Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (25 page)

“I see,” Meg said, struggling not to laugh. “Then I’ve naught to worry about and you can be off to fetch that water for us. Thank you, Sym.”

He nodded, his dignity intact, and hurried away.

Ten minutes later, a sharp double-rap sounded on the door.

“Faith, that was quick,” Amalie said. “Come in, Sym. We’re still dressed.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Tom said as he put his head in.

In a twinkling, he was inside and had shut the door behind him.

Chapter 17

Had some kindly spirit but whispered in your ear . . . “Wha’s fighting surrounded wi’ mony a spear.”

G
et out,” Amalie said. “You should not be here,
Giles Gilpin
.”

“Hush, lass, I’ve no time to bandy words with you,” he said. “Just listen, both of you. You must
not
give me away.”

“But why are you here, and why pretend to be a minstrel?” Meg demanded.

“To protect our family, of course.”

“By disavowing our name?”

“Don’t be absurd,” he said, his temper stirring more quickly than usual. “No sensible Englishman trusts the Douglas. Is it so astonishing that some may want to keep an eye on him?”

“But we are not English. We live on the Scottish side of the line.”

“We’re half English,” he said with an uncharacteristic snap in his voice. “Moreover, that damnable line can shift on no more than a warrior’s whim, as we know. Such shifts have put Elishaw under English rule more than once.”

“Even so, and regardless of our mother’s heritage, Elishaw is a Scottish holding, granted to the Murrays by the King of Scots. ’Tis to him we owe fealty.”

“We’ve got to have peace in the Borders, Meg. Just think how much more comfortable that would be for everyone. Mayhap the two countries
should
be one.”

“Just how would we be more comfortable under English rule?”

“One has only to look at the devastation wrought throughout the Borders to see that even an imposed peace would make everyone more prosperous and thus happier,” he said. “The border has become no more than a point of disagreement among men who live near it. Most of us want the same things, do we not, to survive and to better our lives? Douglas just wants to acquire more power for Douglas.”

Meg was shocked. “So you spy on him?”

“I am doing no more than my duty, as you must,” Tom said firmly.

“But whom do you serve?” Meg asked. Recalling his suggestion that the two countries should become one, she recalled as well that he had fostered with kinsmen in England. Fostering was common among noble families, and at the time, had been one of various means her parents had employed to retain useful ties on both sides of the border. But now, the memory stirred an ominous warning. “Mercy on us, you serve the Percies!” she exclaimed. “You’re spying for Hotspur!”

“Would it be so dreadful if I were? Are the Percies not kinsmen, too? And is Hotspur not the greatest warrior of them all, better even than the Douglas?”

“In troth, I do not know. Nor do you unless you have seen them matched.”

She could not think properly, nor could she believe that Tom—merry, beguiling Tom—could harm anyone. But it was neither the time nor the place for debate. Whatever the truth, the minstrel Giles Gilpin must
not
be found in their bedchamber.

Accordingly, she caught him by the shoulders and said urgently, “You must go before someone catches you here. We’ll keep your secret but only if you swear that no harm will come to the Douglas, his family, or to anyone in my new family through any action of yours.”

“Aye, sure, I’ll swear,” he said. “But mind now, not a word.”

As the door shut behind him, Amalie said curtly, “Isabel is our hostess, Meg. And Douglas is your husband’s liege lord. Surely, we don’t dare to aid Tom if he is spying on their household.”

Realizing only then that her sister had taken no part in the discussion after demanding to know what Tom was doing at Hermitage, Meg said, “He is our brother, Amalie. Do you know what Douglas would do if he caught him?”

Amalie shrugged. “He’d be furious, and rightly so.”

“He would hang Tom for a traitor.”

Amalie’s eyes widened. She might have said more had a rap on the door not heralded Sym’s return with their water.

After Meg thanked the boy and dismissed him to his pallet, she and Amalie washed quickly and got ready for bed. Meg made no objection when Amalie said she was exhausted and meant to go right to sleep, although she suspected that her sister merely wanted to avoid further discussion.

She expected to fall asleep at once herself but lay thinking for a long time after Amalie’s breathing steadied and slowed to deep slumber.

At first, her thoughts dwelt on Tom and the sense of shock she had felt when she recognized him and realized he was posing as a common minstrel.

