Chapter 13

T he Douglas led Simon into a nearby alcove with benches against two walls.

Glancing about, Douglas said, "Heard you were here, lad, and wanted a word. As I've no doubt you ken fine, we've a plague of reiving in the Borders."

"Aye, sir," Simon agreed. "They raided one of my people near Hobkirk just days ago. Those same men, or others like them, threw two bairns into the Tweed. We've caught none of them, but folks who saw them think they were English."

"I'm thinking the Percys may be setting events in motion to shatter this fragile truce we've wrought," Douglas said. "I'll not have that."

Simon frowned. "Do you suspect any Percy in particular as the leader?"

"Nay, we hear only rumors. Would you tell me if you'd heard more?"

"I would," Simon said. "I'd be doing little to maintain

Elishaw's neutrality if I were to conceal knowledge of intent on either side to break the truce."

"You're gey glib on the subject," Douglas said testily. "I'd liefer you'd decide once and for all to side with Scotland, lad. As I told you eight months ago, you cannot straddle yon line for long without vexing both sides."

"Aye, perhaps," Simon said. "But if I side with the Scots, Northumberland and his lot may try to seize Elishaw again. They've done it before, more than once."

"I'll see that that doesn't happen. I've beaten Percys afore, and I'll do it again. You've two Scottish good-brothers now, lad—stout, loyal men. You ken fine that they want you to stand for Scotland as I do, so you think hard on it."

"I have thought, my lord, and I will continue to think. Pray, do you also urge me to pursue the lady Sibylla?"

"I do not. But why do you say ‘also'?"

"The Governor learned that my family and I arrived here with Sir Malcolm and his daughters. Fife has made it plain that he expects our marriage."

Archie's grim face softened. "Bless us, lad, but you of all men should know Sibylla will marry where she pleases." His face hardened again as he added, "When you choose sides, Simon, choose wisely. With Sibylla as your wife or none, if I find you're supporting the Percy, I'll hang you as a traitor. And I'll do it without a blink."

With those cheering words and a parting clap on the shoulder that Simon almost did not see coming soon enough to brace himself, the Douglas was gone.

Stepping back into the hall, Simon looked for the others and saw his mother and Sir Malcolm in a ring of dancers. He scanned the room only a few seconds longer before he realized that Sibylla, Rosalie, and Alice had vanished.

Sibylla hurried after Rosalie and Alice, suspecting the lad with Alice must be the lackwit. She lost sight of Rosalie before reaching the doorway, so she kept her eye on Edward Colville and followed in his wake.

He did not look back, for which she was grateful. Having no doubt he would seize any chance to create trouble for her, she hoped to deal with him after they found the girls and not let him delay her now.

Passing through an anteroom and a larger chamber without seeing anyone from whom she might beg assistance, she drew a breath, warning herself to keep her temper. She had given Edward cause to be angry with her, but with Alice and Rosalie at hand, and Alice's young man, she thought she would be safe enough.

On entering the large chamber, she had caught a glimpse of Rosalie's skirt vanishing through the far doorway. But although that chamber opened onto a long corridor, she saw only Edward Colville ahead of her.

He turned abruptly to his left and disappeared. Sibylla had stayed in Edinburgh Castle many times and knew that a small anteroom opened off the corridor there. The first floor of the tower was a maze of such chambers, often opening from one to another. Trysting couples seeking privacy or to avoid the noisy din in the hall often made use of them.

Reaching the open doorway, Sibylla saw Rosalie facing Edward. Alice and her young gentleman were nowhere to be seen.

Pausing to look up and down the corridor again and wonder where Alice had gone, she dismissed the thought when Rosalie said angrily, "Release me!"

"Och, and why should I?" Edward asked with a sneering laugh. "A pretty wench that wanders unescorted offers invitation to any man she meets, does she not? Where did Alice go?" he added harshly.

Sibylla said with determined calm, "Evidently, Edward Colville, you failed to learn anything from the lesson you received this morning."

