Love Above All (24 page)

“My lord!” Quentin began to protest, but King
Alexander cut him off.

“You voluntarily undertook the responsibility
for these two women,” the king said. “I feel certain they are
perfectly safe in your hands.”

“Sir!” Quentin exclaimed in open indignation.
“I do not want them on my hands!”

“This interview is at an end,” King Alexander
said. “I’m sure you understand how busy I am. Ewan will find a
place for you to sleep this night. The ladies may stay with Queen
Sybilla and her women.”

There was no way that Quentin could continue
to argue with a king who refused to hear anything more from him. He
had to be content with a baleful glare for Fionna, a look that
promised a raging quarrel in the near future.

Fionna didn’t care how angry he was. At the
moment, she didn’t even mind his furious declaration that he didn’t
want her. Quentin would be safe, and that was her chief concern.
Her secondary concern, that as the sisters of a pair of traitors,
she and Janet would be incarcerated in a strict convent for the
rest of their lives, was also resolved by King Alexander’s
decisions. She couldn’t begin to guess what the future would hold,
but she had succeeded in what she had intended to do, and for the
moment, that was enough. She’d deal with Quentin later.

She couldn’t help feeling pleased with
herself when she beheld the happy expression on Cadwallon’s face,
and saw the way he smiled at Janet.

The king’s residence was larger than it
appeared to be from the outside, and the queen’s apartments were
more spacious than Fionna expected. From the state of those
apartments it was evident to Fionna that the queen was planning to
travel north with her husband. While maidservants worked diligently
at the packing, Queen Sybilla came forward to greet the guests. A
slender, fair-haired lady, she was not especially pretty, but her
calm, regal air amid the chaos of her rooms made her seem most
attractive to the two weary travelers.

“You will want hot baths,” the queen said,
offering the most immediate requirement of hospitality. After
giving the order for bath water to be heated, she moved on to the
next act of a thoughtful hostess. “What clothing do you have? We
can provide fresh gowns for you to wear this evening. My ladies are
of various sizes, so I’m certain we can find something that
fits.”

“I have an extra dress with me,” Fionna said,
“but I’m sure my sister would appreciate a change of clothing.”

“See to it,” Queen Sybilla said to one of her
ladies, who hurried off to do her bidding. Another lady appeared
with wine and small cakes for them to eat. They sat near a brazier
for warmth and talked while the servants continued packing.

Fionna regarded the queen with interest,
recalling Braedon’s remarks about his birth and his assertion that
the circumstances of his life were far better than a bastard had
any right to expect.

Like Braedon, Queen Sybilla was illegitimate,
being a natural daughter of King Henry of England. Fionna knew
about her birth, for the information had raised eyebrows and quite
a few tempers among the Scottish nobles when King Alexander married
her. Proud men like Fionna’s brothers called the marriage an
insult, claiming Alexander ought to have wed a true princess.
Privately, Fionna thought Alexander had made a wise decision based
on the superior power of his nearest royal neighbor. Alexander’s
older sister was King Henry’s queen; by marrying one of Henry’s
daughters, Alexander had doubly insured the security of his realm.
It was clear to Fionna that the king of the Scots did not want a
war with England.

That wouldn’t stop Murdoch and Gillemore and
their friends from trying to start one.

Fionna wore her green silk dress that
evening, after one of the queen’s servants had ironed most of the
wrinkles out of it. Janet went to the great hall in brilliant blue
silk, with her bright red hair tumbling in unbound curls over her
shoulders. Fionna noticed several of King Alexander’s nobles
staring at her sister. Janet ignored all of them.

“I am glad you will be living in England,”
Cadwallon said to Fionna. He wasn’t looking at her, though. He
couldn’t keep his eyes off Janet. “I expect you’ll be at Wortham
for a while.”

“For no longer than is absolutely necessary,”
Janet said, interrupting Fionna’s attempt to respond.

“Where else would you go?” Cadwallon
asked.

“That is not your concern,” Janet snapped at
him.

“Speaking as one of your rescuers, I think it
is my concern,” Cadwallon said. He looked over Janet’s head to wink
at Fionna.

