Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy Two 02] (31 page)

“I do,” he replied. He realized as he said the words that it had become more important to him than he had imagined to prevent them from forcing the lass into a marriage she did not want, but the situation seemed hopeless. “The lady Sibylla said we need only stop the priest, but I’ve
no
idea how we can do that.”

“I know one thing that
may
work,” she said. “But only you can do it, and you’ve no time to give it much thought, because Fife just ordered the priest to get on with it. Mind you, even this tactic may fail. Moreover, if it succeeds, you will have made a dangerous enemy of my brother. But if you are willing . . .”

“I don’t care about any of that. Just tell me what I must do.”

As Amalie watched Sir Harald stand and move around the table toward her, she was wishing she could throw the sort of tantrum she had often thrown as a child, if only to relieve her fury. She had long since learned, however, that screaming and stamping her feet were more likely to win swift punishment than what she’d hoped to win, and she did not doubt the result would be the same now.

“My lord,” the priest said to Fife, “should not her lady-ship have someone to stand up with her, another of the princess’s ladies, perhaps?”

“I will stand up with her if she likes,” Fife said, not moving.

Amalie gritted her teeth and glowered at Simon. To her surprise, he looked disconcerted, as if it had at last come home to him what he was forcing her to do.

“Simon?” she said softly.

“Sir Harald will be a good husband to you, and you’ll live near Elishaw,” he said. “All will be well, lass, you’ll see. You will like having your own household.”

“Go stand by her, Simon,” Fife said. “You must give her away, after all.”

“Don’t do this, Simon,” Amalie said. “I don’t
want
this, and you can stop it.”

“Nay, then, I cannot,” he said, getting up and moving to stand at her left.

Sir Harald, in obedience to the priest’s gesture, moved to her right.

When both were in place, Fife said, “You may begin now, Father.”

“Very well,” the priest said, turning toward Sir Harald, “Harald, if thou wilt have this woman to thy wedded wife, repeat after me . . .”

Amalie, gazing blindly at a point beyond the priest’s shoulder, saw the anteroom door move. Then it opened wide, and her imagination seemed to play the same trick it had played earlier, letting her see Garth standing there.

“One moment, Father,” he said as he stepped into the hall. “I believe you have left out an important question or two, have you not? Do not the laws of Holy Kirk oblige you to ask if there be any man present who knows cause or can show just impediment to this marriage? Also, as I recall the last wedding I attended, you ought to ask each of the primary participants that same question. You did not.”

Clearly startled half out of his wits, the priest whipped his head around and exclaimed, “By my faith, sir, do you declare such a cause or impediment?”

“I most certainly do,” Garth said. “These two cannot marry, because the lady Amalie is already married—to me.”

“Don’t be a damned fool, Westruther,” Fife said, getting to his feet as Amalie’s astonished gaze collided with Garth’s.

He looked steadily at her and said, “Her ladyship
is
my wife, my lord. There is nowt you can do to alter that unless you are willing to kill me now and go on with this travesty. I’d submit, though, that you had better think before you do that, because many people in this house, who are not fond of you, will know what took place here. Moreover, the lady herself will refuse to submit willingly to Boyd as his wife. She is bold enough to hold her own with anyone, as I know to my own cost.”

Amalie dampened suddenly dry lips. For a man who prided himself on always speaking the truth . . . How did he dare to tell such a great lie to the Governor of the Realm? And what would happen when Fife learned it was a lie, as he must?

“I had not heard that the lady Amalie had married,” Fife said with a chilly look. “Or that you had, come to that.”

“She is
not
married, not to him or to anyone,” Simon declared angrily.

“Let
her
deny it then,” Garth said.

Fife looked at her. “What say you, lass? Tell the truth, or I will be angry, and you do
not
want that. Art married to Sir Garth Napier, Baron of Westruther, or not?”

Amalie’s hands were shaking. She gazed at Fife for a long moment and then looked up at Simon, beside her. She dared not look at Garth. Even so, she could feel him. His presence filled her mind more than that of all the other men in the room, enveloping her like a warm blanket.

