Maiden of Inverness (19 page)

In the dining hall, Meridene heard Ellen's voice. Looking through the hearth and into the common room, she saw the girl perched atop the table. Randolph Macqueen sat on a bench nearby. He wore spurs, chain mail, and his battle sword. His traveling bag and tartan cape rested on the floor at his feet.

Ellen turned pleading eyes to him. “Is it true that you were chained in an enemy's dungeon, beaten, and starving for the sight of your beloved? And Elizabeth Gordon braved great peril to rescue you. Does her love for you know no earthly bounds?”

“Aye, lass. Only her service to the king delays our vows.”

Ellen wilted in a fake swoon. “I knew 'twas true. Lost love found is so very romantic.”

Meridene walked through the hearth. “As I'm sure you will discover in five or six years, Ellen. Now bid Lord Randolph farewell and fetch the tankard Revas left by my bed.”

Ellen's eyes bulged. “Revas came to your bed last night!”

“Of course not. He left it there yesterday afternoon.”

“In the light of day!” Ellen squeaked.

Randolph choked back laughter and twisted his war bracelets.

He had played the gallant last night. Today he'd lost his charm. Meridene glowered at him. “You know precisely what I meant.”

“Aye,” he said. “Revas will keep to the letter of the Covenant.”

The tenets of the Maiden dictated that she must be a virgin to demand the sword of Chapling from her father. Everyone knew Revas wanted her only for the power she could gain him. They certainly weren't timid in voicing their opinions, either.

Better that, she thought, than rumors about him visiting her bed. “Ellen, you are to tell no one where you found the tankard.”

“I swear. I will tell everyone he worships you from afar.”

“Should you tell anyone my business, I will order you to count the peas in the pantry.”

Her country-fresh face contorted into a fearful frown. “I will speak only of trivialities.”

“Then you may work on the tapestry if you like.”

“Thank you.” She dashed through the hearth and down the hall.

Meridene turned to Randolph. “My thanks to you for offering to deliver my message to Sister Margaret.”

“I did not offer. Revas asked me to do it. I shall tell the good sister that you are hale and happy. Although I doubt 'tis true.”

Meridene stepped back. “Have you been gossiping about me?”

“Nay. I watched you with Revas last night.” He scratched his thick black beard. “Women are usually more attentive to the man who united the Highlands and will one day wear the crown.”

Of course they were. Twenty women. Twenty-one, were anyone counting. “Let him boast where he may, but he cannot claim the title, for he hasn't the sword of Chapling.”

“Get it for him. 'Tis your duty to the people of the Highlands.”

“Duty. Have you a duty to me?”

“Aye. To protect the Maiden of Inverness with my life.”

“The Maiden is no more, but you may take my message to Drummond Macqueen.” Bother the clans and the Macqueens. None of them knew her well enough to judge her reasons for avoiding Scottish affairs. “Tell your brother that if ill comes of my sojourn in Scotland, the sin rests with him.”

“With Drummond?”

“Yes. He told Revas where to find me.”

He pointed to the shields on the wall. “As would any of those Highlanders did they come by the knowledge. Old Edward had no right to take the Maiden from us.”

She recognized his loyalty; a woman's desires were subject to the concerns of men. “I will not be a pawn in your wars.”

His expression stiff with consternation, he moved closer. “Then your namesake should have wed a Dane instead of a Scotsman. That would have saved us centuries' worth of meddling Maidens of Inverness!”

“How dare you!”

“Because this is my homeland. You are the Maiden of
our
time, Meridene Macgillivray. Although we should have expected as little from the loins of your sire.”

A chill passed through Meridene at the mention of her father.

“Ask her pardon, Randolph.” Garbed in chain mail and war boots, his sword belt slung over his shoulder, Revas stepped through the hearth. He carried a heavy sack. “She's not to blame for her father's ill deeds.”

Randolph stared at the wall, his face tight with anger. “Ill deeds? Putting Nairn to the torch again is foul beyond that. 'Tis the blackest of sins.”

