Chapter 18
S imon soon returned, and his warm smile eased Sibylla's doubts. She felt self-conscious going downstairs to break her fast with the others, but everyone greeted them cheerfully and seemed intent only on departing as soon as possible.
After a hasty meal, they were soon ready and mounted. With Buccleuch's, Westruther's, and Simon's men— and all their servants—following, they made a large party. Buccleuch's inaptly named captain, Jock's Wee Tammy, took charge of the long tail of men, while Meg's devoted Sym Elliot took charge of everyone else, giving orders to the other servants as if he were their steward.
Pausing by Sibylla, he said, "I had them put everything for Elishaw together, me lady, and told the laird's man. So when ye leave us, all will be in order for ye."
Smiling, Sibylla thanked him, having to remind herself that Sym was not yet as old as Rosalie. His confidence and demeanor were those of an old family servant.
At Simon's suggestion, and to draw as little attention as possible, their party followed the track through the abbey woods until it met the main road south.
Sibylla rode with Simon until she saw that he paid more heed to Buccleuch and Westruther than to her, and urged him to ride with them. "Truly, sir, you are much in the way here," she said cheerfully. "I want to talk with my new sisters."
He gave her a rueful smile but accepted her suggestion, and she did not mind. Amalie was full of energy and laughter, her mood contagious, and without Lady Murray and the girls, they traveled fast, passing Penkaet Castle before midday.
Sym rode to and fro on his apparently tireless pony, checking on his mistress and the other ladies, and on the servants behind them.
The road was wide enough most of the way for them to ride three abreast and still leave room to pass travelers they met without difficulty. However, their pace slowed considerably when they reached the winding, narrow track through the hills.
They stopped after a time to rest the horses and take their midday meal. Afterward, Sibylla dropped back to ride alone, hoping the slower pace would give her time to think. But after only a few minutes, another horse eased up beside hers as Sym Elliot said, "Ye'll no mind an I ride wi' ye for a bit, will ye, me lady?"
"You don't fool me, Sym. You just want to ride nearer your mistress."
"Aye, well, I'm sworn to look after me lady Meg. The others, especially them great louts behind us, can look out for themselves. But I've no seen ye since last fall, and now me lady says ye've gone and married her wick— That is ye've wed the laird, her brother, wha' she says I must now call the laird or Murray o' Elishaw."
"What did you call him before?" Sibylla asked him.
"I'm no to say it again, so I canna tell ye," he replied with a virtuous air.
Reining back to let Amalie and Meg draw farther ahead, Sibylla murmured, "I shan't give you away, Sym. But I think you ought to tell me, don't you?"
"Why?"
"Well, if you think he may behave badly, should I not protect myself?"
He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Aye, that's true. I dinna ken that he's bad, but the man's a Fifer, ye ken. As ye've served wi' Princess Isabel as our lady Amalie did, ye'll ken fine what a buttery-lippit scoundrel that one be."
"But you should not say so when anyone else can hear you," she said gently.
"Hoots, I ken that fine. I like me skin, sithee. But the sort o' huggery-muggery he and his gallous lot get up to be enough to make a good man weep!"
"Did you call the Laird of Elishaw a hugger-mugger, Sym?"
His blue eyes twinkled. "As I'm recalling, it were ‘ gallous hugger-mugger' that chawed Himself into a fizz."
"Buccleuch?"
"Aye, sure, who else? Said I'd nae business saying that Fife be a sneakster headed for the gallows and he'd skelp me good did he hear me say it again. I'm gey bigger nor what I were, but he's one as can still do it," he muttered.
She wondered what Simon would think about a twelve-year-old imp of Satan calling him a sneakster bound for the gallows. But although she felt an urge to defend her husband, she said only, "Men do change, Sym."
"Aye, sure, and I ha' seen him look after ye fiercely, but even so—"
"I doubt the Laird of Elishaw is bound for the gallows," she said.
"Aye, well, there's time enough yet for him. And if he don't hang through serving the Governor, his luck'll change gey quick does he kittle the man again."
Aware that Simon had angered Fife and was now treading on more dangerous ground with him, Sibylla decided to change the subject. She had already said more than she ought to a lad as skilled as she was at prying information from others.
At a brief loss for a safer topic, she asked how he liked his lady's eight-month-old daughter and the young heir to Buccleuch, now two and a half.
That subject proved fruitful enough to keep Sym chatting amiably until Jock's Wee Tammy rode up and sternly addressed him.
"Cease your nash-gab now, lad," Tammy said. "Take yourself back wi' the other men, and stay there till the mistress wants ye."
