Highland Lover: Book 3 Scottish Knights Trilogy (28 page)

Blinking at the track his thoughts had taken, Jake wondered at himself for hoping Clyne was dead. Such thoughts could only get a free man in trouble. He cared
about Alyson, certainly. How could a man not care about a woman whose life he had saved, especially one as beautiful, as selfless, and as intriguing as she was?

That did
not
mean he wanted to marry her. Forbye, the woman was right about one thing. She could think nowt about another marriage whilst her husband’s fate remained uncertain. Without proof of Clyne’s death—witnesses, at least—the Holy Kirk would never deem her a widow or allow her to wed again.

But why should
he
care one way or the other? Clyne’s fate could remain unknown for months, even years, unless the man turned up alive in Scotland. And, if
that
happened, she’d still be the fool’s wife and would have to remain so.

It had long been Jake’s opinion that Sir Kentigern “Mungo” Lyle must have some idea, at least, of what had happened to Clyne. But if Mungo was Albany’s man, he’d be unlikely to testify under oath to aught that might lead to more public speculation about Jamie’s and Orkney’s capture than Albany would tolerate.

Whatever Mungo’s role was, he’d left the English ship in Bridlington harbor. In the unlikely event that the English
had
kept Clyne alive as hostage for Mungo’s actions or any other reason, he could not know now if Clyne was dead or alive. The pirates’ known ruthlessness, and Albany’s, made it most likely that Clyne was dead.

Since well before they had neared the Firth of Forth and passed within sight of its mouth, they’d kept watch for observers and vessels that might take an interest in the
Sea Wolf
. One or two ships had passed near enough to make out their flag, but none had challenged them or drawn near enough to give Jake pause.

The rest of the day remained peaceful, and St. Andrews Castle came into sight high atop its cliff in the early evening, a half hour before they would pass beneath its walls. Now impregnable thanks to repairs and augmentations made under Bishop Traill’s supervision, it was an impressive sight. If Jake’s internal clock was operating with its usual accuracy, they would arrive in the bay shortly after the hour of vespers and would reach the castle before the service ended.

One of the Blackfriars or Austen Canons who served the bishop would be watching from the tall sea tower. So word of their arrival would quickly spread, and someone would likely meet them at the harbor.

Jake climbed atop the forecastle cabin to keep watch as they approached.

The sun was dipping below the western horizon, its last orange-gold light gilding the offside of the castle, leaving its seaward side in shadow.

The tide was on the ebb and would remain so for another hour or two. The wind blew steadily from the east. If it continued so overnight, he’d have it at his stern the next day as they sailed up the Firth of Tay to Perth.

Whatever it did tomorrow, they were in time for supper tonight.

“Is that St. Andrews on those cliffs ahead?”

“Aye, it is,” he said, turning to smile at Alyson and her shadow, Will.

“Why are they flying two flags?” Will asked.

“They fly only the bishop’s, lad. Sithee, he acts as Prelate of Scotland, which means he is first of all bishops in the land. So when he is in residence here or visits other bishoprics, his banner flies to show that he is there.”

“Aye, well, I can see two o’ them up there now,” Will said.

Having heeded only the castle, not its details, Jake looked again and saw that the lad was right. Praying that the second banner would not be the royal one, which Albany customarily flew despite having no right to do so, he kept his eye on both banners until they were near enough to make out their colors.

When he noted the gold and white of the second one, he realized that their visit might prove even more complicated than he’d expected.

Alyson noted Jake’s dismay. She noted, too, that he was striving to conceal it when he turned to Will and said, “That, my lad, is the papal banner. The Papal Legate has apparently arrived earlier than I’d expected. Come to think of it, though, Easter
is
just a fortnight away now.”

“The consecration,” Alyson said quietly. “We ought to have remembered.”

“What’s a papal legate?” Will asked.

“He acts for the Pope in other countries,” Alyson explained.

“Aye,” Jake agreed. “He has been visiting England and comes now to install Wardlaw formally as Bishop of St. Andrews and Prelate of Scotland.”

“Did ye no ken that he’d ha’ a banner o’ his own?”

“In troth, I did not think about him at all,” Jake admitted.

“You thought that it might be someone else’s banner,” Alyson said.

“Aye,” Jake said.

“Whose?” Will demanded. “I ken fine that most nobles fly banners. Sir Ivor had two o’ them… nay, three.”

“I have seen only two, Will,” Alyson said. “He flies Clan Chattan’s banner when he is on confederation business. Otherwise, he flies the Mackintosh banner.”

“Aye, sure, but he also flies one wi’ a golden hawk on a blue background like the sky,” Will said. “I saw it m’self.”

When Alyson looked quizzically at Jake, he smiled. “He does fly that one when he prefers that others not identify him as a Mackintosh.”

“Sakes, why—”

But Jake was shaking his head. He said, “We’ll reach the harbor shortly. You will both want to tidy yourselves.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Ye’ll no be a-leaving me here, will ye?”

“Would you not like to stay, Will?” Alyson asked. “St. Andrews has been your home now for a year, has it not?”

“Aye, sure, but that were when Jamie were here. Till he comes back, I’d liefer stay wi’ Cap’n Jake. Ye did say I could,” he reminded Jake.

“I remember what I said, and I meant it,” Jake assured him. “But you must pay your respects to Bishop Wardlaw. He’ll want to talk to you, to hear just what happened on the
Maryenknyght
. I was not there to see it, after all, and you were.”

“I dinna mind telling ’im,” Will said. “But I’m no a chap as wants tae become a friar or a priest. And if I stay here, them priests will press me hard tae do one or t’other. Sithee, I’m Jamie’s man, now and for aye.”