She wondered what he had learned, whom he might have told, and how he had managed to tell them. Then, wondering what else he might have done, she recalled Douglas’s strange illness. Shocked that she could connect her own favorite brother with such a thing, she told herself not to be a fool.

Her thoughts shifted next to Wat and what he was likely to say when he learned she had come to Hermitage with the countess.

To her surprise, her thoughts soon turned sensual. Even the knowledge that he might shake her, or worse, just made her yearn for his touch.

She had no fear of his anger, because she had learned that although he would speak his mind in a way that could make her squirm if she had displeased him, he was unlikely to do more than hurl words at her.

In truth, she envied his ability to articulate his anger freely without feeling a need to seek more tactful words.

As her thoughts turned warmer, she slept at last and awoke to a new day when Amalie, tiptoeing across their room, bumped into the washstand.

Meg turned over and smiled in the dim light provided by the tall, narrow opening that was their only source of natural light. “How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Like the dead,” Amalie said. “I was going to go down and see if they’ve put out food in the hall. But since you’re awake, I’ll wait for you.”

Taking the strong hint, Meg got up and dressed. When she was ready, they went downstairs to find the countess’s ladies at the high table, breaking their fast.

Bidding them good morning, Meg said, “I thought we would be the last to come down. Has Countess Isabel not awakened yet?”

“She still sleeps,” Lady Averil said. “Although she is in his lordship’s room, it is always difficult, is it not, to sleep in a bed to which one is not accustomed?”

Meg agreed. Aware that Lady Averil and Lady Nancy had arranged cots in an alcove off Isabel’s chamber, she assumed that the comment covered all three.

Sym appeared with two manchet loaves in a basket. “Will ye ha’ beef or mutton this morning, me lady?” he asked Meg.

“Beef,” she said, glancing at Amalie, who nodded.

As he hurried away and Meg reached for a bowl of bramble jam, she saw her sister’s expression change abruptly to a grimace. Following the direction of her narrowed gaze, Meg saw Tom stroll in from the stairway, lute in hand.

He nodded at Sym in passing and continued to the dais as if he had no cares or concerns. Receiving smiles from the countess’s ladies, he greeted them cheerfully.

Realizing that to keep his secret without seeming at outs with him, she would have to speak as she usually did, Meg ignored a stab of guilt at the deception and returned his greeting in a pleasant tone.

Amalie said nothing. But her face no longer expressed disapproval, giving Meg hope that the other two women would notice nothing unusual.

Tom sat on a stool by the hearth and played a soft, soothing tune.

Meg began to relax, but she could detect no change in her sister. And despite Amalie’s professed hunger, she toyed with her bread and took only one small bite of her beef, sliced cold from a haunch roasted the previous day.

She barely waited for Meg to finish eating before she said, “We’ve had no time to arrange our room more tidily, Meg. We should do it now, before Countess Isabel pre-sents us with a new list of chores.”

Without argument, Meg followed her upstairs. But inside their room with the door shut, she said, “Is it so difficult for you to see Tom’s dilemma, Amalie? Would you truly betray him to the Douglas? He cannot spy on him now that we know, and surely he cannot have done much spying before—not in a castle full of Douglases.”

“I knew you would take his side,” Amalie said. “He is ever your wonderful Tom who can do no wrong.”

Meg smiled. “No wrong? He was the horridest boy, always getting into my things. If anyone scolded him, he’d just smile and say, “But it’s only Meggie’s.”

“I cannot think why that should amuse you now,” Amalie said. “He and Simon both teased us unmercifully. And Tom is no longer a bairn, Meg.”

“Even so, and whatever he may have done to earn your displeasure, it cannot be so bad that you want him hanged. Not when he just wants to protect our family.”

“What if he has done something much worse?” Amalie asked. “Has it not occurred to you that he may be the one who tried to poison Douglas?”

“We don’t even know that it was poison,” Meg protested. “Douglas himself said he ate something bad. And Tom wouldn’t! He may be a tease. He is
not
evil.”

“No, of course he is not. He is marvelous, ever-trustworthy Tom Murray.”

“What is wrong with you? He is our brother!”

Amalie looked at her, resentment plain on her face.

Meg stared back, and as she did, a dreadful thought came to her. “Faith, you cannot mean . . . Oh, my dear one, I beg you, tell me you are not accusing him . . .”

