Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy Two 02] (6 page)

Turning away, she saw her parents, her thirteen-year-old sister, Rosalie, and her brother Simon, still some distance away but heading toward her. Fighting an impulse to run away as fast as she could and as far as she could, she made herself wait for them, determined not to let them intimidate her.

“Do you remember what I said?” Isabel asked, stepping to her side.

“Faith, madam, I have all I can do just to keep my wits about me.”

“Aye, well, do not forget that they cannot
force
you to marry anyone,” Isabel said. “Hold firm if that is what they want, and mayhap I can aid you.”

Grateful but doubting that anyone who had already admitted fear of Lady Murray could help her in the situation she saw looming ahead of her, Amalie watched with a smile that was more cynical than appreciative as Isabel melted back into the crowd that waited for the King, leaving her to face her family alone.

Deciding that she wanted no one else in the princess’s party to overhear her conversation with her family, she went to meet them.

Rosalie ran ahead of the others to hug her, but Lady Murray, a stout dame with a piercing eye, fashionably plucked eyebrows, and an elegant gown of tawny figured silk, was the first to speak. “Where have you been hiding yourself, Amalie? Surely you knew we would be looking for you.”

“I serve the princess, madam,” Amalie said, straightening but leaving a hand affectionately on Rosalie’s shoulder. Pleased to think she had her voice under control, she added, “I knew I would see you here after the coronation, and since I surmised that you and my lord father must be staying in Perth—”

“Of course we are, and we assumed you would be doing so as well. But as we arrived in Perth only yestereve, we did not learn until then that the royal family and their attendants all have chambers here at Scone. Even so, I’d have thought that only the princess’s most
senior
ladies would attend her here today.”

“She asked us all to stay near her,” Amalie said. Turning to her father, a thickset man of medium height, graying hair, and trim beard, who had honored the occasion by wearing his most elegant suit of clothes, she said, “You look very fine today, sir.”

“Aye, lass,” he agreed. “Ye look gey splendid, too. That pink-and-green dress becomes ye well, and I see ye’re wearing the wee gold pin I gave ye on your bodice.”

“It is my favorite piece of jewelry,” she told him, fingering the engraved circlet.

She would have liked to ignore Simon, standing beside him. But although she disliked Simon intensely, she generally took care not to anger him. “You are looking well, too, Simon.” Glancing toward the royal table, she added, “I can stay but a few minutes, for they will begin to serve the high table soon.”

Lady Murray said, “We shall have plenty of time to talk later, dearling, because you will be coming home with us.”

At these words, Rosalie looked beseechingly at Amalie, but Amalie ignored her, sternly suppressing a surge of guilt as she exclaimed, “Home! But why?”

“Because your father desires it. He is arranging a fine marriage for you.”

“But I don’t want to marry,” Amalie said. Hearing the shrill tremor in her voice, she drew a steadying breath. “I do not intend ever to accept a husband, madam,” she said more calmly. “I thought I had made that plain.”

“You will do as our lord father bids you,” Simon said. “As Meg did.”

“I am not Meg,” Amalie retorted, thinking he was beginning to look just as black-tempered as the Earl of Fife, albeit more colorfully garbed. “Nor need I marry if I do not want to, Simon. Scottish law—”

“What can
you
know of Scottish law?” Simon demanded, adding, “Not that it matters a whit what you think you know. You are not of full age and will therefore obey our father’s command.”

Forcing herself to remain calm, Amalie said, “The King and Queen are taking their places, so I must go.”

Then, as much to her surprise as to anyone else’s, she turned and walked away. If anyone tried to call her back, she did not hear them. In truth, the teeming crowd that threatened to obscure her view ahead, and her own angry thoughts, were each loud enough to drown out any single voice.

Trying to keep her eyes focused on the royal table, she stormed through the crowd unimpeded, thanks to those who saw her coming and warned others, until a startlingly strong grip on her upper left arm unexpectedly jerked her to a halt.

