, as ye might say?”

“Because knowing I can’t trust him gives me an edge only until I challenge him. I can always have that talk if I need to, though. Now, what did Archie say?”

“He’s that pleased that ye sent us and gey wroth wi’ Fife,” Tam said. “It be just as ye expected, sir. The Douglas’s men in Stirling and at Scone told him Fife were ridin’ to Lauder. But, sithee, there were nowt in that to unsettle him, Lauder being Fife’s to control and none so far from Edinburgh.”

“What does Archie mean to do?” Garth asked.

“He’ll be on his way from Threave now, sir. He said ye’re to meet him at Hawick midday on Tuesday. If Fife leaves Lauder meantime, the Douglas’ll expect ye to ken where he’s gone. Sym and I stopped at the Hall, too, long enough to glean news of our lady and to send a pair of lads on to Lauder to keep watch.”

“Good, but they’d better be sharp lads,” Garth said. “I’ll not be pleased if they lose track of Fife or if he catches them at it and questions them.”

“They’d no be pleased to be questioned, either,” Tam said. “I told them to come to Sweethope Hill if they had aught to tell me, so if the Governor does catch them, they ken only that they serve Himself. I also told them that if anyone
should
ask, they must say they’d had a message for Westruther about the new bairn and were just ridin’ on to Edinburgh with another for the laird’s brother there.”

Garth nodded. “That should keep them safe enough, I agree,” he said. “Do you mean to stay and ride to Hawick with me?”

“Aye, sir,” Tam said. “Himself said I should, and also to take the Douglas back to the Hall if Fife hasna left Lauder. But Douglas may just go on to Hermitage.”

“If Fife hasn’t left yet, Archie will go straight to Lauder,” Garth predicted.

Amalie’s curiosity was threatening to drive her daft. Having believed Tammy and Sym had come to tell her Meg had had her child, only to learn that they had come to see Garth, she felt cheated. Tammy and Sym were
her
friends.

More than that, Tam knew her deepest secret, one she had shared with no one who had not been there. But one of the few others who knew was Sym Elliot. Young Sym would never betray her on purpose, any more than Tam would, but as honest, direct, and guileless as Sym was, he had already nearly let something slip.

Just thinking about that, recalling how Tam had sent him away so abruptly, she wondered if Tammy would feel obliged to tell Garth.

Then she felt guilty, because Tam had been a particularly good friend to her. She could not believe he would betray her under any circumstances.

But what if Garth ordered him to tell him all he knew about her? Garth was a knight of the realm, a man other men respected for that fact alone.

Would Tammy lie to him, swear he knew no more of her than Garth did?

Deciding she could not be alone with Garth again until she could be sure her own behavior would not betray her, she avoided his gaze at supper, and avoided him altogether afterward by sitting with Sibylla and engaging her in conversation.

The result of that was that Sibylla walked upstairs with her and straight into her bedchamber without so much as an invitation. At least Bess was also there.

“You may go, Bess,” Sibylla said, holding the door open. “I will assist your mistress if she requires assistance.”

Bess looked at Amalie, who reluctantly nodded.

Sibylla smiled in her friendly way as she shut the door behind Bess. “Don’t look so wary, my dear. What you do is no business of mine, nor is it my duty to scold you. But I thought you should know that I did hear your voice when I tried that door this afternoon. I assume Sir Garth is the man who was with you. I heard him say only the one word, ‘Wait,’ so I cannot be sure.”

Although her cheeks flamed, Amalie lifted her chin, fully intending to say she had no idea what Sibylla was talking about. But as she met her steady gaze, she found herself saying instead, “Aye, it was. Are you going to tell Lady Averil?”

“I’ve already said that is not my business,” Sibylla reminded her. “Had it been Sir Harald, I’d strongly advise you to keep away from him, but Sir Garth will not harm you.”

Amalie almost contradicted her but held her tongue. Sibylla knew too much as it was. Instead, she said, “Sir Garth had seen Sir Harald accost me in the garden earlier. You need have no fear that I shall have aught to do with
that
man. My parents want me to marry him, but I do
not
like him, Sibylla.”

“You won’t marry him then. But take care to keep out of his way. He has only to enter a room to give me a bad feeling all over.”

Amalie promised to be careful, and a few minutes later Sibylla left.