“Accusing him of what?” Amalie demanded when Meg could not say the words. “Of being the villain who robbed me of my maidenhood? Even if you
don’t
want to hear it, Meg, I shall still know it for the truth. Moreover, he knows it, too, and nothing that he or anyone else says or does can turn fact into falsehood.”

Meg could think of nothing to say to that.

The blazing sun was near its zenith when the vale of the Wansbeck opened before Douglas’s men. From the ridge, on that muggy hot day, the vale provided a soothing vista of pale green grass, shady thickets of birch or aspen, and flowering hazel. Rolling, still-green hills framed the valley on all sides. The shallow stream that gave it its name meandered northward through its center in wide, gentle curves.

Leading his men and Neb’s, with Neb riding beside Tam and Gibbie, Wat heard the larger force long before he saw them. The hundreds of cattle they had lifted along the way set up a constant din, lowing and squalling.

He spotted Buccleuch’s banner and spurred toward it. The two thousand that his father and Huntly led were all afoot except for their noble leaders with their squires and fighting tails. The teeming mass spread across the wide valley.

As Wat neared Buccleuch, he saw Huntly approaching from the east with his pennon bearer beside him and his fighting tail behind.

Douglas, too, spurred to meet them, as did a number of the other lords traveling with the earl. When they converged around Buccleuch, Wat heard his father say, “Where’s Hotspur?”

“Safely recovering his broken spirits behind Newcastle’s stout walls,” Douglas said with a grin. “I’ve challenged him to fetch these pretty things he lost,” he added, holding up the embroidered gloves. “They fell from his helmet when his lads bore him off the field. But he wants them. He’ll soon be on our heels.”

Buccleuch grinned back at him. “I can see that I’ll want to hear this tale.”

“Aye, but not now. He could already be on his way.”

“Do we wait for him here, then?” Huntly asked.

Frowning, Buccleuch gazed over the vale. “’Tis a good site . . . for cattle.”

“Aye, but not to defend,” Douglas said. “That stream is easily forded, the vale too open. We’ll move on to Otterburn. I took a good look on the way, and it is a much better site. The water meadows along the Rede will spoil any cavalry attack, and the river is nearly unfordable there. We’ll also have scrub woodland for cover and steeper slopes to give us a superior position if we retreat into the hills.”

Buccleuch nodded, surveying the sea of men and lowing cattle that filled the vale. “Otterburn lies yet fourteen or fifteen miles from here.”

“My last messenger said Hotspur had not yet begun to move,” Douglas said. “But when he does, he’ll move fast. So get this lot moving, but keep eyes out behind and be ready to take cover swiftly if the Percies overtake you. Hotspur’s brother Ralph has joined him, and between them they can muster eight thousand men. The Bishop of Durham is likewise moving north and should join them soon.”

Wat felt the familiar surge of exhilaration that warned him battle was near, along with a sense of unease at the great odds against them. As he turned his horse, meaning to help spread the word, Douglas shouted, “The rest of you lads, with me!”

With a wave to his father, Wat obeyed.

Meg found no chance to corner Tom until that afternoon when the countess’s ladies decided to nap, and Amalie required little persuasion to do likewise. Despite the ease with which she had fallen asleep the night before, Meg suspected that her sister had not slept well for a number of nights.

Amalie was not one to keep secrets by nature. More often than not, whatever she was thinking came straight out of her mouth. Until lately.

Meg tried to imagine what it must have been like for her to keep such a dreadful secret and its accompanying fears to herself, terrified to tell anyone what had happened. Meg had no doubt that she would have felt so herself, because if Tom had done what Amalie said he had, he had done something unspeakable.

Praying that her sister’s innocence had led her to believe herself violated after no more than an improper touch or two, Meg had steeled herself earlier to get to the truth as they tidied their room.

“Tell me just what he did,” she said bluntly after more diplomatic efforts failed to elicit the information. “I promise, love, I’ll not think less of you, no matter what occurred,” she added when Amalie continued to ignore her. “Tom is your elder by four years, and he is much stronger than you are, so you could not have stopped him. You ought to have told our parents about it, though.”

“Aye, afterward, and if you think I could have done that, you are not thinking at all,” Amalie said scornfully. “He did what he did before I knew what he intended. Afterward he dared me to tell anyone. He said if I did, he’d tell them I’d made it up, that he’d scolded me for something and I was trying to get even. They’d have believed him, too, our parents or anyone else.”