Fife would hang them both when he learned the truth, but she could not say the words he demanded to hear. Not only was her mouth dry and her body quaking so that she could barely trust herself to force out sensible words, but also, if she said Garth had lied, she would have to marry Sir Harald.

“She does not deny it,” Garth said, sounding as if he had expected as much.

“
I
do deny it,” Fife said. “If you continue this farce, Westruther, I shall demand an examination of the lass. As her maidenhead is intact, that will prove—”

Amalie shot a look at Simon and was horrified to see his lips twitch as if the horrid threat amused him. The look vanished, but Simon astonished her further by saying firmly, “I’d certainly agree to such an examination, my lord.”

“Nay, then, you will not, sir, for you no longer have that right,” the priest declared. He turned to Fife. “I
can
not marry the declared wife of another man to Sir Harald, my lord. You know as well as I do that marriage by declaration alone is perfectly legal in Scotland. Sir Garth has declared himself her husband and she does not deny it. Therefore, they
are
legally married.”

Amalie had all she could do not to demand instant explanation, but Fife was already speaking.

“Take her then,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “See to it that she does not trouble me again. Indeed, if all she had to do was tell us she had married you, she has caused us all much unnecessary bother. You should beat her soundly for that, sir.”

“I have been looking forward these past few moments to doing just that, my lord,” Garth said, striding toward her with a stern look on his face.

“No,” she protested. “Wait! You can’t!”

“Silence, Molly-lass,” Garth said, his tone warning her not to argue.

She glanced at Simon, who had opened his mouth, surely to protest Garth’s declaration again. But he closed his mouth with a snap when he caught her eye, and looked down at his feet.

Fife had already turned away.

A firm hand grasped her upper arm, and before she had any idea what Garth meant to do, he picked her up and draped her facedown over his shoulder.

“Put me down!”

He ignored her, and realizing what a sight she must present to the others, she held her tongue as he carried her into the anteroom. The first thing she saw as he did was Isabel, looking unusually fearful as she tried to see past them into the great hall.

“Shut that door and bolt it, madam,” Garth muttered. “Your unpredictable brother is doubtless already having second thoughts and may yet follow us.”

The relief Amalie had felt at leaving the hall behind her evaporated.

“Aye, he may,” Isabel said as the door shut and the bolt clicked home. “But I did manage never to tell him you were here as a serving knight, sir. So unless Boyd tells him so immediately, Fife will expect you to take her away at once. Can you not take her to Westruther or to Scott’s Hall?”

“Neither lies close enough,” he said. “There is no moon tonight.”

“Aye, sure, I forgot. You must take her to your room then. No, wait, Fife and Simon will be sleeping in the north wing tonight.”

“I’ll sleep in my own room,” Amalie said, trying to collect her wits. “I’m very grateful to you for rescuing me, sir, but we are
not
married and they cannot molest me upstairs. Pray, do put me down. This position is most uncomfortable.”

“Keep silent, lass,” Garth said. “We’ll talk later, but
not
here or now when someone may break in at any moment. We have to stay at Sweethope, so we must behave like a properly wedded couple. And, since I told Fife that I mean to beat you, he must not find us bickering here. He may accept that the princess stopped us, but I must still look like an angry husband in complete control of his wife. What about her bedchamber, madam?”

“No, not there!” Amalie protested. Although she had evidently escaped marrying Sir Harald, disaster still lay ahead if Garth learned the truth about her. And, alone together, in her room . . . “My . . . my room is too small.”

“She is right,” Isabel said. “With the best will in the world, sir, the pair of you would never contrive to sleep or do otherwise in that tiny room.”

Otherwise! There could be no otherwise, or he would find out and hand her right back to Simon!
“But I can sleep there alone,” Amalie said. “Then, tomorrow, after Simon and Fife leave, Sir Garth can take me to Scott’s Hall. Faith, madam, you cannot mean for him to sleep with me!”

“He has the right now, my dear,” Isabel said gently. “You heard the priest. You are truly married now.”

“We must go somewhere, madam,” Garth said urgently. “I don’t want to see Fife or Simon again tonight if we can avoid it. Nor do I want her answering any questions about what happened in there.”

