At his cleverly worded threat, Meridene retired. Standing near the loom, she watched as Gibby banked the fire and made sure the windows were closed tight. Ellen laid out Meridene’s sleeping gown and turned down the bed. Lisabeth helped her undress, then brushed and plaited her hair.
Too confused to sleep, she sent Gibby to fetch the Covenant from Revas’s room. When the girl returned, she excused all three. Lighting the lamp, she climbed into bed and broke the seal on the letter from William’s wife.
To Meridene, the Maiden of Inverness:
Praise God you have come home, my lady. I entreat you, in the name of your ancestors who lie buried here among us, to take our cause close to your heart, that you may make haste and assume the duties to which you were born. Forsake us no more.
Forsake them? Bitter laughter welled up inside Meridene, and she tossed the letter aside. Where were their concerns when a Scottish child cried herself to sleep on a narrow cot with only cold abbey walls to hear? She knew her English friends missed her even now, and the people of Elginshire had prepared for her return.
Take the Macgillivrays’ cause close to her heart? What of her causes? Bother her family. She owed them nothing. Their needs were none of her affair.
She opened the Covenant to the page written by her grandmother.
I am the Maiden Ailis, daughter of Sorcha, and I fear I have given my own daughter to a monster. Cutberth Macgillivray came honorably to ask for my Eleanor’s hand. With my eternal soul as ransom, I swear I did not know of his cruelty and his obsession to end the legend of the Maiden. Should I tell my husband, he will storm Kilbarton Castle and demand the return of our lass. But Cutberth enjoys his prime, and his skill with a sword is legend. I will not trade the life of my beloved. I am the most wretched of mothers and the poorest of Maidens.
Sorrow choked Meridene, for she remembered her grandmother as a contented and kind woman who told tales of villains turning golden coins into flower pennies, and she had exhorted Meridene to honor the traditions of the Maiden.
Her last words to Meridene took on new meaning. It was years ago, on the occasion of Meridene’s journey south to celebrate her betrothal to Moray’s heir. She’d been a child in awe of an ancient wooden coin.
“Your time will come, Meridene,” Ailis had said. “My Eleanor has named you for the first and the best of us. I pray you have been given to a man who will honor us all and save the Highlands from the wrath of Edward Plantagenet.”
Meridene thought of Revas. Were Ailis alive today, she would have rejoiced at Meridene’s husband. Their marriage was particularly ironic, for it had come at the command of the very English king Ailis feared.
Grandmama had been correct in her judgment when she named Cutberth Macgillivray a monster.
Now Meridene had but to turn the page and read her mother’s words. Did Eleanor bemoan her life and curse her husband? Did she lament the loss of her daughter?
For a dozen reasons, Meridene stilled her hand. She felt pity for her mother. Eleanor deserved better than Cutberth; every woman ought to have a husband to cherish and honor her, to protect and nurture all of the children of her womb, not just the boys.
A flick of her wrist would reveal her mother’s reflections on her reign. Would her words to Meridene be kind and at last loving? Would she express regret at her indifference to the tenets?
The door opened. She looked up to see Revas step into her room. Like a youth fearing detection, he eased the door shut. But when he turned, he bore the look of a man determined to claim his woman.
Still miffed at his despotic behavior, she gave him a bland stare and closed the book. “What do you want, Revas? Or should I name you Hacon?”
That look of tried patience was too familiar to mistake. For effect, he slid the bolt into the jamb. “If you would but try,” he murmured, “I’m certain you can reason out why I am here.”
“I reason better on English soil.”
He blew out his breath and approached her. “Shall we make a quarrel of it, Meridene?”
His boldness should not have surprised her, but it did. “I’d sooner argue with a braying ass.”
The mattress crackled beneath his weight. “Shall I scour the village and find you one?”
She scooted to the head of the bed. “Only if Leeds is the village you scour.”
