Maiden of Inverness (34 page)

He made a funny face and pointed to his head. “Woolgathering.”

She tucked her chin to her shoulder. “Oh.”

“The brazier did not start the fire,” he insisted.

Gibby searched the room. “What did?”

“A devil came through the window.”

Serena dropped the mop. The wooden handle clattered loudly on the stone floor.

Gibby's red-rimmed eyes widened in surprise. “Someone tried to hurt Lady Meridene?”

That explanation wouldn't do. Meridene had to help them. “You both are wrong,” she said, keeping her voice calm and reasonable. “The brazier door was latched tight, as were the windows. The glass was shattered from the heat of the fire. I was reading in bed and forgot to put out the candle. I was the careless one, not you.” She glared at Revas. “And certainly no intruder.”

As serious as Meridene had ever seen him, he said, “I do not color up the truth for Gibby.”

“Is that the Highland way?” she challenged. “Spare the children nothing?”

He stared at his daughter, but didn't actually see her. “We'll discuss it later, Meridene.”

Eager to see Gibby put the matter behind her and get back to being a bright and contented child, Meridene stood her ground. “We'll make an argument of it now, Revas Macduff.”

She smiled at Gibby. “Serena will walk with you to the tanner. You're both to wait there with Ellen until he has sewn my new mattress.”

Uncertain of what to do, Gibby looked up at her father. “Are you going to quarrel with Lady Meridene?”

“Most certainly, he is,” Meridene rushed to say, then smiled. “He fancies himself clever with words.”

Eyes agog, Gibby drawled, “He is.”

Serena choked with laughter and moved into the hallway.

Meridene propped her hand on her hip. “Then I shall see how well acquainted he is with the word ‘humility.' ”

“Papa, what's humility?”

“A hard-won trait, sweeting. Especially when a vixen demands it of a softhearted fellow who is justified in his opinions.”

Concern creased Gibby's brow. “Because you're a lambkin?”

“To the bottom of my Scottish heart.”

She giggled. He put her down. “Go with Serena, and tell Ellen she's not to pester the tanner with her romantic musings.”

A purpose in mind and the terrier on her heels, the girl skipped out the door. Revas slammed it, then rounded on Meridene.

Fatherly concern fell prey to ruffled male pride. “Well?”

In the face of his anger, her courage wavered. “Well what?”

“Why do you make light of this destruction?” He pointed to the charred bed frame and soot-stained ceiling.

“Should I hurry to Kilbarton Castle and accuse my father? Lot of good that would do.”

A steely calm settled over him. “You can take his power.”

There it was. The sum of their differences. “And give it to you?”

He hadn't expected the blunt challenge; his blank stare was proof. But he recovered quickly. “I am your husband. I have earned the crown!”

“While I worked night after night to earn forty pence at that loom.”

He marched to the windows and braced his arms on the casement. Staring into the yard, he said, “Did you believe your life would unfold without misery or hardship? None of us can expect so much good fortune.”

“Pardon me for sparing your daughter
one
misfortune.”

“We live in troubled times. But 'tis not about Gibby that we argue.”

“It is! I will not visit my troubles on an innocent child. And if you tell me the Maiden's business is everyone's concern, I'll . . .”

He turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You will what?”

No worthy retribution came to mind. “I shall make certain you regret it.”

“I'm too angry to cross words with you now.” He started for the door. “I must speak with Brodie about trebling your protection.”

More armed guards. “Why not manacle me to the well? Then everyone can watch me. You can make a sport of it. The tale will spread to every village and farm. The curious will flock to Elginshire.”

Twisting his neck, he stared at her. “ 'Tis unwise to taunt me, Meridene.”

“Next you'll say it's my own doing.”

He slapped the doorframe. “I'm not so prideful as that!”

No. He was gloriously determined to right a wrong and wear a crown. “I thought you were a lambkin.”

That stopped him. “I thought the blood of your namesake thrived in you. And cease calling me that.”

“I will forget you are a lambkin, if you will return me to England.”

