Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (23 page)

At one point, hearing a shriek of laughter from their room, Lady Murray said, “It must be crowded when all of you who serve Isabel are together here.”

“The rooms are small, aye, and often untidy,” Sibylla said. “Although the maids try to keep our clothing sorted out, they do not always succeed. However, the chambermaid did find the things I left behind last time, so I can go to supper with you properly if not stylishly attired.”

“If you need anything that I have with me, you need only ask for it.”

“Thank you,” Sibylla said, hoping her surprise did not show.

Lady Murray had grown less stiff with her during their journey and seemed friendlier to everyone than she had hitherto seemed capable of being with anyone.

As Sibylla ordered water and a tub for their baths and watched Lady Murray with Rosalie and Alice, she noted that her ladyship treated the two much the same, as if Alice were another of her daughters.

Summoning the maid a short time later to help her wash her hair, she let her thoughts wander to Simon. Recalling that he had said his mother had also warned him against Fife, she hoped he did not think she was
like
his mother.

In view of her ladyship’s friendlier manner, the thought seemed unfeeling, even silly. Why should she care if Simon treated her like his mother? He was perfectly civil to his mother, and heaven knew he was often not at all civil to
her
.

On the first floor of David’s Tower, the fires in the two great-hall fireplaces were roaring and the company already merry when Simon and his party entered.

Because only members of the royal family, their noblest guests, and ecclesiastical dignitaries sat at the long table on the dais that extended along much of one long wall of the hall, the high chamberlain directed them to one of three long, linen-draped trestle tables set perpendicular to the dais.

Between the second and third tables, the arrangement left space for acrobats, jugglers, and musicians who would entertain throughout the evening. If dancing was to take place, servants would dismantle the trestles after everyone had eaten.

Fine steel knives, small dishes for salt, silver cups, and shallow pewter bowls rimmed in silver marked each place, and each place faced the central space so everyone could watch the entertainment.

Simon and the others were none too soon. As they stepped into their places, the chamberlain’s hornsman blew for silence, and servants approached with ewers, basins, and towels so they could wash their hands. The royal chaplain soon began solemnly to speak the grace before meat.

Simon had taken the place at one end of their group, with Sir Malcolm at the other end, keeping the four ladies between them. Sir Malcolm declared that Lady Murray should sit beside him and Sibylla beside Simon.

“That way,” he added, “our lassies will be well protected in our midst.”

Simon had no objection. Having eaten precious little at midday, he was ravenous and appreciated the chaplain’s brevity. With the court in residence, despite supper being smaller and more casual than the midday dinner, the ritual of serving was much the same for both and could be tedious.

As they took their seats, the royal pantler and his minions came in with bread and butter, followed by the royal butler and his lads, carrying jugs of wine and ale.

Then, to the accompaniment of pipes and drums, four linen-draped carts rolled in bearing huge barons of beef. These proceeded around the assembly with impressive ceremony and much applause, followed by a parade of servants with platters and bowls of other foods in profusion.

The royal carvers twirled their knives as the beef cart reached the dais, then proceeded with the ritual carving of the roasts onto silver platters for every table.

“Dare I ask if all went well with Fife?” Sibylla murmured to Simon as she took a roll from a basket presented to her.

Glancing at the high table, and aware of Alice next to Sibylla, Simon turned back and said, “We should exchange only civilities here, my lady. You know as well as I do that interested ears surround us here.”

“Very well, then. I think your sister is enjoying herself hugely. Do not you?”

“I do, aye,” he said, noting a twinkle in her eyes. “I am, myself, come to that.”

His answer surprised Sibylla, but she did not comment on it, keeping to such harmless topics as the weather and the castle itself until he stirred a gurgle of laughter from her when, in the same tone in which moments earlier he had remarked on the elegance of the vaulted ceiling, he said, “I like that gown. It suits you well.”

“ ’Tis good that I am not vain, sir, or in a temperamental mood,” she replied. “You, with all your experience of court life, must easily see that this dress is two years out of style and lacks every ornamental detail considered necessary today.”

