Chapter 16

S ibylla enjoyed her day away from the castle. The early morning gloom had given way to a bright azure sky filled with nimble white clouds, and the previous day's rain had left the air smelling fresh and clean. The two men-at-arms Sir Malcolm had provided for the ladies' protection trailed tactfully behind them, and Alice and Rosalie found much in the thriving burgh to fascinate them.

One fascination proved to be young George Denholm, but Sibylla took the "chance" meeting in stride and agreed to his polite suggestion that he join them to ride in the abbey park. Alice looked adoringly at him, but to the lad's credit, he chatted as much with Rosalie and Sibylla as he did with Alice.

Drainage in the abbey park being poor as always, the horses' hooves splashed along its paths, but no one minded.

Denholm took reluctant leave of them at Buccleuch's house in the Canongate, where, despite being bereft of his company, all three ladies looked forward to dining with Meg, Amalie, and their husbands, both of whom Sibylla liked very much.

She also enjoyed Meg's devoted servant Sym Elliot, a lad of twelve or thirteen summers with a shock of red hair, who rarely left his mistress's side except to aid with the serving or to harry the other servants to do this or that for her or her guests.

Talk at the table was desultory until Buccleuch dismissed the servants. As he did, Sibylla caught Westruther's stern gaze on her. He smiled then, looking friendlier.

Sir Garth Napier, Lord Westruther, had served as one of Isabel's knights, so Sibylla knew him better than she did Buccleuch, well enough to know that Garth had something on his mind. The friendly smile was much more customary with him than the stern, measuring look it had replaced.

She glanced at Buccleuch, but he was talking to Rosalie. Wondering if the two men, or Garth alone, had already heard rumors, Sibylla would have liked to ask them but did not want to endure the discussion that would follow if she did.

Meg and Amalie engaged her in conversation, and although she caught Garth's sober gaze on her twice more, his comments were unexceptionable.

When she and the two girls took their leave, he and Buccleuch saw them off with affectionate farewells and assurances of welcome whenever they should choose to visit, leaving Sibylla to wonder if she had imagined Garth's concern.

She adopted a lighthearted mood with her companions until they reached their chambers, where Lady Murray informed Alice and Rosalie firmly that they would want to rest if they were to enjoy the evening ahead.

"I should rest, too," Sibylla said as the others turned obediently away.

"Sit down, my dear; I want a word with you first," Lady Murray said.

Both Alice and Rosalie glanced back, doubtless made curious by her tone, but Sibylla nodded and took the seat Lady Murray indicated. When the door to the girls' chamber closed, she steeled herself for the rebuke she expected.

However, Lady Murray sat, too, and said in her usual way, "As you may have guessed, I have heard some rumors about what occurred last night. You need not fret, my dear. Simon has explained what happened, and I believe him. We raised him to know his duty, and he has accepted responsibility as he should."

"But I don't want him to," Sibylla said without thinking. "Don't be tiresome, my dear. It is the only answer." Understanding better than ever where Simon had come by his certainty that he always knew what was best for anyone in his orbit, Sibylla gathered her wits.

"We were both at fault, madam," she said. "Indeed, if anyone was more so, it was I, for I did the very thing—"

"Sibylla, I do not require to know more. The only facts that matter are that you were with Simon and someone saw you. I know you did almost none of the things of which you stand accused. Even if you were a young woman who would do such things, Simon would not be party to them. I know my son, and I have come to know you this past sennight. I've no right to tell you what to do, but I would counsel you to be sensible. I want you to know, too, that I'll not stand in your way."

"Thank you, madam," Sibylla said. Overwhelmed and wondering what Lady Murray had heard, she realized she lacked the nerve to declare to her ladyship's face that, gratified though she was, she could not marry Simon.

Her ladyship stood. "You will doubtless take your supper here tonight."

"Nay, madam," Sibylla said, relieved that she had not lost all her nerve. " 'Twould give credence to the worst rumors, so I'll act as I always do. If people choose to titter behind their hands or fans, they will do so. I cannot hide forever."

Again surprising her, Lady Murray nodded majestically and said, "Then you should rest for an hour or so. You do not want to be tired."

What Sibylla wanted was to see Simon, because if Garth knew, Buccleuch did, too, and either might confront him. But Simon did not appear for supper.

Many people did gape or point, making it clear that the rumors had spread. A more cowardly woman would have turned tail and run. As it was, Sibylla was sure the increasing scandal meant she would end up back at Akermoor under her father's thumb. This time even Archie Douglas would refuse to help spare her that fate.