“You are quite right, sir,” Isabel said. “Clearly, you must take my bedchamber for the night. Go straight up the service stairs, and Amalie will show you where it is whilst I go back into the hall and try to divert them for a time.”

“Isabel, I cannot take your bed,” Amalie protested. “Where will you sleep?”

“I shall take Averil’s bed, and she can take a maidservant’s cot. We’ll sort everything else out tomorrow after your brother and mine have gone.”

“But I—” She broke off, tensing, when Garth put his free hand on her backside but relaxed when she realized he was only shifting her weight a little.

Evidently experiencing the same brief alarm that Amalie had, Isabel said, “I heard Fife’s advice to you, sir,
and
your reply. Surely, you won’t really . . .”

“I’ve no intention of harming her,” Garth said evenly. “I just want to get her out of here and safely up those stairs.”

“You also have your husbandly duty to perform,” Isabel said with a straight look—almost, Amalie thought, as if she were reminding him.

“Have no fear, madam,” he said on a much grimmer note. “I shall claim my rights thoroughly enough to ensure the outcome of any damned
examination
.”

Amalie gritted her teeth to keep from shouting at them both that such an examination, horrid as it would be, could do Fife no good. Such a reaction being unthinkable in Isabel’s presence, especially with Garth’s hand where it was and Fife and the others just the other side of the great-hall door, she kept silent.

The hand stayed where it was as, without further ado, Garth opened the door, strode across the corridor with her over his shoulder, and went up the service stairs.

In the hall, Simon faced Fife.

“You have disappointed me, sir,” Fife said sourly. “You ought to have brought that lass to heel long before now.”

“I did not know she had married, my lord.”

“Faugh,” Fife snarled. “I’d wager all I own that they were not married before Westruther made his declaration. Had you done as you should, she’d be Boyd’s by now. But, although that event is over, all is not lost. You do have another sister.”

“Rosalie?” Simon gaped at him. “She is but thirteen, my lord.”

“Then she is of legal age for marrying. I would agree that she’s a trifle young for my taste, or yours, but she will age. Do you object to a young one, Boyd?”

“Not in the least, my lord. Doubtless one can train a young wife more easily to her duties than an older, bolder one. Moreover, I saw the lady Rosalie when she visited here, and she is most comely. Also, one must suppose that she will enjoy the dowry promised to the lady Amalie.”

Fife shifted his gaze to Simon. “She will, I trust.”

“When she marries, aye,” Simon said. “But I do not agree that she is old—”

“You are in no position to debate that if you wish to remain in my service, sir,” Fife said coldly. “We will accompany you to Elishaw as we had planned, to attend your father’s obsequies and to commiserate with your lady mother and your so-handsome little sister. You will inform them both then that it is by your wish and mine that this match
will
occur. Do I make myself plain enough?”

“With respect, my lord, what if I cannot persuade them?”

“Simon, I am being generous,” Fife said. “Your family’s long habit of playing Jack-o’-Both-Sides has irked many. Were I to declare you traitor, hang you, and confiscate Elishaw as a royal estate, I’ll wager no one would oppose me.”

“As to that, sir, surely you know—”

“I want men I can trust to defend such places, so that I need not expend national resources to do so,” Fife cut in. “By installing Boyd on the part of Elishaw nearest the border crossing at Carter Bar, and keeping you at the castle, I may prevent the annoying English from crossing there again. So, are we in agreement?”

Simon remained silent, knowing he had little choice.

“I believe we do agree,” Fife said, turning as the anteroom door opened again. “Ah, Isabel, my dear, I see you have returned. May I offer you some claret?”

As they went up the stairs, Amalie found voice enough to murmur, “Please put me down now, sir. Someone will see us.”

“If a maidservant does, I want her to see what Fife saw,” he replied quietly.

“But why?”

“Because it will be safer for both of us than if she could tell him we looked relieved or pleased with ourselves after playing that scene for him in the hall.”

“Then you don’t mean to ravish me?” she said warily. “You told Isabel—”

“I told her we would consummate our union, lass. We must.”

“But I don’t want to, and I doubt you would force me.”

“Molly-lass, you know I won’t have to force you.”