He whirled, releasing Rosalie, who stepped quickly away from him. "You!" he exclaimed, scowling at Sibylla. "What business is this of yours?"

"As you saw this morning, I take responsibility for her ladyship," Sibylla said. "You would be wise to let her be."

"Who the devil are you?"

"I am Alice Cavers's sister."

"Sakes, you're the capernoited skit that left Thomas standing like a fool with nobbut the parson and your da when he'd expected to wed you!"

"Mercy, Sibylla," Rosalie exclaimed. "Was he one—?" Ignoring Edward, Sibylla said hastily, "Come, dearling. We'll find Alice together and go back to the hall. Your mother has doubtless missed you by now."

"We shall all go to find your dearling Alice," Edward said.

"No, we will not," Sibylla said. "Come, Rosalie."

"Nay, lassie, you'll bide with me a while longer," he said, catching Rosalie's arm again. "I've a mind to know—"

Rosalie had stiffened angrily when he grabbed her but relaxed as her gaze shifted to a point beyond Sibylla. Seeing her expression change to one of mixed relief and wariness told Sibylla who stood there.

Simon said with measured calm so chilling that it sent prickles of ice up her spine, "Take your hands off my sister, Colville."

Disturbingly aware that she stood between them, Sibylla moved aside. As she faced Simon, the chill pricked her again, stirring a cowardly wish that she had kept her back to him.

His fury was obvious and directed at all three of them. Doubtless he would save a healthy portion for the missing Alice, as well.

"See here, Murray," Edward said. "I just saw the lass to whom I'm plighted wandering off with some cat-wit. I suspect this lassie kens fine where they went."

Simon said coldly, "If you disapprove of the lady Alice's behavior, speak to her father. But you'd be wise to look to your own behavior before complaining of hers. I've not yet told Sir Malcolm what I witnessed this morning. However, if you do not release my sister's arm at once, I will speak to him. I'll deal with you, too, in a way that you won't like," he added. "Do you take my meaning?"

"I'd be none so quick to bear tales to Sir Malcolm," Colville said, releasing Rosalie. "I'll own I'd liefer he not hear about that, but I'm thinking his lass here will dislike it more. I doubt her actions would please him any better than mine."

"Mayhap you are right," Simon said. "But the lady Sibylla is his daughter. Displeased with her or not, he will ask why she hit you, and he will believe her, too."

"Mayhap he will; mayhap not."

"I'll see that he does," Simon promised. "So, if you seek to retain your good standing with him, stay away from his daughters unless he is with them. You'd be wise to keep out of my path, in any event, for some time to come."

"What I'm thinking is that you're mighty thick with a woman who treated you as badly as she treated my brother."

"Your thoughts are a matter of indifference to me," Simon said. "Your actions, however, are another matter. Come, Rosalie . . . and you, too, my lady." Quietly, he added to Sibylla, "I am indebted to you for interceding here."

Rosalie stared at him as he stepped aside to let them pass into the corridor. Then she looked in wonder at Sibylla.

Aware of what she had just deduced and praying she would hold her tongue, Sibylla murmured, "We must find Alice, sir."

"To your left," he replied. "I saw her peep out of the next chamber. I believe that room adjoins no other, so she cannot have left it whilst I stood here."

Sibylla hurried to the indicated door and pushed it open without ceremony to find her sister and the unknown lad alone in the room.

Stepping hastily away from him, Alice looked guiltily at her.

"What are you doing here, Alice?" Sibylla demanded. "Surely, you know—"

"Not now, my lady," Simon said, touching her arm. "Come away with us at once, Lady Alice. You, too, lad. You have some hard words coming your way, but I'll not leave you here alone to face Edward Colville."

"Thank you, my lord," the young man said fervently, bobbing a hasty bow.

"Do you know me, then?"

"Aye, sir, I do. We've not met, but I have seen you before. I'm George Denholm of Teviotdale. The lady Alice and I . . . well, we're by way of being good friends, sir. So, when she said she had to speak to me—"

"You have both behaved badly, but we'll talk of it anon," Simon said curtly. "At present, we must return to the hall, where you, Denholm, will return her ladyship to her father and beg his pardon."