The beast laughed and snatched the Covenant from her hands. “You cannot wound me with your ready tongue—not when William has sharpened it. You are not truly angry with me.”
“You aided him when he would not answer me.”
In exasperation, he stared at the tapestry over the bed. “I thought to keep peace in my own castle. You could have taken your argument elsewhere. Why should Brodie and the others witness you and William squabbling like children?”
She hadn’t considered that, hadn’t imagined their discussion would be perceived as a disagreement between siblings. Most times she thought of herself in a singular fashion. “It would not have come to a squabble.”
He held up his thumb and forefinger in measure. “You were this close.”
Drawing her legs beneath her, she sat up straight. “Ha! I do not know him well enough to engage in an argument.”
He fell back across the mattress, his arms behind his head. “You do not speak openly of yourself when others are listening. You are a private person, although not so much as when you first came home. Still, I feared you would regret revealing so much of yourself in public.”
True, she had changed. That he had anticipated her feelings filled her with joy. “You thought to spare me embarrassment later.”
“Aye. I know the both of you. I spent years with William, drinking and wenching—” He stopped and gave her a pained expression.
Her mind latched on to the word. “Wenching?”
Suddenly affable, he touched her knee. “Look, Meridene, ’twas nothing. Just lads reveling . . . and . . . foolish talk.”
Had she not been so jealous, she would have enjoyed seeing him squirm. “Foolish? I doubt that. I’m certain you take your wenching seriously.”
“I don’t suppose you would be willing to look upon those times as preparation for my marriage to you?”
It was the last thing she expected him to say. She said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Had I been cloistered, I would know better than to believe that worthless chaff.”
He lifted his brows in entreaty. “Then could you perhaps view it as the misspent youth of a poor butcher’s son?”
For a man of his size and strength, he squirmed handsomely, with grace and charm. She seethed with satisfaction. “Not even if your wenches were toothless crones.”
“You would have preferred a chaste husband?” He drew lazy circles on the bedcovers. “Here in your bed?”
“I would have preferred no husband at all.”
With the tips of his fingers, he touched her forearm. “You cannot deny that you enjoy our intimacies.”
He wanted to drop the subject of his transgressions. Relishing his discomfort, she resisted. “You wish to practice your wenching here? Now?”
Far too reasonably, he said, “A man cannot wench with his wife.”
“For that base logic, I should be grateful?”
His hand stilled. “Gratitude is not what I seek.”
Oh, no. Not Revas Macduff. He lounged in her bed as if it were his own. And according to the law, it was, along with all of her possessions. “You hope to make me forget your sordid past?”
“I hope to hear you again say my name and God’s in the same breath.”
Warmth pooled in her belly. He moved up and over her, his face a hand’s length away, his eyes filled with longing. “But were I given only one wish, ’twould be to hold you in my arms tonight and have harmony between us.”
Conversing with him was the easiest endeavor she had ever known. He exuded warmth and honesty.
She smiled in appreciation of yet another of his attributes. “Do you know what my father said when he learned that I had come home?” Why had she named Elginshire home?
He jerked away and put the Covenant on the table by the lamp. Sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, he said, “Nay, and I’d trade my place in paradise to have been there.”
He meant it, and she felt their closeness grow. “You know him far better than I. What do you think he did?”
“What any frightened coward does. He found a weaker man and spent his wrath.”
“A frightened coward? My father?”
Turning, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “ ’Tis for certain he fears you—even above the king of Scotland.”
“That’s preposterous. Why should he fear me?”
“Because, my cloistered lass, he must yield his power to you, the Maiden of Inverness.”
“You cannot be so certain of that. Even if I did—and I have not said I would—declare myself the Maiden of Inverness.”
With his index finger, he tapped her nose. “You’ve been away too long. You belittle your importance in the matter of who wears the crown of the Highlands.”
Ten lifetimes wouldn’t be long enough to evade Cutberth Macgillivray. “My father will not hand over the sword to me.”
