Snow Raven (32 page)

Your parents are even now returning from Ireland after receiving word of your marriage to Lord Lindsay. Despite the dangers of crossing the Channel in winter, they wish to join us at Ambergate for Twelfth Night festivities. I would as lief you and Lord Lindsay came, too, if only to unite the family for a little while and mend whatever bridges might have been damaged in the events of the past weeks. As long as you are safe, I have no serious quarrel with your lord husband.

God keep you safe until next we speak, little flame.

The letter was signed, informally, “Uncle Kit,” and he had pressed his signet there in wax to confirm he was the true writer. The ink was smeared in spots from rain or snow, but Merry had learned to decipher the worst of courtly handwriting long ago. Kit’s was flawless by comparison to most. She knew, however, her uncle’s somewhat stiff style was unnatural and prompted by the knowledge Ran would be reading the letter before his wife. Therefore, nothing of an intimate or familial nature was asked or shared. Not without reason had Sir Christopher survived the intrigues of court for nigh two score.

She looked up from the letter to find Ran regarding her somewhat coolly.

“I sense your uncle is a trifle displeased with my actions, Merry. Certainly I cannot blame him. He rightfully fears a madman has wed into the family.” Ran laughed without humor. “I do not doubt my reputation has preceded me, even to Gloriana’s Court.”

Something in Ran’s manner frightened Merry. She sensed nothing of the tender side she had glimpsed now and again, only cold resolve. She glanced down at the letter again, suddenly unable to make out a single word of the ornate script. The elaborately looped and scrolled letters danced before her tired eyes.

“Is this all you wished to speak with me about?” she asked, making move as if to rise.

He stilled her with a single look. “Nay. There is matter of your uncle’s invitation.”

“I never presumed you would consider it.”

“A gesture of goodwill would not be amiss, given Sir Christopher’s status at Court.”

Merry flinched at Ran’s cold-blooded remark. So she was to be a political pawn, maneuvered for the favors of her family and thus the queen’s. What a kindly husband might have dispensed as a Christmas gift, he tossed at her like a cup of icy water from the loch. She could not even bring herself to smile at the prospect of seeing Ambergate and her parents.

“Naturally I cannot spare the time to attend such frivolous affairs during a serious embroilment with reivers of the king’s cattle. I have decided Gilbert may serve as your escort. He wished to see Court and all he has missed in dreary isolation here; therefore I deem this the most practical and expedient solution.” A bitter note twisted Ran’s words, and Merry sensed he held her responsible for Gil’s mental defection to the colorful Tudor Court. It was natural for a young man as light of heart as Gil to long for the company of pretty girls and grand parties, but Ran seemed to regard his little brother’s desire as some sort of betrayal.

“I have enough men to see you safely to the Border. Gord and Fi have offered their hospitality and guaranteed safe passage through their lands. Once in England, Gilbert and Hugo should be able to handle things easily enough. Mayhap a message can be sent to your kin and they can retrieve you in the style to which you are accustomed.”

Merry regarded him levelly, as if she did not even hear the insult. “As you wish, milord.” She knew her reversion to icy dignity would needle Ran, and she saw his eyes narrow a fraction. “However, there is someone I should miss dearly …”

He waited, though she was certain she only imagined the slight tensing of his shoulders.

“I promised Nell if I ever went to Court, I should take her as my tiring-woman. She is still nursing the babe, but I do not mind little ones. Besides, ’twill give her opportunity to get to know Hugo better away from the prying eyes and ears of others.”

“What the devil does Hugo have to do with anything?” Ran demanded with obvious exasperation, and Merry arched an eyebrow. He did not even notice the budding of new love when it was right beneath his nose.

“May I take Nell along?” she pressed him.

“Aye. Take the chit and the brat and whatever else you deem necessary for your amusement, madam.” His dark gaze raked her contemptuously as she turned to go. Pausing at the doorway, Merry turned and found him still watching her. She smiled, sweetly, and executed a neat little curtsey.

“Thank you, milord husband.”

He did not answer her. He looked away.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“DO YE NEED ME any more here, milady? If nae, I’ll go up to yer room and finish packing yer trunk.”