“I do know about style,” he said. “Style and fashion are what drive women to such absurdities as painting their faces and shaving their foreheads and temples, not to mention plucking their eyebrows until . . . There! Just look at that lass across the way by the wobbly juggler on stilts. She doubtless considers herself a stylish woman, for she has plucked her eyebrows until she looks as if she hasn’t got any.”

He sounded so indignant that Sibylla had to suppress another laugh, but she said, “Men follow absurd fashions, too, sir. Just note that one with the nipped-in waist and padded chest, trying to look as if he has muscles under that tunic. If he dances, he will be lucky not to trip over those long-piked shoes of his.”

“Sakes, lass, I hope you don’t accuse me of wearing such stuff.”

Her laughter bubbled over then until she could scarcely control it. The mental image of stern-faced Murray of Elishaw striding about in red-silk shoes with points nearly six inches long, a padded orange-and-green-striped doublet, and varicolored hose—one leg lavender, the other bright pink—was too much.

“I’d suggest rejecting the orange stripes,” she said when she could talk.

He chuckled, and the sound warmed her.

Still smiling, she said, “That meeting must have gone well.”

“Well enough, although I should describe it more accurately as perplexing,” he said. “We won’t talk of it here, though. Will you try more of this beef?”

They ate until they had assuaged their hunger, and soon afterward minstrels began playing as servants cleared the trestles for dancing and other activities.

When Alice and Rosalie asked if they could join a round dance, Simon said he would permit it if Sir Malcolm would.

“We should offer to join them,” Sibylla suggested. “My father will not dance, but neither will he want Alice to do so unless someone keeps an eye on her. I warrant your lady mother will feel the same about Rosalie.”

Accordingly, they moved to follow their sisters, only to watch in amazement as Sir Malcolm and Lady Murray went off with them, saying they would dance, too.

“I don’t think I have ever known my mother to dance,” Simon said.

“I must say, no one would suggest a dispute between our families now,” Sibylla said. “Has her ladyship told you yet what caused their disagreement?”

“Nay, and your father told me flatly that he won’t if she does not.”

“Well, I know he won’t tell me,” she said. “Still, ’tis strange to see them so friendly, is it not? My father seems years younger of late.”

“My mother is different, too,” Simon said. Proffering his arm to her, he cast a wary look around the chamber and added, “Prithee, lass, promise me we will not end up playing hot cockles or hoodman blind with our sisters and their friends.”

She was about to assure him that neither Alice nor Rosalie would want to play bairns’ games even if adults were, when she caught sight of a familiar figure.

“The Douglas is here, sir. I wonder if Isabel came with him.”

“He has seen us,” Simon said.

Archie the Grim strode toward them. A tall, lanky man in his sixth decade whom many called the Black Douglas, he had retained the darkly tanned complexion of his youth. Although his once raven-black hair had grizzled, his deep-set dark eyes were as bright as ever, and the brilliant Douglas smile lit his craggy features long before he was near enough to greet Sibylla.

As she made her curtsy, he grasped a hand to draw her upright, pressing it to his lips as he did. “God greet you, lass,” he said, kissing her next on the cheek. “I hope you are fully recovered from the sickness that kept you at Sweethope.”

“I am, sir. But you must have seen Isabel. Did she come here with you?”

“Nay, for I came by way of Hermitage to talk to Fife and will return the same way on Sunday. If Isabel has not arrived, I warrant she must be somewhere betwixt Galloway and here. She expected to arrive this week. Art staying in her chambers?”

“Aye, sir, with Lady Murray, her daughter Rosalie, and my sister, Alice.”

“That’s good then. I must spirit this young man away for a time. Can you contrive without his escort whilst the two of us talk?”

She agreed, realizing only when the Douglas and Simon had walked away that the others in her party had done so, too. She spied her father and Lady Murray first, watching a troupe of acrobats, and then caught sight of Alice and Rosalie some distance away, where a ring was forming for a round dance.

As she wended her way through the crowd, she saw Alice join hands with a good-looking young man on one side and Rosalie on the other. Rosalie might not have been there, however, for Alice gazed at the young gentleman as if moonstruck.

Sibylla quickened her pace just as the lad pulled Alice from the ring and urged her hastily toward a nearby doorway. Rosalie watched them for a moment, frowning, then abruptly freed herself and hurried after them.