George Denholm turned pale enough to make Sibylla pity him, but by the look of Simon, all of them would hear what he thought before the night was over.

She saw no sign of the younger Colville when they passed the room where they had found him with Rosalie. But Simon allowed no one to dawdle.

When they entered the hall again, Sibylla's gaze collided with her father's. Distance lay between them still, but when he saw her, his gaze shifted to Alice. He turned briefly away, whereupon Lady Murray came into view, looking sorely vexed.

"May God have mercy on us," Rosalie murmured. "You don't deserve mercy, lassie," Simon said to her. "What demon possessed you to leave the great hall by yourself?"

"I didn't leave by myself," Rosalie protested. "I followed—"

Sibylla cleared her throat.

Glancing at her, Rosalie said, "I was alone but not completely, I vow. I was holding Alice's hand one minute and the next she was walking away with Geordie."

Simon said, "Geordie?"

"George Denholm, of course. Alice calls him Geordie, so I— I expect I should not do so," she amended hastily, eyeing Simon.

"No, you should not. Nor should you have left here without telling someone where you were going. In troth, you should not leave this hall by yourself for any reason or wander alone anywhere in this castle. All manner of people come here, and some are gey untrustworthy. You have your good name and reputation to protect, Rosalie. I do not want to have to explain this to you again."

"I'll remember, sir," Rosalie said.

"See that you do. We will talk more of this anon."

She bit her lower lip, but Sir Malcolm and Lady Murray were upon them, and Sir Malcolm was already scolding.

"Sibylla, where the devil did ye go, and why did ye take your sister and the lady Rosalie with ye? Sakes, but I turn my back for a moment . . ."

He continued in this vein, and Sibylla waited for him to pause before she said quietly, "I beg your pardon, sir."

Before she could continue, Alice said, "It was not her fault, sir. It was mine."

"Faugh!" he snapped. "Sibylla is the elder. It is her duty— What the devil are you doing here, sirrah?" he demanded, taking note at last of the still-pale George Denholm. "You have nae business to be anywhere near my daughter."

"I am sorry to have vexed you, my lord," Denholm said. "By my troth, I never meant to do so, but when the lady Alice—"

"Father, truly, it was my fault," Alice said fiercely enough to draw notice.

Sir Malcolm gaped at her.

Smoothly, Simon said, "Mayhap it would be better, sir, if we were to adjourn to a more private chamber to continue this discussion." He turned to Sibylla. "The princess's solar would be the wisest place if you will agree to that."

She nodded and led the way with him. Hearing her father curtly dismiss George Denholm, she prayed that the young man would not meet either of the Colville brothers until Edward's temper had cooled.

She had seen no sign of the lackwit about Denholm, however, nor any lack of courage. He seemed pleasant and well-mannered. Looking over her shoulder, she saw tears in her sister's eyes. One spilled over and left a damp trail down her cheek.

Sibylla looked up at Simon. The dimple near his mouth showed, and a muscle twitched in his cheek, warning signs that he had his temper under tight rein.

"In troth, sir," she murmured as they turned a corner, briefly leaving the others behind, "little of it was Rosalie's fault."

"And none of it was yours," he replied curtly, surprising her.

"I should have watched them more closely," she admitted. "I thought our parents were with them when we saw the Douglas, and then—"

"Wait until we are more privy, lass. These stairwells echo all we say."

She bit her lip, then recalled Rosalie doing the same thing and hid a smile.

Simon had that effect on one, especially if one was in the wrong.

Simon struggled to control his anger. Of late, he had begun to feel as if his emotions were as wobbly as the juggler's stilts had been. Rage had nearly overcome him when he'd seen the Colville pup's filthy paws on Rosalie. But that was normal.

That he might have spitted the pup had he had his sword was less so. How Sir Malcolm could be thinking of sacrificing a tender morsel like Alice to such a scruff he could not imagine. But if either Colville touched Rosalie again, or Sibylla . . .

