Maiden of Inverness (18 page)

Now tentative, Serena stared at her feet. “Did you truly write my name in the book?”

Meridene hadn't yet; she'd been too engrossed in the tragedy of poor Eleanor. “I will on the morrow.”

“Oh, thank you.” She curtsied and dashed from the room.

Meridene opened the book and turned the page.

I am the Maiden Catherine and newly acquainted with the office. The year is 1174, and our beloved king, William the Lion, has been captured by Henry II of England and forced to acknowledge him as overlord of Scotland.

While renovating her husband's castle, the bride Catherine had found the Covenant sealed in a space behind a niche in the solar wall. With the ancient book, she discovered a fine golden belt. To preserve them for future generations, she copied the chronicles to heavy vellum and polished the chain of office.

For almost two decades, the Maiden Catherine acquitted herself with honor, and in 1189, the year she passed the Covenant to her daughter, Scotland had recovered her independence.

Meridene sighed. The lives of her ancestors were fraught with war, kidnappings, and hard-won ransom.

“You look unhappy.”

She gasped in alarm. Revas stood in the doorway.

“How long have you been watching me?”

Moving into the room, he stopped before her. “Not long enough.”

Her hands curled around the book. “I thought you would be with one of your women.”

His brows rose, and with sheer determination, he said, “I am with my woman.”

Flustered, she sprang to her feet and returned the Covenant to the pedestal. Her feelings for Revas were twisted with her hatred for a family who had yanked her from the nursery, given her to an enemy king, poisoned her, then abandoned her.

War, kidnapping, and ransom.

“I'll just say good night.” She tried to move around him.

He caught her arm. “I've often wondered how I could make a place for you here—where we live the simple, country life. Now I—”

“Wait.” Freeing herself, she held up a hand. “Our marriage will be annulled. Thank you for the flower pennies. Good night.”

To cut off a reply, she left the room and hurried to her own. After locking her door, she took a drink of water and sat on the bed.

Just when her heart stopped racing, the lock clicked. Revas threw open the door and marched inside. Covering the distance between them in three long strides, he towered over her.

“You are mistaken and rude to interrupt a man to accuse him of a blunder he has yet to commit.”

“I knew what you would say.”

“Enlighten me.”

He wanted another intimate discussion. She didn't want to know him well enough to share her opinions. “No.”

“Accuse me or acquit me.”

He looked tired and overwrought and eager for a confrontation. Knowing he'd win, she again capitulated. “I knew you would try to cajole me into liking this ghastly land of warriors and petty kings.”

“Wrong. I had intended to say that I have stopped wondering how I could make a place for you here, because I decided 'twas best if you did that for yourself.”

How could he hand her her independence, then take it back? “You are generous to a fault.”

“I also came to tell you that Leslie has departed with your letter to the pope.” He handed her a leather purse. “And I wanted to give you money of your own.”

Coins chinked in the bag. “Thank you.”

“Rest well, Meridene.” He strolled from the room, but did not lock the door.

Too discomfited to sleep, she went to her loom, but the tapestry was almost finished and the repetitious work bored her. She needed the challenge of starting a new piece. But on what theme, and would she be here long enough to finish it?

After breaking the thread twice and stabbing her finger, she gave up the effort and went to her desk. With quill and ink she began to sketch.

The effort relaxed her, and before she'd finished the design, she yawned. Satisfied that she'd committed enough of her idea to paper, Meridene went to bed. As she closed her eyes, she thought of the Maiden Eleanor, chained to a dungeon wall in the castle of her enemy.

*  *  *

“Revas!”

Dragging himself from sleep, Revas opened his eyes. Serena stood over him, a lighted candle in her hand, her long red hair in disarray.

Alarmed, he sat up. “What's amiss, lass? Has Summerlad—”

“ 'Tis Lady Meridene. She's screaming in her sleep. I tried to rouse her, but she would not awaken.”

Revas almost sprang from the bed, but remembered he was naked beneath the covers. “Fetch a cup of Macqueen's ale and bring it to her room. I'll meet you there.”

“Aye. In a trice.”

“Tell no one about this, Serena. We cannot have everyone whispering about her troubled sleep. She's been cloistered in England, you know.”

“Wretched monsters. I hate them all.” Cupping her hand around the candle flame, Serena hurried from the room.

Revas bounded from the bed and drew on his breeches and slippers. As he snatched a cloak from the wall peg, he thought of Meridene's fitful dreams on the ship. He hadn't been able to comfort her then. Now he could.

Making little sound, he hurried down the hall, past Brodie's room and down the steps. He eased open the squat door leading to her apartment. The drapings were open and the glow of the brazier shed faint light on the bed and its occupant.

She thrashed and moaned and cried, “Nay, nay. I want to stay with you. Do not let them take me, Mother.” She thrust out her arm, her fingers grasping for the hand that was not there. “Mother!” she wailed.

The sound of her cries went straight to Revas's heart. He raked back the covers and climbed into bed. Dodging her flailing arms, he wrapped her in his own. “Shush, Meridene,” he whispered, struggling to hold her still. “Shush, sweet lass. All will be well.”

“Please don't make me go with the king.” She clung to him, her fingers clutching in a death grip. “I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. I swear I'll never touch your sword again, Papa.”

She jerked as if struck. Her pleas turned to sobs and her hands relaxed as if she were defeated. “Oh, Papa,” she moaned.

Damn Cutberth Macgillivray. What decent parents could ignore the entreaty of their own child? They'd left her with a legacy of fear. Ripping apart an innocent girl's life had not been villainy enough; they had also spoiled a woman's dreams.