“We’ll all be Jamie’s men one day,” Jake said. “But, until then, you’re free to make some choices. You’d receive a fine education here, you know. It is where I got
mine, and an education is always useful. But no one will force you, lad. If you want to stay with me aboard the
Sea Wolf
, you may.”

“Aye, then, if we be agreed on that, I’ll tidy m’self and go wi’ ye tae talk tae the bishop,” Will said. “He’s a good chap, and I like him. But I dinna tak’ much tae praying or learning Latin. Happen one day I’ll change me mind, but for the noo, I’d liefer tak’ the freedom o’ the sea wi’ ye.”

Amused, Alyson glanced at Jake and saw a look nearly matching the dismay he’d revealed at seeing the papal banner.

Briefly meeting her gaze, he looked back at Will and said, “I’ll expect you to speak respectfully if Bishop Wardlaw urges you to stay.”

“Coo, I wouldna back-jaw him,” Will said, eyes wider than ever. “But he’s no a man tae tak’ leather tae a chappie for saying what he thinks.”

“Just mind ye dinna gang over the tow, lad, or ye’ll no ha’ your sorrows tae seek, for I’ll visit them on ye m’self,” Jake said sternly.

“I ken that fine, sir,” Will said, flushing.

“Good, then go to the forecastle cabin and wash your face and hands.”

“I understood about seeking his sorrows,” Alyson told Jake as Will hastily obeyed him. “But not ‘to gang over the tow.’ Is that going beyond bounds?”

He grinned. “Aye, and ’tis what my da used to say when it meant I’d be sore for days if I disobeyed him. Da still says it occasionally when he thinks I’m taking too great a risk. And I still mind my tongue after he says it.”

“Do you still obey?”

“Usually.”

“But not always.”

“A man has to do what a man has to do. He cannot be thinking of his father’s warnings in the midst of a battle or when taking the risk provides a chance to seize victory from defeat.”

“I see,” she said dryly. “And what do you say afterward when he asks if you heeded his warning?”

“Victory redeems a multitude of sins, lass. No one thinks then to inquire about earlier warnings or even to recall threats he may have made.”

She shook her head at him but with a near smile. “That castle grows ever nearer,” she said. “I’d better follow Will’s example and wash my face at least.”

“Put on your pale green kirtle,” he suggested. “I like it better than that blue one, so I’m sure it will find favor with Wardlaw.”

She nodded. She had scarcely worn the green kirtle, because it showed dirt more easily than the darker one, so it was cleaner, too. By the time she had tidied herself and changed her dress, the men had brought the
Sea Wolf
to anchor in St. Andrews Bay and were launching the towboat to take them ashore.

Will banged on the door. “We be ready tae go, m’lady!”

Taking her cloak from its hook, she draped it over her shoulders and went with him to meet Jake.

Although the sun had gone down, enough dusky light remained to give Jake some concern about Alyson’s walking beside him from the harbor, through the east end of town, to the castle. He said naught to her, though, assuring himself that no one was likely to recognize him or
her. If anyone did recognize him, the person would likely assume that Alyson was his wife.

After tying the towboat to a jetty and telling the two oarsmen to come with them, he looked up to see a man in the familiar white surplice and black hooded cowl of the Austen Canons hurrying down the steep pathway from town. Jake recognized him as one of the priests who served at the cathedral.

“Welcome back to St. Andrews, sir,” the priest said. “Bishop Wardlaw will be pleased to see ye. Forbye, ye’ve returned earlier than he’d expected ye.”

“I have, Father Matthias,” Jake said. “Thank you for meeting us.”

He did not present Alyson, and if Father Matthias recognized Will or saw aught amiss in his being with Jake, the priest did not mention it.

He said only, “I’ll lead the way, shall I, sir?”

Nodding, Jake offered an arm to Alyson, and they followed the priest.

“D’ye ken this legger chap yourself, Cap’n Jake?” Will asked a short time later as they approached the gate in the castle’s high curtain wall.

“He is a legate, Will,” Jake said patiently. “I have never met him, because Scotland has not seen a papal legate in years.” He was not about to try to explain to the lad the current chaos of papal politics or Scotland’s unique view of the Roman Kirk. So he added only, “If he addresses you, you may call him ‘your eminence’ when you reply. If you cannot remember that, just say ‘sir’ as you usually do.”

“Dinna some people call the Pope the prince o’ the Holy Kirk?”

“Aye, they do,” Jake said, surprised that Will would know that.

“Jamie told me,” Will explained. “We dinna even call
our
princes, princes. Jamie’s nobbut the Earl o’ Carrick, for all he does
be
a prince and ought tae be a duke, too, now that his brother Davy be dead. But if the Pope does truly be a prince, and this legate chap acts as Pope in Scotland, should I no call the legate ‘m’lord’?”

“ ‘Sir’ or ‘eminence’ will do unless he tells you otherwise.”

“Good, then.”

Silence fell as they passed through the wall’s deep torchlit archway to the castle entrance, where Father Porter waited in the doorway with a beaming smile.

“ ’Tis good to see you again, Sir Jacob, and you, too, Will, my lad. Bishop Wardlaw will receive you in his privy chamber, sir,” he added. “As you may have guessed, he is not alone there.”

“I did see the papal flag, Father. I will take the lady Alyson in with me, and young Will, as well. I expect you can provide these others with supper. The rest of my lads will see to themselves on the
Sea Wolf
.”

“Aye, sure, sir.” He glanced expectantly toward Alyson again, but Jake thought he’d said enough. He would speak to Wardlaw before issuing orders or requests on her behalf. However, Father Porter said, “One must suppose that her ladyship will want supper, too, sir.”