“I think you did,” he declared. “I think you knew him very well.”
“Then you are mistaken,” she said. “I did not even know his real name. He told my sister that his name was Sir John, that he was a wealthy English knight.”
She turned to look straight ahead, lifting her chin as she added, “To learn that he was not a knight, that he was in fact Lord Scrope’s land sergeant, came as a shock to me—and to my sister, as well. I had never seen him before that night.”
As she said the words, Laurie felt a twinge of conscience, recalling that something about the figure standing next to May in the moonlight had seemed familiar. She suppressed the feeling, telling herself that under such circumstances almost any man in chain mail might have looked like any other. The familiarity most likely sprang from his mode of dress and accent, nothing more.
She felt Sir Hugh’s hard gaze upon her.
After a nerve-racking silence, he said with a dangerous edge to his voice, “We will get along better if you do not lie to me, mistress. I say that you did know him. Moreover, I believe that you knew him very well.”
“But I didn’t!”
“If you continue to prevaricate,” he said, his tone now sending icicles through her veins, “I swear I will examine you the moment we reach Brackengill. And furthermore, I will do so in my aunt’s presence, in order to have a reliable witness when I learn if you are truly the maiden you claim to be.”
Dismayed, she cried, “You can’t do that! You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, but I can and I will,” he retorted. “I have every legal right to do as I like with you. Moreover, if I must pay for any loss of innocence when I return you to your family, I certainly have the right to see if you are virgin now.”
“Please, sir, I beg you, do not humiliate me so! I give you my word that I never knew that man in any way.”
“But you lied a moment ago. I could see it in your face. I say that you did know him, just as I say that you had seen me before my brief visit to Aylewood.”
“I realize that you must have seen me in the tree that day,” she admitted.
“Aye, I did, and if you saw me, you saw Martin Loder, for he was riding at my side. But you knew that, lass. Loder knew Tarras Wood far better than any Englishman should. Will you deny that you are the one who showed him its ways?”
“That was him—the same man that May… the… the one in the river?”
“You know it was,” he said ruthlessly. “He rode into Tarras Wood alone, doubtless to meet you, since you were waiting for him. He did not know that I followed until I shouted. Do you deny that you shinned up that tree only because you heard me shout and knew that he was no longer alone?”
He paused, and the truth swept over her like a flood. Her body tensed as she struggled to avoid revealing her thoughts to him.
If the man with him that day had been Martin Loder, Loder did know the forest, and his knowledge of its secret ways had not come from her. Could May have helped the English raid Liddesdale?
She had not considered May’s false knight before in connection with the riders in Tarras Wood the day of the raid. But now that the two incidents had crashed together in her mind and she knew the supposed Sir John was also the man with Sir Hugh, that knowledge explained the odd sense of familiarity when she had heard him speak by the river.
Certain that her cheeks must be as red as hellfire, she swallowed carefully, trying to think of something sensible to say. She could think of nothing, however, that would divert Sir Hugh’s thoughts to a new topic.
He said impatiently, “I did not think you were a coward.”
“I’m not!”
But she was. She still could not think, and his anger distressed her more than she had imagined it could. She knew it would be hard to convince him that she had not known Martin Loder, but for now, she would be content if she could just talk him out of examining her.
Remembering that she had heard him express surprise at how well Loder knew his way, she understood why Sir Hugh suspected what he did. But even if she could persuade him of his error, would he not instantly suspect what she now suspected about the source of Loder’s knowledge?
May rarely, if ever, rode out alone, and Laurie doubted that she would have ridden into Tarras Wood without a companion. But that would not matter to a jury. Just the suspicion that May might have helped Loder would be another damning piece of evidence against her if…
when
she returned to stand her trial.
Drawing a deep breath, Laurie said earnestly, “I swear to you, sir, by all that is holy, until you told me, I did not know that the two men were one and the same. I only just guessed a few moments ago that you saw me that day in the forest.”
“I thought you a child,” he said grimly. “You still look innocent enough, but ’tis plain that you are more knowledgeable than you look.”