Taking a deep breath, aware of Sibylla's darting glances, he forced his thoughts back to Sir Malcolm . . . and to Lady Murray.

Had he not assured Sibylla that he could trust his lady mother to keep a close eye on Rosalie? Had Sibylla and Sir Malcolm not expected her to guard Alice, too? Instead, behaving as senselessly as bairns themselves, his mother and Sir Malcolm had joined the dancers. They had shown no concern at all for their daughters.

By making himself breathe deeply and evenly until they reached Isabel's chambers, he was able to open the door for Sibylla and stand calmly aside to let her and the other three ladies enter the solar.

When Sir Malcolm moved to follow, Simon stopped him. "A moment, sir," he said. "There is something you should know before the discussion continues."

"Eh? What's that, lad? I don't mind telling ye I'm sore vexed already."

Pulling the door to again, Simon said, "I am indebted to Sibylla for following Rosalie and Alice, sir. She might as easily have looked for you or me to go instead. Had she done that, Rosalie would have found herself in sad straits."

"Foolish lassie. What had she done? And where the devil was Alice?"

"You will have to ask Alice where she was, sir, but

Edward Colville waylaid Rosalie. When she went after Alice, he cornered her in a private chamber. Had Sibylla not followed and diverted him long enough for me to find them . . ."

"Edward Colville ? Bless me, what was he doing with Rosalie ?"

"Ask him. I've said enough," Simon said, not trusting himself to say more. "I'll not tell any man how to manage his daughter or aught else, but I don't want Colville near Rosalie. I have warned him off. If that vexes you, so be it."

Sir Malcolm grimaced. "He should not have concerned himself in any way with that lassie. I'll talk to him, never fear."

Simon nodded and reached for the door latch again, pausing with his hand on it. "With your permission, sir, I mean to talk with the lady Sibylla about this, too," he said. "I must also assume some fault, because I let the Douglas draw me away without making sure Rosalie was safe. In fact," he added, remembering, "he and I walked off and left Sibylla without noting whether you or my mother were nearby."

"Aye, well, our Sibylla can look after herself. She's accustomed to it, what with serving Isabel as she has these past years. Ye're welcome to speak with her, though, lad. I ken fine that ye'll do her nae harm. But what was that feckless Denholm doing with our Alice? That's what I want to know."

"Ask them." Simon opened the door and gestured for him to enter first.

Sibylla told the chambermaid to stir up the fire and then to take herself off to bed. "We will sit up and talk, but we shan't need you any more tonight," she said.

Having seen Simon stop her father at the threshold and shut the door, she was sure he was explaining what had happened and hoped he could dampen Sir Malcolm's ire. Then perhaps he would not erupt over everyone as he so often did.

Alice and Rosalie had retreated to a settle near the fire and sat silently there.

Lady Murray watched the chambermaid busy herself at the fire but was clearly gathering her own resources for an unpleasant discussion.

Sibylla held her peace and went to sit on the cushioned bench in the window embrasure. It was chilly there, but she could sit undisturbed until the men came in.

When the door opened at last and her father entered, she noted his heavy frown with a resigned sigh. Then his gaze shifted to Lady Murray, and Sibylla saw him grimace. To her surprise, her ladyship, meeting his gaze, looked rueful.

"Lady Sibylla, I would speak with you now if you please."

Looking sharply at the expressionless Simon, Sibylla felt sudden tension.

Lady Murray bristled. "What is this, Simon? Where would you take her?"

"I have Sir Malcolm's permission, madam," Simon said, the chill back in his voice. "If you have a cloak, my lady, you should fetch it."

She did not question him but went to get the cloak Lady Murray had given her.

Rosalie caught her eye when she returned and gave her a sympathetic smile. But Sibylla barely acknowledged it, glancing instead at her father to judge whether he might change his mind.

He was gazing gravely at Alice.

Simon held the door for Sibylla, and when she heard him shut it behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing until then how much she had dreaded the confrontation with her father. Being long unaccustomed to dealing with his rants, she had not wanted to deal with this one.

