Revas raced up the steps and into the common room.
Back rigid, hands clasped tightly, Meridene faced her brother, who gazed at her with unabashed affection. The priest stared from one sibling to the other.
A cauldron simmered over the hearth fire. Empty benches and stools had been pushed beneath the tables in preparation for the evening meal. All appeared normal, save the tension that hung like a storm in the close air.
Revas moved quickly to her side, but she was unaware of his presence.
“I thought never to see you again.” Her voice was devoid of warmth or scorn.
William’s bulky shoulders sagged and his lips thinned. Even in disappointment, he bore a striking resemblance to their father. Did that likeness hold Meridene back, or had she spoken truly when she said she had no love in her heart for her kinsmen?
“And I you, dear sister. Though I prayed for a word from you. You are well?” His inquiring gaze slid to Revas.
“Well enough, William,” she said.
No cutting remark about Scotland. No praise for England. Looking down at her, Revas was reminded of the lass he’d met and wed that day so long ago. Yet time and circumstances had changed her; the brave girl had become a poised woman.
Into the tense silence, Revas said, “Welcome, William and Father John. We’ve been a-fielding.” With a look, he implored William to have patience. “If you will excuse us, we must tidy ourselves.”
He felt her awareness a moment before she glanced up at him, and Revas was unprepared to see her green eyes barren of emotion. An hour ago, they had shimmered with excitement and passion.
He swallowed hard. “Shall we rid ourselves of the smell of horse and forest?”
Please, her expression said.
Compassion flooded him, and he cursed himself for thinking her brother’s presence would make her happy. Did the demons of her nightmares brave the light of day?
He took her hand. It quivered like the wings of a frightened bird, and her palm was damp to the touch.
As a lad, he’d been unable to protect her. As a man, he’d fared no better. He hadn’t thought beyond the physical harm she might suffer. To his dismay, he now knew that Meridene’s hurt lay deeper. It was a bitter admission to a man who prided himself on his ability to understand and lead the people of this land.
He turned to escort her from the room.
“Meridene,” William called out, as if hesitant to see her go. “I’ve brought you something.” He picked up a large sack that was tied with a rope and held it out to her. “ ’Tis a letter from my beloved and gifts from my children.”
Her breathing grew shallow, and her hand began to shake in earnest. Revas took the package.
A puzzled and waiting William tilted his head. “The other is yours, by right and title.”
As silent as a stone, she allowed Revas to draw her from the room. Once in her chamber, she pulled her hand free and poured herself a drink of water. The goblet shook, even though she held it with both hands, and she breathed so deeply, her shoulders rose and fell.
Thinking she needed a moment to order her thoughts, Revas walked to his favorite spot. Half-completed, the new tapestry depicted a massive tree, but what began as the trunk became the torso of a man wearing an empty sword belt. Rather than branches, two arms stretched out toward the tapestry’s edge and spread great shadows on the forest floor, where the sword of Chapling lay. Whose face would crown the work?
Brilliantly imaginative in scope and exquisite to each pass of the shuttle, the piece, when finished, would inspire conversation. Unfinished, it engaged his curiosity.
As did its creator.
“Why has William come?”
Tapestry forgotten, Revas approached her. “His arrival does not cheer you?”
“Cheer me?” Color flooded her neck and face. “You expect me to rejoice at the sight of a Macgillivray?”
He felt alone, as if he stood before the gates of his enemy’s stronghold with only riderless horses at his back. “Your happiness is my foremost concern.”
She put down the goblet, and with much effort, smoothed the wrinkles from her gown. “I thought my safety was.”
William had written that she was in danger. “Do you fear him?”
A glimmer of challenge shone in her eyes but was quickly gone. “I do not know him.”
But she knew herself and governed her emotions too well. Her feelings were there, in her heart, locked up tight. There he would go. “He favors Cutberth in appearance.”
Turning her head to the side, she folded her arms at her waist. “As I recall, yes. Our kinsmen are all fair of face and hair.”
William was Revas’s age, only a few years younger than Cutberth had been when Meridene last saw her father. No wonder she trembled. The passage of years had not altered her image of the man who spoke to his daughter with his fist and thrust her into the hands of a foreign king.
Her scars were old, long festering, and he must help to heal them. “Tell me how you feel, Meridene.”
She sat on the arm of the chair and examined her fingernails. “Honestly, I do not know.”
“Are you saddened? Angry?”
“Rather I feel scattered.”
Revas knelt beside her. “Should I have asked if you wanted to see him?”
She tried to smile. “As if you would obey me.”
Self-pity wouldn’t do, not if she was to meet and conquer the ghosts of her past. Reassuring her came easily. “Command me, then,” he said. “For I am your champion until the withering of the last thistle.”
She sighed and touched his shoulder.
“What,” he implored, “is in your heart?”
