The Mark of Salvation (23 page)

Richard's expression became condescending. “We both know that my brother was unable to have children. We both know that John's hair was dark like my own. Obviously your child is the product of an unfortunate incident which you are understandably reluctant to reveal.”

She stared at him. “Incident?”

John shuffled papers on the desk in front of him. “There is no need to distress yourself, Orelia. The child was obviously conceived within days of my brother's death, when you were first held captive. Frankly I'm saddened that you insist otherwise, but I can understand why you would want to believe the child is John's.”

Indignant at his implication she jumped up from the chair. “This
is
John's child! How can you think I would lie with another man?”

“I don't think you would willingly do so, Orelia. Of course not. Obviously, you were mistreated during your stay in Scotland and the child is the result. But I'll not have some Scottish by-blow inherit my family's estate and wealth.”

She placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “The child was conceived just before John died, Richard.”

“Perhaps. But he'd not fathered a child before—what are the chances it could've happened in those last days? And then there is the additional issue of the boy's red hair.”

With fraying patience and growing apprehension, she said, “My grandmother was Scottish, Richard, and she had red hair. That is where Iain's hair color comes from.”

Richard stood up, towering over the desk, over her. “Because of the love I hold for you and my sympathy for your misfortune, I won't turn you or your . . . child out. My brother would not want that.”

She straightened and smacked her hand on the top of the desk. “Your brother would want you to recognize his son!”

“If you become hysterical I shall change my mind. We cannot have hysterical women at Radbourne Hall. It isn't good for any of the children.” He perused the document he'd been reading. “If you remain calm and quiet, I will allow you to stay. You and . . . Iain will be well cared for and will want for nothing.”

Fighting tears of frustration she said, “Nothing except Iain's inheritance.”

“Don't be difficult, Orelia. To be clear, if you are not compliant, I will publicly denounce you and set you on the street to earn your living. As it is, to avoid scandal, Alice and I agree that you should live quietly here at Radbourne.”

Alice had put Richard up to this, Orelia was sure. But how could Orelia possibly overcome Alice's hold over her husband? He was even more besotted—and deceived—by Alice now that she'd borne Richard a son.

“You needn't bother yourself. I'll take my son to live at Bolton in my grandmother's cottage.”

“No, I'm afraid that won't be possible.”

“Am I your prisoner?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I regret the necessity, but Alice is adamant that your behavior should not reflect poorly upon us.”

“If you truly believe this is not John's child, why don't you just send us away?”

“I will honor my brother's love for you.”

“You mean it would reflect poorly on you and Alice if we did not stay.”

“I will honor my brother's love for you,” he repeated.

She gave one parting shot. “You would honor your brother more if you didn't want his title so badly that you would cheat his son of it.”

“Enough! You will stay in the cottage beyond the garden. You will not leave Radbourne without permission. Do I make myself clear?”

“I shall petition the king!”

Don't bother. I have already informed him of the unfortunate treatment you received in Scotland and the resulting child. Edward will not “come to your rescue. Resign yourself to a quiet life at Radbourne.”

Orelia could think of no other argument that might sway Richard. The injustice of it! She shook with rage. But for now she must do as he demanded. Somehow she would find a way to get the title back for John's son. She would not rest until she had. “May I take Mary with me?”

“Of course. And Orelia? Don't try to leave or I'll lock you in the room in the tower.”

Trembling, Orelia went to her room and to the chest that held Ceallach's parchment. Opening the lid, she reached in and fingered the paper. She needed a male champion, someone to vouch for her time in Scotland. Should she send for Ceallach? But would Richard believe him? Surely not, and Orelia could not endanger Ceallach, especially when there was so little hope of changing Richard's, or Alice's, mind.

She would have to bide her time. She thought of the strong resemblance in looks between John and Richard. Would Iain's hair turn color? Or would he grow to look enough like John to make a case for his claim? And if not? What if the boy continued to favor Orelia's side of the family?

