Two evenings later, Revas found her in her apartments, seated at a new and smaller loom. Facing away from him, she wore a pale linen surcoat over a bliaud of darker blue. Her long hair was gathered loosely at her nape and hastily bound with a length of red yarn that matched the thread attached to the shuttle.
As always, he anticipated her reaction. As never before, he hoped for swift acceptance. Unless she soon demanded her father’s sword, five small clans, under pressure from the Macgillivrays, had threatened to withdraw from the Community of the Realm. Munro would as yet stand fast with Revas, but if Cutberth did not soon step down, dissension would spread. Signed treaties would become kindling.
If he was honest with himself, Revas had to admit that he understood her reluctance. To prevail in the Highlands today, the victor must be stouthearted in his love for the land. She had few emotional ties to Scotland, and those were dark and ugly. Therein lay his task, and if she would but give him a chance, tonight he would build for her a fond memory.
“You have a new loom.”
She started and turned, then put away her shuttle. Her smile lifted his spirits. Her inspection of his person gave rise to more earthy feelings.
“You are unharmed,” she said.
“And very glad to be home. ’Twas an arduous two days.”
“What of Nairn?”
Revas rejoiced; she did care about her people. “Restored. Ana and John Sutherland have been safely ransomed according to custom. All is well in God’s good land of the Scots.”
“Who kidnapped them?”
A prevarication perched on the tip of his tongue, but he could not voice it. Kidnapping was a long-accepted practice in Scotland and often used to avert bloodshed. At an early age children learned the meaning of words such as ransom and forfeit. Coloring up the truth would not do. “Your father.”
She blanched. “Is Ana hurt?”
On the day Meridene had wed Revas, she had borne her father’s mark. Rumor said he visited cruelty on his wife and his kept women. Meridene probably thought Cutberth had beaten Ana.
To quell her apprehension, Revas recalled the lighter moments in the negotiations. “Quite the opposite. Ana claims that during her capture your brother Robert developed an affection for her.”
She looked beautifully baffled. “My brother? How did Ana reply?”
“I believe she told him she would marry a poxed Cornishman before she’d give herself to him.”
“But she hates the English.”
His fingers itched to smooth away the frown that marred her forehead. “ ’Twas a point well made, don’t you think? The bishops of Nairn and Inverness, who conducted the negotiations, agreed that poor Robert was stricken low by her rejection of his admiration. William laughed until tears came to his eyes.”
“You sound as if you like William.”
Now, Revas thought, was the time to change her mind, for according to Ana, William was ready to break with his father. “Your brother is a goodly man. Did you know that years ago they tried to make him join the church? He refused, saying ’twas unfair to deprive the women of Scotland of so able a man as himself. The cattlemen and shepherds within his authority prosper.”
She grew pensive, and Revas hoped she was thinking favorably about the one member of her family who still had a care for her.
After a lengthy silence, she said, “How did you come to know William?”
Those had been learning years, years when Revas had perfected his sword arm and celebrated his manhood. “ ’Twas on my first visit to Inverness. I was but five and ten.”
“You and he are of an age,” she said, as if it were a revelation.
More discoveries awaited her. “Aye, though at the time I was much greener than he. I’d never been farther from home than Elgin’s End.”
“How did you—” She turned away and yawned. “Have you eaten?”
She hadn’t meant to inquire after his appetite; of that, he was certain. Seldom was she solicitous of his needs. A change had come over her, but what had caused it? Whatever the source of her friendliness, he was too happy to question his good fortune.
He preferred to think he’d made progress. “Nay, I’ve not supped. Summerlad said the hare at table tonight was particularly fine. Will you join me?”
“I’ve eaten.”
A bit of cajolery seemed appropriate. “Then sit with me, and tell me what has occurred while I was away.”
She shrugged. “Nothing of any real import. The days have been frightfully boring.”
“And your nights, were they filled with dreams of me?”
“Of course. I dreamt that you discovered a fondness for ships and took to the sea.”