She didn’t care to listen to more of their
constant bickering, so she moved away. Deserting her sister’s side
proved to be a mistake, for a moment later Quentin’s fingers
wrapped around her elbow. From the look on his face, he was ready
to start his own argument, one to rival the ongoing contest between
Janet and Cadwallon.

“Why didn’t you warn me about your brothers’
plans for me?” Quentin asked in a low, angry voice. “More
importantly, why did you never mention Sir Desmond, when you knew
he had been captured?”

“I didn’t know you’d be interested,” she
said. “I had no idea you knew of his presence in Scotland.
Actually, I almost did tell you, when you asked me why Colum was to
be rewarded. If you will recall, I was somewhat distracted at the
time.” She looked pointedly at his hand, but he didn’t release her.
In fact, she felt his fingers tighten when she referred to the
hours they had spent in his bed. That almost involuntary
contraction of his bones and tendons gave her hope. Perhaps Quentin
was only pretending to be indifferent to her.

“I don’t think telling you about Sir Desmond
would have made a difference,” she continued. “By the time we met
he was already on a boat, and headed for France.”

“Very well, I will concede that point,” he
said. “But you should have told me about the plan to murder me. Why
didn’t you?”

“A life for a life,” she said. “When I first
learned who you are, you had just rescued me. I feared if I
revealed what I knew, you would go haring off to search for my
brothers and challenge them to combat.”

“So I might have done,” he admitted.

“They weren’t going to let you leave Scotland
alive, but they weren’t certain where to find you. I believed if
you rode straight back to England without encountering them, you’d
be safe and my debt to you would be paid. That’s why I agreed to go
with you. Later, while you were helping me to get Janet out of
Abercorn, Royce and all his men were there to protect you.”

“Do you expect me to thank you for my life?”
he asked, wondering if it was merely a sense of obligation that had
made her try to save him.

“You owe me nothing.”

Quentin stared at her, impaled by her steady
blue gaze. He had dared to think he’d be free of her if only he
could turn her over to King Alexander. He was beginning to realize
he’d never be free of her. He knew instinctively that, unlike other
women, she’d make no claims on him based upon the night when he had
taken her maidenhood.

She had succeeded in snaring him, all the
same, catching his formerly free and independent heart with the
twin lures of her intelligence and her sense of personal honor that
more than matched his own. Fionna paid her debts of honor. In doing
so, she had left him owing a greater debt to her than she
guessed.

“I know you don’t want me traveling with you
any longer,” she said. “I suspect you never did want to take me
with you and only did so because you are a decent man who wouldn’t
leave a half-drowned woman to fend for herself. But there’s no help
for it now. You cannot disobey King Alexander’s direct
command.”

“Oh, I could disobey.” He saw the frightened
look that came into her eyes at those words, and he noticed the way
she glanced in Janet’s direction. She was still worrying about her
sister; Fionna would likely worry about Janet until the day she
died. “But I won’t disobey,” he said, to ease her concern.

“How kind of you, my lord.” Fionna finally
pulled her arm from his grip. The instant she was free she turned
her back on him and went to stand among the queen’s ladies.

“Damnation,” Quentin muttered as Royce joined
him.

“I must say, I am looking forward to the
journey home,” Royce said with a roguish grin.

Quentin was sorely tempted to make a sharp
retort. He stopped himself just in time, for it suddenly occurred
to him that while his sense of honor lay in ruins over his
treatment of Fionna, he had managed to do one thing right over the
past few weeks. He had wanted to coax Royce out of his long period
of grief over the death of his beloved wife. The Royce who stood
smiling at his side was a newly restored version of the noble
knight who had first befriended him when Quentin was still a mere
squire. Royce’s old sense of humor and his interest in intrigue
were piqued by the danger and the excitement of their recent
adventures. That accomplishment was an occasion for joy.

“I am hoping it will be a quiet journey,”
Quentin remarked with false casualness. Then he waited expectantly
for Royce’s response. He was not disappointed.

“You may hope,” Royce said, grinning like a
naughty schoolboy, “but I doubt if you are right.”