Her eyes were full of sorrow, and her voice distant. “Past hurts and confusion. The urge to run.” She gazed out the window. “An absence of destination.”
Like a petal floating on a slow-moving stream, she drifted away from him. Desperate to keep her, he clutched her wrist. “If you will run to me, I will listen. By my oath, I will stand beside you and offer up my life to please you.”
Her chin quivered; she pressed her fingers there. “You will expect too much of me.”
Of every man, woman, and child he knew, only his daughter spoke so frankly to him. Gibby trusted him. Was Meridene coming to believe in him as well? “Tell me what you wish to do.”
Meridene almost scoffed at the question. What could she do? He had made no offer to send William away. He’d given no assurance that her father did not follow. Revas was destined to make her face a past that loomed like a great black void. A tragedy, for in the span of a day she’d soared to the heavens, only to plunge into the depths of despair. Uncertainty and the unknown awaited her.
In his note, William had said she was in danger. From where? Whom?
Fear squeezed her chest, and she longed to retreat to a quiet place where only harmless thoughts and happy days awaited.
Revas held out the sack to her. “Will you accept William’s gifts?”
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.
“True. My father bragged of it. But how do you know that?”
As always, Revas felt a part of the traditions. Years of studying the chronicles had made it so. “On the day we were wed, Meridene left the book with me for safekeeping.”
William crossed the room and plopped down in the chair that faced Revas. “Ah. Father wondered how you knew so much about the customs. He calls you a cur pup who favors the ceremonies of women and says you are too cowardly to try to take the sword from him in battle.”
By way of gossip, Revas had heard that insult and a dozen more. “ ’Tis a mistake for Cutberth to recall my greener days.”
“He tries to goad you into war again.”
In the fall of 1307, with Bruce’s army at his back, Cutberth had commanded Revas to surrender, else he’d put Nairn to the torch. Outnumbered and outsmarted, Revas had no choice but to retreat to Elgin. Two days later, word had come of Nairn’s fall. Upon hearing of Cutberth’s treachery, Bruce had distanced himself from Highland politics. Cutberth returned to his Highland throne, but the taunts continued.
If he engaged Revas again, he would see a different soldier. “Your father wears a bloody crown.”
William laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Who better than I knows the cruelty of which he is capable?”
Revas’s throat grew thick. “Meridene knows. His treatment of her is beyond redemption. Never has he cared about her.”
“How could he care for her when only God and she could alter his destiny? From the moment she understood the importance of her birthright, her fate with Father was sealed. He knew he must one day yield his power to her.”
Revas reached for his dirk. “Do you defend him?”
“Sweet Saint Ninian, nay, and sheathe your blade.” When Revas did, William continued. “Our father scarcely looked upon Meridene, and always with scorn. Poor mite.”
Affection for that forlorn girl filled Revas with rage. “He’s a fool.”
William shot to his feet. “Never take him for that, Revas. He is clever beyond pride, and if you value your life and hers, you will hurry my sister to Kilbarton to claim the sword.”
“Easier said than done, William.”
Sadness wreathed his features. “How fares her heart?”
With great pride and satisfaction, Revas smiled. “ ’Tis mine, and her affections, too.”
“Then why the delay in claiming her birthright? She spoke of little else as a lass.” He chuckled at the memory. “Bedeviled Mother so often for the Covenant, ’twas finally put away and forgotten.”
Ah, so she had cherished the legacy at one time. “ ’Tis facing Cutberth that she fears. What is he about?”
William rubbed his face, then shook his head, as if to clear it. “The king of the Highlands has petitioned the king of Scotland. If Meridene does not claim the sword by Whitsunday, father demands that Bruce bring his army northward and put an end for all time to your claim to Clan Chapling.”
Unity would crumble. The Highlands would revert to a land of warring clans. “Robert tours the land in goodwill. He swore as much to me at parliament. But we shall see. Meridene does not know of your father’s ultimatum.”
“Is that fair to her?”
“She needs time, William. She’s been away from us more years than not.”
“I ken your meaning.”
“Good, and I’m to invite you to join us at table tonight.”
Hope sprang to William’s eyes. “Her words or yours?”
“Both, and a word of warning, my friend. Recall only the happy moments when you speak of her childhood.”
He grinned. “Many of those times did she and I share.”
Satisfied, Revas got to his feet. “I wonder what delicacy has Montfichet prepared.”
“For the gift of my sister’s company, I will gladly dine on swill and leavings.”
* * *
Meridene pushed aside the leeks and toyed with the braised hare on her plate. Conversation at the crowded table settled to a dull din. Revas occupied the lord’s place at the head. Brodie sat at the far end with the best of the soldiers. Summerlad sat between Serena and Lisabeth. Ellen chatted with Glennie Forbes. With the new priest on her right, Gibby sat beside Revas and across from Meridene.