If she didn’t care for him, she would not jest. “Truly?”
She sighed. “In truth, nothing eventful occurred.”
“With Ellen about? Come.” He held out his hand. “Partake of a tankard and tell me what lucky fellow currently holds her affections.”
She extinguished the lamp and pulled the yarn from her hair. Their eyes met. “I have not changed my mind about annulling our marriage.”
Not yet, but she had changed her mind about something, and he could hardly wait to discover what it was. “I am ever willing to hear your opinion, Meridene.”
Draping a veil of pink silk over her hair, she fumbled with the coronet that held it in place. “I simply think that if we . . . if you try to respect my position, the matter will be settled with the least disruption in the lives of all concerned.”
It was just as he thought: She was beginning to like the people of Elginshire; they were not monsters, but concerns.
Revas righted her lopsided veil. “Have you visited the village?”
“Why do you ask?”
She became excited at the casual question. Moments before she had shown only slight trepidation at the mention of her family, a subject proven to stir her ire.
Intrigued, Revas said, “ ’Tis my duty to keep abreast of comings and goings, and I did ask you to chaperon young Summerlad.”
“Father Thomas bested him at swords.”
Revas guided her out the door and slowed his steps to accommodate her shorter strides. “The priest won with ease?”
“Misfortune. Summerlad tripped.”
As she walked, the veil fluttered around her, and the clean smell of heather teased his senses. “I’d not like to be a penitent on the morning after Thomas loses to the lad. Sinners and better swordsmen are the bane of his life.”
“Which are you?”
“Both.”
Rather than chide him for vanity, as he expected, she looked determined and comfortable with her purpose. “We had words.”
“Who prevailed?”
“Neither of us. I refused to confess my sins to a priest who lacks compassion. He refused to grant me a voice of my own.”
Alarmed, Revas said, “What of the danger to your immortal soul?”
“Father Thomas has a predictable way of defining sins, especially when they disagree with his vision for Scotland. He forgets that I spent many years in the shelter of the church and enjoyed the counsel of a goodly nun and the absolution of a kindly priest. I face danger at the hands of your cleric, but only if I take up a sword against him. My soul is in God’s keeping. I have not sinned by seeking to undo the wrongs visited on an eight-year-old girl.”
Revas had to admit that her honesty was admirable, her logic undeniable.
They entered the common room, and he exchanged greetings with the guardsmen who gamed there. Eager for privacy, he motioned her through the hearth and to the empty table. “I’ll speak with Thomas.”
“You needn’t bother. I shan’t be here long enough for it to matter.”
And he was a Toledo blacksmith, laboring in the Spanish heat. She’d grow old here, sheltered in his arms and blessed by the devotion of their children. Addressing her dissatisfaction would sour her mood, and tonight he longed for sweet company.
When they were both served, he sprinkled a pinch of salt on his food. “Did the carpenter fashion your new loom?”
“Nay.” Over the rim of her cup, her eyes twinkled with devilish intent. “He’s too busy furnishing the end of your patience. Macduff’s Halt, indeed.”
Revas almost choked on a swallow of ale. He’d discouraged his people from discussing but two things with Meridene: Gibby and the hunting lodge. Both could prove sore subjects to his reluctant bride. Eventually he planned to show her the lodge himself. Introducing her to Gibby was another matter.
He’d wanted to be present when she heard his daughter’s name for the first time. When the moment came for them to meet, he’d planned to rest his hand on his Gibby’s shoulder and proudly present her to Meridene.
“I am encouraged to know,” she went on, shaking her head in rueful humor, “that you can summon tolerance when you choose.”
Lord, he loved bantering words with her. “Why?”
“For it gives me hope.”
Blithely said, the reply inspired him. “Hope, patience, and a loving wife,” he quoted. “Was it not our own Saint Columba who said that a fortunate man was possessed of all three?”
“Ha! I suspect it was said by Revas Macduff when cajolery failed him.”
“I yield the point, Meridene, and beg you, return to the safe topic of who crafted your new loom.”
