On a Highland Shore (9 page)

Margaret stared at her. “Mother? At court?”

Judith nodded. “I’ve kent yer mother for much of my life. She was a wisp of a lass when we first met, small and lovely and one of the most unhappy people I’ve ever kent. Her parents doted on her, as did her brother and yer father at first—ah, I see in yer eyes that that’s no longer the case. But it once was. And still it wasna enough. No one could give yer mother all the attention she wanted. She thought yer father would take her back to court. But his duty was to keep the western coast strong, so he stayed at Somerstrath and did just that. I dinna need to tell ye that didna make her happy.”

She paused again, tilting her head to study Margaret. “And now, here ye are, beautiful and bright, the one chance she has for getting back to the life she thinks she belongs to, and ye’re turning yer nose up at it because the man ye’re bound to has been unfaithful before ye’ve even wed. And is that not the very thing—an unfaithful man—that she’s endured all this time and lived through and ye willna tolerate? No wonder she’s displeased with ye.”

“It’s almost as though she hates me,” Margaret said.

“Aye, well, what happens when an already unhappy person is thwarted yet again? She has to have someone to blame, Margaret, and we both ken it’ll never be herself. She’s jealous of ye, and resenting that ye’re throwing away the very life she’s wanted for so long.”

“But she’s my mother…”

Judith laughed. “For some women that would change things, but not all. And not yer mother. Dinna think it’s just ye, child. Nell, should she dare to defy her as well, will receive the same. She’s too lovely to escape yer mother’s wrath. I wish I could tell ye I’m surprised that yer mother’s acting the way she is, but I canna. I pity her.” She looked into the distance, then back at Margaret. “So much was given to her, and none of it is enough for her. She drove yer father away from her, then is bitter when he finds someone to console him. She has two daughters she should cherish, whose beauty and intelligence should be a source of pride, not jealousy, for her. Add five fine sons to that and a home that is the envy of much of the west. Most women would be content. But not yer mother.” Her voice quieted. “Ye’d be wise, Margaret, to find a way to forgive Lachlan and make a new life for yerself, for despite what ye might want, yer time at Somerstrath is over.”

She sighed heavily. “Now I must tell ye something that ye’ll not wish to hear. I canna consider ye coming here without thinking of what that might mean for us. Lachlan has the ear of the king, and I dinna wish to make an enemy of him. We rely on the good graces of those who endow this abbey. I canna risk the lives and welfare of the women under my care for one lass, even one I am so fond of who would gladden this old woman’s remaining years. I’m afraid that if I give ye refuge, I’ll anger powerful men, and I’d not be wise to do that, would I?

She rose to her feet. “Now sleep, lassie, and when the time comes, use both yer heart and mind and not anger to make the decision. Life is often strange. I certainly never expected to end up here. Who kens what lies ahead for ye. But I will do one thing that might help yer decision.”

“What?” Margaret asked, her hope coming alive again.

“I’ll write to yer father and remind him that should ye choose a life with us, I’ll be expecting yer dowry to accompany ye. Perhaps if he realizes he’ll have to pay for the privilege of punishing ye, he’ll reconsider.”

Margaret forced her disappointment down and thanked her.

“The Lord will guide ye, my dear,” Judith said. “Now off to bed with ye.” She ushered Margaret into the hallway. “Good night,” she said softly, closing the door.

Margaret looked at the door for a moment, then lifted her candle and made her way down the hall. After all the talk, after baring her soul, she’d received nothing but more rejection and a kind dismissal.

You’ll face dragons
.

The words were so clear that Margaret spun around, looking to see who had spoken. The hallway was empty, but she could still hear the echo, as though the spirit of the old woman had come simply to counter Judith’s words and guide Margaret to a different path. Margaret hugged herself and hurried to her room. Dragons, she thought. Not within these walls.

