Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (30 page)

“Sir Ralph Lindsay is captain of the guard here,” she said, wondering how Simon had managed to get to that hall without meeting him. “You must ask him.”

“Lindsay, eh?” He shrugged. “Someone said Sir Ralph was seeing to a prisoner and that I should await him here. I saw no reason to ask for his exact identity. I’ve fifty men with me, but I suppose this place can accommodate them.”

“Noblemen coming here usually provide for their entourages to camp outside the castle,” Meg said. “Your men will have to sleep out there in any case, because there’s not enough room inside. Also, I doubt we can feed so many extra.”

“Nonsense,” Simon retorted. “Is not Carrick arriving tomorrow? Do not tell me Douglas expected him to provide for his own men. There should be food aplenty for mine tonight.”

Knowing he cared nothing about Carrick’s men and would insist they had plenty even if his own men ate everything, Meg did not take up that gauntlet.

But Amalie said, “From what we know of the Earl of Carrick’s kindness, I expect he will look after his own men.”

Simon snorted. “If Carrick has ever spared a thought for aught but what he is reading or discussing with his priest, I’ve yet to hear of it. But you still have not told me, either of you, what you are doing here at Hermitage.”

“We came with the Countess of Douglas,” Meg said.

“The countess! Sakes, she is not here, too, is she?”

“Nay, for she has ridden to meet her brother.”

“Where is he, then?”

“Staying the night at Dryburgh Abbey, I believe.”

“Then I still fail to understand why you two are here by yourselves.”

Meg shrugged, gave him a wry smile, and hoped Isabel would forgive her yet one more offense. “The countess asked us to accompany her here, but she did not invite us to go with her to Dryburgh,” she explained, glad that at least she spoke the truth as far as it went. “Because of her large escort, we brought none of our men with us, so we have no choice now but to stay until my husband arrives to take us home. You do know that I am married, do you not?”

“I heard that, aye, from our mother. You married Buccleuch’s heir.”

“Aye, and he is with Douglas now. Have you learned yet how they fare?”

“Nay, only that Fife means to meet with Carrick and Douglas here when Douglas returns from England. According to the last message I had from Carlisle, Fife and Archie the Grim had a successful expedition, and Fife was sending word to Douglas to meet him. I expect they’ll arrive together.”

“Douglas must have succeeded, too, then,” Amalie said, glancing at Meg. “After all, Fife counted on him to keep Hotspur from joining the royal army, and if Fife’s effort in the west went well, he cannot have met any force greater than his own.”

Meg understood that look to mean Amalie was recalling their discussion of Tom’s motives. Doubtless, she assumed that a Scottish victory must spoil his plan, whatever it was, and now believed that it had failed completely.

However, her tone had been provocative, almost taunting, which made Meg want to shake her. Provoking Simon was never a good idea.

He did not seem to notice, for he said only, “I’m told Douglas took only knights, nobles, and a small foot force. ’Tis typical of his arrogance to think he could stop the Percies’ huge army with so few. I’d not be surprised to hear that he’s failed and that most of those with him either died or fell prisoner.”

“What a thing to say to Meg, Simon, when her husband is one of them!”

Meg shot Amalie a look but made no outcry herself. She had faith in Douglas and in Wat. Also, she was wondering how Simon knew so much about Douglas’s plans and the makeup of his army—if all Simon had said was true.

“I cannot imagine what is taking that fellow Lindsay so long,” he said abruptly. “Where is the prison in this place?”

“He’ll be along soon, I’m sure,” Meg said, shooting another look at Amalie.

For once, her sister understood her without difficulty, for she said, “Shall I send a gillie to fetch ale, Simon? You must be thirsty after such a long ride.”

“Aye, I’d welcome a mug, so find someone to serve me. But then you two must go along up to your own chambers. This hall—indeed, this castle—is no place for gently reared females. I’m astonished that the countess abandoned you here.”

Meg nearly spoke to defend Isabel but kept silent when she realized she could say nothing that would not reveal more than she wanted Simon to know.

Since she had to say something, she smiled and said, “’Tis an odd reunion for the three of us, is it not, sir?”

He nodded curtly, but seeing a gillie crossing the hall in response to Amalie’s summons, he said, “Take yourselves off now. I’ll see that someone sends your supper up later. I suppose you’ll have to stay here until someone comes who can see you safely home again, but I’ll have something to say to that husband of yours, Meg, about keeping a closer watch over you.”