With a fingertip she rubbed at the ring her tankard left on the oaken table. “I do not know his name, but he said he was a wheelwright by trade.”
“Ah, yes. The fellow from Aberdeen who has the speech of an Invernessman.”
She shrugged. “One Scot speaks the same as another to me.”
In this instance, he liked her indifference, for it wouldn’t do for her to take up with a stranger, not until Revas had questioned the man himself. “When did he deliver the loom?”
“Earlier today, during evening prayers.”
That explained why Sim hadn’t mentioned it when he met Revas at the door. He disapproved of strangers entering the castle, but the staff had been occupied with devotion when the man had brought the loom.
Other more pleasant subjects beckoned. “What gallant has captured young Ellen’s heart?” Revas asked.
“Glennie Forbes.”
“What chivalry did he perform?”
“She dropped her flower penny and he picked it up.”
“When did you give it to her?”
“Yesterday. She misplaced it twice before noon. As chance would have it, one of her gallants found the coin each time.”
For thirteen years, Revas had imagined conversing with Meridene on just such ordinary topics. He added another blessing to his already bountiful life. “You like her.”
Turning to the side, she laughed. “How could I not? She hasn’t an ill word to say against anyone, least of all you.” Her eyes caught his. “And do not say you are a lambkin.”
His heart pounded like a signal drum. With his forearm, he slid the trencher aside and leaned close to her. “Shall I prove it?”
“Only if your men stand as witness.”
“Do you truly wish an audience to our lovemaking?”
She shied; he’d been too bold. “You haven’t touched your food. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Aye.” For food, too, he thought, and turned his efforts to the hare, mince pie, and oat cakes.
She sipped honeyed milk, and her attention moved to the shields on the wall. “Did you see my father?”
Revas’s respect for her grew; she showed bravery in broaching the painful subject. “Only his mark of destruction.”
“Was anyone killed?”
Courage be damned; he wanted to talk about more pleasant things. “Nay. Only a few burned fingers and scorched beards. Nairn was fortunate. What did Ellen say when you gave her the flower penny?”
Again she locked her gaze with his. “Where is my father now?”
“He returned to Kilbarton Castle. Would you like to go riding tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she said, as if her days were filled with urgent obligations.
“Have you other plans?”
“Of course not. I’m your captive.”
“Meridene.” Again he pushed his food away.
“My apologies, Revas. I would not have us quarrel tonight.”
His first impulse was to question her; his second was to enjoy the accord. “My thoughts exactly. Would you care to come to my chamber? William has sent you a gift by way of Ana. I thought you would prefer to receive it in privacy.”
“What gift?”
“I did not open it. ’Tis yours.”
Meridene believed him. She was doubtful, however, about her brother’s sincerity. None of the Macgillivrays lamented the loss of an exiled kinswoman, else years ago they would have rescued her. She had long since made peace with her feelings toward the family that had abandoned her.
Now she must put a finish to her time with Revas Macduff, retrieve the Covenant, and flee. The wheelwright had agreed to take her to Aberdeen. They would leave before dawn. From Aberdeen, she’d find a ship to London and the safety of the court of Edward II.
With her father ravaging the land, it was only a matter of time until he turned his wrath on Elginshire. Meridene would not be the reason for a siege of Auldcairn Castle. The people here were innocent, and they had treated her kindly. She would not repay their generosity by putting them in danger.
Her decision made, she accompanied Revas to his chamber. Once in the room, he took her into his arms.
“You are different tonight, Meridene.”
Alarmed, she looked at the pedestal. A package rested atop the Covenant. “Is that from William?”
“Aye. What has happened?”
Tomorrow at this hour, she’d be well away from his compelling charms. Denying him a greeting could rouse his suspicion. “You surprised me. Welcome home, Revas.”
“Kiss me,” he said with gentle persuasion.