Sym looked as if he might object. But when Tam's lips tightened, he said to Sibylla, "I'd best go, me lady, but if ye ever need someone to ride like Auld Clootie for ye, dinna forget that, unless me lady Meg needs me, Sym Elliot's your man."
"I won't forget," Sibylla said. Then, as he turned back to ride with the men-at-arms, she said, "Don't scold him, Tammy. In troth, I do enjoy his company."
Tam said, "He's an amusin' scruff, to be sure, m'lady. But do we no squash him now and again, he gets above himself. Aye, and here's the laird comin' to see why ye're entertainin' so many menfolk, so I'd best be goin' along, too."
As he turned back to join his men, Simon reined his black in beside Sibylla's bay and said, "I know that lad. But I cannot recall where I saw him."
"He is Sym Elliot, your sister Meg's devoted slave," Sibylla said.
"Aye, sure, Wee Sym. He has grown since last I saw him."
"Bairns do that, sir, but I doubt Sym grows fast enough to suit himself. He told me Buccleuch can still skelp him, as if that is how he measures his size."
"I do recall that he's a cheeky one," Simon said.
"He is," she agreed, suppressing a grin.
"What?" he demanded.
"He has small opinion of Fife, or of men he calls Fifers."
"In which group he certainly counts me."
"And other gallous hugger-muggers," she said.
"Sakes, if those were his words, he deserves skelping," Simon said. "Aye, and so do you if you encourage such impertinence."
"One does not have to encourage Sym," she said with a chuckle.
He smiled and said, "I came to see if you might be growing tired. But I must say you don't look it. Even Meg is drooping, and Garth is threatening Amalie with a horse litter. But you look as if we'd been riding for just an hour or so."
"I don't flag easily, sir. Traveling too slowly wearies me quicker. If we ride all the way to Elishaw, though, I'll fall asleep the minute I lay my head down there."
"We've some distance yet to Selkirk, and Hawick lies eleven miles beyond. The others plan to stay the night at the Black Tower there, if you'd like to do that."
"Do you want to stay in Hawick?"
"If we go on to Elishaw, darkness will fall before we arrive, and yonder moon is already dropping to the horizon. So we'd have to carry torches through the forest, and I'd liefer not. But I ken fine that you're gey fretful about Kit."
" 'Tis only a few hours betwixt tonight and tomorrow morning," she said. "I expect that by the time we reach Hawick, I'll be ready for supper and a good bed."
"I don't know about a good bed or even one for the two of us," he said with another smile. "Buccleuch says we're more likely to have the men all in one chamber and lasses in another. But I don't doubt we'll all be glad to rest."
When their party rode into Hawick at last, they were all looking forward to supper and bed, and lost no time in finding both.
Early the next morning, Simon and Sibylla dressed quickly, broke their fast, and bade the others fond farewells. They reached Elishaw two hours later.
Jed Hay, Simon's captain of the guard, greeted them in the bailey with visibly rueful surprise as he motioned gillies to tend the horses. "Sakes, laird," he said, "I told your cousin ye were in Edinburgh. He rode on earlier to find ye."
"Cecil Percy?" Simon said as he dismounted and moved to aid Sibylla.
"So he said," Jed said, frowning. "But ye should ha' met him on the way."
Sibylla noted Jed's frown, saw him glance warily at Simon, and thought Jed seemed more worried than such a minor mischance warranted.
"How many in Percy's party, and when did they leave?" Simon asked.
"He had six men. They were up afore dawn, sir, and away soon after."
"We must have just missed them," Simon said. "We stayed the night in Hawick but we, too, were up and away betimes."
"I expect they rode past the town without entering," Sibylla said.
" 'Twould be sensible," Simon said. "Hawick has but one entrance and is rife with Douglases at any hour. I was not expecting Cecil so soon," he added.
"They came yestereve," Jed said. "Percy said ye were expecting them, that he had news for ye and would ride on to Edinburgh to find ye. I did tell him that, truce or nae truce, he'd be wise to ride under a banner other than his own. But he did say he had your safe-conduct and would trust that to protect them."
Sibylla, watching Jed closely, said, "Have you aught else to tell us?"
He gave her a wary look, then licked his lips and said to Simon, "There is summat, aye, laird. That lad, Dand, wha' our lads plucked out o' the Tweed . . ."
"What about him?" Simon asked impatiently when Jed hesitated.
"He had an accident, sir."
Sibylla felt a chill sweep through her.
"What sort of accident?"
"They said he were still gey weak from the river and from bein' sick. He got up in the night, they said, and . . . and he did fall down the stairs, laird."
"Mercy," Sibylla breathed as tension gripped her. "How badly was he hurt?" Simon demanded. Jed grimaced.