Her attention strayed to the man on her left. William, the brother who’d cherished a bird’s nest and taught his sister to whistle.
At the sentimental thought, her stomach floated.
Revas took her arm. “I’ve made a dreadful error.”
Seated at the head of the table, he looked so serious, her discomfiture grew. “What have you done?”
A roguish twinkle appeared in his eye. “I warned you against wearing the pink gown, but I misspoke. The green is more pleasing to my eye and other parts.”
The tension left her, replaced by a flush of impatience. Behind her hand, she said, “Bother you and your other parts. You speak boldly to distract me.”
As charming as a prince on coronation day, he grinned expansively. “How am I faring?”
She shook her head. “Well enough, and you know it. I should slap you.”
“Much better options await those bonny hands.”
“Oh, yes,” she teased in a breathless whisper. “After we sup, I shall capture your king in twelve moves.”
“Meridene,” said William. “Do you remember the berry tarts Cook used to make?”
She latched on to the reprieve from Revas’s seductive conversation. A fond memory popped into her mind. “Aye, I remember the tarts.”
“And the nutcake with trinkets inside on your birthday?”
The cook hadn’t gone to any trouble. The cake, baked with an assortment of toys, was actually a Hogmanay tradition, and her birthday happened to fall on the holiday of New Year’s. She shuddered to think of the fare had she been born on Hay Stack Night. “You broke a tooth on the little drum.”
“You almost swallowed the tiny sword.”
To the table at large, William said, “Once, our brother, Robert, filched a keg of October ale from the stores. We hid in the dungeon and drank ourselves sick.” He rolled his eyes in embarrassment. “ ’Twas Hogmanay, and our parents were in Inverness. Had Meridene not found us first, we’d still call that dungeon home.”
Remembering, Meridene smiled. “The smell of their retching drew me down there.”
“How old were you?” Revas asked.
“Five, I think.”
“Wrong,” said William. “You were four and still small enough to hide under our beds and spy on us.”
“Yet she braved a dungeon to save you,” said Revas.
William nodded, affection glowing in his eyes. “Aye, she was ever the stalwart lass.”
Revas stared at a point over Meridene’s shoulder. She turned, but saw no one behind her. “What is it?”
Then Revas was grinning.
“What?” she insisted.
He shook his head, but some jest had him in its throes.
“A game of chess, Revas?” asked William.
Expansively he said, “Only if my lady watches me win.”
Revas’s good humor grew as he captured William’s king for the second time.
William slapped the table, then pushed to his feet. “Losing twice is enough.”
Revas touched Meridene’s arm. “Will you play? I’ve a mind to win a flower penny.”
“Revas gave you flower pennies?” William looked from one to the other.
He’d brought to life a favorite tale of true chivalry, but not without a price she must pay. “He is ever generous in matters concerning the Maiden.”
Admiration softened William features. “Do you remember the old penny Grandmama Ailis had?”
“Yes.”
“Now our children will have their own.” In a gesture of goodwill, he clasped Revas’s shoulder. “They’ll pass them on to our grandchildren.”
When it came to legacies, Meridene had experienced the dregs. Even in her own family, she had fared the poorest, except her mother. “If the children are not killed in battle or bartered.”
He sent her a look he’d learned from their father. “I value my children.”
Years of loneliness came rushing back. “A lesson you learned after the family gave me away.”
Revas cleared his throat. “Sleep well, William.”
Meridene glowered at him, then at her brother. “You’re being sent off to bed.”
“Meridene . . .”
The admonition in Revas’s voice sounded so paternal, she thought of her own sire. “I should like to have seen father’s face when he learned of my return.”
William studied the shields on the wall. Everyone in the room, from Brodie to Serena, stared expectantly at Revas. Only Gibby and the other handmaidens were unaware of the anticipation.
“Well?” Meridene insisted. “What did he say?”
The stillness was broken by Revas, who raised his arms and stretched. “I’ll wager Cutberth feared you would turn the flower pennies back to gold and make me the richest man in Christendom.”
Relieved laughter settled like a blanket over the others in the room. With quiet insistence, Meridene addressed William. “You have not answered me.”
His eyes found hers. “I was not there when the news reached him.”
But he knew, and he’d keep the information to himself. He was welcome to it, for she didn’t care a soiled slipper what her father thought of her return. She simply wanted to anticipate what he would do. How frightened should she be?
“In any case,” Revas went on, “ ’tis late to broach the subject of Highland politics. I intended to ask William if he remembers how to thatch a roof. Macduff’s Halt awaits.”
Meridene wasn’t fooled. She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll practice turning wood to gold.”
“While you fill my treasury,” Revas said, “tell your handmaidens the tale of Hacon. A lass should be prepared for the likes of him.”