Yes, he will, Revas’s expression said. “He has no choice, not with his people as witness and his sons flanking him.”
“A public spectacle.” She cringed.
“May we please speak of happier things?” He flipped onto his back and settled his broad shoulders into the mattress. “I am weary of Scottish politics, and the mention of your father fair sours my stomach.”
“On that,” she declared, “you have my complete agreement.” But her mind held an image of her father on bended knee, yielding up the sword of Chapling to the daughter he’d wronged.
“Would you care to tell me what message William’s wife sent?”
What if Cutberth could tell she was no longer a virgin and publicly shamed her for it? She fled from the horror of that possibility and harkened back to the subject of her sister-in-law. “You would hear her words, even if they are political in nature?”
He kicked off his slippers. “I take back the question. Share a pleasantry with me. Tell me the plans Serena and Summerlad have made for their finest hour.”
Lamplight flickered on the moonlit scene on the tapestry overhead. The goings-on below appeared just as peaceful to Meridene. “Their wedding is also political.”
“Then I forbid you to—How can speaking their vows . . . ?” His expression turned sly. “ ’Twas a jest you were making.”
She faced him boldly. “Yes.”
“At my expense.”
“Completely.”
He winked. “Good housewifery, that.”
Flattered to her naked toes, she smiled down at him and thought herself as fortunate as her namesake. “Hacon, indeed,” she scoffed.
He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. “Leave off, and tell me again about your fine English mount.”
“Why?”
“I’m tempted to go a-raiding for new horseflesh and delicacies.”
Delicacies. She understood. Rather than admit he’d come to England solely for her, he had praised the English ports for their fresh fruit. So well tended was the memory of that conversation, Meridene felt she had always known his tastes.
“Unless the beast has a rough mouth and plodding gait. Then I would hear you retell the tale of donning that chastity belt.” Laughter rippled his chest and danced in his eyes. “I’ll wager you played the tart that day.”
Pleasant moments from her past clamored to be shared. When he took her hand, Meridene told him about the day her mare had outdistanced Johanna Benison’s exalted hunter.
He spoke of the Highland games at Elginshire and the year the duke of Ross traded five-score sheep for a yearling from Revas’s stallion.
He kissed her good night and left. Meridene fell into a restful sleep. A popping sound awakened her. She opened her eyes and screamed in terror.
Flames climbed the bed hangings.
* * *
Hours later, Meridene stared, shocked, at the destruction the fire had wrought. Serena mopped up dirty water from the stone floor. Summerlad pulled the scorched mattress from the bed frame. Sim yanked the charred remains of the bed hangings from the canopy. Gibby huddled in the corner, her shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands. At her feet, the terrier whined in confusion.
Revas paced the floor, his hair singed, his face dusted with soot. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air, a constant reminder to Meridene that her beautiful sanctuary had been invaded. Thank goodness no rushes covered the floor. Her looms were spared, and her clothing untouched. The fire had been contained to the bed and several of the small floor tapestries.
Who could have wreaked this havoc?
The answer did more than lay blame for the near tragedy; it told her just how desperate her father was and how frightened she should be of him. Without doubt, this was his work, for she had no other enemies in Scotland.
Her own father had tried again to kill her.
The knowledge bewildered her, and she turned to flee the room.
William made an untimely entrance.
“Sweet Lord, what happened here?”
Looking at her brother, Meridene was reminded of countless and long-suppressed confrontations with Cutberth Macgillivray. She did not try to hide her scorn. “I should think it’s obvious.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Not where anyone could see.
“I’m sorry we quarreled, but I thought you wanted no part of your heritage.”
Her first thought was to keep her own counsel, but the urge to express herself won out. “I did not ask you what my father thought about the return of the Maiden.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I do not understand. You are the Maiden of Inverness.”
Even William could not separate the woman from the legacy. She considered reminding him that she was also a child of Cutberth and Eleanor Macgillivray, same as he, but he wouldn’t understand that, either.