Amalie went to bed but did not sleep well, waking in the small hours from another dream of the old mill and its prickling, scattered grain. As a result, she arose later than usual on Sunday, but managed to make it downstairs in time for prayers.

It being her turn again to make Isabel’s bed, with the lady Nancy, and having a long list of other duties to perform afterward, she scarcely gave thought to Garth or anyone else until Isabel sent for her late in the afternoon.

The princess looked somber when Amalie entered the hall, making her fear at once that she had learned of the private anteroom scene with Garth the previous day. But Isabel said only, “You have a visitor, my dear.”

“Who, madam?”

“Your brother Tom. He thinks it best to tell you his news privately, and I agree, so he is waiting for you in the anteroom.”

“But I don’t want to speak with him privately,” Amalie declared. “Pray, madam, if you already know what he means to say, can you not tell me?”

“It is his duty to tell you, but I’ll go in with you if you like,” Isabel said.

Amalie agreed, and they went into the anteroom to find Tom pacing. He shot Isabel a questioning look but did not object to her presence.

“What is it?” Amalie said. “Why have you come?”

With more gentleness than she might ever have expected from him, he said, “Our father is dead, lass. He died yesterday or late Friday.”

Chapter 14

A
malie stared at Tom in stark disbelief. “What are you saying? How could such a thing happen? Who would kill him?”

Tom grimaced. “No one killed him, Amalie. It was plain enough when we found him that he’d fallen from his horse and hit his head on a rock.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and a painful knot formed in her stomach. “How can you be so sure? He was a fine horseman! And why do you say when
you
found him? Surely, his men—”

“The lads at the gate said he got a message Friday afternoon and rode out fast, without his usual tail,” Tom said. “I was away, and—”

“Doing what?” Anger stirred, and she recalled that he had acted as Simon’s toady before, and that Simon acted for Fife. And, worse, that Fife had said—

Ruthlessly interrupting that unpleasant thought, she told herself fiercely that neither of her brothers would willingly help kill his own father.

“Father sent me to look into reports of English raiders near Kelso, so I spent Friday night with some of our people there. When I got back, Jed Hay was on the gate and told me about the message. He said Father rode out minutes after it arrived and had not returned. W-we found him late yestereve, so I spent much of last night in the saddle, first getting him home and then riding from Elishaw to Jedburgh.”

“But why go out without his men?” Amalie demanded. To Isabel, she said, “Father never went out without a half score of men-at-arms or more in his tail.”

Tom shook his head. “No one knows the answer to that. Our captain of the guard asked how many he wanted to take and got his head bitten off for asking, he said. Father said nowt to anyone about the contents of his message.”

Struggling to control intensifying grief, not wanting to give way to it, Amalie looked blindly at Tom, unable to think of anything sensible to say to him.

Sir Iagan had been the only member of her family on whose affection she could rely, casual though it had been. Like most men, he had been reluctant to show his gentler feelings, and his temper was uncertain at best. But she loved him and had felt closer to him during their last visit than she ever had before.

He had promised to stand up for her, and although she had doubted he could succeed against her mother’s arguments and Simon’s, he had taken her part. And now he was gone. Tears spilled unheeded down her cheeks.

Tom said, “Princess, with respect, I would have a short time alone with her.”

Isabel said, “Amalie?”

Gathering her wits, brushing away tears, Amalie glowered at Tom. “No.”

“Please, lass.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to be alone with you. Rosalie—”

“Amalie, I swear to you”—he darted a glance at Isabel—“Rosalie has nowt to fear. I failed you, I admit that. But I’ll not fail her. I swear I won’t! And Simon dotes on her. If . . . if anything happened, he’d kill to protect her. Moreover, I . . . I just didn’t know . . .” He glanced at Isabel again. “Please, I must speak plainly with you.”

She hesitated, but Isabel said, “You have a duty to listen, my dear. I will be on the other side of that door. If you need me, just call out. As for you, sir,” she added. “If she does call for me, you will answer for it in a way you will not like.”

“She won’t need you, madam, and I thank you,” Tom said.

As soon as Isabel had shut the hall door behind her, he moved toward Amalie, spreading his hands when she stepped back. “I meant what I said, lass. I did not know until Simon told me today that they mean to force you to marry Boyd because he’ll marry you despite your history.”