"He's dead, isn't he, Jed?" Sibylla said.
Jed nodded, gave her another look, and then turned warily back to Simon.
Before either man could speak, Sibylla said urgently, "Where is his sister?"
Jed grimaced again. "We dinna ken, m'lady. Nae one has seen her today."
"We'll find her," Simon said, reaching to touch her hand.
She said flatly, "We're too late, sir. They've taken her."
Simon stifled a curse and forced himself to say calmly, "What would Percy want with her, lass? Doubtless, she's just upset by what happened. We'll find her."
"I hope you are right," Sibylla said, her tone suggesting strong doubt.
Seeing Jed look from Sibylla to him and back in puzzlement, Simon said, "I should tell you, Jed, that the lady Sibylla has become my wife."
"Then I wish ye both happy, laird. Welcome to Elishaw, m'lady."
"Thank you." Turning back to Simon, she said, "We must not dally, sir. I fear she is not here, but if she is, we must find her."
"Jed," Simon said, "did you see any bairn with the Percys when they left?"
"Nay, laird."
"Were you on the gate yourself?" Sibylla asked him. "Aye, m'lady."
Sibylla said, "Do you know Cecil Percy, Jed?"
With a wary glance at Simon, he said, "I canna say I do, my lady. But they did carry the Percy banner and had the laird's message with his signature. I saw that myself. I recall, too, when that messenger came to beg the laird's leave to visit."
Simon's first impulse had been to cut the questions short and find Kit, so he could sort things out about the boy's death. However, Sibylla's last question raised a new one in his mind. "Describe the man who called himself Cecil Percy, Jed."
"Aye, sure, laird. He were as tall as ye, I'm thinking, and built much the same, too. Sithee, though, he wore a helmet coming and going, and I never did see him inside, because I ate my supper late in the kitchen."
"Did you note what color his hair is?"
Jed thought before he shook his head. "Nay, sir. I'd guess it were brown, because his eyebrows were, but I canna say for sure."
"Send men up to the lads on Carlin Tooth and the Pike to ask what they've seen," Simon said, putting a hand to Sibylla's back. "We'll go inside now, lass."
"Wait, sir," she said. "Jed, did the men wear jacks-o'-plate or light armor?"
Jed's eyebrows shot upward. "Jacks, m'lady."
"And cloaks?"
"Aye, good, thick, long ones," he said. "It were cold last night."
"Come along, lass," Simon said. "No one carried Kit out under his cloak."
She did not reply, but another thought stirred him to turn back and say to Jed, "Tell those lads to come down from the peaks only if they've aught to report. If not, they must bide with the watchers. I want at least one man on each peak till I say otherwise. If one comes to report, send another up straightaway to replace him."
"Aye, sir. D'ye expect trouble?"
"We'll prepare for it just in case," Simon said. "We've eased our watch on the peaks since the truce, so remind those lads to keep a keen eye at night, too."
Urging Sibylla to the entrance, he saw the worried look on her face but said no more. He was certain that once word spread of their arrival, Kit would show herself.
Three hours later, at midday, they still had found no sign of her.
Tetsy and another maid had prepared Dand's body for burial, and tears sprang to Sibylla's eyes when she saw him. He looked pale and thin, and she strongly believed that his death had been no accident.
But when she said so to Simon as they dined, he patted her shoulder and said, "You're letting your imagination run amok again. No one else has said such a thing."
"Prithee, sir, stop dismissing everything I say without giving it a thought," she said testily, her temper barely in check. "The way Jed Hay kept saying ‘they said,' as he told us what happened, he clearly suspects villainy just as I do."
"I don't dismiss everything you say," he said.
"You do it often enough, and something is amiss in all of this," she insisted. "The least you can do is discuss it with me as if I had a brain in my head."
"Sibylla, I have never questioned your intelligence." Ignoring that tempting subject, she said bluntly, "Did
Jed Hay's description of your Percy cousin fit the man you know? You asked for no other details."
His temper had visibly bristled at her tone, but after a momentary silence he said calmly, "I don't know Percy well, lass. But as I recall, he had hair just a bit darker red than Sym Elliot's. That is why I asked the question. However, I don't remember if his eyebrows were red or brown, so Jed's reply was not much help."
"What about their apparel?" she asked, eyeing him intently.
He shrugged. "They wore what Borderers wear— jacks-o'-plate, helmets, and heavy cloaks against the chill. There is nowt to question there."
"Is there not?" she asked. "I'm told the Percys wear light armor like that which the French provided for many of our own Border nobles years ago. Wat Scott and others who were at Otterburn said Hotspur and many of the Percys wore it."