A message arrived from Isabel on Monday, declaring her intent to arrive in two or three days, but they still saw nothing of Simon. His mother said she thought he had gone out of town on an errand for Fife. Continuing to behave as if nothing had happened, Sibylla nevertheless retired earlier than usual Monday night.

Alice and Rosalie invited her to ride again Tuesday morning, but she had no taste for exercise and did not want to miss seeing Simon if he came to see her.

When midday came without him, she went down to dinner with the others but took no appetite with her. Her father talked to her then, but he accepted her refusal to marry Simon with no more than a grimace and did not bring up the subject again.

She had no doubt, however, that he would say more in days to come.

At supper, after a long, lonely afternoon, she toyed with her food and strove to make polite conversation. Simon did not appear or send any message.

The noise in the hall was deafening as usual, and long before the others were ready to depart, Sibylla ached for her bed. As soon as Fife took his leave, she arose and bent to bid her father and Lady Murray goodnight.

"If you'll wait a half hour longer, lass, we'll go up with you," he said.

"Nay, sir, I'm for bed. No one will trouble me tonight, for I'll ask the steward to have someone escort me upstairs. I'll be perfectly safe."

It felt comfortably familiar to have a man-at-arms follow her upstairs again, albeit for perhaps the last time. The sense of being alone yet safe was almost heady. At the door to Isabel's chambers, she thanked her escort and bade him goodnight.

Entering the solar, she found to her surprise that the chambermaid had failed to light the lamps and candles, or stir up the fire.

Ambient moonlight through the uncurtained window and glowing embers on the hearth provided light enough to seek a candle to light from the coals. She had taken only two steps when a heavy cloth enveloped her from head to toe.

An arm of steel snapped around her arms and upper body, holding her while what felt suspiciously like rope looped around her below it and tightened.

In seconds, she was off her feet, slung over a broad masculine shoulder like an unwieldy sack of meal. His shoulder bruised her ribs, but her struggles were useless.

Then, abruptly, the scent of cinnamon and cloves penetrated her outrage. She inhaled carefully and detected the slight scent of lavender, as well. Simon!

When he turned toward the door and she heard the latch click, she opened her mouth to scream, then shut it again, hoping she was not making a fatal error. That the sternly controlled Simon could do such an outrageous thing awoke a host of emotions, including fury that sent blood racing through her veins and set every nerve atingle.

Then doubt stirred. Most people of means used scent bags in clothes kists and sumpter baskets. Who knew how many mixed cinnamon and cloves with lavender? If her abductor was not Simon, she was in much greater danger than she had believed.

It had to be Simon, doing as he deemed best again without consulting her. He would learn his error, because she'd tell him exactly what she thought of such tactics. In the meantime, she did not want to draw anyone else's attention if she could help it.

Until Sibylla wriggled again as he carried her down the deserted service stairs, Simon feared she had fainted from the shock of what she must surely believe was an assault. When she did move, he wondered why she had not screamed. He had been prepared to deal with that but was grateful that her silence made it unnecessary.

Slipping out of David's Tower through a postern door shadowed by the huge bakehouse that served the castle at large, he made his way swiftly, depending on his black clothing and coldly stern demeanor to protect him and his burden.

One guardsman dared to approach him, but the yard's torchlight was sufficient to reveal Simon's all-black clothing. A warning scowl sent the man scurrying, unwilling to confront one of Fife's so easily recognizable, generally ruthless men. At times, Simon mused, the reputation did prove useful.

Inside the nave of St. Margaret's Chapel, he carefully set his burden on her feet and unwrapped her, noting in the glow of the cressets, as he whisked the blanket off her, the angry flash of sparks he had expected to see in her eyes.

"I knew it was you!"

"Then why didn't you scream?"

"Sakes, because we'd already stirred enough gossip without stirring more. How dared you snatch me up like that!" She glanced warily toward the archway and the altar beyond before adding, "By heaven, you deserve flogging if you brought me here thinking I'd marry you. Had you done me the courtesy to ask, I'd have said I won't have you! I told my father as much. Must I shout my refusal to the world?"

"You need only tell me," he said calmly.

"This should not be happening," she said with a frustrated sigh. "We did none of the things of which those horrid rumormongers accuse us, and so—"

"Did we not?"

"Nay, sir! Do not flatter yourself."

He remained silent, holding her gaze until blushes suffused her lovely face.

Sibylla ignored the fire that swept through her body, ignited by the memory of his touch and his stirring kisses. Fighting to hold on to her anger, she said, "Other men have kissed me, and no one demanded that I marry any of them. There can be no need for us to marry, and I will not have it."