A hand touched her shoulder. “I ken your meaning,” Revas said, then addressed William. “Have you come to help?”
“Aye. What can I do?”
Revas jerked his head toward Summerlad. “Help him haul out what’s left of the bed. We’ll discuss what happened here later.”
To Meridene’s relief, William nodded, picked up one end of the blackened leather mattress, and dragged it out the door. Sim followed, his arms filled with the ruined velvet drapings.
Serena leaned on the mop handle. “What could have happened?”
A father tried to kill his daughter, Meridene thought morosely. But did Revas speak the truth when he said her father plotted against her out of fear, rather than hatred? Did her mother know and condone Cut-berth’s treachery? Did the answer lie in the Covenant? Meridene glanced at the book and knew that she must find the strength to read her mother’s words. But heaven help her, she’d had enough shock for today.
“ ’Twas my fault.”
Gibby’s tearful admission broke the silence.
Revas knelt at his daughter’s side. “Nay, lass.”
“I banked the fire poorly.” She gazed up at Meridene. “I’m sorry.”
Her misery pushed Meridene into action. She, too, moved to comfort the girl. “The brazier was perfectly tended.”
“I’ve ruined it all. I’m unfit to be a handmaiden.”
Revas pulled her into his arms, dwarfing her tiny form. “Never say that, sweeting.”
“Misfortune was the cause,” Meridene insisted, her heart aching for the girl.
“ ’Twas a villain’s work,” he said.
Gibby cried harder. “I’m wretched to my soul.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, nay. You’re my special gift from God.”
The girl leaned back and looked her father in the eye. Chin quivering, she said, “I should not have come here to live. You’re only being nice because you love me.”
His chest swelled, and he clutched her to him in a death grip.
“ ’Twasn’t your fault, Gibby.” He carried her to the window. “The glass was broken from the outside. See the shards on the floor? Had the damage been done from here, the glass would have fallen outside, into the flower garden.”
He was speaking of an intruder. Gibby was thinking of the fire itself. To aid his failing logic, Meridene said, “Gibby, did you clip the candle wicks when Lisabeth forgot?”
Gibby twisted in his arms. Her yellow smock was smeared with soot from his soiled hands and clothing. “Aye.”
“Didn’t Ellen thank you twice yesterday for sweeping the floor after she spent too long in the common room?”
She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “Aye, but she fetched the stool so I could reach the windows.”
“You complete every task in great good cheer, and you have made friends with the other girls. You do not even laugh at Ellen’s carrying on.”
Revas shot Meridene a look of sheer gratitude. To Gibby he said, “You’re a thoughtful girl who never gathers wool.”
“Nay, Papa. I gather berries and lichens for the dyes.”
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.
The need to go to her, to persuade, to compel, rose like a tide within him. But he could not. He had done his best, and she had rebuked him.
In dismay, he watched her put the book aside and blow out the candle, extinguishing the light of hope he’d held for so long in his heart.
* * *
On Monday he sent Gibby to ask Meridene to go a-fielding with them. Citing her duties to Sim, she declined.
On Tuesday he sent Sim to her with an offer to spend the day in Lord’s Meadow. With Gibby’s lessons as excuse, she refused.
On Wednesday he directed Serena to invite Meridene to view a horse race in the outer bailey. Explaining a meeting with William, she sent Revas an apology.
In church they knelt side by side. To outward appearances, nothing was amiss. But when they exited the chapel, Meridene went her separate way.
On Thursday he penned a note, wherein he threatened to commission a chastity belt. She replied with a threat of her own: Do it, Revas, and I shall tell the entire village that we have lain together.
They would lie together again, he pledged to himself. She wasn’t truly angry with her husband. The politics of Scotland had spoiled her disposition.
Revas could wait her out. She had nowhere to go, not unless an armed guard or a flock of women followed her.
When she did seek him out a week hence, her first words shocked him.