Merry nodded her dismissal. “Go ahead, Nell. I think I’ll stay here.” After the maid departed, Merry turned and surveyed the great hall one last time. The decorations were long gone, Blair’s portrait restored to its full dignity. She tried not to let her hurt pride and anger consume her. Yet, since the incident on Christmas Eve, she had felt the compelling need to answer the question Darra had posed. What was Blair doing at Braidwood at all?

Lady Deuchar had mentioned Blair’s slyness. Ran’s first wife had also been a Maclean by birth. Highland loyalties ran deep. Merry suspected the answers might be found at Braidwood, but she was not foolish enough to approach Sir Jasper’s domain. After all, the luckless Lady Blair had met her end there. Her curiosity and Ran’s bitterness must remain unresolved. With a sigh, she gathered up her skirts and started up the stairs.

“Merry!” Gil’s hearty greeting stopped her; she turned and smiled at the cheerful young man. “When are we away to Court?”

“Just as soon as I have changed to my traveling attire and Nell has finished packing.” Merry laughed at his obvious enthusiasm. “I take it the horses and wagon are ready?”

Gil nodded vigorously. “Long so. I was up at dawn, prodding Hugo and the others.” He hesitated, his violet-blue gaze reflecting concern. “Ran left last night, I hear.”

“Aye. Word came the thieves and missing cattle were spotted in Drumtochty Forest. He was out the door by the time the messenger finished speaking.” Merry did not attempt to disguise the wry note in her voice. If she had expected anything in the way of a tender farewell, she was doomed to disappointment. She could hardly mistake this unexpected boon as anything other than Ran seizing an opportunity to get rid of her for a while. He need not fear she would not return, however, as the dual monarchy had made Merry’s position quite clear. Marriage to The Wolf, or eternal disgrace. Even her doting uncle would not be so foolish as to try and hide her from the queen’s wrath.

“I know you are taking Nell, but have you considered another lady’s maid?” Gilbert asked. “It seems to me a proper countess should have two tiring-women, and Nell has the baby to look after, as well.”

“Nay, I had not thought upon it. Hertha is too elderly for travel now.”

“What about Siany, her granddaughter?”

Merry was surprised and disconcerted by the suggestion. She had never taken to Siany, though certainly the girl completed her tasks as needed. Perhaps she was unable to forget the unkind words she had overheard in the kitchens. Gil regarded her hopefully, and Merry could find no real excuse to demur.

“I suppose she could help Nell with Ashet,” she said.

Gil nodded. “My thought exactly. Siany could tend the bairn whilst Nell sees to milady’s needs.” His manner was engaging, his smile so charming Merry could not remain unconvinced.

She chuckled. “All right, Gil. If Hertha grants permission, Siany may accompany us. I trust you to look after the girl like a sister.”

Too late she glimpsed the roguish twinkle in his eye. “’Twould be my honor, Merry.”

“Gil! You’re far too young to entertain the notion of any mischief …”

He only laughed at her alarm and darted off again, leaving Merry ruefully shaking her head, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

* * *

THE TRAVELERS REACHED GOLDIELANDS by nightfall of the second day, though it was a hard ride which left everyone exhausted. Bumping along in a wagon, forced to clamber up and down several times so the mired vehicle might be tugged or pushed free again, Merry and her maid servants were on the verge of exhaustion. Thus far, Siany had proved more than capable with the baby, and Nell seemed relieved for the extra help. Merry decided she would give the girl benefit of the doubt, and Gil seemed especially pleased by the company of someone near his own age.

The Scotts met them on the road with their usual boisterous welcome. Besides the five armed Lindsay escorts, Brodie Scott was driving the wagon, and his freckled face lit in a huge smile when he saw his kin. At the castle, Lady Fiona greeted them at the entrance with heather ale and oat cakes, and laughingly suggested Siany wait till the morrow and then be the first to enter, for it was considered good fortune if a stranger made first footing over the threshold after Hogmanay. The Scots version of New Year’s Eve was rife with merriment and mischief, and Goldielands fairly hummed with excitement.

While Nell tended her lady’s things and Siany put Ashet down for a nap in the guest chamber, Merry joined her hostess and the others. Fiona was visibly ripening with her lord husband’s seed, glowing with health and happiness in her crimson velvet gown. Merry secretly envied the other woman her tranquility, and her growing family. She doubted with the present rift between her and Ran, she would be a mother at all. She was Lady Lindsay in title only, though Fiona seemed pleased by the news.