If he continued to favor her grandmother, then he would never be the Earl of Radbourne and all would be lost.

THE ROAD LEADING TO DUNFERMLINE ABBEY was lined with wedding guests on an overcast day. Robert the Bruce stood on the steps of the church with Walter the Steward, his daughter's young bridegroom. Remembering his own anxious thoughts at his wedding to Elizabeth de Burgh, Robert sought to calm the man. Yet when he took stock,Walter appeared perfectly at ease.

“Are you nervous?” Bruce asked.

Walter shook his head. “I know that Marjory is God's choice for my wife. Maybe I'll be nervous later, tonight.” He blushed.

Bruce refrained from chuckling at the boy's admission. Instead he said sincerely, “If you love her and tell her so, all will go well.”

Walter swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed. “You've been married twice. Were you nervous?”

“Oh, aye. The first time, I had the same fears as you. I especially worried that I wouldn't know how to please her. But you will find your way. Together.”

Walter nodded and Bruce continued. “Marjory is much like her mother—fragile and rather meek. But she must have an inner strength to match my own or she would never have survived the deprivations of her imprisonment.”

“I have sensed that.”Walter looked down at his feet, then raised his head and looked Bruce in the eye. “I admire her greatly, my laird.”

“And I am pleased that she has chosen her husband so wisely, Walter.”

The rain that had plagued Scotland for most of the past three weeks had taken a rest, although the skies remained gray and threatening. Robert just hoped the weather would hold off until all were safely indoors.

Trumpets sounded and both men took their cue, looking up to see Marjory coming toward them astride a white horse. Robert's heart stopped at the sight of his child in her wedding finery. The people lining the road were throwing rose petals in her path, showering the bride with color.

The perfume of the flowers wafted subtly on the air and Robert glanced to where his wife stood. They exchanged a knowing look, a look filled with the memory of their own vows, of Elizabeth's ride to meet her groom. Robert remembered his joy at knowing that she was his to love. That same feeling was reflected on Walter's face, and Bruce relaxed. Marjory had indeed chosen well.

The horse stopped and Marjory's friends helped her to dismount. They draped the train of her dress behind her and led her to stand before the two men. Marjory gave her hand to her father and he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Then he joined the young couple's hands together, giving over his daughter into the young man's care.

Bruce was glad to see his daughter well wed. It seemed that Walter indeed cared for her—he wasn't put off by her shyness or lack of beauty. Indeed, he catered to her every wish, and it gladdened Robert's heart to see it.

The two exchanged their vows on the steps in front of the crowd. Then everyone adjourned into the abbey to celebrate the wedding mass.

How could it be that his daughter was twenty years old and a woman grown? Bruce sat beside his wife and held her hand, wondering where the years had fled. The years of hardship and denial had aged Elizabeth, but she remained beautiful. Now in her thirtieth year, she despaired of giving him a child. She insisted that the fault lay with her, that Marjory and Bryan were proof of that.

Perhaps she was right. But Robert had not given up hope; he prayed daily that God would bless them as he had Sarah and Abraham.

NEARLY TWO YEARS after Bannockburn, Edward of England still refused to acknowledge Robert the Bruce as the rightful king of Scotland. Orelia wasn't surprised when she heard that Bruce had taken to raiding northern England again in retaliation. She knew that Radbourne Hall was situated far enough north that Bruce might come there. But the estate lay in a sheltered valley, and Richard assured everyone that the Scots would not find them.

Orelia's enforced stay at Radbourne had been a subdued, daily trial. But when she heard of Bruce's raids she thought of Ceallach and wondered if he might come to England with his king. And if so, might he come to Radbourne? How she longed to leave this place that had become a prison.

Orelia sat at the loom in the weaving hut Richard had built adjacent to her cottage. As she passed the shuttle back and forth her mind seemed to weave its own tapestry of recent events. The spring and and summer after Iain's birth had been unusually wet and that year's harvest was poor. Fortunately, the previous harvests had been abundant, Radbourne had a good supply of grain in storage.