Sibylla followed apace, noting as she did that someone else was watching.

Edward Colville’s brow knitted heavily, and he was closer than Sibylla was when Alice and her companion, and Rosalie, vanished through the doorway.

Chapter 13

T
he Douglas led Simon into a nearby alcove with benches against two walls.

Glancing about, Douglas said, “Heard you were here, lad, and wanted a word. As I’ve no doubt you ken fine, we’ve a plague of reiving in the Borders.”

“Aye, sir,” Simon agreed. “They raided one of my people near Hobkirk just days ago. Those same men, or others like them, threw two bairns into the Tweed. We’ve caught none of them, but folks who saw them think they were English.”

“I’m thinking the Percys may be setting events in motion to shatter this fragile truce we’ve wrought,” Douglas said. “I’ll not have that.”

Simon frowned. “Do you suspect any Percy in particular as the leader?”

“Nay, we hear only rumors. Would you tell me if you’d heard more?”

“I would,” Simon said. “I’d be doing little to maintain

Elishaw’s neutrality if I were to conceal knowledge of intent on either side to break the truce.”

“You’re gey glib on the subject,” Douglas said testily. “I’d liefer you’d decide once and for all to side with Scotland, lad. As I told you eight months ago, you cannot straddle yon line for long without vexing
both
sides.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Simon said. “But if I side with the Scots, Northumberland and his lot may try to seize Elishaw again. They’ve done it before, more than once.”

“I’ll see that that doesn’t happen. I’ve beaten Percys afore, and I’ll do it again. You’ve two Scottish good-brothers now, lad—stout, loyal men. You ken fine that they want you to stand for Scotland as I do, so you think hard on it.”

“I have thought, my lord, and I will continue to think. Pray, do you also urge me to pursue the lady Sibylla?”

“I do not. But why do you say ‘also’?”

“The Governor learned that my family and I arrived here with Sir Malcolm and his daughters. Fife has made it plain that he expects our marriage.”

Archie’s grim face softened. “Bless us, lad, but you of all men should know Sibylla will marry where she pleases.” His face hardened again as he added, “When you choose sides, Simon, choose wisely. With Sibylla as your wife or none, if I find you’re supporting the Percy, I’ll hang you as a traitor. And I’ll do it without a blink.”

With those cheering words and a parting clap on the shoulder that Simon almost did not see coming soon enough to brace himself, the Douglas was gone.

Stepping back into the hall, Simon looked for the others and saw his mother and Sir Malcolm in a ring of dancers. He scanned the room only a few seconds longer before he realized that Sibylla, Rosalie, and Alice had vanished.

Sibylla hurried after Rosalie and Alice, suspecting the lad with Alice must be the lackwit. She lost sight of Rosalie before reaching the doorway, so she kept her eye on Edward Colville and followed in his wake.

He did not look back, for which she was grateful. Having no doubt he would seize any chance to create trouble for her, she hoped to deal with him after they found the girls and not let him delay her now.

Passing through an anteroom and a larger chamber without seeing anyone from whom she might beg assistance, she drew a breath, warning herself to keep her temper. She had given Edward cause to be angry with her, but with Alice and Rosalie at hand, and Alice’s young man, she thought she would be safe enough.

On entering the large chamber, she had caught a glimpse of Rosalie’s skirt vanishing through the far doorway. But although that chamber opened onto a long corridor, she saw only Edward Colville ahead of her.

He turned abruptly to his left and disappeared. Sibylla had stayed in Edinburgh Castle many times and knew that a small anteroom opened off the corridor there. The first floor of the tower was a maze of such chambers, often opening from one to another. Trysting couples seeking privacy or to avoid the noisy din in the hall often made use of them.

Reaching the open doorway, Sibylla saw Rosalie facing Edward. Alice and her young gentleman were nowhere to be seen.

Pausing to look up and down the corridor again and wonder where Alice had gone, she dismissed the thought when Rosalie said angrily, “Release me!”

“Och, and why should I?” Edward asked with a sneering laugh. “A pretty wench that wanders unescorted offers invitation to any man she meets, does she not? Where did Alice go?” he added harshly.