"If you are certain of that, you need only say so."

She eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I said. I did bring you here tonight because I've obtained special license for the bishop to marry us here. I thought—"

"You did not think, for you had no right to do that. I gave you no right."

"Sibylla—"

"You gave me your word on the ramparts the other night that Fife had naught to do with . . . with your kissing me," she said. "But how can I know that he has not ordered all this, as usual? That would explain why you told Thomas he was just in the way and why Fife stared so at me afterward. The two of you both showing up in that disastrous room, both serving Fife, could quite easily mean you were all—"

Her words ended in a shriek when he gave her a rough shake.

"Stop it," he said harshly. "I know you are angry, but you know that I blame myself for what happened and would not conspire with anyone against you, let alone with Fife or Colville. Use your sense, Sibylla, if you still have any."

"But how else can you have acquired a special license for so hasty a marriage if Fife did not provide it? He organized everything last time."

He was silent, and a twinge of wary guilt stirred in her, but she suppressed it. She knew too much about the wily Fife not to suspect his involvement.

At last Simon said quietly, "I paid a large fee, Sibylla. One may pay a fee to any bishop and be married in the Kirk without banns."

Stunned by that news but determined to speak her mind, she said, "Still you arranged this without discussing it with me. You said you respected my opinions, but you acted without a word to me, snatching me up as if I were a bundle you had forgotten to pack. Sakes, you carried me here in no more than my tunic and skirt."

"So, tell me, lass, art angry with me because I should have given you time to dress more appropriately before abducting you or because I carried you here?"

"Both," she snapped. "Am I never to make my own choices? If I were fool enough to marry you, Simon Murray, would I not be far less in your household than I am in Isabel's? Do you still seek penance from me?"

"I do not, nor would you ever be less to me than to Isabel," he said. "But if you think I will always tolerate this sort of volcanic eruption from you, I'd advise you to think again, lass. I'm having all I can do not to answer in kind."

"Aye, sure," she retorted. "Gentlemen may erupt whenever they like."

"Even if that were true, I doubt it would daunt you, but I think we can find more entertaining ways of erupting together. God knows, we have only to look at one another . . ." He paused, capturing her gaze as he could do so easily. "The bishop is waiting, my wise and charming vixen," he said softly. "So what say you? Art truly opposed to the whole notion or just furious with me?"

It wasn't fair that when he looked at her as he did now, he seemed to see right to the part of her she had so carefully and for so long kept hidden from others.

As that thought formed, another struck. She could see him as clearly.

Those fathomless green eyes pulled her down into him until she felt as if she knew him in so many ways that the small bits she did not yet understand became insignificant. In the ways that counted, they two could almost be one person.

And that person would be Simon.

"I . . . I can't," she said, and for once, she found it easy to look away first. "You would swallow me up, my lord."

He moved both hands back to her shoulders. "Listen to me," he said, stern again. "You reject my promises, saying you cannot know I will keep them."

"I know you mean to keep—"

"But you do know what you face if we don't marry," he went on inexorably. "Your reputation will be destroyed, Sibylla. Isabel will dismiss you, because she has to protect her reputation. Next and worse, your father will order you home to Akermoor, and he will keep you there this time. The alternative is marriage to a man who cares for you and believes you will make him an excellent wife."

"A man who swore to wreak vengeance on me. Can you deny that?"

"Of course not. We both know what I said, but you know I no longer feel that way. What I shouted then was as childish and ignoble as you said it was."

"And now, you think you are behaving nobly by rescuing me?"

Simon did not pause to think but for once in his life said the first words that came into his head. "You are wrong about what I think and how I feel."

"I do not—"

"There is nowt about this that a person of sense would call noble," he interjected. Noting the resultant flash in her eyes, he added hastily, "I'm sorry to interrupt you again, but I must say this whilst the thoughts remain clear in my mind. The fact is that before I pulled you and young Kit from that river I'd have believed myself incapable of ever doing what I've done tonight. But since that day, I've done many things I never expected to do."

She did not reply, but sparks still glowed in her beautiful eyes, diverting him because they were as lovely when she was angry as when she smiled. "I will never tire of looking into your eyes," he murmured before he realized he was not thinking the words but was saying them aloud.

She shut her eyes. When she opened them again, her expression had not softened. "You seem to mean that," she said. "But Fife will doubtless reward you well if you succeed in this."

Anger flashed in him, but the words hurt, too, and he knew he deserved them, because she had begun to trust him. That she no longer did was his fault.