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
As if he needed no more encouragement, he lifted her and joined their lips in a kiss very much like the one they’d shared in the chapel. She felt a yearning in him, a manly call that found an answer in her woman’s heart, and with bittersweet understanding, she knew that he wanted and cared for her. Had circumstances been different, she would have returned his affection.
On that contrary thought, a greater intimacy beckoned, leeching her will to withhold her heart from the man who had pledged to honor her. But he was too skilled to resist, and she was kissing him farewell. As her senses spun and her own need grew, she thought of his kind gestures: the flower pennies, the lovely wardrobe, the handmaidens.
Gratitude spurred her to meet his passion and savor the last embrace they would share.
He noticed the change and grew adventurous, nibbling at her lips and whispering, “Open your mouth, love, and let me taste your sweetness.”
Love. Like a treasured gift at last bestowed, the word and the emotion it spawned went straight to her heart. Held securely in his arms, an escape on the horizon, Meridene grew brave. He’d have twenty women to console him. She would have her peacefully quiet and comfortable life. But feminine pride compelled her to leave him with a kiss he’d remember.
Pulling him closer, she threaded her hands through his hair and slipped her tongue into his mouth.
He turned eager, and his hands roamed her sides, pausing at her waist, then sliding higher to cup her breasts. So pleasant was his touch that she sighed into his mouth and moved in harmony with him. She felt his fingers dallying with her nipples, caressing her, awakening a craving for the touch of him in other, more intimate places.
Then she was lifted, and the familiar furnishings wheeled in and out of view as he carried her to the bed. Bracing a knee on the mattress, he lowered her, following and settling his body over hers.
She felt his maleness against her thigh, hot and heavy with physical need. The urge to surrender thrummed inside her, melting her loins and deafening the voice of resistance.
He undulated against her in a slow, circular motion that matched perfectly the thrust and retreat of his tongue. She felt light, and her head whirled with glorious images of lovers entwined and hearts united in bliss.
Lifting his mouth from hers, he looked into her eyes. “Put a halt to our loving, Meridene, for I swear I haven’t the will to end it.”
The plea set her pulse to racing, and her heart cried out for more of his love words.
His expression softened and regret served an odd counterpoint to the desire that burned in his eyes. “Stop me, sweet lass. ’Tis too soon for us.”
Too soon. Not yet, Meridene. At the moment, we cannot fit you into our plans. Wait until we want you. All of her life she’d heard similar promises. In the case of Revas Macduff, he asked for a sword.
He wanted her, but only when the time was right. She felt hollow inside, ashamed, and unimportant to the depths of her soul. Yet the cause was none of her doing. Same as the affection of every Scot she had ever known, Revas Macduff’s feelings for her were based on reason, not love. His passions were not for Meridene Macgillivray, a woman who loved the smell of clover and the scent of the air at dawn. They were for the Maiden of Inverness, a person she could never be.
“I believe you are ravishing me.”
Groaning, he collapsed beside her, his fists knotted in the bed linens, his shoulders, arms, and back bulging with ropes of muscles. Her ache felt deep and exhausting; his was hard and angry.
When he’d mastered his emotions, he sat up and raked his hands through his hair. As he righted his clothing, she knew what he was thinking. Pardon, Meridene. I cannot love you until—She blocked out the hurtful thought.
Scottish people had always made her want, but never did they give. This was a people of pain and cruelty. In this land, something else would always be more important than her. Like one more fork of hay on an already backbreaking rick, another condition would weight her happiness.
But only if she allowed it.
Faking a yawn, she mustered a casual air and walked to the pedestal. “You must be exhausted.”
“Meridene . . .”
“I’d almost forgotten William’s gift.” She turned her back to him, and with shaking hands, unwrapped the package. Tied with a string from her brother’s bow and adorned with a faded green ribbon was a bird nest. Rather than speckled eggs, the nest held a tiny rolled parchment. A message from William. William, who had played a flute and sketched ships in the dirt. William, the brother who put thistles in her bed and filched sweet cakes from the kitchen.
She unrolled the parchment.
Welcome home, little Maiden, and heed my words. You are in danger.