Amalie smiled sweetly and said, “It is always such a treat for us to see you.”

He nodded, and Meg had to bite her lip. But alone in the stairway with Amalie, she muttered, “How do you dare, my dear? I’d not have been surprised had he slapped you for such impertinence.”

“He was unaware of it, because he assumed that I meant it as a compliment,” Amalie said. “Have you not seen as much before? One can lather him with false compliments, because he generally pays little heed to what women say to him. ’Tis because he thinks he is superior to us. It does not even occur to him that a woman might mock him, so he does not take note when one does.”

“Well, you should take heed,” Meg warned. “He does have a temper.”

“Aye, sure, he does,” Amalie agreed. “But arrogance is his predominant trait. Have you not wondered if he might be party to the mischief Tom tried to stir?”

“Surely, you cannot be suggesting that Simon has been spying on
Fife
for the Percies,” Meg said. “It is one thing to believe that Tom was spying for them, Amalie, but Simon could gain naught by betraying Fife. Fife is even more dangerous than the Douglas, because Fife is so unpredictable. Moreover, Simon
admires
Fife.”

As she spoke, a tickle stirred in the back of her mind, but Amalie’s voice interrupted. “Did Tom chance to tell you how he wormed his way into the countess’s employ?” she asked. “I doubt that he just wandered into her solar at Dalkeith or Tantallon and played his lute for her.”

“I never thought to ask him,” Meg admitted. But the tickling sense came again, stirring new thoughts. She said musingly, “Despite the four years that Tom fostered in England, he does generally follow Simon’s lead, doesn’t he?”

Amalie made a sound of disgust. “Tom tries to please everyone. Why, I have seen him change all in a moment from laughter to tears if he thinks tears more likely to impress someone. Also, Tom’s the one who likes to take risks. Simon doesn’t.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Meg agreed. “Tears would not impress him either, and he has a strong sense of self-preservation.”

“But Simon
might
exploit someone willing to take risks to impress him.”

The tickling thought at the back of Meg’s mind took solid shape at last. Amalie, with her knack for flitting from thought to seemingly unrelated thought, had suddenly touched on the heart of the matter.

“Simon answers to Fife,” Meg murmured.

“Aye,” Amalie said, pushing open their chamber door and going inside.

Following her, Meg said, “And Isabel suspects that Fife persuaded Carrick to come here for a reason other than just to visit a famous fortress as Carrick believes.”

“That’s true.”

Meg shut the door. “Also, many folks believe that although two others stand before Fife in the succession to the throne, Fife intends to rule Scotland.”

“He already does rule us, does he not, as Guardian of the Realm?”

“But he is not the heir to the throne, nor will he become King of Scots—”

“That has not troubled him before.”

That was true, Meg told herself. Fife already acted in the King’s name, and men said he would as easily continue to rule when Carrick became King. Even so . . .

“With Carrick dead,” Meg said, “the only obstacle between Fife and the throne of Scotland would be Carrick’s young son. But Fife stands next in line after the boy, so what happens if Carrick dies at Hermitage, a Douglas fortress, its inhabitants all fiercely loyal to Douglas?”

“You’re suggesting that people would blame Douglas. But you’re confusing me, Meg. Tom has as much as admitted that he spied for the Percies. If that is so, there can be no danger to Carrick now except in your head. Why would the English want him dead, or Douglas blamed? Carrick’s death at Hermitage might weaken Douglas’s power in the Borders, but surely, if the English had been victorious—”

“But don’t you see, Amalie? That is my point. Fife is the one who declared that the Douglas wields too much power. Simon himself told us that, more than once. Hotspur would not seek to undermine him by sending raiders out to declare that Douglas had given them permission to poach on other men’s lands. Recall that Douglas wields his power in Parliament, too, not just in the Borders. And, don’t forget, Fife is the one who arranged for Carrick to come here.”

“Sakes, Meg,” Amalie said. “Surely, you cannot believe that Tom and Simon are acting on
opposing
sides, or that Tom has really been spying for Fife!”

“I’m not sure what Tom thinks he is doing,” Meg admitted. “He is not as clever as Simon. But Tom is not acting alone. That has never been his way.”

“Almost never,” Amalie retorted bitterly.

