Maiden of Inverness (31 page)

Unaccustomed to hearing her brother's name spoken casually, Meridene didn't know what to feel about the only one of her siblings who'd bothered to befriend her. But William wasn't an adventurous boy. In Meridene's absence, he had acquired a beloved wife and children. No legacy had prevented him from following his heart. No traditions dictated his future.

Bitterness cast a pall over the joy she'd felt earlier in the day. But she must move on, else she'd dwell, helpless, in a bog of sorrow.

Revas was doing his part to aid her, and she did trust him. His reasons for wanting her were plain; he hadn't colored up his ambitions with love words or deceits. From the moment he'd faced her in the ship's cabin, he had been forthright in his mission.

That she'd come to love him felt natural of late. Even so, the future looked bleak. “Yes,” she said with all the confidence she could manage. “Let's see what William has brought.”

“I love surprises.” Revas's agile fingers worked at the knot. So dear, he was, and so willing to run before her troubles.

Anticipation gleamed in his eyes as he peered into the sack. “A letter for you.” He plucked it out and put it on her lap.

William had mentioned a message from his beloved. Read it later, her heart pleaded. Learn what other tokens he'd brought, her courage said.

“A gift of—” Revas held a small sack to his nose and sniffed. “The original and very rare scent of heather. From your niece.” The bundle joined the letter. “The wee lassie is named for you, the best of all the Macgillivrays.” He jiggled his fair eyebrows. “Since Hacon dragged your namesake into his cave.”

At the comical image and the artless compliment it implied, Meridene felt her indifference waver and her composure falter. He was playing a part to please her, and in the doing, he revealed yet another delightful aspect to an altogether enchanting man.

Not waiting for a comment, he again delved into the sack. “A string of pinfeathers,” he announced. “From William's son to his favorite aunt. The plumage of the black cock brings the bearer good fortune, you know.”

Impatience forced her to say, “Leave off, Revas. The boy doesn't know me. I cannot be his favorite.”

An expression of mock injury gave him a jolly air, and with great ceremony, he again thrust his arm into the sack. He twisted his wrist, feeling for the items within. Metal chinked. He ignored it and went on with his search.

“Revas?”

His hand stilled. He grew serious.

“What have you found?”

Slowly and with much hesitance, he produced a velvet pouch. Threadbare in places and repaired in many more, the cloth had once been very fine. He worked open the frayed drawstring, but his gaze stayed fixed on her. When he tipped the bag, a golden chain tumbled into her lap.

The other is yours by right and title.

Her first thought was to reject the symbol, but she must overcome the cowardice that made her quake. Willing her hands to still, she picked up the chain.

Catherine's written description had not overflattered the chain of office. Using the crude tools of his age, the goldsmith had done credit to his craft. Cloverleaf-sized links in the shape of cinquefoils were connected with small discs, each bearing a thistle, the ancient symbol of Clan Chapling. The belt symbolized the marriage of the Maiden to the king of the Highlands.

“The Maiden's belt?” Revas asked.

Without doubt, it was, but Meridene had never before seen it. “Why didn't my mother wear it? She styled herself the Maiden.”

“Perhaps she was like Isobel and took up only some of the duties. Not every Maiden served with the dedication and authority of Meridene.”

She spread her hands over the items in her lap. “I do not seek the legacy, Revas. And I am unprepared for so much responsibility.”

He watched her closely. “ 'Tis your choice to make, and I must confess the pocked keys to Auldcairn Castle will surely corrupt your golden chain.”

Charm came effortlessly to him; another of his admirable qualities. He also seemed vulnerable—odd, considering she was the one facing the demons. But not alone, not if she wished his help.

Decisively he returned the items to the sack, taking great care with the feathers. “ 'Twill wait,” he said, as if her decision were none of his affair. “I'm certain you'd like to bathe.”

She thought of their heated coupling amid the moss-covered stones. The last safe moment she might ever know, for her life was irrevocably changing. “Because of what we did at the ruins?”

“Nay.” He kissed her nose. “Because you smell of the
other
stallion.”

