Chapter 15

S ibylla caught Simon's arm as he turned toward the door. "We must not go yet," she said. "Prithee, sir, you must hear me first."

He turned back, but his eyes had narrowed. "Look here, Sibylla, you are not thinking clearly. I'd wager that Kit and Kitty are common nicknames for Catherine."

"Then why did you look as you did when I told you? And do not say it was because the very idea is absurd. I could see that it was more than that."

He met her gaze. "The last time I replied honestly to a question of yours, you chose to mistake my meaning," he said in the chilly tone she so disliked. "If I reveal the thought that entered my head, I fear you may do it again."

Licking dry lips, she said, "I behaved badly last night, sir. Learning that Fife is again trying to order my life infuriated me. His very interest is intrusive, but I should not have spoken as I did, and I cannot insist that you see this matter as I do. After all, I may easily be wrong. And, too, if Fife does demand that you help look for the lady Catherine, I should not even tell you all I—"

She broke off with a cry of protest when he grabbed her by both shoulders, believing he meant to shake her. He certainly looked as if he did.

Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, drew a breath, and let it out.

His hands felt hot through the thin sleeves of her silk tunic. Their heat radiated through her until she could scarcely breathe. His grip tightened as he opened his eyes again, but then he eased it, although he still held her.

His voice was calm, almost gentle, as he said, "You may tell me anything. I would never betray your confidence."

"Nor I yours, sir," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady when what she really wanted was to forget Kit and have him take her in his arms and kiss her again.

The thought of how foolish she was to feel so at such an inauspicious time steadied her. Without giving him time to reply, she said, "Tell me first why you looked as you did when I suggested Kit might be Catherine."

His lips tightened, but he nodded. "I'll tell you, but I hope you will consider my words in a context other than as grist for your mill."

Curiosity burning now, she said, "I'll try, I promise." This time an eyebrow twitched, giving her to realize that, as seldom as his feelings revealed themselves in his expression, she was coming to note even the slightest sign. Reading the twitch as doubt that she could remain objective, she dampened her lips again. She could not promise more than to hear him out.

"Don't do that," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. "What?"

"Lick your lips. Every time you do it, I want to—" He shook his head. "Never mind. I think I'm just trying to divert you as you have diverted me when I've asked a question you don't want to answer. The fact is that Lady Catherine is not at Huntly as I had supposed and has not been for some time. She and a servant disappeared from Oxnam Tower, a Gordon holding not ten miles from Elishaw."

"There! You see?" When his eyebrows shot upward, she said, "Be fair, sir. You must see that had you told me instead that someone had seen her at Huntly, it would have proved that she cannot be at Elishaw. But a servant with her . . . That could be her nurse. Surely, we should at least discuss the possibilities!"

Simon gave her a shake then but only to emphasize his point as he said, "See here, lass, the idea of our Kit being a young noblewoman or an heiress of any sort is daft. She may be the right age, but her speech and appearance befit a common lass, not a noble one. There is also Dand to consider. The lady Catherine has no brother."

"Are you sure?" Sibylla demanded. "You said you don't know her family."

He fought a smile. "We both know that a brother would inherit before Catherine would," he said gently.

She grimaced. "Very well, I spoke too hastily for my thoughts to catch up. But mayhap he is the servant. Has Kit ever said that Dand is her brother?"

"Certainly—" Doubt assailed him. Had Kit said that, or had they just assumed Dand was her brother? "Sakes, I don't know if she said it or not. But I have certainly referred to him as her brother, and she has never denied it."

"She is afraid to admit or deny anything," Sibylla said.

"But she does not know if his Sunday name is Andrew. If he were her brother, she would know. Mayhap he is the nurse's son or some altogether different kinsman. If Lady Catherine was at Oxnam, she clearly has Gordon kinsmen in the Borders."

"Aye, many, but now you are adding facts you've no right or reason to add," he said. "I know nowt about the servant. But the notion that Kit is wealthy remains absurd. Think how common she looks, lass. Think of the clothes she was wearing!"

"She wore boy's clothing," she reminded him. "Oh, don't you see, sir, she has evaded every question about herself. As to her looks, she told me she hacked off her own hair. She is wearing your sisters' cast-off clothes and pays their quality no heed. In fine clothing with her hair grown long again, her appearance will change."

"But her manner and speech will not."

"They already have," Sibylla declared. "You may not have noticed that she speaks perfectly well when she chooses, but—"

"I have noted that," he said. "I have also noted that when she is with you, she walks, talks, and moves as you do. The child is an excellent mimic, Sibylla, striving to be like you. That is all she is."