Had he been wise enough not to admit Fife had pressed him again to marry her . . . But she had guessed as much, and he could not have denied it without lying.

How could he expect her to trust a liar?

Her hand on his arm stopped this painful train of thought, and he realized he had looked away from her to stare blindly into space.

As he fought to suppress his warring emotions, she said quietly, "I should not have said that. I do see that you had no thought of Fife just now, whatever influence he may have had on your actions tonight."

"I don't suppose you will believe that he had none." "Nay, for you told me yourself that he'd encouraged you to try again. At the least, I'd suspect his words had put the idea into your head. You will not tell me, I think, that you entertained any thought of marriage whilst we were at Elishaw."

He remembered watching her wade into the forest pond with the moonlight blazing down on her, turning her beautiful skin to alabaster. He had thought briefly then that, had they married, he might have enjoyed her magnificent body for several pleasurable years. But regretting a loss of pleasure for himself hardly meant he had thought then of marrying her, for he had not.

"Tell me what you are thinking," she urged gently.

"It was nowt," he said in the same tone, meeting her gaze with more ease than he usually felt when she looked at him so. "I can tell you that, although I had no clear thought today but to protect you, my reasons were selfish and had nowt to do with Fife. They had to do only with my own desires . . . and my deep regret that actions of mine have caused trouble for you."

To his surprise, he got a wry smile. "There were two of us in that room, sir."

"Aye, sure, but a more sensible man, especially one who has prided himself on controlling his emotions, as I have, would not have lost his wits—as I did."

"Did you truly lose them?"

"I did, aye. There can be no other explanation for such foolhardiness. We both know that men roam here as they please. Since I had taken note of your departure from the great hall, it was nowt but loss of good sense to think that no other man had seen you go. Still, when I get my hands on Thomas Colville—"

"Nay," she said. "Do not blame him. Recall that I humiliated him, too. Mayhap you should have fellow feeling for him."

"I don't, nor will I develop any," he said tersely. "I was as much a lackwit the day we nearly married as your sister's chap, Denholm, is now. So much did I think of myself then that I thought you should feel honored by my suit. That you might cast me to the wind never entered my head until you did."

"I was younger than you and terrified of what lay ahead," she said. "My father took no heed of my tender years when he negotiated those marriages for me. Had I not seen for myself that you take greater care with Rosalie . . . Indeed, sir, it was only when I saw how kindly you treat her that I began to like you a little."

He smiled. "Rosalie does not thank me. I just hope she won't elope with the first callow youth who flirts with her."

"A number of practiced flirts have already done so," Sibylla said.

"I know, but despite my mother's lapse, I do trust her to deal with them." He looked into her eyes again. "I want you to marry me, Sibylla. I don't think I have ever wanted anything in quite this way before. If you say no and then suffer for your refusal as we both know you will, I'll never forgive myself for my part in it."

Sibylla nearly agreed on the spot. She knew she was angrier with the situation than she was with Simon, and she had known it for some time. But with all that had happened, her temper had snapped the moment she faced him.

She did not know of any man other than Hugh who would have dared treat her so fiercely or so decisively with no apparent fear of consequence. And Hugh had been her brother, duty bound to protect her. Simon was not her brother.

"What say you, lass?" he asked again. "You know better than most that I cannot force you—in troth, that no one can. But I can say honestly that I do want more than anything to have you for my wife."

"But why?" she asked. "You have said you want me, but what do you mean by that? Why do you want to marry me, Simon?"

"Because you make me laugh," he said without thinking.

Indignation rendered her speechless for a moment before she said, "What a thing to say to me! Do you expect me to believe that you find me so amusing that you cannot bear to live without me, sir?"

"You know better," he said, using two fingers of his right hand to tilt her chin up. "Look at me."

Sibylla had never been shy in her life, but the gentle amusement in his voice made her feel shy now. His touch disturbed her in other ways, too, as it always did.

The hand on her shoulder was warm, as were his fingertips on her chin. He had taken off his gloves, if he had worn any. But simple warmth was no cause for the tingling sensations that shot through her body, warming her all through.

She licked her lips as her eyes met his and then, remembering how lustily he had reacted to that before, caught her lower lip between her teeth. His pupils were so large that his eyes looked black. The tingling within her increased.

"What did you mean then?" she said, sounding breathless even to herself.

"I meant that I like to be with you, that I like knowing when I wake up in the morning that I'll see you during the day and that we'll talk together. I've missed all that these past two days whilst I was making all my arrangements."

"And avoiding me," she said.

"Aye, but moments ago, you expressed doubt that I respect your opinions. You need not."