“Aye, but your anger stems not from my beloved, but from your own, estranged as you are from the Lady Elizabeth.”

As quickly, Randolph's anger fled. “You speak the truth, my friend.” He smiled at Meridene. “I meant no offense to you, Maiden. Too much of my own brew and a Gordon woman are to blame.”

“Those things,” Revas said, “and ignoring your own advice. I told you Meridene was too clever for you—especially since you are straining at the bit to say your wedding vows.”

Her father had attacked a village with families; yet these men chatted about personal matters. She looked from one to the other. “When was Nairn set afire?”

“ 'Twas at the close of Vespers last,” Revas said. “The city was well armed and manned, so all was not lost.”

“What will you do?” she asked.

His calm expression told her no more than his silence. “You will not retaliate?” she said.

He handed Randolph the sack. “Montfichet has prepared a feast for your journey to Fairhope Tower. Give my best to Lord Drummond, and tell Lady Clare we wish her a swift and successful delivery. Now, if you both will excuse me.”

She didn't know this distracted, stern Revas Macduff. “Where are you going?”

“To take provisions to Nairn.”

“You're leaving her here?” Randolph said.

Revas paused at the hearth. “Much as I'd like to take my wife with me, the accommodations will be lacking.”

Randolph put down the sack. “I'll stay until you return.”

Revas looked pointedly at his friend. “Thank you, but 'tis not necessary. Brodie and Summerlad will be here, as well as a company of Forbes.”

They discussed her protection, but spoke as if she were a child to be tended. And kept uninformed. “Does my father come? Does he know that I am here?”

“The gates of Auldcairn Castle are open to one and all. People come and go at will. Tis possible that someone has told him you have come home,” said Revas. “But I assure you he visits his evil closer to his own.”

Pray God he stayed there until she could flee Scotland. “When will you return?”

Irony tinged his smile. “So soon that I doubt you will even miss me. But if I do not return tonight, Summerlad will escort you to table.”

Each of her childhood excursions had included an armed guard. Soldiers had even followed her and her mother to church. But her father always had enemies at the gate. “Why must I have Summerlad for a guard?”

“I had hoped you would keep an eye on him. Not the other way 'round.”

The lighthearted comment sounded forced. He was leaving, and suddenly she wanted him to stay. Impossible. His absence would afford her freedom. He was privy to the state of affairs in Scotland, and if he thought her safe, why should she worry? She would not. “Have a care on your journey, Revas.”

He smiled. “I shall, Meridene.”

He spoke her name with ease, as if they were boon companions or something more. Too aware of herself, she stared at the kettle simmering on the hearth fire.

“I'll ride with you to Elgin's End.” Randolph moved to Revas's side. “Farewell, Lady Meridene.”

“To you,” she murmured, struggling to get her mind off Revas's departure.

She walked to the window and watched them mount. Revas rode a dappled gray warhorse, his shield and helmet fastened to the saddle. Macpherson, the Grant lad, and several others flanked him. At least a score of mounted soldiers followed. Behind them, three overburdened wagons rumbled down the lane.

At the gate, he drew rein and hailed Summerlad Macqueen, who patrolled the wall. The youth raced down the steps and halted beside Revas. Leaning in the saddle, he spoke briefly.

Summerlad straightened, and Meridene could almost hear him say, “Aye, sir.”

Bracing his hand on the horse's rump, Revas turned back to the castle. His gaze moved to the window where Meridene stood. He nodded, smiling, then kicked the horse into motion.

How had he known she watched him? Did he now trust her? Curiosity drove her to his chamber, which she found unlocked. The Covenant rested on the pedestal, and like a siren, the book called to her. She found her place and turned the page.

I am Margaret, the first Maiden of that name, and the last, I fear, to wear the crown of rowans.

Spellbound, Meridene read the account of a woman who had borne six healthy sons and three daughters, all with hair as pale as sunbeams. At eight and twenty, Margaret despaired of conceiving a dark-haired girl to carry on the legend.