Whirling angrily in the assumption that no one but one of her brothers would dare to grab her so, she flashed up her right hand, only to pause and gape in shock.

Raising his eyebrows, Sir Garth said, “I don’t advise smacking me, lass. I’ve a fearsome temper, and striking me is the surest way I know to stir it.”

Chapter 3

S
till holding Lady Amalie’s arm, Garth read the indecision in her face. Her hand remained poised to strike, and she looked angry enough. But he was confident that she would not dare. The roses in her cheeks were splendidly afire, though.

With a sigh, she lowered her hand.

“That’s better,” he said.

“Pray, release me, sir. People are staring.”

“Aye, sure; they want to see what will happen if you’re daft enough to strike someone so much larger than you are,” he said. He knew he was baiting her and was not certain why. He still held her arm, loosely.

She met his gaze, her beautiful, thickly lashed hazel eyes narrowing. He could still see green and gold flecks glittering in their irises.

She said, “Surely, they are more curious about why you grabbed me as you did. Moreover, I just left my brother Simon. If he should see you . . .”

“He’d be wiser to keep his distance, don’t you think?”

Grimacing, she said nonetheless tartly, “I cannot say what he would do. But if you mean to stand here, holding on to me, you will draw notice from more than just my brothers or my father.”

Realizing he might draw Fife’s attention, or that of other members of the royal family—the lass did serve a princess, after all—Garth released her.

“Thank you,” she said. “Why did you stop me?”

He smiled, remembering. “You looked so angry and so heedless of your direction. I thought I should stop you before you crashed into someone.”

Realizing he was giving away more about himself than he was learning about her, he paused, trying to think. But he wanted only to touch her again.

“Why should you care what I look like or where I go?” she asked.

He considered himself a plainspoken man. But such a direct question from a female he barely knew derailed his feeble attempt to arrange his thoughts. Several answers occurred to him but not one he could repeat to her.

Feeling defensive, he said, “Why are you angry? It cannot be my fault, because you were set to strike anyone. Has someone said something he should not?”

“I cannot imagine how that is any concern of yours,” she said. “But if you mean to continue this conversation, pray escort me to the princess as we talk. She will wonder what has become of me. And if I
have
gone the wrong way, ’tis because I can scarcely see the right one through all these people.”

Able to see over the heads of most of the crowd, he saw that the princess had taken her seat. Her other ladies were receiving platters and baskets from gillies to present for her selection. Although Isabel looked well cared for, he understood that she or one of her attendants would soon wonder why the lady Amalie was not helping, and might well condemn her tardiness.

“I’ll take you to her, my lady, but I would like an answer to my question. Who or what has upset you so?”

Her chin came up, and she gazed steadily at him. “You seem to think it is your right to quiz me whenever you like, sir. But you wield no authority over me.”

“Do I not? I would remind you that as the only person aware that you put yourself in grave danger today, I must have some right to—”

“Are you daft?” she demanded. “Do you dare to speak of that here, or was that a threat to report it elsewhere? Recall that the explanation of
your
presence would defy credulity unless the man I heard is the same one I just saw talking to you.”

He hesitated, because two men had spoken to him as he’d left Moot Hill. Deciding she was likely to have recognized only Fife, and glad she’d had the sense not to name him even if no one in the teeming crowd was paying them heed, he said, “He approached me to say he hopes to see me at Stirling soon because—”

“So you
are
friends with him,” she said, frowning. “That is odd, I think, because my brother Simon serves him. And that man thinks well enough of Simon to entrust him with duties he does not entrust to others. How is it that, if you are
that
man’s friend, you dared to knock Simon down as you did at Dunfermline?”

“Because I did not know Simon then,” Garth said hastily. Realizing how that must sound, he added, “Sakes, but I still don’t. Moreover, I doubt he’d recognize me even face to face. I struck him because he was annoying you and I don’t like men who bully women. If you recall, I grabbed him from behind, swung him around, and knocked him down before he could possibly have seen me.”

“But if he
should
learn who you are . . .” She peeped up at him from under her heavy lashes.