"This way," Simon said, lightly touching the small of her back.

"Where are we going?" she asked, wondering if she had escaped one scolding only to fall headlong into a worse one.

"Have you seen the view from the ramparts here?" "Not for a long time and never at night," she said as they reached the stairs.

"If the moon is up and no mist obscures it, we'll be able to see it reflected on the sea. In any event, we'll see the lights of the town and the abbey."

"Will the guards let us up there at night?"

She heard a smile in his voice as he said, "I know you don't like Fife, lass, but there are some advantages to being in his service. Most of the guards know me, so we're bound to find at least one man up there that does."

"They will probably know me, too," she reminded him.

"You can put up your hood if you don't want them to recognize you. But I warrant they will say little if they do."

"The truth is, sir, that I'd liefer they not hear what you mean to say to me."

"I don't shout at people, Sibylla. Anything I may say to you, I will say quietly. But I did not pluck you from that cauldron downstairs to berate you."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I think it is our parents' business to deal with what happened tonight. Neither of us was chiefly at fault. When we walked away, your father and my mother had taken charge of Rosalie and Alice. Therefore, I thought it best that we absent ourselves now and leave them to deal with the consequences."

"My father disagrees with your assessment of where the fault lies, sir."

"I fancy I have adjusted his assessment," Simon said as they reached the upper landing and he leaned past her to open the heavy door onto the ramparts.

His breath tickled her neck, sending unfamiliar tremors through her.

"He did look at your mother as if he was sorry, but I thought he was only sorry that I had failed them both," she said. "Whatever did you say to him?"

Touching her back gently again as he nodded to the nearby guard, he guided her across to the north side of the crenellated battlements. "I told him what Colville did tonight," he said. "I also told him how indebted I am to you for intervening on Rosalie's behalf. I told you the same, and by my troth, lass, it is true. I do blame myself somewhat for what happened, as I know you blame yourself. That's just why I decided to keep us out of the scene taking place now downstairs."

"Alice and Rosalie may be wishing we had not left them," Sibylla said.

"Whatever Alice may wish, Rosalie is not wishing I had stayed," he said. "Sithee, I want our sisters to understand that they are at fault. I don't want them being confused by anyone else's attempt to take blame or cast it elsewhere."

She understood what he had done for her and was not sure how she felt about it. It had been long since anyone had taken her part in a dispute. In the meantime, she had learned to fight her own battles and had forgotten how satisfying it could be when someone else entered the fray to ease that burden.

They stood silently on the parapet between two of the seven-foot embrasures for archers—called crenels— looking out over the four-foot wall between them.

The moon, nearing its half, shone brightly on the North Loch below and the waters of the Firth in the distance. The loch was still and glassy. But the Firth's frothy waves capered like so many tiny white horses across a dark field.

Resolutely, but without looking at him, she said, "I should tell you that Rosalie now knows or at least suspects that we nearly married."

"Edward Colville?"

"Aye, he said I'd ill-treated you just as I had Thomas. I'd told your mother and Rosalie that Father arranged three marriages for me, but did not say with whom."

"It doesn't matter," he said. "I shall have to tell my mother before your father decides he can no longer keep it from her."

Relieved, Sibylla said with a sigh, " 'Tis a beautiful night, is it not?"

"Aye, but we cannot stay up here too long," he said.

A rough note in his voice made her turn and look up at him.

Simon wondered what was getting into him. If he had not learned by now that being alone with the lady Sibylla was a mistake, he damned well ought to have learned. At least, here on the ramparts, he should have been able to count on the guards' presence to quell any unseemly impulses that stirred.

Instead, the blasted fellows had vanished to the opposite battlements, doubtless believing they were tactfully giving him privacy for his dalliance.

When Sibylla looked up at him with a tremulous half smile on her lips, his hands itched to touch her and his mouth burned to capture hers. Other parts of him came to life, too, until it was all he could do to ignore the ancient urges wrestling again with his good sense.