“I understand the circumstances leading to this were anything but pleasant, but I confess I am glad you are my neighbor,” she said, hugging Merry gently. “When summer comes, we must visit more often. By then I will be delivered of my own wee burden and can travel more easily. Perhaps I shall visit Edzell and Darra, too. I do miss the old days, and ’tis easy to dwell upon pleasantries from the past as one ages.”

“Ages?” Merry exclaimed. “You’re but a maid in the first blush of youth, it seems to me.”

Fiona laughed. “’Tis kind of you, m’dear, but Gord and I have been wed nigh a decade. I fear the bloom left this Scottish rose long ago.” She settled beside Merry on a comfortable divan where they might visit in confidence whilst the men drank and blustered across the hall. Looking at Merry with keen blue eyes, Fiona asked, “Are you happy, lass?”

“Happy?” Merry did not know how to answer the question honestly so she tried to skirt it. “I am pleased I can see my family again, and partake of Twelfth Night revelries one last time.”

“I meant with Ran. Is he kind to you?”

Merry nodded, searching for the right words. “He has never given me cause to fear for my life.” She folded her hands in her lap so she was not tempted to trace any faint marks left on her neck. Fortunately her lace ruff obscured her throat. She knew Fiona was not fooled by her evasive reply, however.

Fiona sighed. “’Tis Blair, isn’t it? The ghost of the woman haunts Auchmull still.”

“Aye, and Ranald Lindsay, too.”

Fiona reached out, squeezed Merry’s hand. “I’m sorry, lass. I wish there was something I could do or say to set matters aright. All I can say is, patience has been known to work miracles.”

Merry smiled and shook her head. “Unfortunately, I am not Job.”

“Nay, you are someone altogether different. Someone who loves Ran unconditionally.”

Merry’s smile withered. She stared at Fiona in helpless denial. The golden-haired lady nodded emphatically.

“Aye, Merry, ’tis clear as the waters of Alemoor. Please, do not be ashamed of it. Love is a marvelous, healing potion, and I believe if anything can save Ran, therein lies the hope.”

“I wish I believed that, too. I fear he hates me now.” Merry told the tale of the cradle. Fiona listened gravely.

“In my opinion he reacted overmuch, but then Blair has not been gone a year. His emotions are raw yet. The best thing you could do for Ran, for each other, is have a child of your own as quickly as possible.”

Merry felt her cheeks burn at the practical advice. “’Twill prove difficult, I vow. He has not touched me since … well, for a long time. Now I will be in England for a fortnight, or longer if the winter worsens.”

Fiona’s blue eyes twinkled. “Perhaps Ran cannot attend Twelfth Night, but after the thieves are caught, who is to say you cannot send your lord husband an urgent if rather vague message from London?”

Looking at Fiona incredulously a moment, Merry laughed and shook her head. “He would be furious if he knew I summoned him there under false pretenses. Darra said he detests all manner of courtly affairs.”

“Just the thing he needs to roust him from his gloomy exile,” Fiona countered firmly. “Now, lass, I want you to relax and enjoy Hogmanay in infamous Scott style. Shall we join the revelries?”

* * *

ON NEW YEAR’S MORNING, since it was considered lucky, the unmarried girls in the household vied for the honor of being first to draw water from the well. The girl who did would be the first to marry that year. Lots were cast, and to Siany’s delight, she won, though the other lasses grumbled it was not fair a visitor was permitted to partake of a Goldielands tradition. Lady Fiona settled the dispute with her customary tact, and Siany pulled up the first bucket. The household utensils were then washed in the water to bring plenty during the year, and more buckets drawn and given to the milch cattle to increase their yield.

Merry thought the customs peculiar and quaint, but she could not deny she had found Hogmanay almost as fun as Twelfth Night. The Scots celebrated it with even more gusto than Christmas, and everyone had stayed up late singing, drinking, and carousing in the hall. She was tired but replete from the fine food and company, and even after the spectacle of the New Year’s well was over and the others returned inside, she lingered a moment in the courtyard to gather her thoughts.

Merry did not even sense another presence until someone spoke behind her. She turned and stiffened at the sight of the familiar, crabbed figure. She had done her best to avoid Mother MacDougall altogether, but now she found herself alone with the crone. It would be rude to beat a hasty retreat, though Merry very much wanted to.