He said dryly, “Are you suggesting that you might tell him?”

Indignation banished the hopeful look. “Nay, I would not! I’m glad you hit him. But others there may have told him.”

“If he knew then, nowt came of it. And if he finds out, I doubt he’ll complain. I’m
not
Fife’s friend, lass, but that incident won’t add to Simon’s credit with him.”

“I suppose not,” she said as they drew near the royal table. “I see the princess now, sir,” she added with greater dignity. “Thank you for seeing me safely back.”

“It was a pleasure, my lady,” he replied on the same note. Less formally, he said, “Isabel stays for the Queen’s coronation, does she not?”

“Of course, but we leave for Sweethope Hill House after the feasting.”

“The Queen’s feast also takes place here in the park, I expect.”

“It does, aye,” she said. “But if you mean to accost me again as you did just now, sir, I warn you I shall
not
leave Isabel’s side.”

He swept his cap from his head and bowed. “That must be as you will it, my lady. But it is not wise to keep your friends always at a distance.”

“Are you my friend, Sir Garth? I have learned that one should rarely trust what any man says.”

Checking the anger that always ignited at hearing his integrity questioned, he held her somber gaze and said evenly, “You can trust my word—always.”

Without looking away, she said, “In my experience, a man is
most
dangerous when he declares himself trustworthy. Good day to you, sir.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him to stare after her. Only then did he realize that she still had not told him who or what had made her so angry.

As Amalie rejoined the other women and performed her part in attending the princess, she hoped her feelings did not show in her face. But she feared they might.

She knew people were watching. They were always watching her—Isabel’s other ladies, if no one else—to see if she shirked her duties or did anything wrong.

Long since, she had discovered that such was the way of women in groups. Even so, the ladies who served Isabel were more agreeable than many serving other members of the extensive royal family.

Isabel, generally sunny-tempered herself, detested discord and quickly stifled it when it occurred. But some of her ladies attacked subtly, and Amalie knew that Isabel’s sitting by her at the coronation would have upset at least one of them.

Not only were the others all of higher rank than Amalie, but she was also the youngest. Also, Isabel had invited her to join her household out of friendship.

The two had met during an attempted seizure of Hermitage Castle, a Border stronghold of the Earls of Douglas. Isabel’s husband James Douglas had been not only the second earl but also kin to the Scotts of Buccleuch, because Wat Scott’s mother was a Douglas. With that kinship and the few years separating them in age, Isabel and Amalie had soon become good friends.

The princess tended to talk with her as she might talk with a trusted sister rather than as she did with others. She had frankly admitted that she rarely allowed herself such openness with her other ladies, fearing that one of them might betray a confidence if doing so could benefit the woman or her family.

Amalie had taken that comment to heart, knowing that her own mother would want her to pass on any tidbits that could serve the Murrays. That Isabel trusted her despite also knowing Lady Murray just made her trust a more precious gift, and one Amalie would never betray.

The princess had discussed many things with her, including her belief that her husband James had been murdered. At first Isabel had shared that opinion with all who would listen, but she had soon come to realize that few people agreed with her. Most dismissed what she said or even feared for her sanity.

Amalie listened sympathetically and had trouble stifling anger when others spoke pityingly of Isabel and her “insistence on perpetrating such a falsehood.” But she understood other people’s need to remember James simply as a great hero.

Neither she nor the princess had been at Otterburn, of course. Nor had she been with Isabel to receive the tragic news of James’s death. But she had heard how lovingly Isabel always spoke of him and could easily imagine how devastating the news had been for her and how much Isabel needed to know the truth.

Grown men all over Scotland had wept, for James had been a popular leader as well as their finest warrior. Even his greatest English rival had called him a hero.

Glancing at the princess, sitting now between the new Queen and another princess, Amalie saw that despite Isabel’s smiles and cheerful comments, in moments of repose, her continuing sorrow revealed itself.

Isabel saw her and smiled, reminding her that it was not just sanctuary that the princess had offered her when she had needed it but also real friendship.