He'd been living like a monk since his return to Elishaw, and until Sibylla, no temptation had arisen to alter that state. If it had, he'd had his mother's presence to consider and the swiftness with which news spread throughout the Borders. Lady Murray's determination that he marry one of her English cousins had made it nearly certain that she would hear if he cast a look in any other fair lady's direction.

But then had come the night at the pond and the walk at Akermoor.

"You were angry with me, though," Sibylla said abruptly.

His thoughts still at Akermoor, it took him a beat to realize she meant earlier that evening. He grimaced then but felt no need to equivocate. Despite their brief time together, he found her easier to talk with than anyone else he could call to mind.

"I was furious," he said. "I'm no good at describing my feelings, or justifying them, come to that. I have learned to control my temper, usually. But when it does flare, it can do so with such heat that it burns anyone within range . . ." He watched to see if she understood, and when she nodded, he felt a glow of satisfaction.

"An apt description, sir. Shall I tell you how I have imagined your temper?"

"Do I want to hear it?"

The moon overhead revealed a twinkle in her eyes as she said, "The way you keep things inside until you spew them out reminded me of a kettle left to boil over the fire until its lid sticks to the rim. Do you know what happens then?"

"The same thing that can happen if I simmer too long without release, aye. What led you to evoke this so-flattering image of me?"

She looked out toward the sea again. "On our journey here, I thought about my first impression of you on the day that was to have been our wedding day."

Bewildered, remembering feeling nothing at first but irritation at her childish prattle, he said, "As a result of that memory, you likened me to a spewing pot?"

"Not at first," she said, regarding him more warily. "At first, I saw only a cold, self-absorbed man with no interest in me, wanting to get on with his wedding. I found the prospect of living the rest of my life with him so daunting that I fled."

"Even so, a cold man and a boiling pot do not . . ." She shook her head. "My thinking was not so particular. I was considering your temperament—how I'd first judged it and what I'd seen since. Especially when—" She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

"Never mind." She was irresistible, looking at him so, and he could easily suppose he had given her good cause at Elishaw to liken him so.

Noting that the guards seemed content where they were and that he and she stood in the shadow of a crenel, he pulled her nearer and lowered his mouth to hers.

With a low moan, she leaned toward him, opening her mouth to him.

Shutting his eyes, he called himself a fool for plunging into something that could lead only to turmoil of one sort or another but savored her taste nonetheless.

Without warning, Sibylla pushed against his chest and tilted her head back with a frown. "You have behaved differently since . . . since this afternoon," she said.

"I don't want to talk more now, and certainly not about me," he said. But when he moved to kiss her again, she slipped from his grasp.

"Moreover," she said, "you were angry with me. I saw it in the way you looked at me, as if it were my fault that Edward had cornered Rosalie. And, earlier, you refused even to talk to me about your meeting with Fife."

"Sibylla, I explained those things. It would have been unwise—"

"Just tell me this, sir," she said. "When you met with the Governor this afternoon, did he press you to renew your suit with me?"

Stunned by the question, he hesitated. But he could not lie to her.

"Faith, I can see that he did!" Tugging him out under the moonlight, she said fiercely, "Look at me! Now, sir, I challenge you to deny Fife's urging if you can."

He was not accustomed to any woman commanding him, let alone challenging him in such a tone, and would accept it from few men. But he steeled himself to hold his temper as he said, "By my troth, lass, it is not as you think."

"Do not equivocate, Simon Murray. I asked a simple question that requires a simple answer. Did Fife urge you to seek marriage with me again or not?"

"He did, aye, but—"

"I knew it! Will you tell me you refused him?" Her words dripped with scorn, and when he did not answer immediately, she said, "Well, did you?"

"Don't take that tone with me," he warned her. "I know you are angry, but whatever Fife may have said, I swear it has nowt to do with this. You must—"

"Do not tell me what I must," she said in a voice as cold as any he could produce. "You said yourself that you are still obedient to his will, but I will not become another pawn on Fife's board, sir, or yours. I bid you good night !"