Oh, that look. Even with soot on his face and ashes in his hair, he seethed with restrained civility. “England is lost to you.”

“I hate Scotland.”

“Do you dislike Lord's Meadow? Does Montfichet's porridge thicken on your tongue? Do your handmaidens ill serve you?”

His questions were unfair; he knew she could voice no complaint on those subjects. “I dislike the treachery of the Macgillivrays.”

He grew serious. “Do you think William set the fire?”

“Nay,” she said without thinking. More calmly she said, “He has put his trust in you.”

His eyes glittered with mock relief, and he wiped his hands on his hose. “I shall rejoice, then, for I've found
one
Macgillivray who knows the meaning of loyalty.”

“Meaning I do not?”

His jaw grew taut, and the muscles in his neck stiffened. “Meaning that some of your clan are overeager. Others are not.”

The cryptic observation begged for a defense. “I did not deceive you. From the beginning, you knew that I wanted no part of—” She almost said “this life,” but that was not entirely true, not anymore. “I made clear that the office of Maiden of Inverness holds no interest to me.”

Through clenched teeth he said, “Then you are overeager in
that!”

She stepped back. “I thought you were too angry to cross words with me.”

He threw up his arms and shouted, “By the saints, I am. But know this, Meridene Macgillivray, our marriage is not a banquet. You cannot pick and chose only the things that please you and leave the dregs to some other soul.”

He spoke the truth, and she lacked the courage even to defend herself. “There's no talking to you now, Revas.”

“Nor will there be until your appetite changes.”

*  *  *

Revas stormed from the room, so enraged he did not see the pile of wet tapestries in the hall. After picking himself up off the floor, he continued. As he made his way to the barracks, he berated himself for breaking his vow to never argue with a woman, least of all a stubborn wife who took freely of the rewards her marriage offered, but shouldered none of the responsibility.

The Maiden of Inverness.

He paused near the quintain. He was being unfair to her. She was more than a title. William didn't understand that, but Revas did. Cutberth's villainy was not aimed at his daughter, for never had the king of the Highlands looked at Meridene as a product of his loins, his child to protect.

Yet in spite of her father's selfishness, Meridene had a kind heart, was generous to one and all—except those who never looked beyond the celebrated green eyes and distinctive raven hair. Beneath the traditions that bred her lay a hurt and frightened woman who had suffered greatly at the hands of those who were bound by the laws of God and humanity to cherish her.

Even tormented by her father's treachery, Meridene had thought first of Gibby.

How could he have overlooked Meridene's pain? Last night she had called Elginshire home. He felt hollow to his soul, for he must make Auldcairn Castle her prison, until she called for the sword.

Would her need for revenge against Cutberth prevail where her love for Revas had not? Or did she truly love him? Beneath her indifference to Scottish politics lay an independent woman who had, since the age of eight, fended for herself in a foreign land. If Revas could convince her to seek the sword for personal reasons, rather than tradition, the outcome would be the same. He would wear the Highland crown. She would rule beside him, tempering might with the goodness of the Maiden of Inverness.

His quest was fraught with pitfalls, for she was ever on the lookout for coercion from him. It was a painful revelation, for he loved Meridene Macgillivray more than duty, cherished her beyond all obligation to the Highland people. Were he afforded the luxury of following his heart, he would relinquish his claim to the throne and honor her wish to refuse the office of Maiden of Inverness. As simply the chieftain of Clan Macduff and his lady wife, they would govern Elginshire. They would prosper, until one of Cutberth's assassins succeeded.

At the thought of losing her, Revas felt his chest grow tight and his senses quicken. He became aware of noise in the yard. The goose girl drove her flock through the open gate to complete their morning trip to the pond in the outer bailey. The sun had fully risen; the village teemed with movement.

He felt an indifference to the ordinary events, and it saddened him, for normally he took great pride in seeing the day unfold. But rather than watch the sun rise on his kingdom, he'd spent the early hours of dawn fighting a fire that could have destroyed his future. The quarrel was another unsettling matter. She must call for the sword. The alternative spelled doom, and quickly, for Highland unity.