Superstition dictated Margaret's every move. The priest counseled her to wear only black. The chambermaid anointed her mattress with salt water. The midwife advised against conceiving again at her advanced age. When she did blossom with child, King William's surgeon ordered her hair shorn and the black tresses placed in the awaiting cradle. The cook dusted her food with soot from the hearth.

At the hour her labor began, Margaret was moved to the dungeon so that no light would taint the coloring of her child.

She died in that dark place, a smile on her face, a raven-haired daughter in her arms.

Her husband had been so aggrieved that he had ordered the felling of every rowan tree in sight.

I am Angus
, he had written in the book,
and I loved well the Maiden Margaret. Would it bring her back, I would gladly cast the sword of Chapling into the sea.

Heartbroken and confused, Meridene closed the book. She'd read no more stories of women who gave their lives for a legend. Not when her father waged war a few hours' ride away.

She thought of her own older siblings. Like her father, they were fair. Had her mother prayed for a dark-haired girl during those births? By turning to the last page, Meridene could read her mother's account. But she preferred to read the entries in the order they were written. In light of the great sacrifices revealed thus far in the book, anticipation was a small concession.

And she had to admit that she rather liked seeing the story unfold in stages. She knew she would open the book again, but not today.

Other concerns intruded, and as she went in search of Sim, Meridene questioned whether Revas told the truth when he said he was going to Nairn. What if he was now planning a siege of her father's castle? He rode north toward the port city of Elgin's End, not west to Kilbarton Castle, her father's home. Once out of sight, Revas could easily change directions.

What if her father slew him in battle? The answer made her tremble, for she would be returned to Kilbarton Castle and married to the man of her father's choosing.

As she made her way down the lane to the carpenter's shop, she couldn't stop wondering if Revas had ridden into danger. What would become of these people should ill befall him?

She surveyed the castle wall and counted only ten guards on patrol. The gates stood open. In the tiltyard, Brodie observed the swordplay of Summerlad and one of the lanky Macphersons.

If her father posed a threat, no one here took it seriously.

Neither would she. She had business in the village, and she'd dallied too long in her unsuccessful search for the steward, Sim.

With squealing pigs and honking geese for accompaniment, the people of Elginshire conducted their affairs. Smoke hung in the air over the thatched roofs of the houses that lined the hay-strewn lane. A broom boy hawked his hardiest sweepers. A woodsman peddled peat from a cart. A red-haired lad and his younger sister tugged on the leading rein of a braying ass.

As she walked through the village, the purse of marks and flower pennies slapping against her thigh, Meridene tried to remember similar excursions in Daviot, the city that stood hard by her father's castle. But she'd been small at the time and unable to see past the armed escort that always surrounded the members of her family.

In Elginshire, every day brought some new happening, some challenge to meet. Men did not cast furtive glances her way. Women did not gaze in sympathy at the lonely girl who longed to play with the others her age.

The people of the village called out greetings and asked after her health. She spoke to old women and young, to children both bold and shy.

The stubborn ass nudged the red-haired girl into the mud. Her brother gallantly helped her up and dried her tears. For his kindness, Meridene awarded him a flower penny.

A burst of boyish pride squared his shoulders. “I'll be the best man o' the Highlands when I grow up.”

As if she were looking at a jeweled crown rather than a wooden coin, his sister peered into his hand. So endearing was the girl's awe, Meridene handed over another penny.

Passing the laundry, she heard Serena informing the maids of the drawing on Saturday next to choose a new handmaiden.

Meridene grappled with her conscience over the upcoming event, for she dreaded giving the impression that she intended to stay. But Revas knew of her determination to end the legend, and after reading the Covenant, he must agree that only misery visited the Maidens of Inverness.

Resolved that the Highlands would carry on without her, Meridene continued her search for Sim. It ended at the carpenter's shop, where the steward stood over a table and, with the craftsman, examined a drawing.

She paused in the doorway.

“Remember who the bed is for,” the steward said. “Revas cannot have his feet dangling off the end.”

The carpenter nodded. A hail of wood shavings drifted from his hair and shoulders. “I'll fashion it after the Maiden's bed. He said 'twas fair perfect for him.”