He frowned. "You may be right," he said at last. "But we've no proof that our visitors were other than Cecil and his lads, and we did expect them, albeit not so soon. I do recall enough about Cecil Percy to suspect he is not one who marches to my mother's piping, so his early arrival need not mean much."
"But whilst they were here, Dand died in a fall that apparently none of your own servants witnessed. And Kit vanished."
"Sibylla, listen to me—"
"You say they cannot have spirited her out under a cloak. I say they may have if they dosed her with something to keep her still. Moreover, the very fact of this odd visit, added to her disappearance, tells me she must be Thomas's missing heiress. Dand was just a lad trying to protect her. Sakes, but Fife must have called you to Edinburgh to get you out of the way for it. He arranged for those men to do as they did last night."
"Godamercy," Simon exclaimed. "What will you think of next?"
"If I am wrong, where is Kit? We have looked everywhere."
"One must suppose she managed to slip out of the castle and went home."
"But if Dand was not her brother—"
"You don't know that," he interjected testily. "In any event, I have never believed those two did not know where their home is, yet they said nowt of it to us."
In truth, Sibylla had suspected the children knew where their people were, and she saw that Simon's temper had frayed to near breaking. She did not want to fight with him. She wanted to find Kit and learn the truth about what the villains had done.
"If your visitor was honest, he had news for you," she reminded Simon. "Should he not learn soon that our parties missed each other, and turn back?"
"If he inquires on the road, he will, although most folks would speak only of Buccleuch," he said. His expression softened. "I'm sorry if I sounded angry, lass."
"You did, aye, but I ken fine that you are unaccustomed to disagreement. In troth, you discourage it in much the same way that Fife does," she added frankly.
"So now I am like Fife?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Aye, sometimes," she said. "You display the same icy demeanor that he does when you are angry, and sometimes when you are not. You said Kit imitates me, after all, and youngsters do often acquire attitudes from adults they respect."
"I don't know about that, but I will agree that Fife behaved oddly," he said. "Also, the Colvilles have been in this area searching for Kit. If they learned that we had a child here who might be their missing heiress, and if Fife saw some way he might somehow be able to use that as legal cause to seize Elishaw . . ." He paused.
"We need to learn more," she said.
"We do, aye," he agreed. "At the least, I must go to meet Percy if he does return, or send someone on to find him and bring him back."
"Will you leave straightaway then?"
"Aye, and return for supper if I meet him before Hob-kirk as I suspect I will."
Sibylla doubted that, but she encouraged him to make haste. "And prithee, take a score of good men with you, sir, lest you meet danger. I may fratch with you more than either of us likes, but I am not ready to be a widow."
Simon left within the hour, taking his best tracker and a dozen men-at-arms.
Other thoughts had come to him as he got ready, thoughts he had not shared with Sibylla. He was sure she was wrong about Kit, but he suspected she was right about Fife, who had a network of agents to attend to his more secretive affairs.
The closest Simon had come to being part of the network was some years before when he'd agreed to ask his brother Tom, a talented lute player, to serve as minstrel in Isabel's household, so Tom could keep an eye on her for Fife.
Thinking of those agents, and the supposed raiders throwing the children in the river, he recalled the rider Dand had described, whose meeting with the raiders had hurried them all away shortly before Simon and his men arrived on the scene.
Simon realized the raiders might easily have taken cover then and followed his party back to Elishaw. If they recognized the Murray banner, they might just have watched and reported to the Colvilles or Fife that he had saved the children.
If Fife was involved in the affair, one thing was certain. His motive was more complicated than just to make sure of Simon's continued loyalty to him.
Sibylla did not believe Kit had left the castle voluntarily. But much as she believed the strangers were responsible for the child's disappearance, she could not be sure they had taken her with them. Accordingly, she summoned the housekeeper and Tetsy to organize a more thorough search.
"I want every kist and cupboard turned out," Sibylla said.
"Mercy, madam," Tetsy said. "I didna say nowt wi' the master here, but if them men last night didna find her, how can we?"
"Do you mean to say they were looking for Kit?" "One came where we sleep. But she wasna there, and he didna believe I knew nowt. I were so afeard, I fainted dead away. When I awoke, he'd gone."
"Look again, anyway," Sibylla said. "We must be sure she is not here before the laird will do more to find her."
As she left them, she felt a niggling sense of something she or someone else had said that was not right. She had sensed the same thing, talking with Simon, but she could not recall what had caused it then either.
Annoyance with herself reminded her she had been irked with him because he'd interrupted her in the midst of telling him that they'd looked everywhere for Kit, offering the information as proof that the visitors must have taken her.