“I am not what you think, but neither am I a child,” she said, adding wistfully, “If I were, perhaps you would recognize my innocence more easily.”
More to give herself a respite than for any other reason, she added curiously, “When you shot at the boar, did you intend to frighten it away or to kill it?”
“The first time to frighten it away, the second to kill.”
“Then you did not want your companion to see us.”
“Us? Godamercy, was your sister in that tree, too?”
“No, certainly not. I misspoke.” She added hastily, “Why did you frighten off the boar? And why did you not tell Loder that you had seen me?”
He regarded her for a long moment, but she met his gaze steadily.
He shrugged and said, “I should have told him, of course. Scrope would demand my head if he were to learn that I knew you were there and did nothing about it. But I do not make war on women, mistress.”
“You did that day,” she said bitterly, “and on children, too. So did every Englishman with you.”
“I won’t debate that with you,” he said shortly. “In battle, people get hurt. I was referring only to my failure to reveal your presence to Loder. How is it that you so easily recall having seen me and do not recall seeing him?”
Since she did not want to tell him that she had watched him and only him from the moment he took off his helmet and she saw the mop of reddish curls, she said instead, “I was terrified that you had seen me, of course. I dared not take my eyes from you after that, lest you tell him.”
“Still, you must have—”
Impatiently, she said, “Have you listened to nothing I have said? I did not see him clearly then, and I never saw him after that until the night he fell into the river. Then it was dark except for the moon, and everything was in shadows. I was not near enough, in any event, to get a good look at him.”
“Yet you would have had Scrope and those jurors believe that you and not your sister killed him,” he reminded her flatly.
“My sister did not kill anyone,” Laurie said, wishing almost the instant the words were out of her mouth that she had kept silent rather than let him hear the note of desperation in her voice.
“Then you did.”
“No!”
“One of you must have done so,” he said. “Cornus Grant saw you.”
“Cornus Grant lied!”
Suddenly, believing she could discern a purpose in his insistence that she talk about the incident, she said, “Why do you pursue this now? Do you mean to use what I say to you against me at the next wardens’ meeting? I should have realized your intent before now. I will say no more about it.”
“Just answer me this,” he said quietly.
“Did
you murder Martin Loder?”
“No!”
“‘No,’ you will not answer the question or ‘no,’ you did not kill him?”
She hesitated, but she could not let him think her a murderess any more than she could think of May as one. “I swear before God that I did not kill him.”
“Then just how far did you intend to press Scrope?” he demanded. “Suppose that he had insisted on carrying through to your sister’s judgment. Would you have declared yourself the murderess before them all?”
“I certainly hope that I would have,” she retorted, looking daggers at him.
When he shot them right back, she added defiantly, “I would do anything to protect May. If declaring myself the killer would have forced his lordship to delay her sentencing, I would have lied to him and to everyone else.”
“It would be as well, mistress, if you never lie to me,” he said, the dangerous note back in his voice.
She looked away.
Gently, he added, “Do you know what I do to liars?”
Her throat threatened to close, but she managed to say, “No, what?”
“I beat them,” he said.
She believed him, because it was exactly what she had expected him to say.
Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
harm shall thee befall…
L
AURIE’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF
Brackengill Castle, against a dusky sky, was one of bleakness. Accustomed to Aylewood, perched on its high, rocky outcropping, she thought Brackengill—surrounded by low-rolling, nearly barren grassland—both gloomy and vulnerable. From a distance, the gray stone wall looked no higher than the eight-foot one around Aylewood Tower. But at Aylewood, a steep, uphill approach served to augment the wall’s height.
Not until they had forded the River Lyne did she realize that Brackengill, too, sat on a hill. The slope was gentle, but as they drew nearer, she saw that the castle was imposing. Its curtain wall was twice the height of the one at Aylewood and looked strong and forbidding.