Her skin felt damp and her braid had begun to unravel. Holding her tighter, he scooted to the head of the bed and rocked her. “Meridene?”

She did not hear; the nightmare had her in its grip. “Mother, please! William, where are you!” She grew frantic again. “Robert, help me! William!”

She called out for her brothers, men Revas knew, men he had wenched with and later faced in battle. Although older than Meridene, they had been youths at the time she'd been taken away and unable to help her. Did they mourn the loss of the sister as much as they despaired the loss of the Maiden of Inverness? He suspected they had put the event behind them, while Meridene was forced to live it again and again.

She'd been only eight and still in the nursery. Would that those men could see her now and witness the cruelty their father's lust for power had wrought.

“Oh, please, someone help me!”

A tear trickled down Revas's cheek, and his soul ached for her. No wonder she hated Scotland and everyone in it; they had banished her to England with only demons for companions. “I'm here, Meridene. No one will hurt you. No one will take you away.”

Praise God, she grew still. But in the next moment she drew up her knees and curled into a ball. She felt small in his arms, too small to carry so great a burden of fear.

He heard another voice crying quietly. Serena stood beside the bed, a candle wavering unsteadily in one hand, a tankard in the other. “Oh, Revas. How awful for her.”

His own throat was thick with sorrow, and he managed a quiet “Aye.”

“What will you do?”

“I'll protect her with my life.”

She put the tankard on the table by the bed. “What else can I do?”

“Stand at the door and let no one enter.”

He saw her leave, but his attention was focused on the woman in his arms. He thought of his daughter and the times he had comforted her—when she'd lost her front teeth, when her puppy had broken a leg. But Gibby's life, aside from a few slights regarding her bastardy, had been a May Fair compared to Meridene's.

The weight of his responsibility pressed in on Revas. The law gave him the right and the duty to claim his wife, even against her will. Morally, he questioned his decision. She had good cause to despise Scotland and its people, yet he had good reason to change her mind.

But how much of his determination stemmed from ambition? The better portion, he was forced to admit, and at times like this, he wished he had taken up his father's occupation. As a butcher, he wouldn't worry about alliances between clans, about Scottish unity, about the safety of those in his keeping.

What if dear Meridene had refused to drink from that poisoned cup so long ago? Left here with Revas, she surely would have grown to love the people and cherish the legend that was her destiny.

Don't fret over a dull blade. Sharpen it, his father had often said.

How much more Scottish blood would be spilled before Cutberth Macgillivray yielded the sword of Chapling and joined the Community of the Realm? Revas hadn't a guess; only the woman in his arms could make it so.

But how could she when ambitious men ruled her days, and demons ravaged her nights? How could he help her when she thought him the blackest villain of all?

Sometime later she slipped into restful sleep. Revas unfolded her arms and legs, and holding her against his chest, pulled up the covers.

She'd feel ashamed when she awakened and found him here. What would she say, and how could he reply?

A pounding head awakened Meridene. Her joints ached, as if she'd been beaten, and her sleeping gown felt damp.

The nightmare.

Limp with exhaustion, she stared up at the scenic canopy. Faint light seeped through the closed bed hangings. The tapestry overhead depicted a family of roe deer in a moonlit clearing. Angels hovered in the starry sky.

No guardian angel watched over Meridene Macgillivray.

The maudlin thought disgusted her. She had survived the dream again, and with less damage than on some occasions. No scratches irritated her skin, and her jaw did not cramp. She hadn't even kicked off the covers. Yet her head throbbed and her eyes burned with dryness.

Rolling onto her side, she parted the drape, but closed it immediately when a shaft of sunlight blinded her. What time was it? She felt as if she'd slept for days. Where was Ellen? Lisabeth? Serena?

Had Revas again sent them on errands?

Revas. He governed her actions, but more and more, he occupied her thoughts. She couldn't pass one hour to the next without thinking of him. His distinctive smell seemed to linger with her even now.

On that ridiculous notion, she threw back the covers and sat on the side of the bed. A tankard rested on the lamp table. Ellen's thoughtfulness, no doubt.

She needed more guidance than the others, Revas had said.

Will you swoon at my feet?
he had asked.

Will you sing?
she had replied.

Will you faff in love with me?

Like lifelong companions, they traded quips and discussed servants, but beneath the friendly banter lay unspoken demands and silent refusals.

Dismayed, Meridene took a drink and almost choked. It was ale, of the kind Revas had drunk yesterday. She had smelled the pleasant honey aroma on his breath. The taste was deceptively refreshing, and she now understood why he had cautioned Summerlad about partaking too much of the spirit.

But how had the tankard come to be here—beside her bed? He must have left it yesterday afternoon, and in the excitement of Randolph Macqueen's arrival, Ellen had overlooked it.

As she dressed, Meridene counted off the day's tasks. She must meet with Sim to approve his tally of the household account. Using some of the money Revas had given her, she would buy another loom and thread for the new tapestry. She would also order a bridal chest for Serena.

Meridene would be gone by the time the girl spoke her vows. Willingly, for Serena wanted Summerlad. No political agenda dictated their love and guided their future.

Meridene had attended only one wedding: her own, and it had been a lonely, sad day. But later, when the pain of exile had eased, she found freedom in England. She would have it again.

The Leslie lad had left for the Vatican. Randolph Macqueen would take her message to Sister Margaret. Help was on the way.

On the desk she found a note from Serena.

Lisabeth and I are spreading the word of the handmaiden's drawing on Saturday. Ellen plays shadow to Randolph M.