But they had not searched everywhere. And she had not tumbled to that fact even when Simon had suggested Kit might have slipped out of the castle unseen.
Descending to the kitchen, Sibylla noted that two scullions were still working at the far end of the kitchen. The bakehouse chamber, however, was empty.
Without hesitation, she stepped into the alcove, shifted the latch hook, and began to open the door to the tunnel. It met immediate resistance, heavier than the small sack of walnuts she had set against it before.
"Kit, it's Lady Sibylla," she murmured. "You're safe now, love. Come out."
The sound of a gusty sob from within brought a huge sigh of relief.
"No one else is with me, lassie," Sibylla said. "Come quickly."
If Kit did not come quickly, she emerged before anyone walked into the bakehouse or past the archway.
"Be the laird vexed wi' me?" she asked in hushed accents.
"Never mind that," Sibylla said, drawing her toward the stairway. "And don't say another word until we reach my chamber." She had little hope that they would get that far without meeting anyone, but the Fates, for once, were kind. Reaching the door to her room, she pushed it open and almost walked into Tetsy.
"Och, m'lady, ye found her! Where was she?"
"That is not important now," Sibylla said. "I do need to talk with her, though. Prithee, go and tell the others we've found her."
"Aye, mistress, but I've turned out all them kists. I'll just put everything—"
"Go along. Kit will put those things away."
"Aye, sure, mistress. She ought no to ha' hidden herself that way, and so I hope ye'll tell her." Giving Kit a stern look, Tetsy hurried out and shut the door.
"She's vexed," Kit said dolefully. "I like Tetsy. I'd no want her to be angry."
"She will come around," Sibylla said. "How did you find that place?"
"I saw ye . . . you, the night you went through the wall," Kit said. "You thought I was asleep, but I did no like the kitchen wi' ghosts dancing on the walls as they do." She shivered. "And when ye went through the wall, ye didna come back, so I came here and slept. When I woke, ye were here! Be ye a witch, m'lady?"
"Nay, but why did you hide there, Kit? Did you not hear us calling for you?"
"Did ye? I didna hear," Kit said. "I kept yon door off the latch for a time, but then I heard men calling me, and I feared they'd see it were . . . was open. So I shut it. Then I was gey afeard to open it again, nae matter how fearsome it got inside."
"But why did you hide?" Sibylla asked again.
Tears sprang to Kit's eyes. " 'Cause the b-bad men hurt Dand," she sobbed. "He ran from them, but a big 'un caught him at the stairs and swung him over them, saying he'd better tell them. When Dand wriggled to get free, the man just let go."
"You saw that?"
"Aye, for I'd come up them stairs we just used. I heard a man say he were dead. Then another man said, ‘Odds sakes, then we'll ha' to find the lassie ourselves.' I kent fine they meant me, so I hied me back downstairs to hide in the black room."
"Did you stay by the door the whole time?"
Kit sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve as she muttered, "Aye, sure. Sithee, I couldna feel the back wall, and did I keep seeking it, I feared I'd no find my way back to the door. I feared nae one would find me, and I were gey hungry."
"Did you know the men who hurt Dand?"
"They were the ones from that day at the river. The one wha' threw him downstairs said it served Dand right for no telling them where to find the lassie—me! They said summat more, too, m'lady, afore I shut the door."
"What was that?"
"They said they had enough wi' just the bairns—Dand and me—being here to make the laird see sense. Did he no see it, they said, they'd fix him for good."
A chill swept over Sibylla. Grasping the little girl gently by the shoulders, she peered into her eyes as she said, "Kit, your Sunday name is Catherine, is it not?"
Kit shrugged. "Everyone just calls me Kit."
"But you are the lady Catherine Gordon of Huntly, are you not?"
"Nay, mistress."
"Don't lie to me, Kit. This is very important."
Kit burst into tears.
Certain that she was Catherine, frightened witless and grieving for Dand—whatever their relationship might have been—Sibylla exerted herself to console her.
When only sobs remained, Sibylla said, "I shall ask you no more questions now, but heed me well, Kit. The laird is my husband now, and I must find him, because if those bad men mean him harm, I must do what I can to stop them."
"Ye'll leave me here again?"
"Aye, but I know you'll keep safe this time. You're to stay with Cook or with Tetsy until I get back. If those bad men should return without the laird or me, you do as you did before and hide in the black room. Can you do that?"
"Aye, if Cook and Tetsy will let me."
"Don't ask them. Just take care that nobody sees you go in and then no one will seek you there. But I'll know just where to find you when we return."
"Prithee, dinna be all night about it," Kit said gloomily. "I'll try, but if aught frightens you, you go there and stay till I come for you."