Orelia passed the shuttle through another time and pulled the beater bar down to tighten the weave. The wet weather remained, and she was weaving a tight, woolen cloth to shield them from the rain. But unlike the checkered cloth she'd woven with Ceallach at Dunstruan, this cloth was a dark blue with only a faint red stripe in it. Plain, like Orelia's life.

She shook off her melancholy and resumed passing the shuttle through the open shed of the warp. Last October had marked the one-year anniversary of Orelia's departure from Scotland, and she fought to repress the memory of Ceallach as he watched her leave. If she'd known then how much she would miss him, would she have gone?

She didn't know the answer to that question. Some days she was sure she would have stayed in Scotland—coming back had accomplished nothing except imprisonment. But as long as she remained in England she might be able to restore Iain's inheritance. When he was old enough to defend himself from Richard and Alice's accusations, Orelia would take Iain to London to see the king.

But for now she took pleasure in the milestones of raising her child. A few months ago, Orelia and Mary had celebrated Iain's first birthday in the small stone cottage where they lived in quiet obscurity.

They'd had another wet spring and summer. The weather and the enforced exile combined to make Orelia restless. With each passing day, Orelia prayed that her brother-in-law and his wife would release her. But Alice's behavior since the birth of her own son had been erratic, and Richard did nothing that would upset his wife.

The days passed and Orelia concentrated on taking delight in her child. The child whose red-tinged dark hair and laughing blue eyes so reminded her of John. His paternity became clearer with each passing day. Did Richard not see it?

FOURTEEN

Dormitory lights shall remain burning throughout the night “Brothers will refrain from boasting of to discourage unnatural behavior. post prowess or brave deeds.”

—from the Rule of the Templar Knights

I
shall
am tired of fighting and I want to go home. How many
soldiers have written those words over the ages, I wonder? I've
been fighting in Ireland this past year as it seems not all the Irish
share Bruce's desire for a united Gaelic army. But with our latest
victory here in Kildare, the last of the Irish resistance is overcome.
Edward Bruce will soon be crowned High King of
Ireland. Now we need not fear that Ireland will fall to
England's power; Scotland's western seaboard will be protected.

I cannot imagine these tidings will bring Robert much joy,
under the circumstances. News of his daughter's death reached
us just a few hours ago. My prayers are with him and Walter
and the babe. No one seems to know if it was a boy or girl.

Aye, I am praying again. I have not decided for sure that
anyone is listening, but prayer seems to give me the peace for
which I've been searching. Peace that I have found nowhere
else. Perhaps that is proof enough that God exists.

CEALLACH WAS NEARLY AS GLAD to be back in Scotland this time as he'd been after his escape from France. The past year in Ireland fighting against his fellow Gaels had made him anxious to return to Dunstruan and take up the life of a rural sheep farmer. He'd had time enough away from the place that the memories of Orelia shouldn't haunt him. Or so he hoped.

But before he went home he wanted to pay his respects to Bruce. He went to Dunfermline, and soon after arriving he faced his foster brother in the privacy of the king's solar. They sat in comfortable chairs before the fire. A servant brought refreshments and closed the door behind him when he left.

Once they were alone, Ceallach said, “I am truly sorry about Marjory's death, Robert. How did it happen?”

Bruce looked pained. “A fall from a horse. She was not the best of horsewomen.” He stopped. “When it became apparent she would not live the surgeon was called. He . . . had to cut the child from her as soon as she died.”

Ceallach closed his eyes and thought of young Walter the Steward. What a horrible decision for a husband to have to make. “And the babe?”

“A boy. Healthy except for an injury to his leg, either from the fall or from the surgeon. Walter has been quite distressed, as you may imagine.”

The talk of childbearing reminded Ceallach of Orelia, and again he wondered how she had fared in delivering her child. The child would be nearly a year and a half old by now. Ceallach forced his thoughts back to the present.