How could William know? Did Revas? She must learn the answers, but her senses were raw from Revas’s halted seduction. Delving into Scottish politics would create an emotional storm too great for her to weather just now.
The bed linens rustled. She put the package back into its wrapping. Turning, she blinked in surprise at the misery on Revas’s face.
“ ’Tis good you did not kiss me downstairs,” he said. “I’d have much to answer for to Summerlad and the others.”
In any event, she would have kept her maidenhead, for Revas would not risk losing his chance to wear the crown of the Highlands. Not even to prove he loved her. As always in Scotland, sentiments of the heart fell prey to political ambitions. Harder to accept was the fact that she’d fallen in love with him.
The weight of the admission saddened her. She looked down and took refuge in the package that contained the bird nest, a keepsake of one special afternoon in the lives of a brother and sister. She’d had so few fond remembrances of her childhood.
This, then, was one.
“I should reacquaint myself with the handmaiden ceremony.” She picked up the Covenant. “The drawing is tomorrow.”
“We should talk, Meridene. Greater concerns dictate the intimacies of our lives.”
The truth came easy. “I’m embarrassed, Revas, not ashamed of what we almost did.”
“Good. Until the morrow, Meridene.”
Indeed.
* * *
After a fitful night Revas sought out the wheelwright, but found him gone. He gave the man little thought until an hour later, when a distraught Ellen burst into the armory.
“Revas! Lady Meridene’s bed has not been slept in. And she’s nowhere to be found!”
* * *
Concealed beneath a mountain of stifling, smelly blankets, Meridene tried to brace herself against the wagon’s bumpy ride. Her benefactor, the wheelwright who bore the common name of Robert Dunbar, had not slowed the team since helping her inside hours before.
The postern gate behind the chapel had offered the only unobserved escape from Auldcairn Castle. Wearing a dark cloak and carrying a sack of personal items and her bag of coins, Meridene had exited the castle proper through the buttery. Like a thief in the night, she had kept to the shadows and slipped through the back gate.
Crossing the inner bailey had proven uneventful, but a pair of lovers strolling in the moonlight forced her to crouch near the newly mortared outer wall. Their tryst went on and on, and not until later, when Meridene pulled the rough blankets over her head and felt the wagon move, did her heart cease its pounding.
Now, desperate for a glimpse of the outside world, she lifted her head and peered over the back of the wagon. The rising sun almost blinded her.
They should be traveling east, not west.
She felt the first shiver of alarm.
Carefully she craned her neck and spied the driver. Hunched over the reins, he was engrossed in guiding the team through the boulder-strewn field. He had been insistent that they avoid roads and travel quickly. That made sense, for she expected Revas to give chase.
Revas. Her heart flip-flopped at the thought of him. Rather than ignore the pain, she faced the longing, and just when the agony made her stomach float, she shoved it away. She’d dealt with loneliness before. But saints guard her soul, a woman’s pain made trivial the hurts dealt to an exiled and lonely child.
Pray Revas did not find her, and surely he would not, considering the direction the wagon traveled.
Perhaps the driver was merely circumventing a town or an impassable stream. A forest lay just ahead, and if he did not change direction soon, she would question him.
Hoping to find a more comfortable position, she scooted to the front of the wagon, but stopped when her hip struck something hard and sharp. Lifting the blanket higher, she spied amid the cushioning hay a veritable arsenal of broadsword, dirk, mace, and a deadly short sword.
A second shiver stole her breath.
Why would a wheelwright have need of so much Spanish steel?
She found the answer beneath the board on which the driver sat. Reaching blindly into a bulky sack, she discovered a battle shield. Without benefit of light, she relied solely on feel. Even as she traced the shape of the heraldic device emblazoned on the shield, she could not picture the design.
Why did he conceal his family crest, unless his mission was sinister? She couldn’t be sure, but instinct told her she had erred in trusting this man who traveled west to reach east.
Like a lackwit, she had fallen prey to yet another Scotsman. Out of a skirmish and into a battle, she lamented.