Janet was in an oddly pensive mood later that
night, as the sisters prepared to share a bed in the women’s
quarters. She fluffed up her pillow, then pulled the quilt up to
her chin and lay staring at the opposite wall as if lost in
thought. Fionna sat on the side of the bed, braiding her hair.

“I saw you arguing with Cadwallon again,”
Fionna said.

“We always argue,” Janet responded. “This
time he told me I was a fool to asume King Alexander would have any
interest in finding a husband for me.”

“Cadwallon is not mistaken. King Alexander
has more important matters to consider.” She was about to expound
on the king’s growing problems with the highland Scots who,
according to what one of the king’s nobles had told her that
evening, were in revolt against Alexander’s Norman-style land
reforms. Before she could say anything Janet spoke again.

“He shook me so hard I feared he’d snap my
neck,” Janet said, a soft smile curving her lips. “Then he kissed
me.”

“Cadwallon did?” Fionna stared at her, the
king’s political difficulties vanishing from her mind at her
sister’s words.

“No man has ever kissed me before.” Janet’s
fingers lightly traced the edge of her mouth. “When I told him so,
Cadwallon said that’s because I talk too much, and constantly raise
objections to everything a man has to say.”

“It’s more likely because you’ve been at
Abercorn, where there aren’t any young men.” With sudden concern
Fionna regarded her sister’s pink cheeks and soft expression.
“Janet, do be careful. Don’t allow Cadwallon too many
liberties.”

“Cadwallon is an honorable man.”

“So is – so are they all,” Fionna said,
sighing at the memory of Quentin’s naked body lying close to
hers.

King Alexander bid farewell to Quentin’s
party while a misty dawn was breaking over Edinburgh. As he had
promised, a heavily armed Scottish escort accompanied them.

“Just to be sure we actually do depart from
Scotland without further delay,” Royce said to Fionna. “Alexander
plans to head north within the hour and he doesn’t want us
lingering to cause trouble with your brothers. If the lowland Scots
are roused into revolt, he’ll have to come south again to deal with
them, which means he’ll need to split his army in two if he’s to
fight the northern uprising at the same time. I don’t envy
Alexander; I wouldn’t be a king for all the glory on earth or in
heaven, either.”

At the base of the fortress crag they paused
just long enough to gather up Royce’s servants and the supply carts
that were awaiting their lord’s return. By the time King
Alexander’s banners were visible in the forefront of the royal
cavalcade that was making its way through the mist and down the
twisting path from the top, the Normans were out of the little town
and heading south.

“I grow weary of crisscrossing these
borderlands again and again,” Fionna said to Cadwallon, who had
taken up his usual position between her and Janet.

“Let us hope and pray this will be the last
time,” he responded.

“How long before we reach Wortham?” Janet
asked.

“Probably, two weeks,” Cadwallon answered.
“Perhaps a little less, if the weather is fine. Longer, if this
cursed rain and fog continues. A man, or two men, or even three,
riding alone can make a faster journey of it, but with this crowd
we move more slowly.” He waved a hand to indicate all the
men-at-arms, the servants, and the baggage carts.

“Two weeks?” Janet cried. “You expect me to
sit a horse all day, every day for two weeks?”

“Not I,” said Cadwallon. “I’d never dare
require such exertion from you. No, my lady, your own beloved king
commanded it. Surely, you heard him?” He tried to smother a laugh,
but without much success. Of course, Janet noticed his humor.

“You brute!” she exclaimed. “How can you be
so unfeeling?”

Shaking her head in bemusement at the way
Janet and Cadwallon could never seem to converse for more than a
few sentences without getting into an argument, Fionna nudged her
horse to move faster, so she could ride ahead of them and avoid
having to listen.

Since Janet and Cadwallon were not far behind
Royce and Quentin at the front of the column of riders, Fionna soon
found herself too near Quentin for comfort.

“They are remarkable, aren’t they?” Quentin
said, glancing over his shoulder at the couple. “It’s a strange
form of lovemaking.”

Fionna was minded to dispute his conclusion,
until she recalled Janet’s dreamy account of Cadwallon kissing
her.