Her beautiful eyes flashed. "Is this how you listen, Simon Murray? Must you dismiss whatever does not match your own opinion of things? What about those awful men throwing Kit and Dand both into the Tweed?"

"Dand said—"

"By heaven, there is no talking to you!" she exclaimed, trying ineffectively to pull away. "I do not know why I thought it would help. Unhand me, sir!"

His hands tightened, but although he had to fight harder than he could ever remember having fought to keep his temper, he resisted the urge to shake her. "You cannot leave here if you will do so in a temper," he said. "I'll let you go when—"

"You will let go at once," she snapped, trying again to pull free.

He held her easily. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close until she calmed. He wished fervently that Fife had never entered his life.

The absurdity of that thought nearly made him laugh. His gaze shifted past her in what was becoming a familiar need in her presence to conceal amusement lest she demand an explanation he was reluctant to give her.

Her sudden stillness warned him that he had failed.

In measured tones, she said, "Your behavior is shameful. To invite me to talk to you about anything, then dismiss what I say as if it were of no consequence and dare to laugh at me is unconscionable."

Meeting her angry gaze, he said in all sincerity, "I admit my amusement, lass, but I deny that it arose from any such cause. In troth, I was wishing that Fife had never entered my life when it occurred to me that such a wish was as daft as any thought I have accused you of having. He has filled a large part of my life for years. Until these past eight months, he played a greater role in it than my family did, so he has done much for which I owe him gratitude as well as loyalty."

When she remained silent, he added softly, "You do make me laugh, Sibylla, often. But I am grateful for that laughter. You have made me like myself again."

Her lips parted softly, and his body came alive. He drew her nearer.

When she continued to gaze limpidly at him and made no further objection to his holding her, he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

She responded as quickly and thoroughly as she had the night before, melting toward him. As his arms went around her, she slipped hers around him.

He savored the taste of her, plunging his tongue into her mouth and caressing her back, easing a hand down to cup a bottom cheek through her skirt.

She pressed harder against him, bringing his cock to full alert.

Sibylla felt him move against her and knew she ought to step away, but she could not have done so if the building had caught fire. She felt as if she had.

She did not want to stop. Inhaling the spicy scent of him, she relished the feeling of her palms against his soft velvet doublet and the contrast of the taut, hard muscles underneath.

Her breasts felt swollen and tingly as if pressing against him excited them. As his right hand eased to her left breast, she tensed with unfamiliar sensual anticipation. When his caresses grew more daring, she did not object.

Other men had tried to kiss and touch her, but she had received their attention with speculative interest if she had felt any at all. In general, she had resisted letting them touch her, most strenuously if they had tried to kiss her without invitation.

She had never felt the slightest wish to lure a man to touch her and would not have expected to endure a man who dared hold her against her will. If she did not count Hugh or her father—and one certainly would not count either in such a context—no one but Simon had ever dared to do such a thing.

Now that he had, she could not think sensibly, but she did not want to think. She wanted to take pleasure in what he was doing to her. The rest of the world, as far as she was concerned could just—

"What manner of mischief is this, then?"

Startled, and with Simon hastily stepping back, she looked past him to see Thomas Colville in the open doorway. So engrossed had she become in Simon and what they were doing that she had not heard the latch lift or the door open.

Simon said in his chilly way, "What the devil does it look like, Colville? Get out, and shut that door. You are very much in the way."

"I want to know what you're up to, Murray," Thomas said. "More than once since your arrival you have busied yourself in my affairs, so when you left the hall so abruptly, I thought I'd see where you went. I had seen the lady Sibylla leave and had a notion you might follow her."

"Whatever I am doing is no concern of yours. Must I put you out myself?"

Thomas smirked at Sibylla, then turned and walked away.

"That man should think black shame to himself," she muttered as Simon moved to shut the door. "He'd tell a woman she should cover herself after he'd spent half an hour peering down her dress. And his odious brother is just like him!"

Despite his anger, Simon nearly laughed at her choice of words, but he knew that what had happened was no laughing matter. He latched the door, fixing the hook this time before turning back to her.

"I'm sorry I failed to do that before, lass, and for what followed," he said. "But the damage is done. I know a way upstairs from here that will preclude our having to walk through the hall."

"I know that way, too," she said. "But I will not hide away, sir. He saw naught but a kiss, and he should never have—"

"He did what he did, lass, just as we did. And if you think he'll keep silent—"

"Sakes, sir, Fife must dislike his people gossiping as much as Isabel does!"