She knew that Sir Hugh was watching her, waiting for a reaction, but she did not speak. Seeing the great walled castle brought home to her—as the handfasting and even his threat to examine her had not—just what she had agreed to. She was far from home, and the closer they got to Brackengill, the more vulnerable she felt. A thicket of trees stood halfway between the castle and the frothy river. Otherwise, only distantly scattered, wind-sculpted oaks dotted the undulating landscape. In the faint light of dusk, everything seemed gray, and Laurie’s spirits sank further when movement on the ramparts revealed men-at-arms keeping watch. Her pony, sensing her unease, tossed its head and whinnied.
The gates remained shut until the riders drew near, then swung wide to admit them. Flaring torches already lit the courtyard, where more men-at-arms waited at the ready, stepping back only when Sir Hugh gestured to them to do so.
Stable lads ran forward then to take the horses, and she saw young Andrew slip down from his pony and hurry to help them.
When Sir Hugh dismounted and turned to help her, her tension increased until it felt as if every nerve in her body were taut and screaming.
His gloved hands firmly encompassed her waist. She felt the length of his fingers, the strength of his hands. Then, with no apparent effort, he lifted her and set her down in front of him. “Welcome to Brackengill, mistress,” he said, still holding her. His voice was low and vibrant. He looked right into her eyes.
Standing so close, he seemed particularly large and intimidating, and she could not think of a reply. She could only think of his threat. She had not dared to ask him if he had changed his mind, lest he say no.
“I’ll wager that you are hungry,” he went on, releasing her and offering his arm. “Shall we go in and see what my people can offer for our supper?”
Still tingling where his hands had touched her, Laurie nodded and laid her hand on his arm. Her stomach growled, but her apprehension and curiosity were stronger than her desire for food. “I’ll need the satchel that’s tied to my saddle.”
He nodded. “Someone will take it in for you,” he said.
The warm glow of the torches lit the central area, revealing men’s faces here and there but not the more shadowy corners. Ahead, light gleamed cheerfully from arched windows on the second level of the main tower.
As they approached the entrance, she became aware that men in the yard were still watching her, muttering and whispering to one another.
Knowing that those who had not been at Lochmaben must wonder who she was, and certain that the men who had been there were relating everything they knew, she gathered her dignity. She did not want to admit her fears even to herself. She would certainly not allow these men to see how she felt.
Lackeys sprang to open the door, and she saw that, like its Aylewood counterpart, it boasted heavy iron reinforcement and an iron yett, or gate, as well.
Following Sir Hugh up a spiral stairway, she entered a spacious hall with rushes on the floor. The aroma wafting from them told her that no one had changed them in some time but that someone had recently scattered herbs to cover the smell.
Lackeys were hastily setting up tables for the newcomers’ supper, stepping over dogs that sprawled here and there, but one hurried to them to take Sir Hugh’s cloak and gloves, and Laurie’s as well.
The chamber occupied the entire floor of the tower, for she could see arrow slits along the rear wall, opposite the arched windows she had seen from the bailey. Candles and firelight set shadows dancing merrily on the high, vaulted ceiling.
A vividly colored arras cloth and turkey carpets draped the walls. At the far end, beyond a dais on which the laird’s table stood, an enormous arched fireplace roared with a blazing, crackling fire. Sparks shot high and wide.
Hearing echoing cracks behind her and feeling heat, as well, she turned her head to see a second fire blazing in a second fireplace, a twin to the first. A portrait above the second one depicted a pale, pretty woman in a rose-pink gown. She stood with a hand resting on a carved wooden armchair, her eyes submissively downcast.
“That is my mother,” Sir Hugh said. “My father had it painted shortly before she died.”
“She was young,” Laurie said.
“Aye, she was.”
Silken rustling punctuated by the click of hard heels on stone drew Laurie’s attention to a doorway at the left end of the hall. As she turned, a tall, frail-looking lady of indeterminate age bustled in, wearing a gown of black velvet over a swaying French farthingale. A lacy veil did little to conceal her elaborately dressed red hair.
“My dear Sir Hugh,” the lady exclaimed when she saw them, “how glad I am that you have returned! Your entire household—as I need not tell you—is delighted to welcome you home.” Blinking myopically at Laurie, she added, “But who is this lady, if you please?”