The Honor Due a King (28 page)

Swiftly, I cut across her path and threw my arm up against the wall next to the door, blocking her exit.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“I can’t.” Words hard to say, hiding a truth harder still. All this time, she had been near to me and I had held her at arm’s length, treating her like a favored old servant. I had lost Marjorie. I would not lose her, too. I reached out, took her face in my hands and kissed her. She neither pulled away nor yielded, and yet it was I who broke the kiss.

Disarmed by my own thoughts and feelings, I turned away and plunked down on one of two stools in the place. But one leg was woefully short and wobbled. I stood up again, went and leaned on my elbow against the near wall. Rosalind moved further away from me to face the altar.

Randolph strode in, looking invigorated and optimistic. “There’s enough wood for a cooking fire and the fish are throwing themselves up on the bank for our supper.” He smiled and sat down on the other stool, closest to the altar, as he began to sweep the dirt from his boots with a spit-dampened rag. “We’re staying here, then? Looks like it would leak in a light rain, but the skies are fair, so we’re in no danger there. We’ll be on our way back to Scotland soon with a beneficial proposition from Lancaster, I pray. Should I bring our packs in?”

Rosalind kept her face averted from Randolph and folded her hands before her breast, pretending to face the rickety little altar as if she were posed for prayer. He looked from one to the other of us questioningly. I touched my forehead to the wall. “Leave us, please.”

Mouth open, he blinked at me, glanced at Rosalind, then left.

Another few minutes must have passed while Rosalind and I floated in some kind of bewildered and angry silence.

Finally, I went to her, stopping an arm’s reach away. Fading daylight softened the features of her face. I had gazed at her numerous times from a distance as she brushed the dried mud from my horses or cut up cabbages in the kitchen. Always I watched her when I knew she was too busy to notice me. She kept her night-dark hair loosely gathered at the back of her head, with a thousand wild strands tickling her neck and face. Yet she would never pause to push them away, too engrossed in caring for the menial details of my household even when I had never asked or required it. Despite this easy domesticity about her, she possessed a willingness to take command of her own life and a courage unlike any woman I had ever known. Time after time, she had ventured forth, laying her own person in great peril. She had outlived both husband and child, been stripped of her rightful possessions and chosen to aid a people not her own. I had killed her father in combat, but in that she’d found relief, not sorrow. I had also shot the arrow that took her husband’s life.
That
she knew nothing of.

I did not deserve this woman and yet ...

She moved closer and curled her hand inside mine. “Tell me to go and I will.”

I searched deep within her eyes, wondering what it was I felt for her. Slowly, I leaned my head toward hers and placed another yearning kiss upon her now open lips. Her mouth trembled, then yielded, sweet and soft. I found her in my arms and as she pressed against me, a rush of memories – memories both dear and bitter – roiled inside my head, overpowered me with bodily desire for the woman I held, filled me with deep sadness for the memory of another woman who, until then, was the only one I had every truly loved and longed for.

‘
Marjorie is gone. She’s gone,
’ I told myself over and over, even as I held Rosalind in the curve of my arms and covered her mouth with endless kisses. Eventually, breathless and dizzy, we both ceased and looked into each other’s eyes. That she might discover too much of the truth still buried in my heart – that I yet mourned for a love long dead – frightened me more terribly than the bloodthirsty rush of any enemy line of spears.

It is Rosalind who is here with me ... Rosalind who loves me for who I am ...

I broke from her, afraid I might betray myself, and began to search about the room for any diversion to keep her eyes from mine. “There’s a hole in the roof, there, big enough to let out smoke. No flame to give us away from outside.”

On hushed feet, she walked up behind me and slipped her arms around me. I felt the impression of her cheek on my back, a light kiss, her fingers fluttering on my abdomen.

“I’m here, James Douglas. Here. With you. Now. This day. This moment.”

I stilled her hands. “Rosalind, I could ... I could never bring dishonor on you.”

Lithe as a cat, she slipped around in front of me. Her brows were low, puzzled.

I cupped her chin. How certain I was that I did not deserve her. How desperate I was to hold on to her. “Be wife to me.”