"He dislikes gossip only when the gossip is about him," Simon said. "Otherwise he thrives on it and exploits it to his own ends. Colville will certainly see that he hears of this, and is likely to tell others as well. In troth, he could make things ugly enough for your father to insist that we marry."

She frowned. "You told Thomas he was in the way, and now you mention marriage after admitting that Fife practically commanded—"

"Don't talk yourself into a fury again," he said. "It may look like that, but you ken fine how it felt for both of us. I did try to make Colville think it nowt but dalliance, but if an ugly tale reaches your father's ears, he will react just as I said."

"Come what may, sir, I won't be forced into marriage. And I refuse to make things worse by creeping about as if I have aught to conceal. I mean to return to the hall, and when it is time to retire to my chamber I shall do so. You may escort me back to the others or leave me to go alone, as you choose."

He searched her expression for any sign that she would listen to reason and saw none. Tempted as he was to toss her over a shoulder and carry her to Isabel's chambers, he knew that submitting to such an impulse would more likely stir just the sort of tale he wanted to avoid. The chance was small that he could get up the service stairs and through the corridors at that hour without meeting other people.

Accordingly, he said, "You must do as you please, lass. I think he is unlikely to tell anyone at once. If he does, he will not shout it from the dais to the entire hall. But I would advise you not to linger long before retiring."

"I suppose you cannot command him to keep silent, or force him to."

"He would not heed me," Simon said. "In troth, Colville has no love for either of us and will do us a mischief if he can. He has long competed with me for Fife's favor and for the past eight months has had Fife to himself. He had done well, too, until his heiress ran away. I warrant he sees my coming here as yet another setback. He'll want to put me in the wrong."

Sibylla could easily believe both Colvilles capable of spreading false rumors about them. But she thought Simon was wrong about what drove Thomas.

"None of this is your doing," she said. "You have not wronged him. Before he left, he smirked at me as if he had already triumphed. I could feel his enmity."

"He may not like you, lass, but his motives are more self-serving than that."

"Recall that you are not the only man I have humiliated," she said. "When I spurned Thomas, he must have felt as angry as you did, although I was not present to see it. Mercy, but that made it worse! At least you had the chance to shout your feelings at me and threaten to get even."

He smiled wryly. "I doubt that helped me much." "You may think it did not, but shouting at the person who angers you often does relieve one's anger. You must recall at least that much from days in the past when you let your temper fly free."

Shaking his head, he said, "I remember nowt but the feeling that I had lost control of myself. I disliked that feeling intensely. I still do."

His expression was enigmatic as he added the last three words, but she understood that he regretted what he viewed as his loss of control with her.

"I also humiliated his brother," she said. "And I did it before the girl Edward expects to marry. Can you guess how Thomas feels about that if Edward told him?"

"I doubt Edward would admit a woman had knocked him flat."

"Perhaps not, but can you so easily doubt that he described the incident to Thomas in a way meant to make me look as demented as possible? I suspect he has done that if only to counter any other version Thomas might hear."

"You may be right," Simon said. "But all that matters is what happens next. If you do insist on returning to the hall, we should do so at once."

She nodded, grateful that he would go with her. The more she thought about facing the Colvilles' smirks, the less she wanted to return alone.

As they walked, she indulged in a wishful vision of Simon having knocked Thomas flat before he could walk away and inviting her with a polite bow to stomp all over the nosy snake's prostrate body.

She glanced up at him again.

"What?" he said.

"I was just thinking," she said. "I'm glad I hit Edward Colville. I have told myself more than once since then that I should not have done it. But now I'm glad."

He chuckled. Then, he put an arm around her and gave her a hug. "I'm glad you hit him, too, lass. I wanted to kill Thomas Colville tonight. The feeling was so strong I was afraid to step toward him, lest I do it."

A happy little bubble rose within her, and she nearly put her arm around his waist. But he released her before she could, and she thought better of it.

When they entered the great hall, she felt visible to everyone in the vast chamber. A glance at the dais revealed Fife still sitting at the high table.

He looked at her, and Thomas sat beside him where Simon had sat earlier.

When they found the others, Lady Murray said, "I was about to send someone to look for you, Sibylla. How is it you find yourself with Simon?"

"He found me, madam," Sibylla said. "I was wondering, though, how much longer you want to stay. The noise . . ."

"Indeed, it is as if we had tried to sup inside a drum whilst its owner beat on it," her ladyship said. "I don't mind telling you my head has begun to ache. But if you want to stay longer, my dear, I shall endure it."