She attended matins the next morning, praying for guidance in the small dark wooden chapel crowded with nuns. She watched the nuns go about their daily tasks, washing clothing and scrubbing floors, and listened to their lovely singing, the hymns taking on new meaning when sung so simply. In many ways life here was no different than at home: meals needed to be prepared, rooms cleaned, and plants tended. At the evening prayers, she bent her head low over her hands, trying not to cry, trying to feel a calling to this life. But no peace came. She still rehearsed things that she might one day say to her father, to Lachlan, to Fiona, things that she knew she would never say to her mother but still echoed in her mind. Her anger had not lessened, her sense of outrage had not waned. Even with all her prayers, her rage had not abated. She worried that she was more like her mother than she knew, holding her anger to her like a companion. She feared for her very soul, for if one could not find peace in such a setting, perhaps one could not find it anywhere.

The nuns seemed to have found it. Their movements, often hampered by the coarsely woven habits they wore, were calm, their expressions often serene, or thoughtful, as though they heard a voice she could not. And perhaps they did, for their faces lit with joy when they knelt before the crucifix, and while she felt both repentant for her sins and virtuous for her repentance, she did not feel elation as she gazed on Christ on the cross. How was she to find joy in His suffering?

They were at Brenmargon a day and a half before Uncle William joined them, his troop arriving in the early afternoon, large and noisy, the sound of male voices strange to Nell after hearing so many women’s tones. Her uncle had not changed; he was still tall, lean, the same dark eyes and hair as her mother, not surprising since they were siblings. But his manner was far different than Mother’s. William, now stripping off his gloves as he strode purposefully into the hall, was a direct man of few words and, unlike Mother, few emotional indulgences. He seemed preoccupied now, almost brusque as he entered, although he did linger a moment to kiss Nell and Margaret, smelling, Nell thought, wrinkling her nose, of horses and sweat. But William’s smile was wide and genuine as he greeted his nephew and nieces, and again when Judith asked after his wife Jean and his sons.

“They’re growing by the day,” William said, with obvious pride, “and keeping their mother and me busy with their antics.”

“Ye’ll stay for a meal?” Judith said.

“Aye, we will, and I thank ye for it,” William said. He handed his gloves to his waiting man and swirled off his cape, turning to Margaret. “Now, what’s all this about ye and Lachlan? I’m told ye need accompanying to court, which I will do. I canna stay long, but I need to talk with the king myself.”

When none of them answered, he gestured for Margaret to sit opposite him, which she did with reluctance, glancing at the audience of William’s men and Judith’s nuns.

“Well?” he asked, nodding his thanks to the nun who brought him a mug of ale. “I received a cryptic message from yer da, telling me ye’re deciding whether to marry Lachlan or to take the veil.” He drained the cup, then looked at Margaret speculatively. “Have ye suddenly found God, or is there something else? Tell me quickly now, or tell me as we ride. I want to get through the pass before dark. So, lassie, what is it?”

Margaret’s face flushed. “He lied to me, Uncle William. He was…he betrayed me with one of the Somerstrath lasses.”

“Fiona,” Nell said. “D’ye remember her, Uncle William? The weaver’s daughter?”

William shook his head. “No, lass, I dinna remember which one she is.”

“Margaret found them together,” Rignor said. “I wanted to kill him.”

“Did ye?” William said, shifting his gaze back to Margaret. “And ye?”

“Not at first,” Margaret said. “That came later.”

Nell saw the beginning of a smile in William’s eyes, and an answering one in Margaret’s, which quickly died at his next words.

“Ye ken the contracts have all been signed?”

Margaret nodded, sparing a glance at Nell as though to say, “I told ye.”

“And how important this alliance is?” William asked.

“Aye.”

“And yer father told ye to decide whether to take the veil or marry him?”

“Aye. And that if I dinna marry Lachlan, Nell will have to.”

William’s eyebrow rose at that, but he nodded. “It’s a solution. She’s young, but that is changing every day.” He pushed himself to his feet.

“I willna marry him, Uncle William,” Nell said heatedly.