“Wife?” Tilting her head back, she stepped away. She brushed a hand over her neck, her eyes darting everywhere but to meet mine. Her breath came in gasps, as if she fought for air. “James, I ... that is much to ask. I don’t ... I don’t know. I need to think on it.”

She rushed from the dilapidated church out into the twilight and on down to the shore of the glistening lake. I felt both the urge to race after her and the forced patience to let her go, hoping she would come back to me.

When he saw her emerge, Randolph secured his fishing line to a branch, gathered up our bundles from beside where he had tethered the horses to graze and trekked up the hill.

“What was that about?” he questioned. “She looked unhappy.”

I took my bundle from him and unrolled my blanket close to the door. “I said either too much or not enough, Thomas. I should have joined the Church when Bishop Lamberton took me in. If this doesn’t work out, I’m giving up on women.”

***

A
s stars scattered their light through the lacework of the roof, we dined on fresh fish. I spent most of the meal picking the bones from my teeth and tasting none of what went in my gut. Rosalind and I intermittently glanced at each other and then away. Randolph tried his best to coax a word or two from either of us to little avail. That night I slept fitfully, if at all, my sword propped on the wall next to me and my back to the door. The next morning I was up before dawn with our horses ready.

The vagary that had leapt from me the night before had somehow invited a sort of peace to my mind. Every time I came home road-weary and battle-beaten, she was waiting for me, asking no more than I was ready to share. She mended my clothing wherever it was torn and I, in turn, found myself keener to the details that needed repair around the manor. When I was home longer and trying to strengthen my wounded arm by shooting at the butts, there was an ease of idle conversation between us as she watched me, for I welcomed her company. In time, she learned archery with great success. Whenever she departed Lintalee I feared for her safety, but never said as much. When she was due to return, I would ride out toward the roads that reached southward, watching for her, gnawed with concern if she was not there. In ways both subtle and entire, our lives had interwoven as fine as any silk, as strong as any castle.

With Marjorie and I, there had been no future, only the moment in which we lived, no matter how we tried to delude ourselves. With Rosalind, every tomorrow yielded a hundred possibilities and promises.

Through the morning, Rosalind led us along the trail she had spoken of, to the tranquil wooded valley where the little farmstead lay, concealed among the broad, emerald mountains. For a while we studied the place. By then, the shadows were reaching long across the land. A few horses, still saddled, were tethered by the barn beyond the house. We observed cautiously. As men who had often laid ambushes ourselves, we knew the signs – outliers posted for early warning, heavily trodden paths – and there were none. Rosalind pointed the way and Randolph, in the fore, began to ride down the sloping trail toward the farmhouse. I held back, waiting for her to take her place between us.

She paused at the cusp of the ridge. “This is your work, not mine. When the sun sets beyond the mountains, I will be here, waiting for you.”

I nodded at her as I lifted my reins. “Best you are. You yet owe me an answer, Rosalind de Fiennes.” With a slap to my mount’s rump, I gave her a parting smile and descended toward the meeting place.

Pigs and chickens roamed around the house, erupting in an odd chorus as we approached.

“We’ve been announced by the English sentries, I’d say,” Randolph mused.

Two soldiers, who had been idling atop a haystack, roused and called out, “Name yourselves.”

“Messengers from the north,” Randolph called back, in the smoothest English accent that ever passed over the lips of any Scot, “looking for a Thomas of Newlands. Is he within?” With a careless toss, he plopped two English pennies at their feet.

The two guards eyed each other. The slimmer, clean-jawed one sprang forward, snatched up the coins and jabbed a finger at the house. “There.”

At Randolph’s nod, we both dismounted. He then strode through the flock of chickens, which clucked and beat their wings until a cloud of feathers arose. At some distance from the door, he paused, studied the perimeter of the farmstead briefly, and indicated for me to stay. He knocked twice, waited and pushed the door open wide.

A voice, indiscernible to my ears, must have bade him to enter, for he answered lowly, then inclined his head for me to follow him inside. He ducked the low lintel and disappeared into the dimness. I kept my hand on my hilt as I followed.