“’Tis a rare man who does not act alone when he rapes a woman,” Meg said. “Even so, Tom is following someone else’s orders now. I’m sure of it. When you asked me if I knew how he came to join Isabel’s household as a minstrel, something stirred in the back of my mind. What could be more likely than that Fife, her own brother, sent him to her? Or that Simon sent Tom under Fife’s orders?”

“We have agreed that Simon does not like risking his own skin,” Amalie said. “If he did place Tom with Isabel in Fife’s name, it had to be under Fife’s orders, but we’d have to ask Isabel to know for sure. I wish you had thought about all this whilst she was still here.”

“If the object was to insert Tom into Douglas’s household, Tom himself must have played a role in getting her to send him to Hermitage.”

“Aye, well, he’s a charmer; he’d have managed that,” Amalie said. “But why would he have let us think he acted for the Percies, and what are we to do now? If Simon knew Tom was coming here, will he not be wondering where he is?”

“Perhaps, but he may think Tom went into hiding to avoid us,” Meg said.

“That won’t stop him from asking questions. And no one here has cause to conceal the minstrel’s existence or the fact that he is a prisoner in the pit.”

“You’re right, of course. Since discovering how badly I misjudged Tom, I cannot seem to think sensibly,” Meg said. “I don’t know how he came to fool me so.”

“He charms everyone,” Amalie said. “He uses his charm like a weapon.”

The door opened without ceremony, startling them both, and Simon walked in with Tom right behind him. Both men were clearly angry.

Simon said, “Can either of you tell me why they cast Tom into the pit?”

Meg returned his gaze stonily and said nothing, but Amalie said, “Why, how should we know? He told us himself that he came here to spy on the Douglas, so mayhap someone caught him at it. Spying is dangerous business, is it not?”

“You know exactly what happened, both of you,” Tom said angrily. “I’ve already told Simon, but he doesn’t believe you had aught to do with it. I’d like to know how else the countess’s necklace could have got into my lute bag.”

“Sakes, the most likely way is that you put it there,” Amalie said.

“Why, you . . .” He strode toward her, but Meg jumped between them.

“Leave her alone,” she snapped. “You’ve done her enough damage.” Turning to Simon, she added in much the same tone, “Did he tell you what he did to her?”

“He told me she’d spun you a tale and that you’d apparently believed it.”

“It was no tale,” Amalie cried. “It is the truth! He raped me at the mill!”

“You see how it is, Simon,” Tom said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

Simon nodded.

“Surely, someone can tell if a woman has lost her maidenhead,” Amalie said.

Tom shook his head. “It’s no use, lass. I told Simon how it was with us at the mill, how eager you were and that you were no longer a maiden when you offered yourself. Heaven knows how many men you’d had by then,” he added with a sigh.

With a shriek, Amalie flew at him, fingernails aimed at his face, but he backhanded her and sent her reeling. She tripped against her own cot, fell headfirst across the near corner of it, and cracked her head against the floor.

Crying out, Meg took a step toward her, but Simon caught her by an arm.

“You can tend to her in a minute,” he said. “First, tell me who else here or elsewhere knows that Giles Gilpin is our Tom?”

She kept silent until he raised his hand. Then she said, “Strike me if you like, Simon. You won’t beat anything out of me. Sakes, Tom threatened to kill us both if we told anyone. It should be enough that I told him I’d keep his horrid secret.”

“Then why did the countess leave today?” Tom demanded.

Forcing herself to ignore Amalie’s moans, praying she was not badly hurt, Meg said, “She went to meet Carrick. I thought you knew as much.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “She never said anything about going, and her necklace found its way into my bag rather too quickly after our talk yesterday.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Simon said.

“Why not? Just because Meg gave her word? Amalie never gave hers.”

“Amalie doesn’t matter either,” Simon said brutally. “The only thing that does matter is getting my men set and making sure all is ready here for Fife.”

Amalie had curled onto the cot, her arms clenched across her stomach.

“Simon, she’s hurt,” Meg said fiercely. “Is what you are doing for Fife so important that you’d let Tom kill us or let Amalie lie in agony to keep his secret?”

“Tom’s secret doesn’t matter anymore either. He’s done what I told him to do. But you and Amalie do create a nuisance. I can’t have you prattling of this to anyone, so you will stay in this room until I release you.”