Before she could protest at his vulgarity, he rose. “I'll send in your handmaidens and have Sim show Father John to Thomas's quarters. Then I'll settle William in the south tower.”

“How long will he stay?”

Plaintively he said, “Till Whitsunday, I would suppose, unless you wish it otherwise.”

Whitsunday was a fortnight away. “Did you send for him, or does he come at my father's bidding?”

“He will break from Cutberth. He even wears the Macgillivray tartan, not the cloth of Chapling.”

She hadn't noticed William's garments; she'd been unable to take her eyes from the face she remembered all too well. “He called me little Maiden.”

“ 'Twas the first time?”

“No, but why would he address me so, unless he thought I had returned to Scotland willingly?”

He cleared his throat and glanced at the door. “I cannot speak for William Macgillivray.”

He avoided the subject. Why? “You led the people of Elginshire to believe I'd returned cheerfully.”

Looking like a man who didn't know what to do with his free hand, he rubbed his thigh. “I am guilty of that.”

“But not without remorse of late.”

“Aye. I am, as you say, ambitious and overeager to grow old in peace among these people. I should like to see all of my children and all of their children christened in the chapel.”

Simply said, the noble thought spoke loudly of his sense of duty. So seldom had she been a party to such unselfish stewardship, she felt honor-bound to endorse it. “The people of Elginshire are fortunate to have you.”

He acknowledged the compliment with a poignant smile. “What will you do?”

After a bath and a little more time to reassure herself, she would face her brother. “Ask William to join us at table. Shall you and I go together?”

The sack hit the floor. A broad smile perfectly transformed him into the lad she'd known long ago, a butcher's son who'd promised to come for the Maiden of Inverness.

He swept her into his arms and hugged her fiercely. “Always, my love.”

His devotion disarmed her, and if she didn't watch herself, she'd grovel at his feet and find herself nose-deep in Scottish intrigues, a crown of rowans on her head.

“Wait!” he said, and held her at arm's length. “What if Montfichet serves your English fare?”

He looked so engrossed in the dilemma, she grasped the opportunity to lighten the mood. “Stuffed eggs and spring greens?”

“Not,” he said with great effect, “the typical Scotsman's fare.”

An odd choice of words, for he was anything but typical. “Then I shall eat more than my share,” she said. “And William will have an adventurous meal. But what will you do if Montfichet serves haggis?” Revas hated haggis.

He looked deeply into her eyes. “I shall persevere.” Softer he said, “The new tapestry is exceedingly fine.”

Pride glowed inside her, and she almost flung her arms around his neck. But she'd been alone with her feelings for too many years, and decorum reigned. “Thank you.”

“Do not forget,” he said sternly. “You were a clever lass when last you saw William. Shall I tell him of the siren you've become?”

The ruins. The lovemaking beneath a canopy of larches. If Revas spoke of their—

“ 'Twasn't
that,
Meridene.” Hands on his hips, arms akimbo, he looked affronted to his soul.

A smile brightened her spirits and embarrassment heated her cheeks. He'd done his best to banish her fear; she must return the favor, and with friendship. “You're a devil and more, Revas Macduff.”

“So Brodie often says, but I swear the sound of it is sweeter upon your lips.” He cupped her cheek. “Name me the grandest fool o' the Highlands, but I think I should summon your handmaidens.”

The courteous remark and loving gesture smacked of evasion, for Revas Macduff was ever the rogue. He was prepared to leave, but why? Unless—The truth dawned, and she didn't know whether to accuse him of intrigue or compliment him for a gallant. “You wish to speak alone with William.”

He licked his lips and stared at her lap. “I wish to ease your troubled mind and await your pleasure.”

When he did not move, she knew he'd trapped himself with contradictions. To learn the truth, she must make him squirm in the lair. Boldness was her tool.

She lifted her brows. “You would depart, rather than pour my bath?”

Immediately alert, he looked deeply into her eyes. Bless his roguish heart; he was weighing his options. She lifted her brows.

“ 'Tis unfair, Meridene, to pose a quandary now.”