Then an image of Revas popped into her mind, and she willed him to rescue her.
Terrified to her toes, she ducked under the blankets again and tried to think what to do. She must flee and soon, but how?
“My lady?”
She froze.
When he called her again, she moaned, as if he’d awakened her. They would enter the forest soon. Once there, she’d make good an escape.
“Are you hurt, my lady?”
Yawning, she lifted her head and gave him what she hoped was a sleepy smile. “Have we reached Aberdeen?”
She saw through his confident grin.
“Never as yet,” he said. “ ’Twill take the better part of the day to flee Macduff’s land.”
The speech of an Invernessman. Was it true? She did not know, could not remember the manner in which her kinsmen spoke. But something about the way he said “Macduff” gave her pause.
“Is aught amiss, lady?”
Not unless lackwitted counted for anything, she morosely thought.
Desperate for courage, she tried to sound aloof. “Wake me an hour before we arrive, so that I may tidy myself.”
When he turned back to the team, she felt for the hilt of one of the swords. Unfortunately, she found a blade first. Wincing, she curled her fingers against her palm. They came away sticky with blood.
A perversely humorous notion crossed her mind: She would not soon pick up a shuttle or thread a needle.
As the wagon rumbled on, she made her plans. She would toss the short sword out first, then carry her sack of belongings. The search to retrieve the weapon would waste valuable escape time, but she knew better than to take a blind leap with a deadly blade in her hands. Especially since the sword was already stained with her blood. More, she must have a weapon.
When all was ready, she lifted the blankets and breathed the blessedly sweet smell of the forest. Slowly, cautiously, she tunneled beneath the blankets to the rear of the wagon. Wedged into the corner, she braved a peek at her escort. His back to her, he flipped the reins and urged the draft horses to greater speed.
The forest moved past in a blur of naked hardwoods and an occasional splash of verdant pine. Before her courage fled, Meridene grasped the handle of the sword and pitched it out. Quick as a frightened hare, she again ducked beneath the blanket.
She counted to twenty. Taking a deep breath, she swung a leg over the back.
* * *
Revas held up his hand and called for silence. Macpherson and five of the Forbes clansmen grew quiet.
As a precaution, Brodie, Thomas, and the bulk of the soldiers had stayed behind to guard the keep. If eight trained and dedicated men couldn’t find one woman, Revas might as well surrender to the Macgillivrays.
Summerlad cursed. “How could a wheelwright snatch the Maiden from beneath our noses?”
“He’s clever,” spat Glennie Forbes.
Fortunate better fitted the wheelwright’s circumstances. Unlike the guardsmen, Revas knew that Meridene had left willingly. Escaped, as she probably put it. Gone. Again.
The burden of thirteen empty years returned. Even the relief he’d felt at finding her in England could not quell the new loss in his heart.
Revas wanted to place the blame for her flight on the gift from William, but he could not. Unless the note tucked inside the bird nest had contained some other meaning than danger. Revas had inspected the package. He felt no guilt at lying to her. With her safety at stake, he trusted none of the Macgillivrays, least of all his scheming wife.
Her decision to leave him had been made long before she opened her brother’s gift. At table last evening she’d been agreeable and intimately earnest because she knew she wouldn’t be there to face the consequences.
Had she been thinking about the departure when she kissed him? No. She had wanted Revas. Hers had been the passions of a woman in need of her man.
Last night her desires had been uncluttered by schemes and destiny. Meridene Macgillivray held an intimate affection for her husband. Although he would have chosen a different path for the quest for her affection, he must now bind her to him with the pleasure of physical love. Her heart would come later.
First he had to find her.
As they followed the westward tracks of the fast-moving wagon, Revas let go of his anger. Manly pride forgotten, he raged at the folly of what she’d done. Her recklessness could land her in the hands of the very evil she avoided.
She knew better; she’d been Highland born and raised.
Kilbarton Castle teemed with soldiers eager to throw down a gauntlet. Her father’s demesne attracted landless adventurers who lacked the tools to prosper on an estate, even did they win it.