Angered anew, he hurried to the barracks and found Brodie addressing Glennie Forbes and a dozen of his clansmen.

“You're to detain and question every stranger. Find out who set fire to Lady Meridene's room and bring the culprit to me.”

One look at Revas and the sheriff ordered the men out. When they were alone, Brodie waited.

Disgusted with the turn of events, Revas gazed at the row of cots but didn't really see the furnishings. “We are victims of our free commerce. Assassins and kidnappers may come and go, same as tradesmen and travelers. We'll never find the culprit.”

“Nay, we will not. He's surely halfway home to Kilbarton Castle by now.”

“Damn Cutberth Macgillivray!”

Brodie twisted his war bracelets. “Is she no closer to claiming the sword?”

“I had thought so, but Cutberth has turned her against us. I had hoped she'd ask for the sword out of revenge—if for no other reason.”

“ 'Tis wifely devotion you seek, my young friend.”

“Young friend,” Revas mused. “You haven't addressed me so in years.”

He grasped Revas's sword arm, and his cheerful tone belied his serious expression. “Not since you bested me with this demon.”

That day seemed a lifetime ago. Back then, Revas had naively thought he'd find Meridene, bring her home, and begin their joyous reign over the Highlands. Now he must petition the king of Scotland for aid and advice, for he could not risk her life again. If he studied his motives closely, he had to admit that seeking help nicked his pride, but better he suffer a bruise to his dignity than lose Meridene.

He shook off the ghastly thought and turned his attention to Brodie. “Bruce should have arrived at Moravia Keep for his tour of John Sutherland's holdings. Send Macpherson with word of Cutberth's attempts on Meridene's life and have him await Bruce's reply.”

Brodie nodded. “The lad should take ship at Elgin's End. With fair winds, he'll be back in a week. We have a little time yet—before Whitsunday.”

“Make it so, and put a sentry atop the south tower. Bid him watch hawklike over the windows in Meridene's chamber. I want no other intruder finding his way into her rooms.”

“Summerlad and I will share the duty, unless you will give up your nightly visits?”

If his anger at her lingered, Revas would not seek entrance to her chamber. She cared for him, he was certain of that, but not enough to face her father. That truth wounded Revas deeply.

“She needs comfort and protection,” he said, as much to himself as to his mentor. But when next they spoke of the troubles between them, she would broach the subject. Not Revas; he'd found that well dry too many times.

“Ask the women of the village to seek her out more often. Have them anticipate the pilgrimage.”

Brodie sighed. “ 'Twill surely help the poor lass. 'Tisn't fair to twice suffer her father's wrath. Pity his soul should he succeed, for his life will be forfeit to you.”

“God forgive me,” Revas swore, “but I cherish the mere thought of hacking that bastard to pieces.” Distracted again, he headed for the door.

Brodie followed. “Where are you going?”

“To the cooper's shed. A beast rages within me.”

With the same hand that had taught Revas to wield a sword and helped him stack the stones on his father's cairn, Brodie slapped him on the back. “ 'Tis your way, Revas, and an honorable one. Better you spend your anger chopping wood than splitting heads.”

But even as the day waned, Revas could not forget her last bitter condemnation of Scotland and her continued insistence that he return her to England.

Did she know the pain her cruel words dealt him? Did she care? When she did not come to table that night, Revas went to the south tower. His vantage point offered an unobstructed view of the windows in her chamber. Looking as forlorn as he felt, she sat at the loom amid a pool of golden lamplight, her hands working the shuttle back and forth.

She stopped and, from a nearby table, picked up a book. He suspected it was the Covenant of the Maiden; a peek at her through the spyglass confirmed it. With the aid of the instrument, she appeared close enough to touch, but the image, much like the woman herself, was deceptive.

She started to open the book, but paused. Taking a deep breath, she stared out the window. Then she again moved to examine the chronicles of her forebears.

Still she hesitated.

“Do it,” he whispered, urging her to delve into her legacy and find the strength to bring greatness back to the women of her line.