“You haven't always been fair to me.”

“Fairness often fails in matters of the heart.”

A devil snatched her tongue. “ 'Twasn't your heart I hoped to engage in the bath.”

His mouth dropped open, and he blinked in surprise.

A smile tickled her cheeks, but she held her composure.

“Siren doesn't suit you.” He pointed an index finger at her. “Vixen does.”

She did smile then, and when his eyes narrowed, she thought the exchange singularly fine.

His jaw worked, and his thoughts showed clearly in his keen gaze. Then his expression turned doleful. “Heed me well. Should I stay and visit upon you the lust that gnaws at my loins, 'twill make us inexcusably tardy. 'Tis poor manners, you must agree, in any man's house.”

She flamed with mortification, but pressed on. “Especially when the object of your lust is a wife who is known to be chaste?”

“If you are chaste,” he said pointedly, “then I am a Cornishman.”

She laughed and truthfully said, “And I've exhausted my lovers' sallies.”

He grasped her chin and lifted her face. Moving close, he murmured, “ 'Tis enough spice from you.”

“Be gone, Revas.”

“And should you wear that pink silk concoction to table tonight, I shall revive Hacon's part.”

She flustered. “You never would!”

In a trice,
he thought, and let the desire flow over him. Praise Saint Columba, he'd been given a prize for wife. He forced himself to kiss her cheek, when he wanted to suckle her breasts.

“Curse you, Revas Macduff, for leaving me with one of your dreadful quandaries. I adore the pink gown.”

He left her there, her lovely features pert with challenge, his loins afire with lust, and went in search of William Macgillivray.

*  *  *

“I had hoped for so much more at my first meeting with her. What has happened to Meridene?”

William stood near the mullioned windows in the south tower, his arm propped on the casement. Revas sat on a wooden bench near the brazier, his mind whirling with indecision.

He chose the truthful path. “She has suffered mightily at the hands of her kinsmen.” Guilt forced him to add, “And mine, too, for she did not embrace her return to Scotland.”

“You forced her?”

“She's my wife.”

“But abduction—”

“ 'Twould not have been necessary had the Macgillivrays not forsaken her thirteen years ago.”

Squinting, William stared into the yard. “ 'Tis a wretched lot, having Cutberth Macgillivray for father.”

“Especially for the only daughter.”

Lips pursed, William shook his head. “She was a bright lass, sooner to walk and quicker to learn than any of us. Our little Maiden.”

“She noted that you addressed her just so.”

“And felt the butt of my father's knuckles, did he hear of it.”

The first Vesper bell sounded. Soon the din in the village would cease. Stalls would close as the faithful of Elginshire thronged to evening prayers. Civility made him say, “Will you attend church?”

“Not this eve. I accompanied Father John from Inverness. He has heard my confession.”

William's misery was heart-deep, and Revas felt bound to ease it. “I believe you can revive her affection, if you go slowly.”

“She said as much?”

“Not in so many words, but I'm certain 'tis true.”

“What else did she say of the past?”

“She wondered why your mother never wore the Maiden's belt.”

“ 'Twas always in our father's keeping. I took it on my last visit to Kilbarton.”

Revas grew fearful. “What will he do when he finds it missing?”

William scoffed. “ 'Twas hidden in his sanctuary and buried 'neath a layer of dust.”

“Your mother never pined for want of the chain of office?”

“Not that I ever heard of. Our mother is—” He stopped and sighed. When he spoke again, it was with an apology. “My father never honored the traditions of the Maiden. He's fond of saying that had our mother not been a good breeder, he would have cast her off. Thank God she delivered all of her children safely.”

Revas stared in confusion. “What of the miscarriage?”

“Oh, nay,” he said with much emotion. “Not our mother.”

A lie. Their mother had miscarried her first child; of that, Revas was certain. She had put it down in the Covenant.

Pity they had not broached the subject years ago, when William attended the Highland games at Elginshire. Still, Revas intended to learn what he could about the workings of the Macgillivray family. “Your mother set down no words in the Covenant.” Not words. Only dates.