He hoped she had been lured by a stranger with false promises. The openness of Auldcairn Castle afforded ample opportunity for a villain to come and go. If Revas closed the gates and subjected the people to searches and interrogation, he ran the risk of spreading fear and encouraging isolation. Grim alternatives when his success had been built on free travel and the commerce it spawned.
But if strangers were free to prey upon his people, he had a duty to identify the culprits and vanquish the worst of the lot. Discretion must be his tool, and diligence his method.
Henceforth, soldiers would mingle in the village, and the gatemen would take notice of those entering and leaving Auldcairn. Pray the first arrival to be noted was Meridene Macgillivray.
If she wanted to be free of Revas, why did she travel toward the family she despised? He did not know, but was certain the answer lay ahead.
In the field near Alpin’s Moor, they lost the wagon tracks in stony soil. The men fanned out and searched. At the edge of the forest, they again found the trail.
* * *
An exhausted and bruised Meridene sat on a boulder amid a stand of concealing bracken. Relief at escaping her captor gave way to confusion over what to do next. When no plan came to mind, she opened the Covenant.
I am the Maiden Mary, and I stand over the cairn of my last son. Now I must bargain with the villain who slew all of the lads of my womb, for he has demanded my little princess in exchange for the life of my beloved husband.
The story brought an ache to Meridene’s heart and tears to her eyes, for it confirmed her worst fears about the warring practices of Scots. But as she continued to read Mary’s dramatic chronicle and several more, she felt her apprehension ease.
Although Mary had not known it at the time, she had made a decision that benefited all Scots for generations to come. Her daughter and the next five Maidens had thrived. A result, according to the chronicles, not of a softening in Scottish temperament, but of the ongoing Crusades in the Holy Land. Side by side with Romans and Englishmen, Highland kings had defended the faith. Yet in their zeal and their absence, they had almost ended the legend. Were it not for the courage of Sorcha, a Maiden of one and twenty years, who traveled to the Holy Land to find her husband, Meridene’s great-grandmother would not have been conceived. The following spring, the sword of Chapling had fallen to a heathen’s scimitar. The widowed Sorcha had done her duty.
What would Meridene Macgillivray do? She closed her eyes and held her breath, hoping a sense of loyalty would guide her. She felt a deep affection for Revas Macduff, but no great devotion to a land and a people who asked for more than she could give.
With sad acceptance, she opened her eyes.
The sun offered little warmth, and the sight of Revas riding through the forest chilled her even more. He had not noticed her; her plain woollen cloak blended with the dried brush.
What would he say?
When her hands began to tremble, she put away the Covenant, laid the sword across her lap, and followed the progress of the approaching men.
They rode two abreast, with Revas and Summerlad in the lead and Macpherson and five of the Forbesmen behind. The gray warhorse thundered across the for-rest floor, clumps of sod flying beneath his hooves. Taller and broader of shoulder than the others, Revas stood out like an oak in a field of saplings. He rode with the ease of a man well suited to command. The shield of Clan Macduff rested against his knee, and his powerful legs hugged the withers of the mighty horse. Sunlight glinted on silver spurs and golden bracelets, and the wind ruffled Revas’s overlong hair.
She had blundered in her attempt to escape him and the political pitfalls of the Highlands. Another option remained: seduction. By yielding her innocence, she forfeited the Maiden’s right to claim the sword of Chapling. But more, she avoided facing the father who cared more for his falcon mews than his daughter.
How could she make it appear that Revas had compromised her and yet keep her innocence? She’d need a witness, but who?
Ah, she knew just the one.
She also knew the exact moment Revas spotted her. Although slight, his reaction was marked.
What would he do?
“Meridene,” he called out, as if they were old friends being reunited. Yet, like a hunter, his eyes scanned the perimeter.
Without words, he conveyed orders to his men. With a look, Summerlad lifted the visor on his helmet and guided his horse around the bracken behind Meridene. Each man in his turn did the same until she was surrounded. Only then did Revas approach her.