The house was but one room with a loft overhead for sleeping. The smell of hay and animals permeated the air. Only the furthest window was open, so that the light that shone from behind the barrel-chested man seated at the table surrounded him in a dusty aura. To his left sat another man, bald except for a rim of auburn hair fringing the back of his head from ear to ear, just as stout, but smaller in stature, observant and yet agitated in demeanor. The house was otherwise empty. Whoever its ordinary keeper was had been dismissed for this clandestine occasion. Still, I kept my ears keened to the sounds outside and left the door well open in order to see.

The Earl of Lancaster guffawed and clapped his hands. “Ah! The fattest ransom Scotland has to offer. The Earl of Moray ... and Sir James Douglas, is it? Now you I have a measure of respect for, though I bloody detest what you’ve done to some of my lands. Do you know, Sir James, that they call your place Castle Dangerous? Said whoever took it into their hands had sealed their own death warrant. After a time they couldn’t get any but the most idiotic to govern it. Oh, but I have a grander scheme to spin than the securing of my own fortune. Sit, sit!” He flapped his plump hand toward the two short benches on the opposite side of the table, then jabbed his elbow at the man beside him. “My lords – Humphrey de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford.”

“Well met, my lords,” Randolph greeted. “I’ve faith this will be to all our benefits.”

Hereford nodded once. We bowed and took our seats.

Immediately, Lancaster abandoned his jovial nature, scooted his stool back and stretched forward over the table. He jabbed a finger bluntly on its surface. “Sirs, I’ve made myself fully known to your king, so I’ll not bore you with details. England has a kitten for a king. He has no wish to restore his own kingdom, because he is intent only on defying those of us who have crowed the loudest. My blood though he may be, he is unfit to govern without guidance. Therefore, I lead the way, and have been for some time. The truce you’re enjoying now is my work – although I’m careful not to let the simpleton know it. I have a drove of barons at my back and, dare I utter, even the sympathy of his disconcerted, pretty French queen. For as many as I can keep to my cause, I ask that you and your king keep from certain territories. Simple?” His cheeks blotched scarlet from the fervor of his speech, Lancaster finally sat down again and drew several breaths before ending. “I can rob Edward of half his levies or more. He cannot again launch another successful invasion of Scotland, given that.”

“Which is not to say,” Randolph observed wryly, “that he would not try anyway.”

Lancaster’s fist rattled the table. “Did you not fully comprehend what I just said, man? So long as I breathe, he will not have the means to.”

Unfazed, Randolph made to rise, sending the message that he wanted Lancaster to finish. “What then shall I tell King Robert when ...
if
Edward marches on Scotland again?”

“That I will strike my own pact with Scotland. Every day the sorcerer Hugh Despenser controls Edward’s every action and every day England’s people grow more and more disillusioned with their feeble-willed sovereign.” The last words he drawled, “He stands on infirm ground.”

Randolph settled back down on the bench momentarily. “You say this by your own thought, or by fast knowledge, my lord?”

Confident, the earl glanced at Hereford. “What I have said here today, I say as absolute truth.”

***

R
andolph and I rode from the hidden valley, scanning the trees around us, searching deepening shadows as the sun slid languidly behind the horizon. Beyond a ridge on the road, Rosalind was waiting for us.

For hours we rode, Rosalind leading the way, as Randolph explored every implication of Lancaster’s proposal. With Randolph near, I dared not broach the question that floated so delicately between Rosalind and me.

The moonlight shone strong upon the open, undulating moorland, lighting our path northward. We had not seen a soul since departing from Lancaster’s company, and likely would not at this witching hour. Clouds of white-wooled sheep stirred from their slumber and scattered from our path.

“It is all for Lancaster’s own benefit,” Randolph observed, “that he woos Scotland. Robert has pushed for this because he’s desperate for peace and seeks the recognition of the pope, so I fear his mind is already made up. I don’t think it’s in his favor.
If
he refused Lancaster’s offer,” – his bright blue eyes flashed with certainty in the silver-dark of night – “it might cost us in the short term, but –”

He reached across the space between us and touched my leg. “James? Have you heard a thing I’ve said? I’m trying to figure what is best for us in the long run. Where is your head today? You didn’t say a word when we were with Lancaster and Hereford.”