“It’s not me asking ye to,” William said, with a pointed glance at Margaret.

William stayed for the midday meal, then immediately bundled up his men and nieces and nephew, thanking Judith for her hospitality and promising news of the court on his return. Margaret embraced Judith, hearing the words behind her words as Judith told her to enjoy her visit to court. She left with a heavy heart, knowing that her choices were narrowing. On the road, William set a fast pace that allowed little conversation, but once through the pass and onto the flatter eastern lands, he slowed to join Margaret, Nell, and Rignor, turning to Nell with a smile. “First time at court, eh, Nell?”

Nell nodded brightly. “Aye, sir.”

“Ye need to ken some things before ye arrive.” He glanced at the others. “Ye need to listen as well. First, Nell, tell me what ye ken of the king.”

Nell took a deep breath. “King Alexander is Alexander III, son of Alexander II, and has been king since he was eight years old, but he began to rule on his own just two years ago.”

William was pleased. “Good. And…?”

“And we’ve had years and years of peace in Scotland.”

“Not exactly. There’s been no war, true, but there have been years of quiet competition by the Durwards and the Comyns for the king’s ear. The Comyns have his ear now, and, allied as we are to them, so do we. We dinna intend to lose it. What else do ye ken?”

“That Queen Margaret is the daughter of King Henry of England. And that Henry and Simon de Montfort are disagreeing about…” Nell faltered, not remembering.

“Doesna matter what started it,” William said. “Ye’re correct. But it’s become much more than a disagreement now. And de Montfort has brought in the French, which complicates the situation since we have alliances with the French. And…well, ye can see we’ll have to play this one carefully.”

“And,” Rignor said, unable to resist joining in, “King Alexander tried to buy the Hebrides from King Haakon of Norway, but Haakon refused.”

William nodded. “Which is one of the things I’ll discuss with the king.”

“Why?” Margaret asked.

“There’s been unrest in the north,” William said. “Most of Caithness is Norse, as ye ken. We dinna want them uneasy up there.” He gave Margaret a long look from under his brows. “All of which is why ye trying to end yer betrothal is no’ likely to be the first thing on the king’s mind. What did yer da have in mind to send ye to court?”

Margaret shook her head, but Rignor answered with authority.

“Father thought that if Margaret saw all Lachlan could provide her and how powerful he is at court, she’d change her mind.”

“Lachlan is cousin to the king, Margaret,” William said. “And a wealthy man.”

“I ken all that. It’s not enough,” Margaret said.

“It might have to be.” William spurred his pony forward.

Their journey was uneventful despite the treacherous marshland through which they rode, for William’s men knew the safe paths. William was talkative again as they neared Stirling, where the king’s court now resided, pointing out the genius of placing a fortress castle where Stirling lay, atop a massive rock formation that commanded views of much of central Scotland. To its west lay the marshes of the River Forth through which they now traveled, its bogs and frequent floods dangerous enough to prevent a large force of men from moving across it. To the northeast and southwest the fortress was surrounded by fearsome hills. There was no way to travel through the center of Scotland without passing the foot of Stirling; whoever controlled this land controlled the passage from Lowland to Highland, and as a result, there had been a castle, or stronghold, here for as long as men could remember. Hundreds of years ago Kenneth mac Alpin besieged this rock on his way to becoming King of the Scots. In the last century Alexander I dedicated and endowed a chapel here, and died within the castle walls, as did William the Lion fifty years ago. Now Alexander III had set his court here for the summer.

It was to Stirling that Margaret had come before, here where she’d spent a summer with the court. She’d told Nell a great deal about that visit, but still Nell had questions. Where would they sleep? Would she meet King Alexander and Queen Margaret and be allowed to attend court, or would she be shuffled off with the children? Could she see the Princess Margaret, a child of less than two years? Her questions were quickly answered, for William and his retinue were cordially greeted at the first guardhouse and escorted up the steep stone pathway to the castle itself.