Rosalie and Alice looked pleadingly at Sibylla, but she did not hesitate.

"We need not stay on my account, my lady," she said. "I shall be glad to retire. Perhaps if it is sunny tomorrow we will order our horses out and explore the town," she added for Alice and Rosalie's benefit.

Neither seemed much appeased by the offer, but Lady Murray rose, saying, "We four can look after ourselves, my lords. You may stay here if you like."

"Nay, then, madam," Sir Malcolm said, rising and extending his arm to her. "Ye'll no be denying us the pleasure of escorting ye."

Sibylla glanced at Simon to see if he meant to come, too.

Receiving a reassuring nod, she placed a hand on his arm. With Rosalie and Alice ahead following Sir Malcolm and Lady Murray, they left the hall.

"If you please, Sir Malcolm," Simon said, as the two of them paused to let the ladies precede them up the stairs. "We should talk privately."

"Sakes, lad, what can you want to say that you cannot say to me now?"

"It is no subject to discuss in this din, or anywhere in the open."

"Aye, but sithee, I'd hoped for a pleasanter time tonight than yestereve."

"I don't blame you, sir. I do see that you take pleasure in my lady mother's company. But we should speak."

Sir Malcolm's eyes twinkled. "I hope ye don't want to put a stop to it, lad."

"By no means," Simon said. "I do suspect, though, that your friendship is of longer standing than I had thought. Might it have been the cause of the long dispute between our families?"

"Now, now," Sir Malcolm said. "If there were ever a subject unsuited to a stairwell, that is one. Another time, lad, another time. Sakes, I should think that whatever ye may want to say to me can wait."

Having intended to tell him what had happened so he could help deflect the results of any rumors the Colvilles might stir, Simon gave the matter more thought.

With Alice's betrothal at stake, he reminded himself, Sir Malcolm might have a greater interest in appeasing the Colvilles than opposing them.

The decision was taken from him as they reached the ladies' solar, when Lady Murray said to Sir Malcolm, "It chances, sir, that we unearthed the dames-board and its pieces today. Unless you have made other plans—"

"Nay, nay, madam, I am at your service, as always," he said. "Will ye stay to see fair play, lad?" he asked Simon with a grin.

Smiling, Simon said, "No, sir. I trust you will not take advantage of her."

The twinkle in Sir Malcolm's eyes became more pronounced than ever as he said confidingly, " 'Twould take a braver man than I am."

Lady Murray looked at them in astonishment, and Simon was only surprised that she did not call him to order.

It was not his habit to make such remarks, but he liked Sir Malcolm and something about the man had stirred a response that, for him, bordered on levity.

Bidding them all goodnight with a lingering look at

Sibylla, he went back downstairs, wracking his brain for a way to protect her from the storm he foresaw erupting around them. For, whatever Sibylla might think, he held no illusions.

Although he had prided himself on his control over himself and his emotions, he had lost control of both. But he would not suffer the consequences. People rarely blamed the man even in cases of rape. Certainly, no one would blame him for stealing a kiss. They would blame Sibylla for allowing the theft.

He knew the Colville brothers were likely to concoct tales to account for Edward's blackened eyes and to make what Thomas had seen seem much worse. If such stories spread, it would be Sibylla's word against theirs.

In such instances, custom favored the male version every time. But if he supported her, people would think he did so only out of chivalry.

Returning to the hall, he saw to his relief that Fife had gone. He likewise saw no sign of Thomas or Edward Colville.

Sibylla was safe for the moment, and although he wished on one hand that the princess Isabel were there, he was relieved on the other that she was not.

Had she been there, they might seek her advice. She liked and admired Sibylla, and was kind and generous to her ladies. But as a princess heading a household of women, and with a brother like Fife generally at odds with her, Isabel had to protect herself. If the Colvilles succeeded in sullying Sibylla's reputation, Isabel would be unable to help her without risking her own.

At last, deciding he would need a clear head for whatever was to come, Simon retired to his room, slept fitfully, and awakened early the next morning feeling as gloomy as the overcast day outside.

Dressing, he went to the hall to break his fast. Before he had been there ten minutes, knowing smiles and glances told him things were as bad as he had feared.

Despite its being Sunday, Fife had assigned him duties the previous night that would not await his convenience, so he spent the hours before the midday meal dealing with as many as he could in his usual efficient way. But the hours were rife with reminders of what lay ahead.

People eyed him as they talked behind their hands. One woman pointed him out to another. More than one jesting remark as he passed stirred his temper, but he took care to maintain his usual controlled demeanor until, on his way back to the hall, he rounded a bend in a corridor and nearly collided with Sir Malcolm Cavers.