A wall of bracken separated them from the others.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
He gave her a look rife with waning indulgence. “What happened to your hand?”
“A minor cut.”
She didn’t like the knowing gleam in his eye, but even if he had threatened to beat her, she would have welcomed the sight of him just now. As much as she wanted to deny it, he looked like a prince in a land of monsters.
“When did you depart the company of the wheelwright?”
Even now she could not quell her relief. “An hour ago. He’s no tradesman.”
“Nor is he a Dunbar, I’ll wager.”
“How did you find me?”
He held up a scrap of linen. “ ’Twas snagged on a thistle near the path of the wagon.”
The hem of her gown had been shredded by the winter-dry underbrush. “Thank you for finding me.”
“My men believe the wheelwright kidnapped you.”
Although plainly put, the statement held a complex meaning. Revas knew she’d run away, but he would not say it, for he was more concerned with the opinions of his men. A wayward bride would be an embarrassment.
“If that is so,” he went on, “why did you flee him?”
“Why ask me if you know the answer?”
Quietly he said, “You thought he would take you to Aberdeen.”
“Yes.”
“Whereas he thought to take you to villains unknown.”
Unknown. To her, but not to Revas Macduff. She asked, “Which villain?”
“You will not like my answer.”
“If you tell me who sent that man, I will know better next time.”
He stared at the sun. “You know, no one else will bother to help you, Meridene. You’re too much trouble.”
The burr in his voice rolled over her, reminding her of a childhood spent under the control of ambitious Scotsmen. “Then give me a horse, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Give me the sword of Chapling, and I’ll empty the stables on your behalf.”
“You are angry.”
“Summerlad!” he yelled out. “Take three of the Forbes and introduce yourself to the wheelwright. He cannot be far ahead. Find out who sent him. Meridene will not choose the new handmaiden until you return to Auldcairn.”
“Aye, Revas.” Summerlad lowered his visor and in turn pointed to three other men. Sawing reins, he wheeled his warhorse around and galloped into the forest.
Leather creaked as Revas dismounted. “Where did you get the sword, Meridene?”
She gave him the weapon. “The wheelwright has an arsenal in his wagon.”
“Macpherson! Take Glennie and Douglas and follow Summerlad.”
“But—”
“Go. Lady Meridene has cut her hand. I believe I can escort one frail woman as far as my own holdings.”
“Aye, Revas.” Macpherson and the remaining men hurried into the forest.
“Come, Meridene.”
Revas could have held out his hand. Obviously even that small gesture was beyond him. Graceful acceptance was her most rational choice, so she picked up her belongings and stepped off the boulder.
Withdrawal shielded his emotions as surely as chain mail armored his body. Splendid. She didn’t care a knotted thread how he felt. Call her frail, would he?
Lifting her chin, she moved closer. As if it were kindling, he snapped the sword over his knee and flung the pieces aside.
“A warning to your enemies?” she asked.
“Nay.” He lifted her into the saddle, then mounted himself.
“Then why the show of animal strength?”
“I was merely marking my territory.”
Odd as it was, she wanted to laugh. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He kicked the horse into motion. “But you are afraid of yourself and what you feel for me. ’Tis why you ran away.”
“You know so much.”
“I know that you want me.”
“You want a sword.”
“I did not seek the sword of the Highlands, but I must have it. I’m baffled by why I want you.”
“Then enjoy your quandary alone, for you’ll get no help from me.”
“How can you ignore the harmony you see? Do you not wish it to prevail? Think of Sim, of Brodie, of Lisabeth. With peace in the land, the lass will have a husband to give her children. Her father will cherish her babes. Her brothers will not seek their destiny on a field of battle.”
His eloquent speech touched her deeply. “Yes, I wish them that happiness and more.”
“ ’Tis enough for now.” He hugged her.
“Enough what?”
“Enough trouble from you,” he grumbled.
She looked up at the sky. “But the day is young.”