"No?"

"No, for I don't just respect them; I value them. I think we've become good friends, lass, more quickly than one might expect, given how we met. A marriage that follows friendship must be more likely to survive than one that does not."

"I expect so," she admitted, wondering why the thought of friendship with Simon did not delight her, then calling herself a fool. Men married women every day without a semblance of friendship between them, simply because the marriage would increase the man's wealth and property. Marriage was much more often a matter of property or power than of gentler feelings.

"So I'll ask you one more time," he said, both hands on her shoulders again. "What say you, Sibylla? Will you marry me?"

She swallowed hard, knowing she was going to say yes. First, though, she could not resist a small test of how much he valued her opinions.

"What of Kit, sir? I do still believe she may be the lost Catherine."

"I know you do," he said. "I doubt there is anything to such a notion, but one thing you said that we did not discuss much has stuck tight in my mind."

"What?"

"Those men did try to drown her or, if Dand's account is true, she was so afraid of them that she chose to fling herself into the Tweed rather than let them catch her. We must make it a point to get more answers out of the bairn this time."

"Then, if I do marry you, may we leave at once afterward?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his lips twitched in the way that she had come to recognize as his expression of considerable amusement.

He said, "I promise you, we'll leave first thing in the morning for Elishaw. We cannot go tonight without looking as if we are fleeing. As it is, our hasty marriage will stir more questions. But I can deflect most of them by saying I acted as I did because, after we'd stirred such a flap, you feared everyone would think I was marrying you just to save your reputation."

"I don't think much of that reason. You're making me sound noble now."

"Nay, I am using a bit of the truth and their own evil thoughts to persuade them," he said. When she continued to frown, he added, " Or , we could say that I abducted you because just the thought of the grand wedding my mother would have planned made me quake in my shoes—which it would, lass, I promise."

"I believe you, but that also would give us better reason to leave at once for Elishaw, would it not?"

"Nay, for my mother would have my head on a charger if I left without attending the supper she has organized for us. By the way, I hope you don't object to a few guests at our wedding."

Reaching automatically to smooth tendrils of loosened hair back under her beaded net and straighten the net, Sibylla exclaimed, "Guests! Who?"

He smiled, and she marveled again at how a smile lightened his features.

"Wait here," he said. "I'll fetch them."

He went only as far as the door, opening it and gesturing. Hearing a giggle that sounded distinctly like her sister's and being sure that Lady Murray, Rosalie, and Sir Malcolm would be with her, Sibylla quickly shook out her skirts, kicked the dark blanket aside, and gave thanks for dim lighting that would conceal the worst of the wrinkles in the dress she had worn since midday.

She was glad she had done so when the four she had expected to see came in followed by Amalie, Meg, Westruther, Buccleuch, and two of Buccleuch's lads whom she recognized as Meg's devoted servant Sym Elliot and the large captain of Buccleuch's fighting tail, oddly known as Jock's Wee Tammy.

Amalie came to her at once. "I've brought you a present," she said.

Sibylla smiled warily. "Did Simon tell everyone about this but me?"

"Aye, sure," Amalie said, grinning. "He wanted proper witnesses, and he needed Garth and Wat to watch the stairway. And he knew he dared not marry you without us. Besides, you're staying at Wat's house tonight. We've plenty of room, and you'll be much more comfortable than you would be in Simon's room—or your own if you dared, and with my lady mother so near. But here," she added, handing Sibylla a small vial. "You did this for me, remember?"

Sibylla took the vial, pulled out the stopper and sniffed. It was her own favorite fragrance. Giving Amalie a hug, she said, "Thank you. I'm sure I need to daub some on straightaway."

"Aye, well, don't use it all. Meg ordered a bath for you when we return."

"I'm glad you're here." Sibylla looked around at the smiling faces, realizing how much she would have abandoned had she tried to endure the scandal.

The Bishop of St. Andrews entered then with a lad garbed as an acolyte following in his wake and carrying a prayer stool.

The prelate said serenely, "The hour grows late. Shall we begin?"

Sibylla looked at Simon, who smiled at her but said not one word.

She looked next at Sir Malcolm.

"Don't look to me to decide, lassie," that gentleman said bluntly. "Ye may be putting a hitch in my own rope with this match, but I cannot deny that I still think it an excellent one for ye."

Glancing next at Lady Murray to see her looking uncharacteristically self-conscious and avoiding her gaze, Sibylla thought she could guess her father's meaning. Suppressing a smile, she said calmly, "Aye, my lord bishop, let us begin."