"Here, I've been searching this whole place for ye, lad. D'ye ken what they're saying about ye and my lass?"

"I do, sir. May we find a more private place to discuss it?"

"Tell me first, is this what ye were going to divulge to me last night?"

"I had hoped that I might," Simon admitted.

"Then I wish I'd not put ye off."

"Sakes, sir, had I not decided it could serve no useful purpose, I'd have insisted, so do not blame yourself. Has Sibylla come downstairs yet?"

"She has, aye, but she and the other lassies ordered horses out, and I've sent some o' my lads with them so they can explore the town and ride in the abbey park. They also mean to call on your sisters, so we'll no see them afore supper."

Simon nodded, and they said no more until they reached his room. It was small by comparison with the princess's chambers, but the door was a good, solid one that fit its frame well.

"If we keep our voices down, sir, no one will hear us talking here," he said.

"Aye, well, I'll contrive to keep from roaring at ye then. But what were ye about, lad, to compromise my lass so?"

"The details are unimportant, sir," Simon said, having no wish to steer the man's uncertain temper toward Sibylla by telling him she had left the hall alone, prompting him to follow her. He was not even sure, in good conscience, that his reasoning had been so noble. Firmly, he said, "The fault lies with Thomas Colville, who is certainly the source of any rumors you have heard."

"By the Rood!" Sir Malcolm exclaimed. "How does he come into this?"

"He followed me," Simon said. "We have both served Fife for years, and Colville is ambitious. I believe he seized the opportunity to do me a mischief."

"Aye, well, as ye've now assumed your duties at Elishaw, I doubt the man can hurt ye much with Fife. These devilish rumors will do mighty harm to Sibylla, though. What are ye meaning to do about that?"

"What have you heard, sir?" Simon countered. "In troth, no one has dared speak plainly to me. I thought it better to ignore the looks and snickers."

"What I hear does not redound to your credit."

"I kissed Sibylla. That is all, I swear."

"Faugh," Sir Malcolm snorted. "The tattlers claim much more. In troth, lad, I'm thinking ye'll have to marry my lass after all, to protect her good name."

"I'm willing enough," Simon said, realizing the statement was perfectly true. "But I doubt that anyone can persuade Sibylla to marry me."

Sir Malcolm sighed. "She's damnably stubborn, is that lass."

"She is, aye, and I fear that her stubborn nature may lead her to insist on living with the consequences of this. With any other woman, those consequences would drive her to accept marriage, especially as one will certainly be dismissal from Isabel's household."

"Sakes, I'd not thought of that till now, but I've nae doubt ye're right," Sir Malcolm said, rubbing his forehead.

"Fife watches Isabel's every move," Simon said. "He watches particularly for aught suggesting immorality in her household, because it would give him cause to insist that she live with the husband the Douglases provided for her."

"Fife does not approve of women living on their own," Sir Malcolm said. "Bless us, though, who can blame him for that? I don't approve of it either."

"Fife will learn of this soon if he has not done so, and he already urged me to renew my suit with Sibylla," Simon said. A knot of anger formed in his stomach as he realized that Fife might be in league with the Colvilles, but he said only, "I'd like to discuss this with Thomas Colville, but he seems to have disappeared."

"I heard that Edward left Edinburgh yesterday, so mayhap Thomas followed him," Sir Malcolm said. "I'm thinking I should find another man for my Alice."

"I agree," Simon said. "I'm not one to bear tales, sir, but . . ." He described the incident at St. Margaret's Chapel, and as he did, an idea stirred in his mind.

His experience of Sibylla had shown him that any logical discussion they might have about the situation was unlikely to end as he might hope or predict.

Marriage was, in fact, the only honorable way they had now to resolve the problem quickly and with minimal fuss. Although there were obstacles to his idea and the idea itself went against his sense of propriety, it was the only possibility that had occurred to him. He did not doubt her feelings for him or his ability in the long run to persuade her of his own. However, by the time he could ease her doubts and overcome her stubbornness, the damage to her reputation would be irreparable.

Even if he could work out the logistics, Sibylla would remain the greatest obstacle. Perhaps, though, if he could arrange to give her little choice and still let her make the final decision, the thing could be done.

It would take luck and considerable preparation. But nearly everything he'd ever done for Fife had required those things, and he had nearly always succeeded.

This time he would be doing it for himself and, whether she liked it or not, for the woman on whom he had so long thought only of wreaking his vengeance.